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hopesworlld · 7 months

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౨ৎ oh ! dear diary, i met a boy !

౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — step!bro anakin x fem!reader

౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — your stepbrother anakin finds your diary full of all your dirty little secrets

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 6k

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — swearing, stepcest, smut ( masturbation f and m, oral sex f and m, vibrator, degradation, praise, use of the term slut/little slut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, overstimulation ) i think that’s all !

౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — someone call the psych ward immediately !

part two part three masterlist

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anakin groaned in annoyance as he stormed up the steps at his mothers command asking him to fetch his stepsister for some reason or another. he barged into your bedroom not bothering to knock, he always liked seeing you jump, sometimes you were on your bed, phone dropping from your hands as your lips parted in surprise. other times you were perched at your vanity catching his eye in the mirror with horrified delight. but his favourite would always be when he entered your room to find you clad in nothing but a pair of white panties. your face had been painted crimson, eyes clutching your breasts but he could still see your rosy nipples peeking beneath your manicured nails, pert from the cold winter air.

but this time, much to his disappointment he found the room empty, your fairlights glittered along the ceiling and the pink lamp beside your bed cast light on the little book had seen you clutching to your chest every so often, it was hot pink and dotted with stickers of various celebrities that he despised. you had always been protective of it, even your father had once gained a slap to the hand when he tried to touch your book. so anakin knew he had no choice, he slowly entered the room further, noting the sound of rushing water from the bathroom. perfect.

he crossed your room in a matter of seconds and scooped up the book, flicking through a couple pages, the first few he saw held nothing of interest and he skimmed through. there were no dates but he could tell they were from before your father and shmi had bought the house and blended your family, he read a few sentences of you complaining about school, and friend drama and almost called it a bust. his innocent priss of a stepsister was the same in her diary as she was every day. that was until he skipped ahead and found his name appearing. with new found interest he settled down on your bed.

/ anakin came back from college today and he actually looked happy to see me, or he smiled when he got out of the car which is a first. i wish he would smile more, he looks so pretty when he smiles.

anakin scoffed at this, rolling his eyes, this had only been a few weeks ago and he had been laughing at a text just moments before, but of course you would think he was happy to see you. you always greeted him the same, glossy lips twisted in a saccharine smile as you bounced on the balls of your feet, begging for an ounce of attention from him. it was ridiculous, but he had to know more.

/ anakin is fixing up dad’s old car in the driveway so that he can use it, i’ve never been so happy for my father’s hoarding tendencies in my life. i was sat at my window for two hours today watching him. he was wearing that black wife beater, the one that makes his arms look even bigger than usual, so muscly and strong. i wonder what it would feel like for him to pick me up, and feel his muscles against my back, they look so good when they’re tensed. he was so sweaty too, i wanted to run out there and lick it from his skin, how disgusting but wow, i wish i took a picture of him like that. soaked in sweat and oil.

anakin’s jaw was agape, his sweet innocent stepsister wasn’t such an angel as he once thought. his dick twitched beneath his sweatpants at the thought of you perched on your window seat with a perfect view of him working rubbing your thighs together, desperate for his touch, his taste. it was taboo, disgusting, your parents were married and here you were writing dirty little fantasies. he loved it. addicted to the words you had spilled across the page in pretty gel pens.

/ dad asked me why i was so distracted today at dinner, how could i not be? anakin came down in just shorts and i swear i could see everything, he’s bigger than i imagined, i probably wouldn’t even be able to fit my hand around it, but ellen said boys like that. i wonder what it looks like, i’ve only ever seen them in porn. anakin didn’t even notice anything was off with me, didn’t notice me staring. i wish he would.

“fuck,” anakin hissed, his dick was now almost fully hard and throbbing. who knew you were such a slut, fantasising about his cock at the dinner table. if he had known… god he wanted to fucking ruin you. show you how to take his dick, watch as you choked and cried around it as he forced it past your swollen lips. he wanted to paint you in his cum and not stop until you were a shaking writhing mess. he knew you were hot, had thought it the second he saw you, your hair in braids clad in ivory like some kind of fallen angel but had pushed it away, you were his stepsister for fuck sake, but now…

/ he walked in on me changing today, i was only in my underwear and he laughed, but i caught him staring at my boobs, i made sure not to cover them properly and it worked. i got so wet, i don’t think i’ve ever come so hard before. i wanted him to do something, walk over to me and rip my hands away, push me on the bed and fuck me till i saw stars, but instead i just had to use my vibrator. sometimes i wish he could hear me moaning through the wall, maybe he can.

“little fucking slut,” anakin said to himself as he glanced across the page, hand cupping his rock hard cock through his trousers, your words were depraved, desperate. maybe he should walk into the bathroom right now and take you like you were so desperate for, you would have no trouble spreading your legs for him, would probably beg for it, do anything he asked. his perfect little fuck toy. he couldn’t help himself anymore, spitting on his hand and slipping it down his trousers tugging at his cock as he continued to read.

/ i bought a dildo today from ann summers but i’m scared, my fingers are so small compared to it, the woman said it was about average but wow. no matter how much prep i do it hurts. i bet anakin would feel better, the silicon is so hard and cold. i wore one of his t-shirts it smells like him, that helped a little but it’s not the same, i’ve heard his stories when he talks to his friends about the girls he’s fucked. he knows what he’s doing, i wonder how he would take me, on my back nice and slow, or pound into me from behind while i screamed. maybe he would call me angel like he does sometimes, i wish. now my arm just hurts so i’m here alone in my bed playing with my clit wishing it was him.

anakin jerked against his hand at the last sentence, he had never cum this quickly before, but your words had him loosing his shit, he couldn’t even imagine what else you thought if this was only what you choose to write down, what other dirty secrets lurked beneath that pretty facade of pink and glitter. the next page held a collection of polaroids you had taken of him, some from the window as he worked on his car, skin sheened in sweat and oil, shirtless as he drank a bottle of water. another of him laying on the sofa arm resting behind his head a can of beer in hand, and the last was him glaring at the camera. he remembered this one, he had demanded you rip it up, but here it was immortalized with pink and purple hearts surrounding it. but the next page was from today.

/ anakin came home from playing baseball with his friends about an hour ago, he was gross, sweaty and loud after hours with his friends. he slid past me in the kitchen his hands on my hips for just a second i wish he would have bent me over the counter and fucked me there and then. i would have let him, dad was in the living room but i don’t care, god, he’s ruined me. all i can think about is him, his cock, his hands, his lips. i need him. i’m gonna go shower, i was meant to help shmi with dinner but i couldn’t, not when i was soaking through my panties while stood next to her fantasising about her son.

“oh fuck,” anakin hissed as he came into his fist, cum coating his boxers and knuckles. you were insane, and maybe so was he for getting so worked up but he knew he couldn’t hold back now, he had seen those words and there was no going back. a bit shakily he stood from the bed wiping his hands on his sweatpants and grabbing the sparkly pen from your desk and decided to leave a little note of his own in your dirty little diary.

/ who knew you were such a dirty little slut, angel girl

and with that he left your bedroom, cum drying on his boxers, he could only hope you found his note sooner rather than later.

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after your shower you felt a lot better, you had turned the water considerably cooler than usual and taken some deep breaths you had learned from yoga, pushing anakin far from your mind, you let the ritual of getting redressed soothe your mind, slipping into a soft matching set of white shorts and a crop top, leaving your hair loose and applying your skin care. you almost felt like yourself, untainted by the dirty thoughts that seemed perpetually in your mind.

you wished it would stop, you hated yourself for it, your father was finally happy after years of thinking he would never find love again after your mother had passed. if he knew what you were thinking he would be disgusted, he would probably send you off to your aunt to protect anakin and shmi from your sick mind, the thought made your stomach hurt. you wanted to stop you really did, but then you would see him and all those dirty thoughts would slip back in, he was haunting you.

you headed downstairs, an airpod pressed in one ear hoping some music would soothe your guilty mind, finding shmi in the kitchen. the woman smiled in relief when she saw you.

“there you are, i sent ani up to get you half an hour ago,” she said a little flustered and instantly your heart dropped, you didn’t know why she was upset but she had needed you. you hated upsetting people, ‘always a people pleaser’ your mother had used to scold you fondly.

“i’m so sorry, anakin never told me,” you said truthfully and the woman sighed before laughing begrudgingly.

“my son has many talents, listening has never been one of them,” she said with a fond smile before turning back to the stove, “i’m making your dad that soup he loves so much but this recipe seems wrong, think you could help me out?” she requested holding out a sheet of paper to you and you took it immediately, nodding happily.

“of course,” you beamed, “well firstly it’s chicken stock not vegetable stock,” you informed her, “and secondly use heavy cream instead of milk, he likes the taste more. but other than that it seems perfect”

“really?” she asks you, face a little tight.

“yep, we always make it a little different depending on what we have but you have got this down to a t now i would say, and dads gonna love it,” you said and shmi finally smiled again, you hated when she frowned, it made her seem much older, an echo of the struggling woman she had once been and she didn’t deserve that, she never did.

“want to stay and help me make it?” she asked and you accepted. the pair of you worked in tandem, and soon you had a delicious pot of soup bubbling on the stove ready to be served along with homemade grilled cheese.

“okay, i’m gonna go grab your dad from the den do you mind getting, ani,” shmi asked and you agreed despite yourself, bounding out of the kitchen and up the stairs to anakin’s room, knocking once, then twice and then three times before you finally got a response.

“come in,” he called out, so you swung the door open, expecting a scowl or a blank stare but instead he was smirking widely at you, as though he knew something you didn’t and it made your skin crawl. “oh, hey, angel,” he greeted. fuck.

“dinners ready,” you told him, proud that you managed to keep your voice steady and his face dropped a little bit before his smile suddenly widened again.

“and you came to get me?” he asked teasingly, your stomach tightened, twisting into a ball and sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. he was going to kill you.

“your mum asked me to,” you say shortly, spinning around and walking away, taking a deep breath as you did so. stupid, stupid, stupid…

“angel,” anakin said again, and that name was going to send you into overdrive, a flush growing on your cheeks. “not gonna wait for me? that’s not very nice,” he complained and you shook your head.

“are you high?” you asked him as you reached the landing but anakin grabbed your wrist stopping you from heading down the steps.

“what makes you say that?” he asked you, drawing closer to you so that your faces were only inches apart, you could feel his hot breath fanning on your cheeks, see deep into his eyes, so pretty and blue beneath the crystalline lights above.

“your acting strange,” you pointed out with a frown, anakin was never nice to you, he was cordial sometimes, blunt others and sometimes he was simply rude, but never this. never teasing and friendly and chasing you down through the halls of your home to chat. it was as unnerving as it was utterly addictive.

“i just learned something new today, something that’s changed my perspective a little bit,” he crooned, hand coming up and resting on the wall beside your head, you blinked at him. what the fuck?

“what did you learn?” you asked him curiously and anakin grinned, a beautiful blinding thing that took your breath away.

“you’ll see,” was all he said before withdrawing from you and heading down the steps leaving you flabbergasted where you stood, heart racing and core throbbing. “come on, angel, don’t wanna be late for dinner,” he called up to you and you followed soundlessly, wondering if you had accidentally fallen into a different dimension while in the shower.

dinner was normal, or as normal is it could be with anakin acting so out of character, he was chatting like he hadn’t seen anyone in years, some kind of newfound zest for life that even had his mother seemed confused about but accepted with open arms. it was nice to see anakin talking, usually, he would mutter a few words before disappearing back to his room.

“yea, i was thinking of working at the garage next term to get a little extra cash, you know where you’re going to colleague next year, angel?” anakin asked, you looked over at him a little wide-eyed at the nickname in front of your parents, but glancing at them you saw that they both seemed… pleased.

“um, i have a few options actually, still not sure,” you murmured, still lost in what was happening, but it was making your head spin.

“she’s been looking at your school a bit,” your dad cut in, “it’s got a great program for what she wants to study,”

“oh really? maybe i could set something up for you, or maybe just give you a show around of the school next term, let you see what it’s really about,” anakin suggested with a smile and shmi beamed.

“oh that's a lovely idea, ani dear,” she exclaimed, “what do you think, sweetheart?” she asked her eyes darting to you and you pulled your lips into a smile.

“yea that sounds great,” you agreed, glancing back at anakin who sent you a wink. you almost groaned, rubbing your thighs together, you thought anakin being mean to you was enough to send you spiraling, spilling dirty fantasies into your book but him being nice was going to send you into a whirl of delusions that were going to be detrimental to your mental health if it continued.

once dinner was finished you rushed to your room, ready to spill your guts into your diary, you grabbed it from your bedside table and flicked to the next open page, your heart dropping to your stomach when you saw the words scrawled on the page.

\ who knew you were such a dirty little slut, angel girl

“oh my god,” you whispered to yourself, tossing the book down onto the bed, horror-struck. you knew that handwriting, had seen it many times before and now here it was taunting you in a book full of your sick twisted fantasies that all featured him. you felt nauseous, bile rising in your throat, is this why he was so happy, some sort of twisted revenge? had he taken pictures of it? did he plan on showing your dad? “this can’t be happening,” you whispered to yourself.

“i see you found my note,” a cocky voice echoed from behind you, you span around, lips trembling and anakin’s brows furrowed slightly.

“please don’t tell my dad, i’m so sorry anakin. i know it’s wrong and disgusting but please he will never forgive me if i ruin this for him, he loves your mum so much and i…” the world were tumbling from your lips so quickly you could hardly process them, not even noting as anakin shut the door behind him and crossed the room so that he was stood before you, “i’m sorry,” you practically wailed, “you were never supposed to see that, it was just somewhere to put down my thoughts,” tears were streaming down your cheeks now, “please don’t hate me,”

“you gonna be quiet now?” anakin asked you once you finally stopped rambling and you nodded through sniffles, vision blurred by your tears. “good,” he whispered, reaching up and cupping your cheek, “i’m not gonna tell your dad, angel,” he said soothingly, “not when i know how much fun we can have now,” anakin said with a smile.

“what… what are you saying?” you asked him. this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening right now. no way.

“i’m saying, that i wanna see just how dirty you can be, angel,” he cooed, “i wanna know the darkest parts of that fucked up little mind of yours,” your breathing hitched, raising your hands to wipe the tears from your ruddy cheeks and staring at him in disbelief.

“anakin…” you whispered, “this is wrong,”

“oh i know that, baby, but it didn’t stop you from burying your fingers into your cunt and imagining it was me. from laying in bed only a room away from me and moaning my name while you tried to use a dildo on yourself wishing it was me,” he hummed, “and what was it that you wrote earlier? that you were picturing me bending you over with your dad in the next room, that you couldn’t be with my mother in the kitchen because you were dripping down your thighs thinking about me,”

“oh fuck,” you moaned, hearing him depict your fantasies, the things you had said were driving you wild, something stirring within you, it set your veins alight with molten flames, spreading through your body and stirring your aching cunt, you could feel your arousal flooding your panties, sticky and wet, you didn’t know what to do, what to think but you needed him, more than you had ever needed anything in your life.

“that’s it, angel, i wanna hear every pretty sound you can make fall from your pretty lips,” anakin prompted, one hand falling to your hips and pulling you in so that your flush was pressed against him another moan falling from your lips when you felt his half hard cock press against your stomach. “what is it you want, tell me, what dirty secret are we sharing tonight?” he asked you.

“kiss me, just kiss me please,” you begged, and anakin obliged crashing his lips to yours, it was messy, all teeth and tongue and spit. immediately he was diving in, tongue prying through your lips and plunging into your mouth, he tasted of smoke, mint and sugar and instantly you were addicted. your hands rose to his shoulders, tugging him closer you wanted to feel every part of him. your hands tugged at his t-shirt wanting to taste his skin, to see him everywhere.

“so eager, baby,” he muttered against your lips before reaching behind him, tugging his t-shirt over his head revealing the planes of his chest and his toned stomach to your awaiting eyes, you had seen him shirtless many times before, but now you could touch him. “take what you want,” he grinned and you did just that, fingers dipping into every crevice, you explored him as though one would a fine piece of art you wanted to memorise the feeling of his skin, the taste, you hardly thought twice before leaning down and kissing the middle of his chest, running your tongue along the unblemished skin, moaning at the taste of salt and skin. “god,” the boy murmured, reaching down and grasping your hair, yanking your head back harshly, “take my sweatpants off,” he commanded and you were not one to disobey, not now, not when you had him.

you wrapped your hands around the waist band and tugged, gasping when his dick sprung free, unrestrained by any boxers beneath, he was already hard, really hard, his cock flushed a deep red, the tip weeping milky precum and gods were you right, he was big, long and thick, far bigger than the dildo you had purchased. you salivated at the sight.

“can i…” you whispered, slowly trailing off, a wave of embarrassment washing over you.

“tell me what you want, angel, this is your dirty little dream, i’m just helping make it come true,” anakin said and you nodded, taking a deep breath.

“wanna taste you, ani, can i?” you asked him gently, batting your lashes at him and the boy hissed through his teeth, jaw clenching in a way that made your entire body sing.

“fuck me, go ahead, pretty girl, show me what that mouth is actually good for,” his words were disgusting, a sick way of calling your words worthless and it made you go fucking feral, you sank to your knees, eyeing his cock a little unsurely before carefully wrapping a hand around his thick length, anakin groaned, watching you, eyes alight with interest.

“look at that you were right,” he told you, “your hand can’t even fit around it,” he said, and you shuddered, ingjerking your hand slightly, letting itit glide along the velvety skin of his cock, admiring it, and the sound he made was worth it, so much so that you leaned in, licking a stripe along the side of his cock, stopping once you reached the tip and suckling it gently. a.nakin’s hands fell to your hair gripping it, but not forcing you, he was letting you explore first, you bobbed you head, sinking deeper on his cock, the sensation was strange but not unpleasant. so you took him deeper, the salty taste of him drawing you in further, you pulled back, sucking in a deep breath before taking him deeper until it hit the back of your throat. you were hardly halfway down his cock, so you tried again this time more forcefully, choking when his cockhead rammed into the back of your throat.

“easy, baby,” anakin cooed, pulling you off of his cock, you looked up at him with glossy eyes, spit spilling down your chin.

“you’re so big,” you whined at him accusingly making the boy laugh, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“poor little slut, so desperate for cock but has no clue what she’s doing,” he patronised, thumb trailing down and hooking in your mouth, parting your lips for him, you let your mouth fall open. “gotta take it slow, you aren’t gonna take it all the first time, okay? probably not for a few times, gotta train that throat of yours to take cock, huh?” he asked and you nodded at him, unable to speak with his thumb in you mouth. “try again, huh,” he prompted and you nodded eagerly, this time letting anakin guide your mouth to his awaiting cock, you followed his instructions going slower this time, starting at just the tip suckling it, savoring the taste of his salty cum in your mouth but eventually anakin began to push you further with a groan. you swallowed around him, trying to remember to breathe with the heavy weight on your tongue, your mouth felt stretched, lips stinging, and jaw aching but you couldn’t stop. you needed this, needed him to cum, to know he was enjoying this as much as you were.

“good girl, that’s it,” anakin praised you and you preened, moaning around his cock and making the boy chuckle, “oh you like that, huh, pretty girl? wanna be my good girl?” you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak so instead you locked your eyes with his and this time it was anakin’s turn to moan. “you look so fucking sexy like this, should have known you made for it,” you bobbed your head faster in agreement, it felt wrong to agree, to accept that you were just some sort of object that was made to take dick and love it, but you couldn't argue. not now when you had tasted his cock and you knew you would never be the same again, this was it for you, a springboard into a world that would drive you insane.

“you keep going i’m gonna cum, you ready for that, angel?” he asked you, but you didn’t respond, only forcing him deeper, spluttering slightly but you didn’t pull back, instead taking a settling breath through your nose, spit was dripping down your chin, tears streaming but you couldn’t stop, continuing to choke on his cock, only pulling away when you absolutely had too and it was barley for a few seconds before you were on him again. it was only about a minute before anakin’s hips began to twitch, his cock heavier in your mouth.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck, baby pull back a little you don’t wanna choke,” he prompted and you did as you were told. lips suctioned around his tip, using your hand to jerk off the rest of his cock and with that, he was cumming down your throat in thick hot spurts. it was disorientating and everything you had ever dreamed of. you swallowed as much as you could of the salty liquid, but some escaped the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto your plush carpet, you kept suckling until anakin pulled you away, his lips parted and cheeks flushed.

“that was…” he trailed off voice hoarse, “you did such a good job, angel,” he cooed, reaching out and helping you stand up, your knees ached and you felt a little shaky but you couldn't ignore the heat in your core and the sopping wetness between your legs.

“i liked it,” you said bashfully, voice scratchy.

“of course you did,” anakin mocked lightly but there was no malice behind his words, instead he reached down and grabbed his shirt using it to mop your cheeks and mouth, “come on i wanna try something,” he said, grabbing you hand and leading you over to your bed, “lay down, pretty girl,”

“what are you doing?” you asked him softly and he grinned.

“just lay down, okay, i’m gonna do the work for a bit,” he said, so you followed instruction and laid down on the bed, looking up at him with such innocent trust that it made his heart stutter slightly, “i’m gonna take your top off okay?” he said, climbing onto the bed with you and hovering over you, his legs stradling either side of your hips, he looked so big like this, tall and strong, body on show as he looked down at you.

“okay,” you agreed, letting anakin tug the crop top from your body leaving your chest bare to him.

“been waiting a while to see these again,” he murmured, finger pinching your nipple lightly, you gasped, jolting upwards at the sensation and anakin laughed, “sensitive girl,” he teased, pinching your other nipple, using his body to keep you pinned to the bed. “what was it you said in that dirty little book when i saw your tits for the first time?” he asked you, “hm, let’s have a look shall we?” he said grabbing the book from where it lay only a few inches away from you. your cheeks lit up in shame, shaking your head.

“ani, no,” you pleaded with him but the boy shot you a harsh stare.

“what was that, baby?” he questioned, tone stern, “i thought you wanted this? want me to leave you to deal with this alone like you always do, seeing my cock should do you a good couple months, and you even got to taste it,”

“don’t leave” you begged, “i’m just embarrassed,” you whimper, this brought the smile back to anakin’s face.

“you don’t need to be embarrassed, pretty girl, without this little thing you would probably still be downstairs watching tv with your dad trying not to think about me, isn’t that right?” he asked, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your swollen lips.

“yes,” you said quietly, “just don’t be mean, i really… i needed you. i need you,”

“oh, baby, but you like it when i’m a little mean don’t you?” he snickered, “but back to what i was saying, where is it?” he asked flicking through the pages of the book before he found what he was looking for, “ah, here it is. you wanted me to push you onto this bed and fuck you till you saw stars,” you whimper at this, “and look how proud you were that you caught me staring at your tits,” he grinned, “pretty things aren’t they,” he leaned down, capturing your right nipple between his teeth, nibbling slightly before sucking it into his mouth. the sensation was too much, you gasped, trying to jerk against him but anakin was too strong, he bit down on your nipple, a warning before soothing it with his tongue, moving and doing the same to the other one until you were a panting mess.

“good girl,” he praised, “now this wasn’t what i wanted to do actually, just had to get a taste,” he told you with a wink and you blinked at him stunned. “where do you keep your vibrator, angel?” anakin questioned you.

“um, my bedside draw,” you murmured and anakin nodded, leaning over and opening up and pulling out your pretty pink vibrator.

“cute,” he said, “now, baby, i want to see you use this, okay? wanna know what you look like when you are playing with yourself and thinking about me,” he crooned.

“ani, i’m… fuck okay,” you said reaching out and taking the vibrator from him, anakin climbed off of you and you immediately missed the weight of him atop of you but ignored it was you yanked your shorts and panties down, revealing your throbbing pussy to anakin, the boy groaning in apprecation.

“holy shit, you’re fucking soaked, angel,” he crooned, “look at your clit, all puffy and red. all from sucking my cock?” anakin asked and you nodded, cheeks crimson. “you are a dream, pretty girl,” your clit pulsed at his words and quickly you pressed your vibrator to it before switching it on. your body writhed at the contact, you had been desperate for this for what felt like hours, every inch of your being aching for relief as you trailed the toy down, soaking it in your wetness before bringing it back to your clit, moaning at the feeling.

“fuck, anakin, feels so good” you cried out, tilting your head to look at him and seeing him gazing at your pussy in awe.

“i bet it does, angel, you were so sore, so desperate for this,” he said, reaching out and trailing a finger along your dripping slit, your hips jerked, heart pounding, “gonna come that quick, fuck, do it, baby,” he prompted. you pressed the toy harder to your clit gasping and crying out, the sight of anakin before you, the months of waiting, wanting, it all built up and before you could even react the coil in your stomach snapped and you came with a sharp moan, the vibrator still pressed to your cunt as you twitched through the aftershocks of your orgasm. then you felt it, something wet and warm trailing through your fold, you looked down to see anakin now lying between your legs, his tongue buried in your cunt.

“ani” you sobbed, switching the vibrator off and tossing it to the side, anakin taking this as his chance to wrap is lips around your clit and suck. you all but screamed, still strumming with pleasure and overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth on you, it was hypnotic.

“did i tell you to stop?” he asked pulling back and grabbing the vibrator and flicking it on, pressing to to your abused clit, you gasped, looking down at him with wide eyes, “you are gonna hold this while i eat you out okay, you move it and i’ll stop,” he commanded.

“but, ani, it’s so sensitive,” you told him and anakin simply scoffed.

“you can take it, sluts like you can come as many times as you need to, bet you are still aching for relief,” he said pressing it down harder and you screeched, “take it,” and you did, grabbing the toy from his hand and holding it there as he burried his tongue back inside of you, licking into your sopping walls.

“oh my god, oh my god, anakin please,” you begged one hand slipping down to his hair, tugging on the dark strands with a sob. the vibrator on your clit was brutal, stirring up another orgasm in quick sucession to the last but anakin didn’t stop, he continued to lick and suck while you trembled, slick pouring from your slit as you jerked violently, cumming twice before anakin finally let up.

“you taste fucking divine, angel,” anakin said, his face glossy with your cum, you couldn’t move, couldn’t think as he switched the vibrator off and tossed it to the ground. “fuck me, i’ve never seen such a pretty girl before,” he crooned, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before crawling up your body and pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. he tasted of salt and your release and it made your body ache once more.

“ani, ani, please,” you begged against his mouth, you werent sure exactly what you were begging for but you needed it, needed him.

“sh, angel, its okay,” he said gently, running his hands down your hips sothingly, “tell me what you need” he prompted and you wailed, he looked stunned, “hey, come on talk to me, too much?” he questioned but you shook your head violently.

“need to feel you,” you said through heaving breaths, clumsily reaching out and grasping his cock that pulsed in your hand, he spluttered out a moan, rocking his hips into you, head of his cock catching your clit with such delicious pleasure that you swore you almost saw stars. “inside,” you demanded, words failing you in that moment of utter want.

“need to prep you first,” he said, gently removing your hands from his cock before sliding his fingers through your throbbing heat finding your slit with ease and slowly sinking one finger in.

“more,” you begged almost instantly, hands clinging to his shoulders and anakin complied, sinking another finger inside of you, pumping into your wet heat as you babbled and cried.

“never imagined i would have you like this, so desperate for me,” anakin panted, “wanna know a secret, i’ve wanted this for so long, have pictured taking you so many times,” he whispered, “i came reading your diary, seeing how much you wanted me,”

“anakin,” you said, hands coming to his cheeks cupping them so that he would face you, you could see the raw desire that danced behind his pretty blue eyes, “i’m ready, please,” and he complied, slowly lining his cockhead with your swollen hole slowly inching in. the burn was intense, a tearing feeling consuming your cunt even as you leaked more slick onto his sodden cock. you gasped, more tears streaming down your cheeks as anakin slowly inched deeper.

“you can do it, baby, doing so well for me,” he praised as he sunk deeper, inch by inch before burying himself at the hilt and staying there, “look at that, angel, you did it,”

“oh, oh fuck,” it was nothing like your dildo that was all solid plastic and cold feel, instead it was warm and hard and sending your body into overdrive, it took a few moments to adjust to the feel of it, the intrusive weight uncomfortable but not unwelcomed, and it was all worth it to see anakins face. his eyes screwed up in pleasure, bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he tried to stay still for you. “move, you can move, please,”

“you sure, baby,” anakin gasped, voice tight.

“yes, please,” you agreed, he started slow at first, gentle shalow thrusts that allowed you to get used to the feeling of it, but soon he began to speed up, sinking deeper inside of you with each thrust until you could feel the tip pressing against your cervix, the pleasure was indescribable, you never knew it could feel like this, so all consuming. “yes, yes, harder,” you pleaded with him.

“you sure,” he gasped out.

“yes, i’m okay,” you nodded, and anakin listened, suddenly there was nothing between you but the heat of your skin and the slick of your bodies, a mix of sweat, cum and spit. it was disgusting, a sick merging of your bodies, anakin’s face was burried in your neck, sucking crimson marks onto your sensitive skin while you clawed at his back, manicured nails cutting into his golden skin.

“shit, you feel fucking amazing,” anakin said against your skin, grinding deeper, “such a good little pussy for me, taking me so well,” he told you, “you need to come on my cock again, wanna feel you cleanch around me, okay?” he said and you nodded frantically.

“please, ani,”

“that’s it, good girl,” he cooed, thumb coming between you to circle your clit, you could feel your orgasm building as he jerked into you, his thrusts getting sloppy and you knew he was close, could tatse it on your tongue, you needed it, needed him. “i own this pussy now,” he hissed, “gonna make every single one of your dirty fantasies come true and then we can try some of mine,” anakin told you, thumb speeding up and pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, everything went white and you were gone. when you came too anakin was hovering over you still cock in hand jerking himself off frantically.

“ani,” you whispered, hand coming up shakily and grasping his cock jerking it lightly and anakin came in thick hot spurts all over your chest and face while you took it happily. he collapsed down beside you, pulling you in so your face was pressed against his chest, leg cocking over his hips. “wow,” was all you managed to say.

“better get ready baby, this was only the beginning,” anakin smirked, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forhead and you couldn’t wait to see what else he had in store for you, and you thanked the stars that you had made that little diary.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

part 2???

#anakin skywalker fanfiction #emo anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #star wars fanfiction #anakin smut #hayden christensen #sam monroe #anakin skywalker #stepbro!anakin #hopes fics !#star wars #anakin x you #darth vader x reader #anakin modern au

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goldenstring6123 · 2 months

Note

Hi !!! How r u pooks :3

Ignore this if u haven't played dti but what do you think the L&DS boys' reactions would be to their s/o playing dress to impress and actually raging at it like verbally LMFAO this game seriously has me TWEAKING bro but I can't stop playing it gigi please free my family 💔 (hcs plz)

Thanks for reading O_o

Lnds: Dress to impress chaos

Warning: no warning! GN!READER, crack-fic (?)

Author's notes: DTI has me on a chokehold as well pookie.

Zayne:

Surprisingly, Zayne knows about this because of the children in the pediatric ward. A good number of kids have their tablets with them and play the game; to him, it looked like some regular dress-up game. He didn't think much of it and just warned the children to lessen their screen time.

When he arrived home and was taking his shoes off in the foyer, he could hear you complaining about something. The only coherent sentence he heard was, "The theme is Y-THREE-K, NOT Y-TWO-K!" He wondered what you were talking about and who you were mad at, but when he saw you huddled around the coffee table, fashion magazines sprawled all over, and another gadget displaying fashion catalogs, he knew what was up.

"What are you getting so worked up about?" he asked, sitting next to you and placing down a cup of tea after changing into his clothes. He could see that there were figures walking down the runway.

"I don't get how those ugly layering players win first place!"

He was confused by what you meant. The outfits were suitable, donning the familiar attire of the staff at the hospital, particularly scrubs and white skirts that were too short for the protocol. "What's the theme?"

"A doctor or a nurse," you replied. As the screen turned briefly black, Zayne waited in anticipation. The scene changed, and on the podium was a mermaid with neon green wings and a god-awful dress.

You threw your hands up in frustration and wept on his knees. Zayne was dumbfounded. "I hate this game!" he heard your muffled cries on his knees. He patted your head.

He got used to seeing you so engrossed in the game, but he would never get used to your mood swings: one moment, you're insulting children, and the next moment, you're giggling because you won 1st place.

Zayne bought you a VIP pass because he loved seeing your reaction every time, although he isn't really a fan of spending money on in-game currency. But he loves you too much, so he just keeps that thought to himself.

After seeing you play, he watches the kids play as well, occasionally commenting on their choice of clothing. The nurses were pretty confused by his comments because Zayne never really commented on any outfits, much less in a game.

Xavier:

Xavier knows about the game and has tried it once, not getting the premise of it at first. He didn't know how to change patterns or delete the clothes he was wearing, so his first catwalk was a bit of a mess. But here's the thing: Xavier won first place, which made him more confused. He screenshot himself on the podium and sent it to you.

When you got home from work, excited to play with him, he was pouting while looking at his phone. You wondered why and saw that another player was walking around in the same exact fit as your partner's character. Xavier said that he kept on trying to change his outfit, but that one person kept doing the same thing. You decided to give that player a piece of your mind on behalf of your boyfriend.

When you're at work, Xavier will send you links to fashion hacks he sees on social media. "This looks cute; let's try it later," and he's more updated when Gigi is working on something. The codes—Xavier knows the codes by heart. He knows them more than he knows the date of your birth.

It was thanks to this game that he likes to go shopping with you to get some inspiration. Surprisingly, he can make a coherent outfit with the ones he sees in the malls.

When you both play together, he likes playing duo, and even if your outfits are unfinished or bad, he gives you 5 stars. But for the rest of the players, he forgets to vote more than half of the time—you don't know if it's on purpose or really by accident.

He would occasionally laugh when players fight against one another, especially if you were involved.

He once bought himself the VIP pass, but his outfits still looked too generic for your liking, but you didn't have the heart to complain. Xavier once lost a bet, and now he has to buy you the pass as well.

He once used his work account to comment on some suggestions on Gigi's Twitter, and kids were confused as to why a hunter was commenting on a kids' game. He deleted it soon after, but he amassed a few hundred followers.

Sylus:

He felt nothing about the game at first and thought of it as nothing more than your form of entertainment. It keeps you busy and out of harm's way, but he never once thought that it would cause a rift in your relationship (he's exaggerating).

Sylus would grow annoyed at how you weren't picking up his calls when you were clearly at home, so he sent Mephisto. The little snitch took a picture of you being so engrossed in your game and sent it back to his boss. Sylus was half disgruntled and 100% dumbfounded when he found out—he was laughing, but he was annoyed. Luke and Kieran were utterly confused.

At midnight, while you worked your way to being a fashion maven, you didn't notice your man sneaking in through the window. Just as you were about to hit pose 11, Sylus yanked your feet and stole your tablet from you.

"No! Give that back!"

"You're not answering my calls because of…this?" He turned to the tablet, which displayed another player's half-decent outfit for the theme "star."

"What calls?" you turned to your phone. '18 missed calls' and your heart sunk to the floor. Shyly, you turned to him, scratching your head. "Oops?"

He sat down on the edge of your bed. "Why are you so engrossed in a dressing game? Why not dress yourself with all the clothes I gave you?" He nudged to the mountain of paper bags in the corner of your room—branded ones, too.

"Because it's fun?" You took the tablet from him and showed him on screen how your outfit won first place. "See? I like winning—one more round, and let's go on a night ride."

He paused, patiently waiting for a minute while you scrolled around the game lobby. He came to a decision. "No. Screen time is over. You've neglected me for far too long." He yanked the tablet away from you using his evol, then pinned you down to the bed, burying his nose in between your breasts.

Although Sylus claims he's not interested in playing the game with you, he did, in fact, join the game secretly to spy on you. He was mildly infuriated with the little amount of selection of menswear and the ridiculous look on the men's faces, so he still really doesn't understand the hype, but he'll be generous enough to give you a three or four-star once in a while.

Once, he joined your server, and the theme was the bad guy. You dressed up as a white-haired, red-eyed man with over-chiseled cheekbones. A moment later, Sylus bombarded you with a screenshot of the game. "I do not look like that. Delete it."

As much as he says he doesn't like the game, Gigi made an update and added some dark reddish aura in-game, as well as a crow perched on the hand of the model. The bird looked awfully close to Mephisto. You confronted Sylus about this, and he denied having any involvement in it.

Whenever you sleep in Sylus' home, he would wake up to the goddamn beat of the game at 3 am, and out of frustration, he would use his EVOL to get the device away from you and place it on the highest shelf in the room. Then he'd hold you down.

Rafayel:

Rafayel introduced you to the game, but after a few times of playing it, it didn't take long for him to get banned for cyberbullying—he wasn't bullying, actually; he was just stating facts, and the other players couldn't take it, and so they reported him. He fights anyone, and he comments a lot in the game, earning him the title of a "yapper."

"You guys don't have taste. How did that thing win first place?" That thing refers to a pretty decent outfit but doesn't match the theme.

"You don't look good either, hun," said the person in first place.

"You don't get to say that when your hair looks like puke, darling." He rage-chattered, saying everything he was typing out loud.

You were cackling beside your boyfriend, witnessing him rage while you were just perched on top of the 3rd place, happy you even got to go up there against all the fashionistas.

"Kids really have the gall to compete and insult adults with taste."

"Raf, you do understand that they're adults as well, right?"

"No, they're not. They're children. This is a kids' game."

You stared at him intently. He stared back, thinking.

"Then I don't need to hold back from insulting them." he placed his hand on the keyboard.

Rafayel's fits are absolutely top-tier. He always wins first place. The layering, the color combination, the form, and the aesthetic are all on point and top-tier. He doesn't reference, and the only time he does is when the theme requires it.

This man doesn't do duos with you because he wants the podium to himself. He once did a duo with you, and it broke his winning streak. You had a small argument about it, but you just gave in, eager to make him lose. Newsflash: You failed miserably.

He secretly joins a farming server every once in a while. Rafayel unknowingly joined the same server as you, and when you asked about it, he denied it, saying only people with bad tastes need to farm for stars. You sent him a screenshot. He didn't talk to you for a day.

He files a lot of complaints and goes on Twitter about how buggy the game is and how bad the texture is. He didn't know that his graphics were on low.

Rafayel is very active in the community and contributes to it during his free time. He uses an alternate account to post suggestions when Gigi opens a post about it. A lot of people actually agree with Rafayel's complaints and suggestions.

Rafayel once freaked out when he accidentally went inside the meat room and told you about it, but when he showed you, it was already catwalk time. You pretended you didn't believe him and tried to pretend to listen when he was searching for that passable wall. You laughed at him and brushed him off, pretending that you didn't believe him.

This began the downward spiral to Lana's lore. He kept on sending you reels about it—and speculations and theories. He even once invited you to that scary horror game, but he quit because it was too creepy and full of 'negative energy.'

Author footnotes: If I'm taking a break while writing, I would be playing dress to impress and I would be fighting children (i'm not joking, I once made a player and her friends leave the server)

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |

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seelestia · 4 months

Text

⟡ within your waking thoughts (there i’ll be).

⎯ what do they do when they miss you? how do they cope with yearning when you're away? { y for yearning �� ordered by @floraldresvi! (sorry for the ping!) }

RESERVED FOR! ノ characters. aventurine, sunday, dr. ratio ft. gn!reader. { 1.3k words }

FLAVOR! ノ genre. fluff, slight angst (my apology to sunday lovers yet again), established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ノ tags. aventurine has his tech savvy moment, pre-2.2 sunday (heavy references but no spoilers), ratio has two phones (king of separating work & personal life !!!).

BAKER’S NOTE! ノ thoughts. a repost! bcs tumblr didn't like it the first time. hopefully, this one will be here to stay. thank u to vivi for requesting this ‹3

in your absence, aventurine welcomes little thoughts of you that float around his mind with open arms - and the way he indulges them is by simply texting you. effective and efficient, there is a reason why the cosmos calls it the second most used means for long distance communication. what about the first? well, he would've opted for calling you with his earpiece if only his line of work doesn't require 90% of its usage time.

let's just say the idea of fellow stonehearts interrupting his conversation with you ruins the fun. besides, he has deft fingers; coin tricks aren't the only thing in his book, you know, typing a few sentences in one go is no problem at all.

but maybe, he is using that too much to his advantage . . . considering the “25+” staring back at you from your notifications every few hours or so. aventurine is truly, irrevocably relentless.

anything even remotely in your favorite color found within his vicinity? new message: Saw something that reminded me of you, you must really like crossing my mind.

an item he thinks would fit you well? new message: I got you a gift. Does it suit your fancy? [1 attachment]

reminded of how cruel fate is to separate you two for so long? new message: Haven't seen your face in a while. Fifteen hours are a total too cruel, don't you agree?

have faith that you will never grasp the true meaning of boredom when you’re apart from him. luck follows a man like aventurine, so do interesting events - remember how he won a vacation to a resort with one chip? he revels in telling you stories of his encounters while you're away. it is as if thrill revolves around him constantly. . . one wonders just how he fares living on the edge of it all.

(you, for one, are aware of his ways. he has allowed you to wander far enough behind his masquerade, after all.)

of course, texts on an illuminated screen can barely compare to seeing you in person. he prefers having you in his arms instead - but he'll live. solitude is an old friend of his, albeit distant and cold, aventurine can deal with its company every once in a while. at the end of the day, he knows you’ll be there when he comes home.

though, it's such a shame he cannot see your face when you're apart. the curve of your lips as you smile, the twinkle in your eyes with his reflection in them, and. . . ah, seems like he is making this harder for himself. maybe, he should consider buying that HD holographic communicative device on the market? his ears caught wind of some P45 officers at pier point whispering about it before.

it'll cost a large sum of credits but hey, he thinks it'll be worth it. for you? anything is possible.

(...him? clingy? well, guilty as charged.)

sunday’s self-discipline is not something to be underestimated. halovians are a species known for their enchanting voices, yet he feels as if he cannot spare any for even his inner thoughts. what an irony. his longing for your presence is persistent, tumbling at the edge of his tongue - but he is equally as, if not more, stubborn and so he swallows this yearning down instantly.

you are not confined to the dreamscape like he is, as self-imposed as that may be. sunday is aware of that, hence his first instinct is to keep quiet. the curse of sealing his lips till forevermore; watching you leave through the grand doors, letting his gaze fall to where your shadow used to be, savoring the last of your remaining fragrance from when you last bade him goodbye - all without a word.

(don't go, he wished he could say.)

is it a bad habit? “your voice shouldn't be used just to utter words that others want to hear,” you reminded him once. “it's also for you. it's yours.”

but even then, your words are akin to a faint whisper; muffled by the thoughts that plague his mind like a mist. he can't help how they fog up his reflection in the mirror, leaving remnants of something acrid that wafts in the air. something like doubts, sunday would know because he has dwelled in it for as long as he remembers.

you are outside, fluttering your wings in the sky and enjoying what it has to offer. does he have any rights to disturb you? perhaps, in his eyes, sunday views himself as a string tied around your talon, trailing all the way from the heavens where you soar to the humble ground where he resides. each time your absence compels him to reach out, it is as if he’s tugging on that string and dragging you lower from the height you truly relish in, from the height you deserve to be at.

(sunday believes that you belong to the sky, unlike him.)

so here, he shall stay and here, he shall wait until you return. sunday’s heart begins to grow cold - but the farewell kiss you've left on the apple of his cheek hasn't faded. its warmth remains, even when he brushes his freezing hand against it, it remains.

you remain.

(and that is enough for him.)

dr. ratio is a man with a packed schedule, so it's safe to say he keeps himself occupied particularly well. tasks at the intelligentsia guild are nothing short of demanding, after all. there are researchers asking for his input left and right, although some tremble while speaking to him even when he hasn't even uttered a word yet. ignoring that, he also aids in projects that require his expertise. last but not least, his students and classes which he takes very seriously.

(but be careful with how you phrase it — the doctor doesn't view them as distractions, no, he sees them as his responsibilities — saying the former might offend him.)

as you can see, he is perfectly capable of spending time away from you. . . .or at least, until it's time for a break and a part of that perfection chips off.

his office is quite tranquil, free from outside noise, just the way he likes. this place bears a similar purpose as his headgear, to let him focus in silence without disturbance - but he hasn't expected that exact silence to be this deafening. hah, how absurd! in what realm of possibility could silence ever be associated with deafening as an adjective? he supposes it could be a case of tinnitus. . . but veritas knows that isn't the case.

something's missing and it is, much to his dismay, you.

veritas has his standards. he prefers things to be set at a specific level - and this level of silence, one marred further by your lack of presence, is too low for him. he's getting too used to seeing you barge into his office with neatly packed sandwiches in your hands, a revelation he'd rather keep to himself.

veritas reaches for his personal phone, his work one left neglected at the far end of the desk. he considers making a call to you but the clock is ticking. tick tock tick tock, as if to hang the fact that his break is reaching its end over his head.

utilizing whatever time he has left, his finger gives the gallery app a tap. various pictures pop up on the screen; selfies of you with silly expressions, candid shots of veritas himself and some photos of random objects like your matching mugs. all of these were taken by you, of course. seriously, is this his phone or is it yours?

who knows at this point? he nearly lets out a snort, but that smile on his face is fooling no one. the doctor continues scrolling through his gallery, utterly content with just this until he gets home. to you.

(yes, yes, this still counts as keeping himself occupied. thank you for your concern.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

#hsr x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#aventurine x reader #sunday x reader #dr ratio x reader #hsr fluff #seelestial.inks #reveriesincups

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jasminumdew · 3 months

Text

Bear & Honey

Bear!Price x Beekeeper!Reader

Tag: fem reader, bear shifter John Price Word count: 638

It’s the second winter you’ll spend in this town. This one seems quite more brutal, with snow filling the ground in the beginning of November. Your beehives are all wrapped up, prepared for the bitter season. The bees started to become less active than in the warmer seasons since there were no flower fields blooming within this town in this temperature. To assist them, you mixed some sugar syrup and left it on the hive-top feeder. The beehives have been here for only half a year, so you’re not the most experienced when it comes to taking care of them. But your neighbor - John Price - was a great helper. You didn’t miss the way his crinkle eyes deepened when you asked him for help building the beehives. He sometimes stops by after work to check the frames or just to have some tablespoons of honey from you. He always offers to help you out, cause “that’s what neighbors are for, right?”.

However, recently you’ve been quite concerned over his health. John seems to be vulnerable to the cold, you thought, for last winter you never saw him go outside. At first you thought he went out of town, but the dim yellow light of the heater through his windows says otherwise. The only interaction was that every two weeks he texted you, pleading with you to buy him some food and a big jar of wild honey. You didn’t mind driving a few extra miles to help your hot, older neighbor a bit. Poor guy, too sick to take care of himself, so you cooked an extra portion every meal then left it at his front porch.

Last Sunday morning John went over your fences. There are bears around in this area lately, he said, though you’ve never seen or heard one, but John’s been living here for so long, so he must be right. Little did you know, the beehives are all destroyed by this early morning. All the honey was licked and devoured, even the frames were chewed and left the scattered debris all over the yard. You choked out a cry, throat tightening and eyes burning red, seeing months of your hard work dying out in front of you. It cannot be fixed, with the majority of the colony being eaten like this. The fences that John set up himself were also smashed by its massive weight.

You immediately call John to come by, in fear of bears still lurking around. The phone keeps beeping but he never answers. Your heart was beating like a drum in your chest, since your houses were so close to each other, could it be that John has already encountered the bear and was attacked by it? You instantly grab the nearby uncapping knife and run to his house. The front door was wide open, deep scratches on the wall and his wallpaper being torn, the smell of grass and honey lingers in the air of his house exposing the presence of the unwanted intruder. Your body shivers, you slowly head to his kitchen where you heard his voice.

“John? Are you okay?”. Before you finished your sentence, you saw John shape-shift into a giant brown bear just a few meters from you. His head snaps to your direction and runs towards you immediately. Before your head can even process what to do next, he pushes you to fall on your back, using his big furry body to pin you down. “Shh, don’t yell, calm down love”. Your lungs are burning from lack of air as you struggle to push him off of you. “I’m sorry for your hives, darling. I was starving, you’ll understand, right? You’ve been such a good girl for me. I can fix it in the spring, but for now, you’ll stay here with me”.

Note: this is my first time writing fiction so I know it's not really good, but I hope you guys had fun reading this.

#john price #captain john price #bear price #john price x reader #john price cod

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zegrasdrysdale · 7 months

Note

Hi! Could you do a Luke Hughes x reader where the reader still goes to UMich while Luke is in Jersey w/ Jack and she speculates he’s cheating on her? Angst with a happy ending, preferably? Thank you!

[ 604 miles ] l. hughes

paring : Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary : after seeing Luke on Jack’s private story, his girlfriend begins speculating that he’s doing more than just playing hockey

warning(s) : angst ! but w a happy ending. mentions of cheating. reader still goes to Umich

author’s note : oooh this is gonna be juicy

༺═──────────────═༻

She trusts Luke. She swear she does, but she can’t help but feel the little pull at her heart when she watches him in the background of Jack’s private story.

A bunch of their mutual Michigan friends started to text her while she was doing homework. Even fans on social media have been posting about it and tagging her in posts.

She was confused, then she opened Snapchat to see what they were talking about.

In one video, Jack’s drunk and dancing to some song that she doesn’t know. In the background, she sees her boyfriend sitting at a booth with some blonde at his side. He isn’t touching her, but she’s sitting too close to him.

In another video, Luke’s in the background dancing with that same girl. She notices the smile on Luke’s face when he faces the camera.

It brings tears to her eyes as she jumps to an immediate conclusion. She’s been right every time so far.

She truly thought he was different than the other hockey players she dated. They all cheated on her too, and Luke promised her over and over again that he would never do that to her.

Well, here he is. Probably cheating on her and Jack is posting it all over his private Snap story for all their mutual friends to see. It’s embarrassing for her.

It took months for Luke to break down the wall she built around her heart. They met halfway through their freshman year at Michigan. It wasn’t until the beginning of their sophomore year that they started dating.

With her sadness turning into anger and tears rolling down her hot face, she calls Luke. It keeps ringing. And ringing. So she calls one more time.

And gets his voicemail.

“Luke Warren Hughes, you have five minutes to call me back or you’re going to end up without a girlfriend,” she says into the phone. “I mean it. And you better have a damn good reason you’re dancing with some random blonde girl on Jack’s Snapchat.” Then she hits the end button and puts the phone on her desk with the screen up.

A minute passes and her phone doesn’t ring. She doesn’t get a text.

Two minutes pass and her fingers are itching to call him again. She wants to stay true to her word because if Luke has a good explanation as to why he’s with some blonde then he’ll call her back.

Four minutes pass from the call. She drafts a text to Jack that she’s going to send in a minute if her phone doesn’t ring.

‘ tell luke i’m going to send him his things that i have in my apartment and that i want mine back. i’m done. ’

After five minutes pass, she sends the text.

It’s not the first time that this has happened, and it’s the last. Not only is she done with Luke, she’s done with any hockey boys in general. Too many times has she gotten her heart broken because the relationship had to go long distance. Too many times has she had too much trust.

Two minutes after she sents Jack the text, her phone rings. Jack is calling her.

“I really don’t feel like explaining why-”

“What do you mean you’re done?” Luke interrupts before she can finish her sentence. “What did I do?”

Her jaw drops. “You can’t be serious, Luke,” she replies. “I saw you in the background of Jack’s snaps getting too comfortable with a blonde girl. Sitting with her and a smile on your face while dancing with her? You told me you wouldn’t break my heart.”

“That’s not- baby, she’s a friend,” Luke tries to defend. “Jack’s friend if I’m being honest. He was busy hanging out with Nico and Dawson so she came to sit with me. She dragged me out onto the dance floor and told me to dance. I told her I had a girlfriend and she still dragged me to the dance floor and got close to me. I didn’t try to do anything with her because I don’t want to.”

Tears sting her eyes. “I gave you a chance to explain yourself,” she tells him. “I called you twice before I texted Jack. It took me texting Jack before you called me from his phone. You told me you’d never break my heart but you did. I don’t trust you, Luke. I’ve been told that same story over and over again.”

Luke stays silent. She has to dry her own tears that have rolled down her cheeks. She has to cover her mouth so she doesn’t let out a sob that he hears.

She’s standing her ground. She’s protecting her heart. The 604 miles between them should be enough space and make it easier to move on.

“(Y/N), I would never cheat on you,” Luke tells her. She can hear the sincerity in his voice but she still doesn’t believe him.

“Luke, I can’t right now,” she softly says. She’s pretty sure he can’t even hear her because of how loud it is in the bar or wherever they are. “I’m sorry.”

Then she hangs up. She shuts her phone off and crawls into bed, completely forgetting about her homework. All she wants to do right now is wallow.

His words are just words. She knows what she saw. Right now, nothing that Luke can say to her will change her mind about being done.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s nearly two in the afternoon when she hears a knock on her off-campus apartment door. She hasn’t gotten up out of bed in nearly forty-eight hours except to use the bathroom. Her phone hasn’t been turned on since her talk with Luke the other day.

Someone is probably coming to check on her since she has fallen off the face of the Earth for the moment. That is the only reason why she drags herself out of bed to go answer the door.

When she swings open the door, it’s the last person she expects to be on her doorstep. He actually supposed to be in California right now. They have a game to play in a few hours in Anaheim.

Luke holds a single rose out for her and a little basket full of snacks is in his other hand. “I was going to get a whole bouquet for you but I forgot to grab one at the store,” he tells her. “If anyone asks, I did not pull this from the bed by the front door of the building.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to talk,” he replies. “You haven’t been replying to any of my texts or answering my calls. I told Lindy that I needed a few personal days and he told me that I can come back when I’m ready to. I didn’t want you to keep thinking that I was cheating on you or hurting you. That was never my intention.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the apartment. Luke is quick to follow her and shut the door behind her. “You can say what you have to say then you can get on a flight to Anaheim to play tonight,” she tells him as she sits on the couch in the living room.

He sets the basket of snacks on the coffee table in front of her and sets the rose next to it. Luke pulls out his phone and taps on it for a second. She’s about to say something when he shows her his screen.

It’s a picture of the blonde girl that was with Luke, but she’s all cuddled up with Jack. Jack looks happy and is looking at her like she’s the only person in the world. It was taken at the beginning of the night because she can tell that there is something behind Jack’s eyes.

“It’s Jack’s ‘friend’,” Luke assures her. “They’re together but aren’t telling people they’re together but they make it obvious that they are. The reason she was hanging out with me for a little bit was because she wanted to know how to tell Jack that she’s ready to publicly be together.”

She looks up at Luke behind the phone. “You couldn’t answer your phone and just tell me that?” she asks.

“I left it in the car,” he tells her. He taps on the screen a few more times and holds up a screenshot of his and Jack’s locations. They weren’t together, and it looks like Luke was right outside the building.

It’s all making sense to her. Her and her trust issues were wrong this time.

A pout forms on her lips at the same time tears form in her eyes. “You really weren’t lying to me,” she mumbles. Her voice is incredibly shaky.

“I told you that I would never break your heart,” Luke tells her. “Not intentionally. I definitely wouldn’t cheat on you. I know you’re past with that and no matter how upset I am with you, I wouldn’t resort to that. Unlike everyone else you’ve been with, I’m more willing to communicate. Hell, I took time away from the team to come make sure we were okay.”

One of the tears rolls down her cheeks and Luke uses the back of his pointer finger to wipe it away. She leans into his touch and looks at him. “I’m sorry, Luke,” she says. It comes out as more of a sob than actual words.

He moves closer to her and throws an arm over her shoulders. She curls up against him and Luke kisses the top of her head. “It’s okay,” he assures her. “I know how you think so I gave you a little bit then came to talk to you. Just needed you to think with your head and not your past.”

She frowns and throws her legs over his lap. Luke holds her close.

“Do you want to go to Anaheim to play?” she asks as she looks up at him. “There’s enough time for you to make it for warmups.”

Luke shakes his head. “I think I want to spend a few days with you,” he replies. “I’m pretty sure they can handle a couple of games without me. I need a handful of days off where I don’t think about hockey. I haven’t been playing the best so a break sounds nice.”

“It’s your first season,” she tells him as she runs her fingers through his curls. “There is so much pressure on you because of your last name. You’re most likely feeling it without realizing it.”

He looks at his girlfriend. “I know,” he sighs. “Just give me a few days and I’ll head back to Jersey to play when they get back from the California trip.”

She leans forward and presses a long kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” she tells him. “I think you’ll grow into your NHL skates. You’ll have an insane season next season, or even for the last 20 something games of the season.”

“I love you too,” Luke replies. “Sorry I made you think I was cheating on you.”

“Got you to come see me so I guess I forgive you,” she teases.

It’s been a few weeks since Luke came to see her. They watched the All Star game together in the apartment. That was the last time they saw each other.

Luke gets comfortable on the couch. “Can we take a nap since we’re okay?” he asks. “I’m exhausted.”

“Only if we move to the bed because you are too big to share a couch with.”

༺═──────────────═༻

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withwritersblock · 4 months

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Sunflower

~Sunflower by Shannon Purser~

Author's Note: requested ! also I have no impulse control and as soon as I finished a fic I must post it despite it being midnight my time italics are flashbacks and also trying not to repeat gifs but I have written so many Luke fics I'm afraid I may have to lmaoooo Summary: Y/N gets insecure over being the "average" Hughes girlfriend Warnings: insecurities regarding appearance Word Count: 2,593 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

Luke had two motivations to going to class. One, he wouldn’t be able to play hockey if he didn’t go. Two, there was a beautiful girl that sometimes sat beside him in class. The lecture class was three days a week and usually she would sit two seats away from him. But every so often someone would sit in her usual seat so she would sit beside him.

He’s only spoken two sentences to her. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?” and “Thanks.” He was sure his voice cracked and went embarrassingly high pitch but she was more than polite. She even let him keep the pen, which he thought was overly kind.

Here he was twenty minutes early to the lecture, prepped with her pen and his notebook. He had one Airpod in his ear, blasting his country playlist as he stared at the blank notebook page. He was sitting in his usual seat in the giant lecture hall, watching each person walk in and sit in their regular seat. His heart jumped in his throat as he saw her walk in from the opposite side of the lecture hall.

He kept his gaze on her, she had stopped short looking towards his direction. He watched her walk towards their section of the lecture hall. He dropped his gaze towards the notebook paper as he could hear his own heartbeat. Clenching his jaw, his cheeks heated up because she was coming closer.

He leaned back in his seat, subtly shifting his gaze towards her. He watched her walk past her usual seat and sit down directly beside him. He felt himself start to smile but he cleared his throat as he turned his gaze towards the paper.

“I decided to stop fighting for that seat,” she let out, pulling her notebook from her backpack. Luke turned his head, to meet her gaze. “Hope you don’t mind,” she mumbled.

He pressed his lips together, fighting his grin, “Not at all,” he let out, he leaned forward as he let out a huff of air, “Who knows I may need to steal another pen.”

She giggled but he wanted to punch himself. Why would he say that? That was dumb, very dumb.

“It’s not stealing if I gave you permission,” she offered as she tapped her pen against the notebook. He looked into her eyes, a soft smile formed to his lips. “You’re here early,” she observed.

He tilted his head to the side, while he squinted his eyes slightly. “So are you,” he let out.

“I was trying to get to my seat first,” she mumbled while scanning his features. “But you were here and I wanted to talk,” she let out, her eyes widened slightly at the words leaving her own lips. He ran his hand over his nose as he fought the smile forming on his lips.

“Talk about what?” he let out barely above a whisper. She pursed her lips forward as she fought off a smirk.

It had been a year since they first started dating. After eight months together, he had joined the Devils. It was hard and nearly impossible but they were determined to make it work. She was still on winter break and was planning on staying in Jersey with Luke for a week.

She was manuvering through the airport with her suitcase trailing behind her. Her eyes were wandering the airport as she was trying to find her tall curly haired boy. It had been two months since she has last seen him and it was starting to consume her.

She spotted him leaning against a random wall, staring down at his phone. A wide grin formed to her lips as she began walking faster towards him. He lifted his gaze, as if he knew she was close. Instantly, their eyes connected. Luke smiled widely as he shoved his phone into his pocket. He started jogging towards her, he knew he looked ridiculous but his girlfriend was only a couple of feet away.

She let go of her suitcase as she jumped into his arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck. A chuckle leaving his throat as he tightly wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hi,” he whispered into her ear as he spun her around.

After a few seconds he delicately placed her on the ground, as he scanned her features with a soft smile on his lips. “I love you,” he mumbled as he pulled her towards his chest again, he was never a fan of PDA. Hugs were the furthest he’d ever take it in public, and she was fully comfortable with that.

“I love you too,” she mumbled into his ear as she slowly ran her fingers through the ends of his curls. “Your hair is getting so long,” she continued.

“I haven’t really had time to get a haircut,” he let out shyly as he pulled away from her reluctantly. He reached behind her taking a hold of her suitcase. They began walking side by side out of the airport.

“I like it,” she said while glancing towards him again. He smiled as he took a hold of the small of her back, pulling her towards his side.

They stepped into the apartment together, Luke laughing at something Y/N said as his gaze landed on Jack and his girlfriend sitting on the couch together. They were cuddling and whispering towards one another.

Luke’s smile faltered as he saw them together, Y/N walked in behind Luke. “Hey man, thought you were staying at Nico’s tonight,” Luke let out as he stepped inside, rolling the suitcase against the wall. He quickly wrapped his arm around Y/N’s center back, pulling her to his side.

Y/N couldn’t help but stare towards the girl sitting beside Jack. She’s met her briefly over FaceTime and each time she was shocked at the beauty she oozed. She was an actual model who lived in New York. It was no shock to the hockey world that Jack Hughes would get in a relationship with a famous New York model. Especially one who was as stunning and as perfect as her.

Y/N looked down towards her attire, the UMich hoodie on her frame paired with sweatpants really made her feel droopy.

Jack smiled as he stood up from the couch, “Yeah, I was about to take Anna back to her place,” he mumbled as he smiled towards Y/N. “Luke’s been miserable without you,” he let out as he wrapped his arms around her. She hesitantly hugged him back. “Come on, baby,” Jack let out as Anna stood up from the couch. She met Y/N’s gaze, smiling politely before she followed Jack out of the apartment.

Luke pressed his lips together as he turned his head to the side, scanning Y/N’s features. She had a small frown on her lips while she stared towards the floor. He furrowed his eyebrows as he delicately took a hold of her hand. She tilted her head to meet his eye. “You okay?” he asked, pouting his lip slightly.

“I’m just tired from the flight,” she muttered, “Can I shower real fast?”

He nodded as he delicately ran his thumb over the top of her hand. “Want me to join you?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” she mumbled. He nodded as he reached for her suitcase. He guided her towards his bedroom. Her eyes danced around the room excitedly. It was empty beside photos scattered around the room. The photos were mainly just him and Y/N. But there was a lot of photos of him with his UMich team and when he got drafted.

“Bathroom is right there, beauty,” he mumbled pointing towards the door directly outside of his bedroom. He examined her features once more, she looked tired and all he wanted to do was hold her.

She smiled politely towards him as she walked towards it. He furrowed his eyebrows harshly as he slowly sat down on his bed. She stepped inside the bathroom, locking it behind her.

She stared towards her reflection, cringing at her appearance. She could’ve tried a little harder to look presentable for Luke. She leaned towards her reflection suddenly comparing herself to the girl on the couch. Luke could easily get someone as gorgeous as Anna.

Jack wasn’t the only Hughes brother dating a model, Quinn recently started dating one. She was also out of this world stunning and the mere perfection of what beauty should be. Quinn has been showing her off to all of his private socials, it was hard to not compare herself to these girls.

She was average. She was average in looks and in status. She had nothing to bring to the Hughes family. She has mountains of student debt and average looks and an average life. She was boring, how could she compare?

Suddenly she was crying, she wasn’t sure when it happened. The longer she made eye contact with herself, the more the tears filled her eyes. It wasn’t easy being with Y/N, she was hundreds of miles away. It would be easier for him to find a model to fall in love with that lived a few miles away. Why would he want her? She had nothing to offer.

She took a deep breath as she quickly ripped her clothes off and jumped into the shower, she needed to stop looking at herself. She couldn’t continue to compare herself to the definition of beauty girls.

The hot water hit her face, concealing the tears falling onto her cheeks. It was embarrassing. She should be confident, he loved her. He thought she was beautiful. She wished she felt beautiful when she was with him, but it was difficult when his brothers chose obviously gorgeous girls.

After ten minutes she climbed out of the shower, wrapped herself with a spare towel. She walked out of the bathroom towards Luke’s room. He was lying on his bed, shirtless, with a pair of pajama pants on. He smiled towards her admiring her nearly naked wet frame.

“I cannot wait until this is a view I get every day,” he let out with a grin on his lips. She rolled her eyes playfully as her heart began to race. She glanced towards the suitcase that was zipped open for her.

Normally she would have some flirty banter to bounce back with Luke but she was quiet. Afraid the tears she had just shed would be evident in her voice. He clenched his jaw, his smile slipping from his lips. She took a hold of a matching pajama set and walked back towards the bathroom. He frowned as he watched her walk away.

It was weird for her to not simply change clothes in front of him. He wasn’t upset, but he was confused. It took her another few minutes to reemerge from the bathroom. “Are you okay?” he asked bluntly. She nodded as she shut the door behind her, twisting the lock. “Baby, I know you’re not alright, what’s wrong?” he questioned as he scanned her frame.

Tilting her head back, she took a deep breath. “It’s just been a long day, I’m tired ‘s all,” she mumbled as she walked towards the bed. Luke sat up, resting his feet on the ground. She sat down beside him, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Did Jack say something to you? Did he say something-”

“No, Luke, I’m fine. I swear,” she mumbled as her lip quivered. His eyes widened. She shut her eyes harshly as she dropped her gaze.

“What’s going on?” he asked barely above a whisper. She took a shaky breath as she rolled her eyes.

Shaking her head, she let out, “Do you see the girls your brother’s date?”

He nodded slowly, trying to understand.

“Like they are the definition of perfect,” she let out with a huff of air, “I mean there is not a single thing wrong with them. I mean, you could easily date one of those girls yourself. You could easily get one of those girls to fall in love with you because you are so perfect,” she let out with a sob rising in her throat.

“Y/N,” he let out barely above a whisper.

“I mean it’s expected right? NHL stars are supposed to date the pretty models and the pretty actresses and the-” she let out a shaky breath, “You’re not supposed to be with the average college girl. I’m supposed to be some girl you date before fame. I’m supposed to be some ex you forget about. You’re supposed to have a beautiful family with a beautiful gir-”

He took a cautious hold of her chin, pulling her gaze towards his. His eyes were teary as she scanned his features. “I will have a beautiful family,” he mumbled. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stop the tears from falling, “I will have a beautiful family with a beautiful girl,” he continued.

“That beautiful girl is you,” he whispered while he raised his hand up slightly, his thumb wiping a tear off of her cheek. “I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m serious,” he mumbled.

“Luke-”

“Let me finish,” he muttered, a small smile on his lips, “I hated that history class. I hated it so much I almost dropped out of the class. I was going to take it online next semester and forget about it. Until you sat beside me, you sat beside me and I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t focus because you were the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. All I could think about was how am I going to get this gorgeous girl out on a date with me,”

She pulled away from him, dropping her gaze towards the floor. “I was so nervous to talk to you, I asked for a pen and I had a prepubecent voice crack in the process,” he explained, a chuckle leaving his throat. She let out a small laugh.

He took a hold of her chin again, “I don’t want some girl who’s only personality is being pretty. I want my gorgeous girl who is funny, smart, independent, and the kindest person I have ever met,” he paused as he watched a small smile form to her lips, “You’re the whole package, baby doll,” he let out with a small chuckle.

“You were doing so good until you said baby doll,” she teased. He smirked as she pulled away from his hand. She wiped the tears away from her face, taking in a long breath. “I love you,” she let out as she tilted her head to the side. He smiled as he tilted his head back; fighting tears of his own.

“I love you so much,” he let out as he pouted his lips slightly, “You know that, right? Am I not doing a good job at showing you that?”

She shook her head as she stared into his eyes, “Oh my god, Luke, you are perfect,” she mumbled as she quickly climbed onto his lap, straddling him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, she stared into his eyes. “You are doing everything right,” she muttered as she lowered her gaze towards his lips.

He nodded as he licked his lips. He glided his hands up and down her hips slowly as he leaned towards her kissing her softly.

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes #luke hughes fanfic #jack hughes imagines #hockey #nhl fic #nhl x reader #nhl #nhl imagines #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes #nj devils #new jersey devils fic #new jersey devils x reader

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stllmnstr · 1 month

Text

sacred monsters: part three

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part three word count: 22.3k

part three warnings: swearing, blood and other vampire-y things — you know the drill, plenty of tension (of both the general and sexual sort), still nothing explicit but we’re getting a little ~sexier~, a kiss 😈

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

note: my favorite chapter yet. I hope you love it too. happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

PART THREE

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Biting your lip, you stare at the screen of your phone. The email you’re currently trying to draft has been completely blank for the last eight minutes. Other than the addressee line, that is.

Despite the elapsing time, Professor Kim’s email address is the only field you’ve been able to fill out.

Not without good reason, of course. It’s a delicate balance you’re trying to strike. After all, the last time you saw him, he was covered in blood. Fully deranged. Convinced of whatever motive spurred his actions enough to throw a dart at you. Inject vampire poison directly into your veins.

Fleeing from the scene of his supposed crime with a strange look in his bloodshot eyes.

Beyond that, there are other obstacles to consider. The only contact information you have for your professor is his official university email address. You doubt it’s monitored regularly, but you’d rather not have a paper trail of damning accusations in your wake stored forever on a public server.

Sighing, you let your phone fall to your lap for a moment. You’ve been awake for nearly an hour now, and you haven’t quite worked up the courage to leave the confines of Heeseung’s bedroom.

It could be beneficial, you suppose, to ask him for help. He’s more than proven his discerning eye for matters like this. But that would involve leaving the safety of your current location, even if it is illusory at best. And it’s not like Heeseung has shown any support for your plan to contact your professor.

Besides, if you can’t handle something as simple as a well-crafted email, how are you ever going to manage profiling an unusually cognizant vampire without raising suspicion? No, this is something you need to do on your own. Even if only to reassure yourself that you can.

Bringing your phone back to eye level, you type:

Dear Professor Kim,

It’s cordial. A standard greeting from a student to their professor. Nothing that would raise a red flag, warrant further investigation.

I apologize for not being able to attend our scheduled draft meeting on Wednesday afternoon. There have been quite a few unexpected events in the last few days…

You frown, backspacing through that last sentence.

Something unavoidable came up, and I was not able to provide prior notice.

You don’t love it, but it will have to work.

If possible, I would love to reschedule our meeting. I am still thrilled about the opportunity to discuss my draft with you in person. I took the liberty of previewing several of New Haven’s recently published works, and I believe that my work will make a fitting contribution to the existing canon. For your convenience, I have attached a copy of my current draft for your review.

Regarding the internship, I am still highly interested in pursuing that opportunity as well. I believe that my personal interests are well-suited to New Haven’s core beliefs and values. I would love to find another time to formally tour the New Haven Publishing facilities. I believe that you have a great capacity for mentorship and would be honored to work alongside you in the coming months.

You read over your message once. Twice. Deciding that it will only sound worse the more it lingers in your mind, you add your signature to the end. Then you close your eyes, take a deep, steadying inhale, and press send before you can change your mind.

The small whoosh sound as the message leaves your inbox and slides into his feel almost anticlimactic. You’re dealing with vampires and careful allusions in subtext. Things that seem more suited to a quill and parchment than an email typed on a smartphone.

With the message sent, your mind is suddenly free to wander to other things. Despite the strange, frantic jumble of events that have occurred in the past handful of days, you’re still tethered to your mortality. Now, that manifests as a grumble in your stomach.

Although you’re sure the bag next to the nightstand truly is the result of Jake’s best efforts, the rather lacking grocery run he did hasn’t been doing you many favors nutritionally.

For a fleeting moment, the idea of only needing to feed once a year is almost something that inspires envy. It would certainly make things simpler.

While you’re contemplating the merits of peeling yet another clementine, a knock rings out against the door. Three firm raps that have you nearly jumping out of your skin.

It’s another unfortunate side effect of humanity, your infallible skittishness. Distantly, you wonder when that will start to fade. If it will. Fear these days has a way of feeling etched to your bones, painted against the backs of your eyelids. A shadow that never strays far from your footsteps, no matter how quiet they are.

It’s not unexpected, given the things your mind has been subjected to as of late, but it is starting to wear on you.

Most of all, you miss feeling safe. Not so constantly, painfully aware of your own mortality, your capacity for injury. For death.

For now, you force yourself to breathe. One deep inhale followed by a long exhale. It’s just one of the boys, you’re sure.

But you can’t even linger on that too long. If you do, they stop being boys in your mind and start becoming five-hundred-year-old immortal, blood drinking beings with supernatural powers. It’s a lot to handle, especially at nine in the morning.

Shoving your fear to the side the best that you can, you force your voice into something steady. “Come in.”

It’s Heeseung that enters. Tentatively, on slow footsteps, as if this space doesn't belong to him. It’s strange, you think, how out of place a person can look in their own room. And it’s not that he doesn’t fit in with his surroundings as much as it is that he appears to be brimming with unease. A tension that sits just below his skin and won’t let him relax.

Eyes that can’t decide where to land, that flit around the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time. Hands that war between resting at his sides versus making themselves busy. Pushing at his hair, tugging at his shirt.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was nervous.

Finally, after a moment of stilted silence, his gaze lands on you.

And it’s all too much like time you spent in an empty classroom at adjacent desks, reading each other’s words. The moments you stole under moonlight after he insisted on walking you home. It’s not that the discomfort fades. But when he looks at you like that, it has a way of becoming irrelevant. An afterthought.

Eyes meeting across the room, the only thing that exists between the two of you is the gentle fragility of the moment. A blip in time that extends until it’s stretched too thin. Until it snaps, forcing you back to reality.

“I came to check on you,” he finally says. “To see how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, averting your eyes. It’s a cop out, yes, but it’s also the truth. You are fine. Even if it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of it as much as you are him.

Heeseung worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. Smooth, flat, even teeth. You wonder if he has control of it, when his fangs come out. If there are moments when he doesn’t, when control passes from his careful grip to the whims of his fading inhibitions.

But for now, at least, he’s as guarded as ever.

It doesn’t detract from his consideration. “I thought you might want to go to your apartment,” he offers. “Get some of your own clothes. Spend a little time in a familiar place.”

Sensing an opportune moment, your stomach grumbles audibly.

Heeseung suppresses a grin. As if he’s charmed by it, you and your undeniable humanity. “Get some real food in you.”

It’s hard, at first, not to feel like he’s trying to kick you out. And it’s stupid, probably, to be in a vampire’s house feeling insecure about the space you take up, the effects of your presence. The fragile hope that something in him wants you there.

But you’ve gotten better at reading his intentions, even when he does his best to keep them under lock and key. You’ve traded too many secrets to feel shunned. It’s concern that he wraps his offer in, not contempt.

And you really are hungry. “I could go for some food.”

It’s sweet, the way he asks if you have a favorite restaurant. A spot for take-out that you frequent on busy nights when you’re too tired to cook anything.

And it gives you a good excuse to drag him along to your favorite coffee shop. You’re the one that’s stunned into silence, though, when he tells the barista that you’ll take the food to go. And when he hands her a small wad of cash before you can get a protest in edgewise.

You don’t press him on it, but the look you give him is question enough.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he explains as you wait for your food. “We, well, you can eat there.”

It hits you then, in the middle of a cafe you frequent, that you don’t even have to think about it. You’re nodding before his words have time to fully process. For some reason, placing small bits of trust in him feels like second nature.

But now, a handful of minutes later, staring up at a very tall ladder with your takeout bag in hand, you’re having second thoughts.

It’s not that you’re afraid of heights particularly, but…

“I don’t know…” you trail off, gaze still fixated on the top of the ladder. The longer you look, the further away it seems. When Heeseung said he wanted to show you something, you didn’t think the local water tower would be involved in any capacity. “Is this even allowed?”

Next to you, Heeseung just shrugs. “I’ve never gotten in trouble.”

“You know,” you glance at him sideways, “that’s really not all that reassuring.”

“C’mon,” he urges, and he has that glint in his eye. The one that would probably have you following him off a cliff if he asked nicely enough. “The view is worth it. I promise.”

Eyes squinting against the glint of winter sunlight and the prospect of scaling a water tower, you swallow audibly. “It better be,” you grumble.

Heeseung, like you, has gotten better at picking up on the little details. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know that he’s won.

“You go first.” He nods towards the ladder.

That you are about to argue against when he adds, “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

So with one final exhale and hands that tremble slightly, you walk until you reach the first rung of the ladder.

“Wait,” Heeseung calls from behind. You turn to find him walking towards you, hand outstretched. “I’ll carry the bag.”

Wordlessly, you slide the takeout bag off of your wrist, handing it to him. At this point, you don’t care if it's chivalry or concern for your ability to scale a ladder that motivates his offer. You’re reeling either way. Despite his promise to catch you, you can’t shake the feeling that the odds of you plummeting straight to the ground from some awful height are greater than zero. You’ll minimize all the risks that you can.

So, with a steady breath and a racing heartbeat you’re sure he can hear, you start your shaky ascent.

Only once, during the entire climb, do you glance down.

It’s not like you ever suspected Heeseung of breaking a promise prematurely, but the sight of him a few rungs beneath you is reassuring all the same. Even if the distance between you and the ground as your gaze shifts over his shoulder is decidedly not.

And a few, hard earned minutes later, you have to give it to him. You hate to admit that he was right, but the view is absolutely breathtaking.

The golden glow of late morning winter sunlight cascades over the city that raised you, now just a tangle of lights and roads and tiny buildings in the vast expanse far beneath you. It’s an entirely new perspective on the place where all of your first dreams were realized, where the plans for your future have started coming to fruition.

In the distance, traces of snow dust the tops of the mountains. You’re nearly eye level with them now, those peaks that have always seemed so unreachable. It’s a vantage point that has you tilting your head, wishing you could capture it forever.

Beneath you, the city teems with life. The hustle and bustle you’re usually caught up in suddenly feels far away, removed from you. Signs of life feel like something you observe, admire with curiosity but don’t belong to yourself.

Fleetingly, you wonder if all of Heeseung’s years have passed in a similar fashion. If the sight of a million headlights in the distance makes him feel closer to his humanity or further from it than ever.

You exhale, breath visible in the frigid air.

Next to you, Heeseung remains silent. Lets you take it all in without so much as a word. But his presence is something your attention never strays far from. The sound of his breath, the space he takes up in your periphery and in your mind.

Once you start looking, it’s hard to tear your gaze away. But after another moment, you turn to face him. The winter wind plays with your hair, skims across your cheekbones. The distance between you and him feels almost as much like a ravine as it does nonexistent.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. But your eyes are dancing in dangerous territory. The curve of his jaw. The bridge of his nose. The deep hues of his eyes. The sudden memory of what it was like to be inside his mind, to occupy a space so intrinsically him it felt like an invasion of privacy.

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll respond at all. But your predictions have never been solid where he’s concerned.

“I thought you might like it.” Reaching out, he offers you your food again. “Here. I also thought it might be nice to eat with a view. Some fresh air.”

You move to take a seat where you stand, but Heeseung isn’t satisfied yet. He’s braver than you. It may be an unfair assessment, given the nature of his established perpetuity.

Still, your heart seizes a bit in your chest as you watch him inch closer to the edge of the water tower, slide down into a seated position with his legs dangling off of the side.

Deciding that you’ve had enough reminders of your mortality this morning, you slide down where you are. Setting the takeout bag down beside you, you pull your bagel out. Grateful that it’s held onto its warmth, you unwrap it, taking a bite.

It’s almost good enough to have you groaning out loud. Thankfully, you’re able to tamp that urge down before it comes to fruition.

After another handful of equally delicious bites, your eyes land on Heeseung’s back. Frowning, you remember the first essay from that strange book you found in the library nearly two weeks ago.

Sacred Monsters, it was called. The Taste of Blood.

A sudden question pulls at your lips. You’re not sure what the proper etiquette is, of asking vampires about their personal cuisine preferences. Swallowing, you decide far more invasive truths have already passed between the two of you.

He’s still looking out over the city, still a few feet in front of you. But you keep your voice quiet, as if he were seated at your side. You know he’ll hear it all the same.

“Can you eat?” you ask the silhouette of his back. “Human food, I mean.”

Turning to look at you over his shoulder, Heeseung pauses for a moment. He must decide that standing is preferable to responding, because with the grace of a trained dancer, he rises to his full height. Takes a few even steps before he’s right next to you.

Then, he slides back down into a seated position at your side, this time separated from you by only scant inches.

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I’ve never tried. But everything about it,” he glances at your bagel, “the smell, the texture, the look, is very… unappetizing.”

You wonder if that’s why he chose to sit away from you, if it’s causing him any grief to be so close now. But he doesn’t seem all that perturbed.

“That’s too bad.” A tone of light teasing playing at the edges of your voice, you nod toward what’s left of your bagel. “I was going to offer you a bite.”

You don’t miss it, the way his eyes fall to the side of your neck, just under your jaw. The place where your wound is still healing. The bite mark he left there. It’s covered by a bangade now. The thought of walking in public with such an obvious injury felt reckless, like an invitation for unwanted attention. But you’re still painfully aware of its presence. As is he, it would seem.

“Hm,” he muses, gaze sliding back to your eyes lazily. “Tempting.”

You know he can hear it, the way your heart skips a beat at the implication. The undeniable hint of something that clouds his words. You’re not sure how to identify it, the emotion that has heat flaring beneath your cheekbones. Thrill, maybe. The kind you get in your stomach just before the roller coaster drops.

But there’s a sensation that pools deeper, tugs at you from just below your naval. Something lost in translation as your struggle to sort the feelings memories of that night inspire.

Whatever it is, your body betrays you all the same. There’s a flush in your heat and a thrum in your chest and something else entirely gathering at the base of your spine. You decide that taking another bite is the best method of defusal. It takes a concentrated effort not to choke on it.

“Did you have one before?” You’re suddenly desperate to shift the direction of the conversation. “A favorite food, I mean.”

For a moment, Heeseung is quiet. You’re suddenly worried that you’ve overstepped, landed on a sore subject.

But then he reaches out his hand, letting it hover right above your wrist. “Can I?”

He’s asking for permission, you realize, to paint more images for you with his mind.

Tamping down on the flicker of surprise that rises, you nod. And then his fingers, gentle as the fleeting kiss of a butterfly’s wings, are once again encircling the curve of your wrist.

You’re more prepared for it this time, the way the city, nestled in the valley of snow-topped mountains, begins to disappear. As it does, a decidedly warmer image takes its place.

You’re in a kitchen, one lost to the centuries. A woman in a long, plain dress and an apron tied around her waist leans over the fire fueled oven, pulls out a tray of delicious looking pastries.

Her careful actions are infused with love as she sprinkles a fresh coat of sugar on top of the baking tray, as she meticulously places a handful of fresh raspberries in the center of each perfect pastry.

In the vision, a boy appears. You feel your heart melt a bit at the sight of him, at this version of Heeseung that can’t be older than twelve. He’s brimming with boyish energy, laughing as he’s admonished for taking a bite before the pastries have properly cooled. Fanning his burnt tongue with a frantic hand.

Grinning ear to ear when he sneaks another as soon as the woman’s back is turned. His emotions are as plain as day, in the way children’s always are. The honesty of his joy is painfully apparent in the way his eyes crinkle in amusement, the way they hold no traces of melancholy, no weight from the world.

And then, just as surely as it came to you, the scene begins to dissolve. As it fades, you turn to Heeseung. His eyes are the same, as that boy from his vision’s, but there’s more depth to them now. The end result of a gaze that bears the brunt force of five hundred years of weight.

“Fresh raspberry cakes,” he tells you, some kind of distant sorrow for a long lost memory outlining his words. “Those were my favorite.”

Hoping to ease some of the heaviness, you offer him a small smile. “You have a good memory. I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast last week.”

But your words don’t have their intended effect. His focus is on the mountains in the distance when he tells you, “We remember everything. In excruciating detail. It’s different from humans, I suppose. Our minds don’t shift to make room for new memories. They just… expand. Hold more.” He sighs, and it’s lost somewhere in the wind. “Things from the past, no matter how distant, never blur. They never fade.”

He can paint hallucinations with his mind. He drinks blood. And still, as you gaze at his profile, you think this might be the most horrifying thing he’s told you yet.

You can’t imagine it, having all of your past stored so fully in your mind. All the ebbs and flows, the pain, joy, sorrow from your life.

And he has five hundred years of it.

It strikes you then, at the top of a water tower, at the precipice of a debilitating revelation, just how insignificant this will all be for him. Your lifetime that will be nothing but a blip on a radar. A moment, never forgotten perhaps, but lost to time all the same.

You’ll grow, age, change. You’ll graduate university and find a way to support yourself into early adulthood. You might move to a new city, learn a new language, pick up a new hobby. All of the ways people find to fill the limited time that they have, to make the most of the finite days they’re blessed with.

You might even fall in love. Start a family. Sit on a porch one day, surrounded by grandchildren. Smiling as they laugh at your inability to understand the ways the world is changing, grinning at their disbelief as you explain how different things were in your childhood.

And then, inevitably, it will end. The community you’ve found, the family you’ve built, will mourn you. Your life, like so many that came before yours, will fade into the background of the cosmos, surviving only in the memory of those that knew you.

And for him, nothing will change. He’ll look the same, sound the same, be the same. Constant. Unwavering. Immune to the whims of time and the insignificance of something as fragile as humanity.

You wonder, for a fleeting moment, how you’ll be committed to his everlasting memory. What shape the imprint of you will take.

When he looks back, five hundred years from now, and can still recall this moment in excruciating detail, what will he think? What will he feel?

Heeseung must sense your sudden melancholy. The temperature hasn’t dropped. In fact, it’s only gotten warmer as the sun continues its steady trek across the late morning sky.

Still, he turns to look at you. “It’s getting cold up here.” Jerking his head back in the direction of the ladder, he adds, “Why don’t we head to your apartment?”

For now, it’s enough to bring you out of your swirling thoughts. Right back to the current moment. Oh right. You may have gotten up here without much of a hitch, but you still have to get yourself down.

Luckily, Heeseung offers to go first. And he only laughs once, a bright, airy sound you wish you heard more of, when you threaten to kill him if he lets you fall.

…..

The lock on your apartment door has always been finicky. It takes a few frustrating tries for you to find the right angle. Finally, you hear the telltale click of the lock giving in. Sighing in relief, you push the door open.

As you step inside and flick on the light, everything looks just as you left it. Mostly organized, save for the throw blanket you forgot to fold and the coffee mug you left next to the sink. But now, overly aware of the presence just over your shoulder, you’re suddenly looking at your space through discerning eyes.

It’s not that you feel some immense need to impress him. It’s just that you’re suddenly very aware of everything, all the little pieces of yourself scattered across your apartment.

You don’t know why, but you realize that it matters to you, what Heeseung thinks of your space.

As you turn to gauge his reaction, you find him still standing just outside your doorway, hands shoved in his coat pockets. A polite gesture maybe, but it feels out of place among the moments that have passed between you. The intimacy garnered over the last few days.

“What are you doing?” You eye him warily. “Are you going to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says evenly. His feet don’t budge an inch. “But I… I can’t.”

What? Your brow creases in confusion. What does he mean he can’t—

Oh.

You figured there was no awkwardness left between the two of you in this regard. After all, you’ve slept in his bedroom, in his bed, for the last handful of nights. You’ve been inside of his mind. But you suppose this is different.

Besides, he’s from another time. Another century Despite the fact that he seems to be quite well adjusted to modern life, maybe he still holds some age-old reservations about entering a woman’s home. About being alone with you behind closed doors without six other people with supernatural hearing lingering nearby.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you suddenly find it a bit difficult to match his eye.

Where has his mind spun to, exactly, as he grapples with the thought of entering your apartment? After all, immortal or not, he is still a guy. And university aged one, at that. Well, kind of.

“It really is okay,” you tell him once you find your voice again. “I mean, if you think about it, I was in your house for the last few days. I know it’s different, since you have roommates, but it really is fine. And my couch is actually pretty comfortable, so—”

“___.” He interrupts you with the sound of your name, intonation flat. “I’m not worried about how comfortable your couch is.” You do glance at him then, and a patient sort of exasperation is written across his features. “Jay was right. You really do need to brush up on your facts.”

Your eyes pull down in confusion.

Heeseung sighs.

“I — We — can’t enter into places we haven’t been formally invited into.”

“Oh.” The realization settles, and this time brings with it a white hot flash of embarrassment. You find yourself more grateful than ever that he projects thoughts instead of reading them. What a nightmare that would be. “Well, I officially invite you into my apartment.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly, crossing over your doorstep. “I thought you were gonna make me wait out there forever.”

For a moment, it’s all you can do to watch, still basking in mortification, as he enters into your apartment. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give any indication as to whether he likes it or hates it or doesn’t think much of it at all.

And then he takes a few more steps, settling down on the couch you’d mentioned earlier with an appreciative nod. You weren’t lying about it being comfortable.

You track his movement with evasive eyes. As he gets comfortable, a realization occurs. “Wait.” You freeze, suddenly feeling self-conscious again. “You have to be invited in. So the vampires that have been attacking people…”

Heeseung shakes his head. “They wouldn’t be able to get in here either.”

“Oh.” The single syllable is all you can manage. All you can think about is the fact that you insisted on sleeping an extra night at their house, in Heeseung’s room. Practically speaking, you would have been just as untouchable here.

You sneak another glance at Heeseung.

For some reason, though, you don’t think you would have felt quite as safe.

“There are still risks, though.” Heeseung’s looking at you like he understands where your mind has gone, like he wants to put it at ease. “The second you leave, you’re entirely unprotected.”

Until recently, vampires haven’t made an appearance in your city for nearly two hundred years. Only the overtly superstitious bother with any sort of precautions. Now, they seem like the logical ones, everyone else foolish. “Garlic charms and things like that,” you wonder. “Do those actually work?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “The only real substance I know of that’s detrimental to vampires is moonflower. The dose has to be quite high, though. And there are certain forms of distilling it that make it more potent. Otherwise, it mostly just has a strong sedative effect.”

You frown, his explanation spurring another question. “Why do you think Professor Kim shot me, then? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to inject you directly?”

Heeseung explains, “Moonflower is most effective on vampires when it’s consumed. Only the really strong stuff, specially distilled like I mentioned earlier, would be effective by injection. I don’t know how Professor Kim prepared the thing he shot you with, but it’s unlikely he knows how to properly distill moonflower to make it potent enough to hurt me directly.”

“So he injected me…” you trail off.

Heeseung fills in the blanks. “It’s likely that he was hoping it would be a strong enough deterrent for me not to bite you altogether,” he meets your eye, “or that it would kill me if I couldn’t find it in myself to resist.”

You’re finding it difficult to look away from him now. “How did you know? That it wouldn’t kill you?”

His silence is answer enough.

Part of you wants to curse him for being so careless, so reckless with his own life. Another part of you is afraid that your pile of growing gratitude towards him will soon be too tall, too heavy to bear.

Another part, small but insistent, wants you to thank him. To get on your knees and beg for forgiveness, for absolution of crimes you never meant to commit.

“It was a calculated risk,” he tells you, as if he can see the gears whirring in your mind. As if he’s just as afraid of them as you are. “Which reminds me, I have something for you.”

You arch an eyebrow, not sure you can take any more of what he offers.

But he stands from the couch anyway, walks towards you on steady feet. “I thought about giving it to you on the water tower, but I didn't want to take any chances.” His eyes sparkle with something that looks almost mischievous. “Just in case you got to the top and decided the view wasn’t worth it.”

That piques your curiosity enough to abate any lingering guilt at the thought of him giving you anything more than he already has. “Don’t tell me it’s distilled moonflower.”

It’s meant to land as a joke, but the look he gives you is entirely serious.

“Close enough.” Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a small, rectangular box. It’s wooden, you think. And it’s beautiful. Ornate in a subtle way, the dark wood is inlaid with hints of a pattern, soft edges that turn and wind and curl in on themselves.

Like many things he’s shown you, it feels like a relic of the past, a gift from another century. Something that belongs in a museum, not the worn but undoubtedly modern expanse of your apartment.

“What is it?” you breathe, the air suddenly fraught with something delicate.

Heeseung reaches for your wrist, opens your palm and places the box in your outstretched hand. “Open it.”

You’re not sure what to expect. The last few days have been anything but predictable, and the box between your fingers is no exception. Despite its solid weight, it suddenly seems fragile in your grip. As breakable as the moment between you.

It’s with a silver of hesitation that you remove the lid, revealing—

“A knife?” The look you give him is incredulous.

Because that’s what it is. At first glance, you can tell that it’s not a weapon built for brute force. It’s small, delicate, even. It feels strange to describe a blade as such, but it’s also undoubtedly beautiful.

You look down at it, each time discovering another detail. A striking silver blade meets a handle even more ornate than the box that houses it. A series of intricate vines wrap around each other, come to full bloom just where the blade kisses the hilt.

“A dagger, actually,” he corrects. Heeseung just watches as you examine his gift. He must decide that an explanation is necessary. And not just for the weapon between your fingers.

“I know I wasn’t exactly… enthusiastic about you wanting to continue working with Professor Kim,” he starts. There’s a hint of strain in his voice. It’s not an apology, but you hear the tinge of regret all the same. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or that I don’t think you’re competent. It’s just that—I mean, he’s a…” Across from you, he can’t quite bring himself to say it.

“A vampire,” you finish the sentiment for him. His expression is unreadable when you match his gaze. But you think there’s something there, something in his eyes that begs for forgiveness you’re in no position to give. Acquittal from crimes you never bore witness to. Difficult decisions lost to the passage of time, their lingering effects reverberating around the two of you now, holding you in their unyielding grip.

“I understand,” you tell him, because you do. Because you know that his reluctance was never commentary on his faith in you. Because even when he told you, on a night that feels lost to some distant past, that your writing was awful, it was only because he knew you were capable of better. Of more. “And I’m not angry with you. So much has happened these past few days.”

Nestled in your grip, the wooden box and the dagger within feel more like an apology than something with any practical use for you. You’re not woefully unathletic, but the only knives you’ve ever held have been in the kitchen.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. “Although I do have to say, I’m not sure how much good a dagger will do me. Especially since Professor Kim is, y’know, a vampire.”

“You’d be surprised,” he counters. “A potent dose of moonflower is one way of killing a vampire, but this is far simpler.” He matches your gaze. “You just need to aim for the heart.”

Nodding towards the weapon in your hands, he encourages, “Try it out.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You want me to stab you?”

“Not particularly.” That same glint is back in his eye. The one that spells trouble, but not for any of the reasons you would have predicted when dealing with an immortal creature of the night. “But it’s a calculated risk. And we’ve become rather used to those, have we not?”

He’s taunting you, you realize. Still, your uncertain gaze flickers between him and the object in your hands a few more times. Relenting, you set the box down on the counter behind you, pulling the dagger out with no confidence left to your name.

It’s terrible, but the thing you’re most concerned about now is just how embarrassing this is about to be for you.

Against your fingertips, the cool kiss of metal feels foreign, invasive. Warily, you test its weight within your grip. And then you turn around to face him again.

Heeseung wastes no time, pulls back no punches. “You’re holding it wrong.”

“Sorry,” you retort drily. “I must have slept through the day in class where we learned about proper dagger grips.”

He sighs, but there’s a trace of amusement in his eyes. “Here,” he beckons you closer.

Reluctantly, you close the distance between you. As soon as you stand directly in front of him, you stretch out your arm, offering him the dagger. You expect him to take it from you, to demonstrate a proper grip.

There’s a comment brewing on your lips, one about how if you had five hundred years of life under your belt, you’d probably be an expert in hand-to-hand combat too, when he catches you off guard.

Because he doesn’t take the dagger from your outstretched hand. No, instead you feel the warmth of his fingers as they wrap around your own. Gently maneuvering your grip, arranging it into one he finds acceptable.

Hand still covering yours, he squeezes. It’s light in pressure, but insistent in nature.

“You have to keep a strong grip,” he whispers. You feel his breath dance across your cheekbone. “Or your hand could slip. You’d only injure yourself.”

Close. When did he get so close?

Before you can make sense of it, his hand is sliding from your fingers to the skin of your wrist. It’s instinct, at this point to brace for another vision. Maybe he’ll show you, you think. A memory of him learning, an image of proper technique.

But the mirage never comes. Your apartment stays firmly in view as he catches you by surprise for the thousandth time within the span of days.

With the practiced agility of a supernatural being, he spins you. Flips your wrist in his grip so that the rest of your body is forced to follow.

Suddenly, you’re no longer facing him. Instead, you see the counter where you left the old, wooden box. Your front door just beyond it.

And somehow, at this new angle, the space between you has only grown smaller. Your back, each and every notch of your vertebrae, lies scant inches from the expanse of his chest. You can practically feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.

It makes yours seem all the more frantic in comparison.

Your legs feel like jello beneath you, wobbly to the point you’re afraid they might buckle. You try to regain your sense, to get a solid grip on something, anything that will tether you to reality.

But you’re too aware, so painfully aware of him behind you, wrapped around your wrist, tangled in your thoughts. It’s all too much.

He doesn’t relent. “Your stance is crucial.” His whisper floats like a caress down the shell of your ear, has you suppressing a shiver in his grip. One that starts at the base of your spine and ends somewhere beyond your body, outside this plane of existence.

Your body feels molten, less than solid. Something devoid of bones and marrow and muscled. Composed of nerves and flutters and a submission to sensation in their wake.

The hand that comes to your hip does little to steady you. Again, his pressure is light. But there’s no question that it’s a demand just the same. “Avoid letting your weight sink here.”

Is it? You don’t know. You can’t tell. You can’t think.

All you can do is feel as his open palm traces a steady line from the curve of your hip to the expanse of your stomach, settling in the space just above your navel. “Brace here,” he breathes against your ear.

It dawns on you, after a handful of shallow breaths, that this is an instruction. That he won’t let up until you follow it.

Your stomach tightens in response, just below his hand.

“Good,” he praises, but his touch doesn’t subside. “Better.”

His other hand, the one still wrapped around your wrist, begins to adjust your grip again. Angles it so that the dagger points away from you, towards an unseen target. “And this,” he moves the dagger slightly, “think of it as an extension of your arm.” Drawing a small circle with the tip, your entire body shifts in response. The palm splayed across your stomach moves with you. “Your body is one moving piece. It’s all connected.”

You suddenly find breathing something you need to focus on. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

“When you shift to the left,” he adds lowly. The hand against your stomach guides your movement to mirror his words. “What happens to the dagger?”

You hope his question is rhetorical. Even if you had an answer for him, you doubt your voice would be willing to cooperate.

“It follows,” he answers a moment later, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Just like the rest of your body.”

The hand on your stomach begins to slide towards your hip again. It follows an agonizingly slow path, pauses for a moment, before he removes it completely. The hand around your wrist falls to his side again.

“A good weapon,” he says from behind, heat lingering, burning against your skin in all the places he touched you, “is one you can control. It doesn’t need to be flashy. It doesn’t have to look impressive. It just needs to be yours. Completely under your command.”

This time, it’s him that moves. You’re grateful. You still feel frozen in place.

He walks, circling your immobile figure, until he’s in front of you again. “If worst comes to worst and you do need to defend yourself, don’t lead with the dagger. Lead with your back foot. Let that be what generates momentum through your hip. Brace through your core again, and let your power, your control, come from there. It’s all connected,” he reiterates. “It all moves together.”

He’s not touching you, not anymore, but the sight of him, the memory of it, makes you feel unsteady all over again.

“Root through your feet,” he instructs. You’re not sure how well you obey the instruction. It feels like all of your energy is dedicated to not collapsing to the ground in a puddle, a horribly undignified heap.

“Okay,” he continues, “Adjust your grip again, but this time—”

The sound of an incoming notification rings out from your phone, discarded on the counter along with the box the dagger came in.

You could almost cry with relief at the opportunity to diffuse some of the mounting tension, to have his gaze anywhere but on you, even if just for a moment.

Relaxing your stance, you do your best to hide the tremble in your legs as you walk to retrieve it. Reading the notification once, you turn back to where Heeseung is still rooted to the spot.

You suddenly feel unsteady again, but for a completely different reason this time.

“Professor Kim read my draft.” You hold your phone up, facing the screen towards him even though he’s too far to read the reply you’ve just received. Voice slightly wobbly, you add, “He wants to meet with me.”

…..

The coffee shop you arrive at twenty minutes later is nondescript. Full of office workers on a late lunch, families on a winter outing, and couples enjoying a quiet moment together. It strikes you as odd, almost, how normal it all seems. Despite the way your world has shifted on its axis completely, despite the city’s recent uptick in death toll, people are just… living. Going about their day as usual.

You find your professor waiting for you at a table in the far corner. He hasn’t ordered anything for himself, and for a moment, you wonder how long it’s been for him. How many years he, like Heeseung, has found human food rather repulsive.

Regardless of what you now know, Professor Kim looks every bit the well-organized, put together version of himself you saw during morning lectures this past semester. Gone is the crazed, ravaging, consumed by bloodlust being whose path you crossed three nights ago.

“I appreciate you meeting me here,” you tell him as you slide down into the seat across from him, voice guarded, expression carefully neutral.

“I’m glad you were able to find it,” Professor Kim agrees. You don’t know why you expected him to sound different. More monstrous, somehow. He doesn’t. It’s the same even, slightly gravely tone he’s always had. “You’ll have to forgive me for not inviting you back to the publishing house. I thought a more public location might serve both of our interests better.”

Witnesses, he means. Whether they’re for your comfort or his, you’re not entirely sure.

You didn’t come here to beat around the bush. And Heeseung, four blocks away where you forced him to wait for you, is surely anxious to hear the end result of this conversation. “Did you have the chance to read my draft?”

Professor Kim’s expression betrays nothing. “I did.”

“What did you think?”

He waits for a moment, weighing his words. “I agree with your email. It seems that your interests are… aligned with New Haven’s mission. As you may already know, it’s a rather small publishing house with quite a niche audience. Our tastes are more specific than most.” There’s a hint of distrust when he adds, “It’s rare to find a young person these days who has the experience necessary to publish something that will entice our readers.”

And this is where you have to tread lightly. Make your story believable. Subtle, but foolproof. “I’ll admit,” you start, “my interest in your subject matter has been a fairly recent development.” Slowly, intentionally, you brush hair from the side of your neck. The bandage still covers the worst of the damage, but the fading bruises are still visible. As are the implications of your wound. “But believe me when I say that I am fully committed.”

Professor Kim appraises the side of your neck, eyes widening for a fraction of a second.

“The woman in my story,” you continue, “the one whose dreams are stolen. I believe I’ve thought of a better idea for the ending.”

He pauses, leans forward in his chair. “Which is?”

“Originally, I thought it would be most fitting for her to die. After all, she was powerless against her enemy.” You meet his eye. “Had no way of defeating him as he grew stronger the weaker she got.”

Professor Kim nods. “A reasonable expectation. But you said your ending has changed.”

Nodding, you continue, “I think I’d like to incorporate a new plot element. A special plant, maybe. Something that makes her dreams toxic to her husband. Something that makes him ill every time he tries to steal them from her.”

Your professor’s gaze is still tight, but his eyes are beginning to relax. Glossing over with the realization of your implication.

“In my story, the person who introduces her to this plant is a mentor of hers, and ultimately, someone she decides to work with. Someone whose mission she strives to fulfill. To protect her dreams and everyone else’s.”

“An interesting thought.” Your professor leans back in his chair. You can tell that he’s still not fully convinced. “But what if this mentor of hers turns out to be a dream stealer himself. Wouldn’t it be only natural for your heroine to be wary of him, to fear him?”

“She does,” you admit. “But fear won’t save her from her husband. And between the two of them, her mentor is not the one that has ever attempted to harm her. To steal her dreams. Between the two of them, she has no confusion about where to place her trust. Even if it is hesitant.”

Your professor considers for a moment. Then, after a second that seems to stretch infinitely, he nods. “I’d like to hear more about this story of yours. At the publishing house, if you’re able to meet me there.”

Your heart gives a traitorous lurch, but your voice is steady when you affirm, “I am.”

“Can you be there in an hour?” He’s already standing, as if this was a business meeting, a simple transaction, and he’s back to the office now.

You confirm that you can, and he offers you one last nod.

Then, with little in the way of fanfare, he buttons his long coat closed, retreating through the front door of the coffee shop without so much as a backward glance.

…..

The metal is cold against the skin of your leg. Biting, it demands all of your attention, even as Heeseung pleads for it where he kneels in front of you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, not for the first time. “Because you don’t have to—”

“Heeseung,” you interrupt, and he looks up, his hands pausing in their ministrations. Beneath you, he’s adjusting the second part of his gift. Because not only did he give you a dagger in a wooden box pulled from a lost century, but also a holster. One that wraps around your thigh. One that he’s currently securing into place as he tries to convince you not to meet your murderous professor at New Haven.

But that’s the least of your worries at the moment. Right now, you thank whatever cosmic forces must be on your side that you wore loose fitting pants today. First because they will help to conceal the shape of your hidden weapon. And second because they’re roomy enough to pull up over your knee, so that you’re still clothed while Heeseung helps you adjust the dagger and holster into place.

The mere thought of the alternative is too mortifying to consider, has another spark of heat gathering on your cheeks.

Then again, it’s not like this is much better. Just as you were in your apartment, you’re painfully aware of each brush of his fingers against the skin of your thigh. You have to suppress the urge to sigh, and not in exasperation, every time he opens his mouth to tell you how bad of an idea this is. Mostly because it sends soft whispers of breath over your flesh, goosebumps following in their stead.

“Heeseung,” you try again. The sound of his name makes him look up at you through long lashes. In front of you, on his knees, his attention has never belonged to you more.

“We’ve been over this.” He’s had his chance to share his woes, voice his worries. You’ll never make any progress if he pitches this much of a fight every time a new opportunity comes about. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a meeting.”

Heesung frowns. “I don’t like that he wants you to meet him all alone. Why couldn’t you have your meeting at the coffee shop?”

“Right, because I’m sure you’d want to tell me all about your vampire history while a group of twelve-year-olds down caramel frappes a few seats over.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“I’m not.” It’s the truth. Similarities between the two of them have yet to cross your mind. Despite the obvious similarity, your professor and Heeseung exist in entirely different planes as far as you’re concerned. On opposite sides of a vast spectrum. “I’m just saying, it makes sense that he would want to meet somewhere with a little more privacy.”

Heeseung slides the last strap into place, giving it an experimental tug. The holster and the dagger within it hold strong. Wordlessly, he rises back to full height. You release your pant leg, skin and weapon disappearing in one fell swoop.

“At least let me come with you,” he pleads. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the request. “You and I both know that’s a terrible idea. If he could detect you before, he can do it again. Let’s just consider ourselves lucky that he can’t tell we’ve been together.”

Because what a disastrous nightmare that would be.

“I can barely do that,” Heeseung counters. “We don’t have to worry about that.” The concern in his gaze doesn’t ease, though.

You get it, you really do. And you empathize with it. It’s only natural, you suppose, that he would feel some sort of responsibility for you. Even though it was your own volition, your own actions that led you here, he was a part of the catalyst.

But you don’t want him to feel any guilt where you’re concerned.

“I’ll be fine,” you reiterate, trying to placate him. “He’s convinced that I’m convinced that he saved me that night.” Looking for Heeseung, begging for a bit of his permission, you add, “This is the first step in getting the answers we need. Besides,” you lift your leg slightly. “he won’t be able to hurt me even if he wants to. I’ve got a secret weapon.”

Heeseung’s lips only thin further. “And no idea how to use it,” he retorts under his breath.

“Hey!” you protest. “I have some idea how to use it.” You’re lying through your teeth. You don’t think you retained a single thing from Heeseung’s rather unorthodox lesson in your apartment. But in your mind, any fight that comes down to physical strength was always doomed to be a losing battle. “And you said it yourself, I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to wait until he’s distracted. Catch him off guard.” You point right at Heeseung’s chest, finger hovering a few inches away from his skin. “And aim right for the heart.”

But now you’re thinking of your apartment again. Of hands on your hips, covering the expanse of your stomach. Warm, steady, grounding. And so goddamn distracting.

“I can tell that you’re nervous,” Heeseung says, voice tangled with worry. “Your heartbeat just jumped.”

You’re too mortified to correct him.

“Of course I’m nervous. But I’ll be careful.” You meet his eye, hoping your false confidence will reassure him. For the third time, you promise, “And I’ll be fine.”

Heeseung just looks at you for a moment. Inhales. Exhales.

And then he says, “Keep your phone on you the whole time. Leave it open to my contact so that you can message or call me faster if you need to. And if something, anything feels off, get out of there.” He glances toward your thigh, where your concealed weapon rests. “That dagger is a last resort, but don’t be afraid to use it.”

You nod. After opening your phone to his contact, you check the clock. See that it’s time.

It feels wrong to leave without any parting words, but you’re not sure what you would say. If there’s anything left to be said.

You turn on your heel, surprised when Heeseung falls into step beside you. Again, the two of you agreed he would wait a considerable distance away to avoid detection. “What are you doing?”

“I can walk with you a little further,” he insists, stubborn.

“No, you can’t,” you argue. “We’re only a few blocks away, and you don’t know for sure how far his senses extend.”

“I wouldn’t even be able to—”

“Heeseung.” You stop in your tracks, turning to face him. “Remember how you told me that you trust me, just a few hours ago?”

You need him to dig deep, find some of that faith again. Or else this is just going to be miserable for the both of you.

“You’re not the untrustworthy variable in this situation.”

You sigh. “Then just…” you trail off, not sure how to put him at ease. “Just trust me to be okay. Wait here, and I’ll be back,” you plead. “Soon. I promise.”

Heeseung is nothing but serious when he tells you, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

A moment passes. Another. Then—

“Fine.” But his shoulders don’t release their tension.

Again, you turn to walk away. To leave him behind. You feel his eyes on your back, and you’ve barely made it a few feet before he says your name again.

“What—”

“Be careful,” he whispers, so low it’s almost lost to the breeze. “Please.”

Something in you softens at the tenderness in his voice, the worry in his eyes. But you don’t have time to linger on it now. You nod, only once, before turning away from him again.

The distance between you and New Haven feels short fades quickly. As anticipation begins to settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you replay your fabricated story in your mind, the one you’re about to feed Professor Kim. The one you hope is convincing enough to earn a bit of his trust. Tight enough that he won’t be able to poke any holes in it.

You’re at the door of the publishing house before you know it, before you have the chance to fully collect yourself. Pausing on the porch, you look around for a moment. It’s just as deserted as it was last week, just as eerily quiet. But this time, at least, you think you see a light in the window.

Knocking with a hand that’s steadier than you feel, you will your heartbeat to maintain an even rhythm.

It takes Professor Kim less than ten seconds to open the door. He glances over your shoulder, surveying the area with no small amount of suspicion, before he ushers you inside.

The layout is just as strange as you remember it, but the hallway doesn’t feel so ominous now that the lights are on, the faint hum of electricity buzzing in the background. Then again, standing face to face with a vampire has a way of being unnerving all on its own.

Beckoning you forward, you follow your professor past the same closed, unmarked doors before arriving in the open space at the end of the hall. Again, like the rest of New Haven, it looks different in the light. Warmer, more welcoming. Even if it still doesn’t look like much of a publishing house. Even if it still carries with it a distinct sense of unease.

This time, at least, Professor Kim has pulled out two chairs and a small side table,so the room isn’t completely barren. Sitting in the first chair, he gestures for you to join him. You do, eyes only darting towards the door marked with his name once.

The blood is gone, you realize.

“Thank you for meeting me here.” Professor Kim is all cordiality where he sits across from you. Again, you struggle to reconcile this version of him with the vampire who shot you full of poison just a few nights ago. “I trust you understand that this conversation is too delicate to have in a more public space.”

“Of course,” you nod.

“Since we’re here,” he continues, “let’s not speak in riddles any longer. I’m sure you have questions about the last night you were here.” He pauses, passing you a meaningful look. “As do I.”

You inhale, reminding yourself that as far as he’s concerned, you don’t know anything about vampires other than the usual, superstitious lore. “The last time I was here, there was blood on your clothes. Your mouth.” The shiver that traces your spine is not forced. Even now, you think it’s one of the most chilling scenes you’ve ever witnessed. Finally, in a small voice, you breath, “You’re a vampire.”

Professor Kim doesn’t try to hide it. “I am.”

You force confusion into your eyes. “But you didn’t try to drink my blood. You’re not trying to now.”

He nods at your observation. “I have ways of managing my hunger,” he explains, frustratingly vague. “You do not need to fear me.” You hadn’t expected him to spill all of his secrets within the first minute of your conversation, but that only leaves you with more questions than answers. And it certainly won’t give Heeseung or the rest of the boys much to work with.

“But you… you threw something at me.” Again, you don’t have to try hard to put fear in your gaze. “Something that stuck in my neck.”

“Yes,” he nods again. “That was an injection of moonflower. It’s a substance known to be poisonous to vampires. I believed that injecting it into your blood would prevent you from being preyed upon.” It takes a concentrated effort for you not to show any smugness. Your hypothesis had been right. He was trying to protect you. “I’m pleased to see that it seems to have worked, although I do apologize for the bruising.”

You realize then that the bandage on your neck covers the bite mark, the place Heeseung left a scar of his own making just next to Professor Kim’s.

Your professor, you realize, doesn’t know that you were bitten. Doesn’t know that the moonflower was beginning to have an adverse effect. That Heeseung took it right back out of you.

Internally, you debate. You don’t want to reveal any more cards than you need to, but you don’t know how long the scars will last. Don’t know how much longer you can wear the bandage without raising suspicion. And if he discovers later that you lied to him, it could be disastrous.

Slowly, you reach for the bandaid on your neck. Removing it, you explain, “What you did that night saved me. I was—”

Professor Kim cuts you off. Leaning forward in his seat, his attention is honed on the twin puncture wounds on your neck. “You were bitten.” Something flashes through his eyes. Confusion. Suspicion. He looks you over again. “But you haven't changed.”

Too late, you realize your mistake. Heeseung’s words come back to you.

“No, that’s another difference. The seven of us can’t create new vampires.”

Shit. Shit.

Scrambling, you try to come up with some sort of explanation.

“Barely,” you correct, doing your best to maintain an even tone. “I was barely bitten. I don’t think he consumed any of my blood.” Trying to create a sense of false wonderment, you ask with wide eyes, “Do you think that’s what prevented me from transforming?”

“Perhaps,” your professor muses, but doubt lingers in his gaze. He appears more guarded when he conjectures, “Or perhaps moonflower has more qualities that even I didn’t know about.”

You’re curious about it, the way he makes it seem as if he’s quite familiar with the substance. Based on what you’ve learned from Heeseung, it’s rare. Difficult to come by.

But with that suspicion still in his eyes at the potential hole in your story, you’re desperate to change the course of the conversation. Pushing forward, you poke at another one of the boys’ questions. “Did you know that… that he was a vampire?” Your struggle to say Heeseung’s name out loud is not entirely fabricated. It’s to your advantage that it makes sense now. What university student wouldn’t be horrified at the prospect of a classmate being a monster?

“I had my suspicions,” your professor confirms. “But I wasn’t certain. Not until that night. I apologize for leaving you there with him.” There is sorrow in his eyes. He seems genuinely regretful. “But I was afraid that he would follow me after he realized I’d poisoned your blood. That he would seek his revenge on me.” Looking at you with a newfound curiosity, eyes honed in on the mark on your neck, he levels your with a question of his own. “If I might ask, what happened?”

The best lies are always wrapped in truth, and this is one you were prepared for. You start, “He bit me. But he stopped immediately, before drinking anything. I think he was confused for a moment. He couldn't tell what was wrong with me, with my blood. To be honest, I was quite disoriented as well. I remember him leaving, although I couldn’t say for sure how long he stayed.”

You also have no way of knowing if Professor Kim returned to New Haven. You can’t tell him that you spent the night there, not if he came back at any point and found you gone.

Instead, you tell him, “I was weak, confused. But I think I remember getting into a taxi, going back to my apartment. I slept for over a day. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything. My entire body was exhausted, sore. But after a while, my memories started to come back. That’s when I reached out to you.”

He frowns. “So you don’t know then, if Lee Heeseung is alive or dead?”

You meet his eye. Shake your head. Do your best not to think of the boy waiting for you a few blocks away, sick with anxiety. “I don’t.”

Professor Kim considers for a moment, lets your words settle into the air. Eventually, slowly, he nods, accepting your warped version of events. “If he really didn’t consume any of your tainted blood, it’s likely that he’s still alive. But it’s no matter now.” He shakes his head. “I’m glad that you reached out to me when you did. And I’m glad you survived, that the moonflower had its intended effect. I do apologize for the memory loss you experienced,” he adds. “That is an effect moonflower has on humans.”

You display your palms in a sign of gratitude. “There’s no need to apologize.” You try to mean it, at least a little bit, when you say, “You saved my life. I’d rather lose my memories a thousand times over than succumb to a vampire.”

Professor Kim nods. “You said earlier that you were interested in working here, in aligning with New Haven’s cause.”

This is it, you think. This is your way in. This is how you play your part in preventing any morme unnecessary bloodshed. “I am.”

Professor Kim doesn’t smile, but he seems pleased with your answer. “I know that this was originally meant to be an opportunity to look at how a publishing house functions, but in light of recent events, I have another task in mind.”

It shouldn’t catch you off guard as much as it does. You try not to let any traces of dread imbue your tone when you ask, “What kind of task?”

“We would still publish your original fiction, of course,” he assures you, “but with the recent attacks occurring, this city needs someone willing to report on them.” He speaks with the fervor of a madman when he continues, “To share the truth that other news outlets are afraid to publish. To remind the public how evil vampires truly are. To encourage their support and convince them to join in the fight against these monsters and all of the suffering they bring.”

You’re silent for a moment, his vitriol settling with a chill into your bones. “You want me to work here as a journalist?”

“If you’re willing to,” he nods. “I know that your background is not in journalism, but your words hold power. The ability to convince people, to hold the truth in front of their eyes and force them to see it, to understand it. I won’t pretend that there are no risks involved. Although blood is their ultimate priority, vampires do have a sense of self-preservation. Those that are sentient enough may be angered by what you write. If you accept, I will offer you as much protection as I can. Including, of course, a steady supply of moonflower.”

Moonflower. You can’t help the shudder this time. Memories come back to you unbidden. You, suspended in a terrible place between consciousness and unconscious. You, waking up in an unfamiliar room, afraid and without any recollection of how you got there.

You could go your entire life without seeing that damn plant ever again.

“It would be difficult to write,” you point out, trying to tamp down on the panic, “without my memories, even if they’re only lost temporarily.”

Professor Kim nods. “I believe that was due to the potency of the moonflower you were given, along with the fact that it was injected directly into your bloodstream. But there are other ways of consuming it. The petals of the flower itself can be made into a tea. I have other ideas, too. I’ve been wanting to create a salve out of it. Something applied topically to the skin.”

That you do find interesting. Again, Heeseung made it sound as if moonflower is quite rare. Hard to come by, difficult to obtain information about. He did also mention that it is sometimes consumed as a tea. You make a mental note to tell him about the professor’s seemingly extensive knowledge of it later.

You might be pushing your luck, but you have one more question. If you leave here without at least trying to get an answer, you know you’ll regret it. “Forgive me, Professor, if this is untoward, but why did you help me that night? Clearly you’re different from other vampires, but…”

“But why do I hate them so much?” he finishes for you.

You nod. “I’m sorry if it’s not something you’d like to share. But I’ve been having a hard time wrapping my head around it since my memories started to return.”

At your explanation, he says nothing. For a moment, you don’t think he’ll give you any sort of answer at all.

But then, he begins, “It’s not a very happy story. I was turned just over twenty years ago. It was around this time of year, actually. I was visiting my family for the holidays. My parents had an old cabin, way out in the countryside. Far from the city.”

A flash of sorrow crosses his eyes, as if it causes him pain to remember it.

“By then, vampire attacks were as rare as they are today, but we both know by now that doesn’t mean much. It must have been a group of nomadic monsters that came across our cabin that night.”

He looks at his hands, gaze full of agony. “They massacred my family, every last one of them. My parents, siblings, cousins. My wife and daughter.”

The small gasp of horror you let out is genuine.

“It was an accident, I’m sure, that my blood wasn’t completely drained. That I was left alive, even if just barely. Alone, in a cabin that was meant to be a place for celebration, I spent long, agonizing days turning into a monster.”

“And then,” he concludes, looking at you, “I vowed to spend the rest of my immortality hunting down every last one of those wretched creatures that took everything from me. That stole my life and everything I love and made me into a demon.” Determination is etched into his features when he tells you, “Lee Heeseung isn’t the first vampire I’ve come across, and my only regret from that night is that he left it alive. I plan to remedy that failure. Especially now that he’s leaving bodies in his wake.”

“You think that it’s him, then?” you breathe. “The one that killed the humans at the river? All the other deaths?”

“Of course it is.” There’s no question, no room for argument in your professor’s assertion. “There hasn’t been any vampire activity in this city for two hundred years. And then, suddenly, I find him trying to drink your blood the very same day the first attacks occur. It’s not a coincidence.”

“But you’re able to see past your desire for blood. What if—”

“I am the exception to the rule.” He strikes your argument down before you can finish it. “Not once, in the last twenty years, have I ever seen a vampire that’s capable of empathy. As I warned you before, the only emotions they have are driven by instinct. Self-preservation on occasion, but above all, vampires are consumed by hunger. The constant need for blood.”

It’s similar to what Heeseung told you. Variations on the same theme, the same devastating truth. But you still don’t feel any closer to discovering what it is that makes Professor Kim different from the other descendants of the eighth lord’s son. And you can hardly reveal to him the truth of Heeseung’s nature.

Instead, you ask him, “How many people have died? Since the first attack.” You want to know how current his information is, if it differs from what the boys told you.

“Eleven,” your professor confirms. “Eleven too many. Which is why I need you. The city needs you. Your words could save lives, prevent tragedies before they occur.”

You’re silent for a moment, pretending to be lost in thought, to be considering his offer. Weighing the pros of his words over the cons of your potential endangerment. After a quiet minute, you inhale, as if steeling your resolve, finding your courage. Against the skin of your thigh, you feel the cool kiss of the metal dagger Heeseung gave you. “I’ll do it.”

His face remains stoic, the gravity of the situation far too heavy for him to be truly excited at the prospect. But you can tell that he’s pleased. “Good.” He nods to himself. “Good. This could change things. You could change things.”

He looks around the space, as if realizing for the first time just how strangely empty it is. “I know that there’s not much here. I prefer to do my work in other places, but if you’d like for me to set up an office for you here—”

“That’s okay.” You shake your head. “Thank you, but I have places I like to write, too.” The thought of working here, of spending more time in this odd, dilapidated building, in the immediate vicinity of Professor Kim is reason enough to decline. Never mind the protest Heeseung would surely wage.

“Very well,” he nods. “I’m sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Typically, I wouldn't put a student on such a difficult schedule, but the truth is not something that can be delayed. I’d like you to have your first article prepared by tomorrow afternoon.”

It’s a tight turnaround, but you’ve done more with less. For his class, even. Your ability to write in a short amount of time, at least, is something you’re truly confident in. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he says again. “Send me your piece by three p.m., and I will have my edits back to you within the hour. I want it published as soon as possible. The following morning would be ideal.”

“Are there limitations?” you ask. “Things I shouldn’t share or write about?”

Your professor considers for a moment, then he shakes his head. “The only thing I care about is that people understand why they need to be afraid of these attacks. Why they need to join the fight against them. Obviously your reporting needs to be factual, but do what it takes to get that message across, loud and clear.”

“I will,” you assure him, trying to be as much the frightened, determined girl he thinks you are.

“I’m going to start reaching out to some of my connections,” he tells you. “Finding ways to promote this as much as we can, to get as many people reading as possible. But for now, I’ll get you some moonflower to take with you.”

Standing, he motions for you to follow him towards the door marked with his name. His office. The same place you heard strange noises emanating from the last time you were here.

It’s confirmed as you approach. The bloodstains are gone.

He opens the door, ushering you inside, and still, none of your questions are answered. It’s a normal office, nothing out of the ordinary. Similar to his office back at the university, in fact. Clean, orderly, meticulously organized.

The sounds you heard that night… you swear they had seemed distant, far away. But this office is as cramped and impersonal as any other.

In fact, the only touch of personality you can find is the large painting that hangs on the far wall, opposite from the door you entered through. Glancing at the scenery it encapsulates, you pause. There’s something strangely familiar about it. Like it’s something you’ve seen before.

It does strike you as almost comical, too, that the balance of it is off. It hangs slightly too far to the left, one side dipping lower than the other.

You spent a semester reading Professor Kim’s lecture presentations that all had the same uniform Times New Roman 12-point font. You watched as he publicly criticized students for turning in work with nonstandard margins. And yet, it appears that he couldn’t be bothered to make sure the one painting in his entire office is level.

It’s odd. Entirely out of character.

But you don’t have long to dwell on it before he reaches for a small bag on his desk.

“Here.” He hands it to you. “These are moonflower petals, crushed into small pieces. You can brew a pinch at a time with boiling water. Don’t let them seep longer than five minutes, and there should be no negative effects on your memory.”

“Thank you.” You take the bag from him, doing your best to appear grateful even if your hand shakes slightly as you receive it. “I’ll use it well.”

“I’ll look forward to reading your article, then,” he tells you. “Three p.m. tomorrow.” The two of you leave his office, walking back into the large, empty, open room. You sneak one last glance at the painting before he closes the door. Frowning, you shake your head. In the grand scheme of the day’s revelations, it’s certainly not something worth fixating on. “Do you need any help getting home?”

“No.” You shake your head, already turning towards the hallway. “I’ll be fine.”

So with your bag of moonflower in hand and unused weapon still cold against your thigh, you bid your professor farewell.

Heeseung is pacing when you find him. Wearing down a path in the grass next to the abandoned building you left him at just over an hour ago.

He hears you before he sees you. Detects the sound of your heartbeat or your footsteps or maybe even the smell of your shampoo. Whatever it is, it has him stopping in his tracks, turning towards you with something desperate in his eyes.

He makes quick work of scanning you head to toe, and you watch as tension drains from him visibly.

“You’re okay,” he breathes as soon as you’re close enough for conversation. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you confirm, suppressing the urge to run a hand through his hair. Just to soothe him a little. But you don’t know if it would calm him down or make things so, so much worse. You offer him a small smile instead. “Just like I promised I would be.”

Heeseung spots the small bag you’re carrying, the gift from your professor. “What’s that?”

“Moonflower.” You hold it up to the light. “He gave me some. I was right. He shot me with it that night to try to protect me. He…” You trail off, remembering his story. The blame he is now mistakenly laying on Heeseung’s shoulders. “He has a reason for hating vampires.”

As you recount the details of your conversation, it’s hard not to feel a distinct stab of sympathy for your professor. He’s honing in on the wrong target, yes, but his life has been informed by a deep, profound tragedy. He lost his family. A wife. A daughter.

When you finish, Heeseung frowns. “He wants you to write articles about the attacks?”

You nod. “He thinks it will be a way to rally people together, to generate enough momentum to stop the attacks and drive out the vampires. Similar to what happened two hundred years ago.”

Heeseung is already resigned to your commitment to seeing this through. No matter how resistant he is to the fact that you’ll be spending more time with your professor, there’s no fight in his voice when he asserts, “And you’re going to do it.”

Again, you nod. “It’s a way for me to keep getting close to him. Maybe I’ll learn how he’s able to keep his bloodlust under control. And I know it’s more complicated than good and evil, but these attacks are horrific. If this helps to stop them, or at least to make people more aware of them, that could help save lives.”

That, at least, Heeseung understands. “The others are out right now,” he tells you. “Spread throughout the city near the places where the attacks occurred. We’re trying to stop what we can, too. And maybe get an idea of what’s going on. Where this vampire came from. Stop them before more are made.”

You think of Heeseung’s story, the painstaking steps they’ve all taken to allow themselves to get involved in matters like this. The sacrifices they’ve made. The dreams of a normal life they’ve all had to grieve, to give up entirely. “Have they found anything?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Not yet. But we’ll keep looking. Vampires aren’t known for being careful. They can’t be, not with their head so full of bloodlust. They’ll make a mistake eventually, and then we’ll find them. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

For the sake of your city, you can’t help but agree. Your only wish is that no one else will have to get hurt to finish this for good. “I hope so.”

Heeseung turns to you again. The bag of moonflower is still in his hands. It strikes you, just how close he can be to poison without feeling any of the fear that seems to find you so easily these days. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything that seemed… I don’t know… strange about him? About New Haven?”

You shake your head. “I mean, the building itself is still really odd, but it seemed less sinister with the lights on and the blood cleaned up.” Remembering that Heeseung sat through his lectures too, that he’ll understand just how odd it is for Professor Kim to have a painting hanging askew, you add, “Honestly, the only weird thing was this painting in his office. You know how meticulous he is, but it was super tilted to the—”

Your words die on your lips. It hadn’t clicked, then, what was so familiar about that painting. But here, now, in the aftermath, you put two and two together.

Heeseung’s eyes flick to yours, finding them wide. “What?” he questions, suddenly urgent as he takes note of the odd expression on your face.

“The painting.” Your mind is racing, willing things to make sense. “There was a painting in his office. I thought it looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

Heeseung’s brow draws together. “What was it?”

“The field.” You match his gaze, eyes brimming with a million unanswered questions. There’s nothing believable about it. It sounds ridiculous, an absurd lie, even to your own ears. “The painting in his office was of the field from the vision you showed me.”

…..

Jungwon isn’t answering his phone.

“C’mon…” Instead of sitting on the navy couch in his living room like Jake was when you found him here, Heeseung paces in front of it. A few feet away, you stand, still reeling at your realization.

Finally, on the fifth ring, Jungwon picks up.

“Jungwon,” Heeseung breathes. “How close are you to the professor’s house? Could you get eyes on him?”

You hear the muffled sound of Jungwon’s indecipherable response from the other side of the line.

After a moment, Heeseung says, “Okay, that’s fine. Just have him text me.”

Ending the call, he turns to look at you, phone falling limply to his side.

“Niki’s closer,” he explains. “Jungwon will check with him and have him message me when Professor Kim is confirmed to be back at his house.”

Because now that you’ve connected the dots, Heeseung insists that he needs to see this painting for himself. Which means the two of you need to wait until you’re certain Professor Kim is nowhere near New Haven.

“I mean,” you try, grasping at straws to find a way for all of this to make sense, “is it possible that he’s been to that field too? Or knows someone that has?”

“You don’t understand.” Heeseung shakes his head. “That field is—was—in Celedis. It hasn’t existed for four hundred years.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean, it hasn’t existed? I know you said that people forgot about Celedis, but—”

“They didn’t just forget.” Heeseung sighs. After a moment, he stops his pacing to take a seat on the couch. He looks at you from where he sits. “The blood moon I told you about, the one that comes every hundred years.”

You nod, remembering that piece of his story, of his visions.

“It has certain powers,” Heeseung explains. “It’s a night when old magic is the strongest. And four hundred years ago, one hundred years after the seven of us stopped aging, the eighth son went back to Celedis. It was mostly empty by then. Had been so ravaged by vampires that everyone was either dead or had fled to other kingdoms.”

He doesn’t accompany this story with narration, but you see it all the same. The devastation. The vast emptiness. The tragedy of a kingdom lost to destruction of its own making.

“But he went back, and he found the oak tree where the seven lords, the seer, and his father had all cast their wishes. He didn’t understand old magic, but he was so consumed by his own bloodlust, his thirst for more, that it didn’t matter.”

Heeseung looks at his hands, turns his fingers over in the light as if the lines in his palms contain unknown answers. Explanations for sins past.

“Fueled by his selfishness, he wished for ultimate control over everything, to be the most powerful being in the world. Old magic took his wish and interpreted it as old magic does. It is said that moments after his wish was cast, the kingdom of Celedis collapsed in on itself, destroying hundreds of years of architecture, history, culture. All gone in a single second. And it took the eighth son with it. Returned his body to the land. After all, what could be more powerful than the earth itself? The very source of the kingdom’s magic.”

Heeseung looks at you with something fierce in his eyes. “No one alive today should know what that field looks like.”

His assuredness sends a chill into your bones. How could it be true? You know what you saw, or at least you think you do, but how on earth would Professor Kim have any connection to a kingdom lost centuries before his birth?

Heeseung pauses for a moment, something suddenly occurring to him, the same idea crossing his mind. “You’re sure that Professor Kim said he was turned only twenty years ago?”

“Yes,” you nod. “And I think that makes sense, actually. New Haven was founded shortly after.” The publishing house he created to spark a literary revolution against the monsters that consumed his world, ruined his life. It follows logic that he would establish it in the wake of his tragic changing.

Heeseung accepts this, prodding at the other variable instead. “And you’re sure it’s the same field that you saw?”

The more he tells you, the more you doubt your own eyes, your own fallible memory. But— “I mean, my memory isn’t perfect, but I recognized it instantly. I just couldn’t remember where I had seen it until I was outside again, with you.”

Heeseung is quiet for a moment, contemplating. An incoming message from Niki sounds out with a quiet ping, breaking the silence.

Glancing down at his phone, Heeseung’s lips tighten. He looks back to you. “The professor is home.”

A handful of minutes later, you’re back at the publishing house, this time with Heeseung at your side.

The two of you stand on the front porch, trying to shroud yourselves in the shadows as much as possible. The whole area still seems uncannily deserted, but erring on the side of caution has never hurt. Heeseung reaches for the door handle with a firm grip, but despite his efforts, it doesn't turn.

“It’s locked,” he whispers to you. “Do you have a bobby pin or anything similar?”

“No.” You shake your head. Did the two of you seriously get this far to be thwarted by something as simple as a locked door? After a moment of contemplation, you realize that you do still have something narrow and sharp holstered to your thigh. For a handful of seconds, it seems almost too ridiculous to consider. But your pride is not the most pressing issue at the moment. Slowly, you ask, “Do you think the dagger might work?”

Heeseung pauses, turns to look at you over his shoulder. “Maybe, actually.”

Again, you pull up the fabric from your left pant leg, retrieving the weapon in question. Sliding it out of the holster, you hand it to him wordlessly.

You watch as Heeseung struggles with the lock, letting out quiet curses every time the knife slips. And then, after a few frustrating attempts, a quiet click signals his success.

Who would have thought? The dagger did actually come in handy at New Haven.

Despite Niki’s confirmation that the professor is far away in his home, the two of you enter quietly, carefully. The hallway remains dark as you forgo turning on any of the lights. Instead, you let the dim light of the dying day outside guard your path. You’re not even sure you would need that. At this point, this place is starting to become familiar.

Plunged in darkness, the publishing house is nearly as eerie as it was the first time you visited, but with Heeseung at your side, at least some of your nerves are abated.

In the open room at the end of the hall, your two chairs from earlier still sit, now empty.

Moving past them, the two of you approach your professor’s office. As you get closer to the door, you wonder if Heeseung will have to pick the lock again. But when he reaches forward this time, the knob twists without a hint of resistance.

Heeseung waits until you’re in the office next to him, shutting the door behind the both of you before flicking on the light. It’s another precaution. Just in case a passerby were to look in through the window from the open room, they wouldn’t notice any usual movement or light.

But the world outside now feels like a distant concern.

Because the painting, illuminated by artificial light, hangs in front of you just as surely as it had an hour ago.

For a moment, Heeseung says nothing, just frowning at the scenery.

“Well?” you prompt, desperate to hear his appraisal, “what do you think?”

“It’s similar,” Heeseung admits, eyes narrowing. He exhales, and you can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or acute relief. “Really similar, but it’s not exactly right. Those flowers there,” he points to a small cluster of bright red tulips at the edge of the painting, “there were never any like that.”

The most prominent of your emotions is relief. At least you won’t have to add this to the growing list of mysteries surrounding your professor.

But then, another thought creeps in. Again, you wonder what life must be like with a perfect recollection. Glancing sidelong at Heeseung, you suppose it certainly comes in handy at moments like this. Although you’re not sure the price he pays for eternal memory is worth it.

“It must just be a place that looks similar,” Heeseung concludes, as eager as you to leave New Haven far behind. “Let’s—”

“Wait.” Frowning, you take a step forward, closer to the painting. “Earlier today, the reason I thought it seemed so out of place, it was hanging off center.” But the painting in front of you is perfectly level. “He fixed it.”

Heeseung follows your gaze. “Do you think it got knocked around that night we found him here? Maybe he didn’t have a chance to fix it until today.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but the rest of his office was perfect.” Nothing else was out of place.

Taking a few more steps forward, you stand directly in front of the painting. It’s beautiful, but the closer you look, the odder it gets. Looking at the brush strokes, it seems almost… amateur. The scene is strikingly realistic in the way only a practiced artist could manage, but the individual lines are messier the closer you get. As if unrefined hands put it together.

An idea comes to you, along with a sinking suspicion that settles heavily in the pit of your stomach. Looking at the painting again, your eyes are assessing now.

It’s large. Heavy, probably. You’ll need his help.

Turning to face Heeseung, you request, “Help me move it.”

Heeseung frowns at you. “Why?”

You shrug, but the last thing you feel is nonchalance. You’re thinking of voices behind this door. Too far away to possibly be coming from an office this small. “Just a hunch. If I’m wrong, we’ll put it right back.”

Heeseung still wears an odd look on his face, but he does as you ask. On the count of three, the two of you lift the painting off of its mount. Set it down.

And reveal a small, circular opening in the wall, just large enough for a person of Professor Kim’s size to squeeze through.

A glance passes between the two of you, composed equally of shock and dread.

Still, you force yourself to get closer. Despite the light from the office, it’s dark when you peer in. The only thing you can tell for sure is that it goes down. Which is confirmed by the ladder that’s attached to the side of the wall.

God, you’ve had enough of goddamn ladders today to last you a lifetime.

Heeseung sends another message to Niki, once again confirming that Professor Kim is still far, far away. And then he hoists himself up through the opening.

Or at least, he tries to.

Feet back on the ground, very much still on your side of the wall, he shakes his head. “I can’t go in.”

You balk. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

The look he gives you is withering. “No, I physically cannot go in. Vampires can’t enter into places they haven’t been invited to, remember?”

“What?” It’s not new information, and with moonflower out of your system, you have all the ability to retain it. But suddenly you’re confused. That particular restriction seems like something that should have been causing him a lot more strife. “How did you get through the front door then? Or into this office?” Another realization dawns. “How did you get into class?”

“The rules are a little blurry,” Heeseung explains. “Public spaces like businesses and universities that don’t really belong to someone are usually fine. Even offices, since they still lack that true sense of personal belonging.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That is ridiculously convoluted.”

“I told you, old magic is finicky.” Looking back at the opening in the wall, he adds, “Either our dear professor feels a particularly strong attachment to the secret chamber attached to his office, or that hunch of yours must have been right. This is more than just a publishing house.”

The admittance does make you a little smug, even if you’d never tell him that. Turning towards the opening, you move past him. With a large inhale, you start to hoist yourself up. A hand around your wrist keeps you firmly planted on the ground.

You turn to look at Heeseung over your shoulder, brow pulling in confusion.

“This was a good plan,” he tells you, “and a good idea. We’ll just have to figure out another way to come back and—”

“Wait, what?” You frown. “Why would we go back? We’re right here.”

Heeseung looks at you like you’re missing something blatant. “Yeah, with one small problem.” After a moment of extended silence, he gestures to himself and says, “I can’t go in.”

You return his gaze, equally incredulous. He’s the one that’s missing the obvious here. “But I can.”

“No.” His lips flatten, reminiscent of when you told him you’d be seeing your professor again. “Absolutely not.”

But you don’t have the time to waste on his misplaced sense of guilt-ridden protection over you right now. “This might be the only chance we get!” you insist. “You’re willing to waste that?”

Heeseung doubles down, equally stubborn. “I’m willing to wait for another option that doesn’t include you disappearing down a ladder into a dark room alone. We have no idea where it leads. Or what could possibly be waiting down there.”

“Fine,” you concede, shoulders slumping. “I guess you’re right. Maybe Jungwon will have an idea how we can—”

Cutting off mid-sentence, you turn again, trying to squeeze yourself through the opening before he has the chance to realize what’s happening and put a stop to it.

This time, your wrist is untouched. Instead, it’s an arm around your waist, just under your ribs, that pulls you back.

Heeseung’s chest pressed along the curve of your spine, he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Did you really think that was going to work?” His voice is low, dangerous as his irritation makes itself apparent. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.” With the hand not currently wrapped around you, he taps the base of your neck, right on your pulse point. “Right here.” He presses down, pressure light but insistent. “Your heartbeat. It races like crazy when you lie.”

You feel it in your throat now.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you speak any louder.

“Mm?” His breath ghosts along the sensitive skin of your ear. You suppress a shudder. The ghost of it traces your spine anyway.

“Let me go. I’ll be careful—”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know the meaning of that word.” But his grip relaxes anyway. Loosens until his arm is back at his side.

Slowly, you turn to face him. He’s still close to you.

So close. Too close. Not nearly close enough.

Angling forward, he places the palm of his hand on the wall behind you next to your head, just below the opening. Effectively caging you in.

“What could go wrong?” You’re breathless and you hate it. “I have a dagger.”

“Actually,” he corrects you, “I have the dagger.”

“Well,” you argue, “if you give it back, we won’t have a problem.”

He still doesn’t look convinced. “Do you even have a light?”

Shit. You don’t. Well, except for—

“I have the flashlight on my phone.”

Disapproval makes itself the most prominent expression on his features.

Slowly, he lets his arm fall back to his side. Then, before you have a chance to make sense of his action, he sinks to his knees before you. With steady hands, he starts to lift the bottom of your left pant leg.

Your first instinct is to relax into his touch. Your second, not trailing far behind, is to kick him in the jaw. You doubt either of those would serve you well.

Instead, you remain motionless, prone to whatever whim spurs him on as he continues his steady path upward.

The skin of your calf is revealed, inch by agonizing inch, until he reaches the juncture of your knee. Until he stops just above it.

You understand, now, what he’s doing. Every inch of you hones in on the sensation of gentle fingers sliding the dagger back into place. The holster on your thigh gets a little heavier. You feel his exhale against your skin.

Slowly, he guides the fabric back of your pant leg into place, weapon now secured. From beneath you, his gaze finds yours. He maintains eye contact while he rises to his full height.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” It sounds like a prayer, and you have no idea what to do with that.

“When have I ever—”

“Please.”

It’s so damn vulnerable, the sound of him begging. Pleading with you to treat your life with care. As if it’s something precious to him, something he can’t stand the thought of losing.

You breathe, your chest rising and falling, separated from him by only a handful of inches. Resistance feels futile. So, you muster all of your sincerity, and you mean it when you assure him, “I won’t.”

This time, he helps hoist you up. Makes sure you have solid footing on the ladder on the other side of the wall before letting you go with a reluctant grip that lingers a little too long.

“Be safe,” he whispers. One last request between the two of you. “I’ll be here.”

You nod once, committing the strange look on his features to memory, and then you’re descending. You do your best not to think about how tall the ladder might be, how far you might have to drop should you lose your footing. You couldn't see the bottom from the office, and you’re not about to risk taking a hand off of the ladder to activate your phone’s flashlight.

Ultimately, it’s not as great a distance as you feared. You can’t have been going down for more than a minute when your feet hit solid ground.

Still shaky from residual adrenaline and the lingering remnants of whatever just passed between you and Heeseung, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on.

It’s not a very powerful light, and it only illuminates small sections of the darkened room at a time. Turning side to side, you get the impression that it’s a fairly large space. Crouching down, you place a palm against the floor beneath you. Stone, you think. The limited light of your flashlight helps to confirm this.

There’s a distinct sort of permeating cold down here, so far from the sun, so deep beneath the earth. You can sense large amounts of moisture in the air, too. It clings to your skin, making you feel more clammy than you already were.

It’s quiet. Eerily so. The only sounds you hear are the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distance and the furious thrumming of your own heart in your ears.

Immediately, you think of the night you heard strange noises that sounded like they were coming from Professor Kim’s office. He must have been down here, you realize. Maybe with someone else.

Or something else.

That thought sends your skin crawling with a deep sense of unease. You don’t know the extent of Heeseung’s heightened senses, but you’re sure he’d be able to tell if there was another living thing down here. Or, at least, you try to convince yourself that’s the case in order to ease some of your rising nerves.

Turning to your right, you can barely make out the shadowy shape of some kind of structure a few feet away. Again, Heeseung was right. A stronger flashlight really would have been better. But you’re here now, and you’ll have to make use of what you have.

Slowly, you begin to walk towards it. But after a few steady steps, you’re nearly sent sprawling over the stone floor as your foot makes contact with a hard, heavy object in your path. Letting out a hushed curse, you shine your light down at the ground once again. This time, stone floor isn’t the only thing you see.

Frowning, you bend to take a closer look. Shackles. You’ve stumbled across an old, rusted pair of iron shackles.

The discovery sends a fresh chill down your spine. What on earth is this place?

You don’t have long to linger on it. Niki is keeping an eye on Professor Kim, but even that will only give you so much warning if he should decide to come to New Haven for any reason. And you have your promise to Heeseung to consider. Nothing stupid.

Taking care to step around the shackles, you shine your light towards the ground this time as you continue pressing forward.

As you get closer, the structure you could barely make out comes into clearer view. But with every inch that’s revealed, your horror only grows. It isn’t much of a structure at all, you realize, stomach dropping. It’s a cell. Thick, heavy metal bars that appear to be carved into the earth itself.

You can’t quite bring yourself to step inside, but you do get as close as you can. It’s empty, but evidence of terror remains. There are more shackles. These ones are attached to the stone that forms the back wall of the enclosure.

And that’s not all you see. There are other strange objects in the cell. Long, long metal instruments that you don’t want to imagine uses for. Old, faded blood stains that cover the stone floor.

Forcing your breathing to even out, you angle your phone towards the enclosure, ensuring that your camera’s flash is on before taking a photo. If Heeseung can’t come down here, you’ll bring as much of it as you can to him.

Turning away from the cell, you start moving in the adjacent direction, the one that will take you further and further from the ladder with every slow step. In the silence, the sound of your feet against wet stone rings out like gunshots.

You suddenly feel vulnerable. A sitting duck, an easy target. Shaking the thought away, you force yourself forward.

Continuing to walk, more horror lines your periphery. There must be a dozen of them, at least. These strange, terrible cells that line either side of the long room. After the first one, you don’t stop for long to examine the others.

Instead, you continue until you reach the end of the room. Similar to the publishing house above you, it’s essentially a long hall that opens into a wider room. Your eyes have adjusted slightly to the dark, but you still squint to make out anything other than the solid expanse of stone.

Shining your flashlight to the left, you can just make out the shape of two large objects. As you walk closer, they become more clear.

The first is a desk. A simple wooden surface to sit and do some writing, perhaps. Nothing particularly strange or out of the ordinary, other than its location.

It’s the object next to it that gives you pause, has you leaning closer with furrowed eyebrows.

As you shine your light at it directly, it appears to be a large chest. The kind you would find at an antique store or see in a museum. Something people from past times would use to store clothes or books or other household essentials.

There’s a lock on the front of this one, however, Complete with a large, heavy chain that makes you think its contents are less than ordinary.

Crouching slightly, you reach down. Your fingers shake slightly as you tug at the lid. It doesn’t budge, the lock holding firm. You suspected as much, but the result is still frustrating.

Setting your phone down for a moment, you reach for the dagger strapped to your thigh. You aren’t as well versed in the art of lock-picking as Heeseung seems to be, but you know you’d regret not at least giving it a try.

It’s no use, you realize after only a few seconds. This lock is different from the one on the front door. It’s large, looks as if it can only be opened by an equally ancient key. One forged by a blacksmith in a lost century. The dagger slips in through the opening, but the shape is too different to gain any purchase. Your dagger can’t find anything to maneuver.

So you settle with the next best option. As you did with the first cell, you angle your camera towards the chest, taking a photo of ir and its impenetrable lock.

Frowning at the dead end, you stand back to your full height. You replace the dagger in its holster, reaching for your phone. It might be wise to message Heeseung for a quick status update, to ensure that you have time to keep looking around. In fact, you’re surprised he hasn’t been blowing you up since the second your feet hit solid ground.

But as soon as your phone screen lights up, you check the top corner and find the reason for his radio silence.

No signal. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It makes sense, in hindsight. You have to be at least several feet underground, and cell service providers probably didn’t have secret underground prisons with strange locked chests in mind when they planned their coverage maps.

But it also means that Heeseung has no way of communicating with you. That you have no way of receiving any messages he may have been trying to send.

You’re sure you would hear him, if he yelled loudly enough from the opening in the office.

But if there were any reason he couldn’t speak loudly, any reason he didn’t want to draw attention to himself…

Scenarios suddenly spinning through your mind, you turn back, retracing your steps. The hallway seems even longer now that you’re trying to move through it quickly. The cells seem even more ominous, shadowy silhouettes in your periphery.

You give a slight start when you almost collide with the ladder, so consumed with hurrying that you almost missed the wall in front of you entirely.

Grateful that you didn’t just break your nose from a collision with a stone wall, you shut off your phone flashlight. You slide it back into your pocket, and then you begin to ascend back up the ladder you came down. It’s a precarious balance, trying to be both swift and sure footed.

After what feels like hours but is surely less than two minutes, you’re back at the opening.

Heeseung, just like he promised he would be, is already there, waiting.

“Oh, thank the skies,” he breathes as soon as you come into view. If the situation were any different, you might laugh at the turn of phrase. Another relic of his unnaturally long past, you suppose. “I’ve been trying to message you this whole time, but—”

“No signal,” you explain. Your words are slightly stilted as you ease yourself down from the opening, less gracefully than you hoped. “I didn’t realize it until I turned back.” You nod at his phone. “Does Niki still have eyes on him?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung nods. “The professor is still in his house.”

Tension drains from your shoulders. But as you begin to tell Heeseung what you saw, show him the photos you took as evidence, it slowly starts to creep back in.

“Jail cells?” He frowns, echos of your own questions repeated back to you. “For what? For who?”

“I have no idea.” You shake your head. “But there was also a box, a chest of sorts.” You show him the photo. “It was locked. I tried to get in with the dagger, but it was no use. The key hole was too big for it to move anything around.”

“Can I?” Heeseung asks, gesturing towards your phone. You hand over the device in question.

Eyes narrowing in concentration, he zooms in on the photo.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a lock like that.” It’s hard not to feel defeated, to feel like everytime you’re on the brink of a discovery, some new obstacle blocks your path. After a moment, you add, “I don’t even know if I ever have seen a lock like that. Other than in movies or museums.”

Heeseung could get into it, maybe. Either by picking it or with brunt force alone. But he can’t get to the chest. And it’s far too big for you to carry back to him. Besides, you’re hesitant to move anything, even if Professor Kim is back at him home for the evening. You doubt you could get the chest back to its exact location without shifting something around. And if anyone were to notice something out of place, it would be him.

Even if it was just a chest in a dark, cave-like room, shifted a few inches in the wrong direction.

“I think…” Heeseung looks up, directly at you, interrupting your train of thought. “I think I may have seen this key before.”

“What?” you ask. “Where?”

Heeseung still sounds unsure, but the more he reveals, the more you start to wonder if he’s right. “I can’t be certain, but towards the beginning of the semester, I remember seeing Professor Kim carrying an old fashioned key in his briefcase. I’d been following him all morning, and I saw him take it out once he got to the university. He put it in his office. I think he might have left it there.”

You frown. “That makes no sense. Why would he leave a key to a locked chest in his secret evil cave prison at his very public university office?””

“I don’t know.” Heeseung looks equally as confused. “And like I said, I’m not completely certain. He might not have left it there, but… it could be worth a shot.”

You want to say that it feels impossible, but the events of the past week have made that word hold very little weight in your mind.

“That seems…” you trail off, searching for a semantic replacement, “improbable.”

“I know,” Heeseung agrees, “but it’s all we’ve got.”

“It’s still winter break,” you point out, moving past probabilities to logistics. Glancing at the time on your phone, you add, “And it’s almost sunset. How would we even get into the university?”

Heeseung just smiles. There’s no humor in it, but there is an air of self-assuredness. “Leave that to me.”

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing at the top of a third unnaturally tall height of the day.

“You know,” you cross your arms, “when you said you had a way of getting into the university, I didn’t think it would involve breaking in through a window on the fourth floor. You may be invincible but a fall from this height could actually take me out, you know? And aren’t there cameras?”

Heeseung wiggles the window frame for another handful of seconds, a self-satisfied smile crossing his features when he hears a telltale pop. “This is the liberal arts building at a public university. The only security cameras that have been updated since 2005 are by the stadium and the school of business.” He pauses his ministrations, suddenly serious when he turns to look at you. “And I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You’re not reassured. “Still,” you hiss, “we’re breaking in through a window. What if someone sees—”

“Like you said,” Heeseung interrupts, sliding the window open, giving the two of you just enough space to slide through, “it’s winter break and after dark. No one is around.” He nods his head toward the open window. “After you.”

Tossing him one more glare, you maneuver your body through the open window. Heesueng follows you, sliding into the fourth floor hallway of the liberal arts building with more poise than you could ever hope to embody.

He pulls the window shut behind you, slides it back into place with a firm tug. Brushing his hands on his pants, he turns to face you, expression light as if the two of you have just walked through the front door of a bowling alley, not committed a federal crime by breaking and entering through a fourth floor window.

It’s all you can do to stare at him blankly. What has your life turned into?

“His office is on the third floor,” is all Heeseung says, “at the end of the hallway.”

“I know where his office is.” You sound petulant even to your own ears. But the location of your professor’s office is not the problem. The fact that you’re breaking and entering into a public university to try and locate a key to unlock an ancient looking chest in the prison-esque secret basement of your vampire professor’s publishing house, however, is.

Still, you match Heeseung’s pace as he begins to walk, following a steady path to the third floor offices. After descending the staircase, the two of you round a corner, turning down the long, narrow hallway that leads to your desired destination.

“How likely do you think it is that he even keeps the key here?” You’re whispering. The two of you are alone, so it’s probably not necessary. But speaking at full volume in a situation like this would just feel… wrong.

Heeseung shrugs as your footsteps erase the last of the distance between you and Professor Kim’s office. “Only one way to find out.”

“Wait.” You stop, now directly in front of the door as another thought occurs to you. A particularly annoying limitation of those afflicted with vampirism. “Are you even going to be able to get in?”

“His office at New Haven wasn’t the problem,” Heeseung points out. “Besides, I actually have been invited into this one.”

You arch an eyebrow.

“What?” Heeseung shrugs. “I went to office hours once.”

Office hours. You’d been a regular at those too. It suddenly feels like a lifetime ago.

Reaching forward, you try the door handle. It’s locked.

“I think we might need the dagger again.” You reach to retrieve it, a memory flashing through your mind. The last time you were here, you were armed with a first draft of a homework assignment and enough anxiety to make you nauseous. Now, with a dagger in your hand and a vampire at your side, the contrast is stark.

Handing the knife to Heeseung, you watch as he methodically jiggles it for less than thirty seconds before you hear a soft click.

“Thanks.” He hands the dagger back to you, waiting for you to secure it back into place. Then, he opens the door, and the two of you enter.

It feels illicit. It is illicit, but the first thing that strikes you is just how similar this office is to the one at New Haven. Meticulously organized. Not a file out of place. The only thing missing is a painting that looks eerily similar to visions of Heeseung’s childhood. Oh, and the secret basement hiding behind it, of course.

Here, however, there would be nothing to hide it behind. And no matter where your eyes wander, you can’t seem to find anywhere worth hiding a secret key, either. No glaringly obvious evil drawer of a file cabinet or particularly sinister potted plant.

But Heeseung must see something you don’t. He approaches your professor’s desk slowly, a frown tugging at his lips. His gaze is fixated on the far corner of it, where the only indications of personality in the entire room are arranged in a neat row.

Three small figurines. At first glance, they appear wooden, hand-carved. The first is a tree. The second is a rose. And the third is a startlingly lifelike human heart.

They’re all relatively small, about the size of your closed fist. The closer you look, the more intricate they become. Details are carved with phenomenal precision. From leaves to petals to veins, the craftsmanship is remarkable.

Heeseung is staring at them with a distinct intensity.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I’m not sure,” he admits, still fixated on the carvings. “I just feel strangely… drawn to them. The heart in particular.” But he still doesn’t do anything about it.

Spurred by his inaction, you reach for the figurine, lifting it to eye level. It’s smooth to the touch, nothing particularly noteworthy about it other than the intricacy of the carving.

But then you give it a slight shake. The two of you lock eyes when something rattles inside.

“Do you think…” you breathe, sentence trailing into oblivion.

Heeseung’s eyes flicker from you to the heart. “Does it open?”

From your current vantage point, there’s nothing obvious. But then you turn the heart upside down. Whatever’s contained inside follows the flow of gravity, settling heavily inside the upturned figurine with a small thump.

And on the bottom of the heart, there’s a latch. Tiny, but unmistakable. Your hands are shaking, almost too hard for you to get a proper grip. But once you do, the latch clicks open without a hint of resistance.

Turning the heart upright again, all you can do is gasp as a large, ornate, metal key falls into your open palm.

Your gaze locks on Heeseung’s, jaw open in disbelief. “How did you know?”

He shakes his head, just as dumbfounded as you. “I have no idea.”

But now you have another dilemma. Do you take it with you? Go back to New Haven now? If Professor Kim were to make a stop by his office or the publishing house for any reason, the two of you could be in deep, deep trouble. For something far worse than breaking and entering.

But you can’t just leave it here. Not when you’re nearly one-hundred percent certain you know exactly what it opens. Not when you’re dying to know what’s worth guarding with that much effort.

You’re about to voice your concern to Heeseung when he beats you to it. Eyes flicking to yours, imbued with a sudden intensity, he whispers, “Someone’s coming.”

“What?” you whisper back. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” He listens for a second longer. “It’s not Professor Kim. I can tell by the footsteps. But whoever it is, they’re headed in this direction.”

“Do we stay in here?” It’s unlikely that whoever it is will check your professor’s office, but if discovery is inevitable, it would be better for the two of you not to be found not inside a university employee’s locked office.

Again, you glance around the room, this time frantically searching for somewhere, anywhere to serve as a hiding space for the two of you. You come up empty handed.

Then, to your relief, Heeseung says, “They turned down a different hall,” It’s short lived when he adds, “Let’s go. I think we can make it back to the fourth floor.”

Making a run for it feels like the worst possible option. “Are you serious?”

“Do you want to be found in here?”

You don’t, but the sound of footsteps in an otherwise empty building will surely alert whoever it is to your presence. Staying put feels like a far better choice. “Can’t we just wait for them to leave?”

“We don’t know when they will,” Heeseung argues. “Or if they’ll come this way before they do.”

He’s right, you realize, something sinking in your stomach. You know he’s right, but staying in place feels safer to you somehow. Making a mad dash back to the fourth floor feels like a suicide mission.

“Okay,” you agree, breath suddenly rapid as you slide the key into your pocket. “Okay.”

“Give me the dagger.” Heeseung holds out his hand.

“You’re not going to stab—”

“Of course not! We need to relock the door.”

Mollified, you retrieve the dagger before handing it to him.

As quickly and quietly as possible, the two of you tiptoe out of your professor’s office, key heavy in your pocket. Heeseung slides the door shut behind you, slides the dagger into the lock and maneuvers it back into place.

As soon as it clicks, his hand freezes.

When he turns to you, it’s with panic in his eyes. “The footsteps,” he whispers. “They changed again. They’re headed in this direction.”

Shit.

Maybe making a break for the fourth floor is still an option.

“Do we still have time to—”

Heeseung shakes his head. You know he’s telling the truth. Because now you, even with your mediocre human senses, can hear the footsteps too. The way that they’re getting louder. Getting closer.

You’re frantic now. “Don’t you have super speed or something?”

“The only exit is down the hall,” Heeseung returns. “We’d just be running at above average speed towards the person.”

“Well, can you make yourself invisible?”

“I’m not a wizard!”

“Oh, well forgive me for assuming the immortal supernatural being who can project visions from their mind through physical touch might be able to do something useful in this situation.”

Arguing will do little to save you now. The footsteps are only getting louder. Even if you wanted to, there’s no way you’d have time to get back into Professor Kim’s office before you’re discovered.

Heeseung confirms this. “We have approximately three seconds.”

You look up at him, his features soft in the low light of a nearly abandoned building. Panic etched across his face, eyes locked on yours.

Panic still outlining your words, you whisper, “Do you trust me?”

He recoils an inch, obvious distrust written in his expression. “Why?”

You roll your eyes. You should have expected as much. “Never mind.”

But you reach for him anyway, before he has time to register what’s happening. His supernatural senses will do him little good here. They warn him when your heart starts racing, yes, but they don’t make your actions predictable. Especially not the ones you don’t feel entirely in control of yourself.

And of all the improbable, impossible things to happen today, this just might be the most unexpected.

He’s surprisingly easy to maneuver, you realize, when he’s caught entirely off guard. There’s no resistance when your hand wraps around the nape of his neck. Nothing but acceptance in the way his muscles give as you pull him down to your height.

There’s a second, a fragmented splinter of time, in which his lips hover just above yours. A millimeter of distance. A chance to retract regret borrowed from the future.

But like every moment you’ve stolen with him, it slips from your fingers just as surely.

And then, with the steadiness of a sure thing, his lips are on yours.

You won’t pretend to be privy to the extent of his knowledge, the experience the past five hundred years have afforded him, but all you can think is that it feels a little bit like a kiss you would steal behind the bleachers in eighth grade.

Hesitation renders him all but immobile. It’s written into the way his eyes are still open in shock, mouth screwed shut, hands anywhere but on you.

Despite his obvious reluctance, despite everything in you screaming that this was a bad idea, your mouth parts against his, a breath escaping between your lips.

He swallows it, and for a moment, everything is still. Until it’s not.

Hands on your waist are the first thing you feel. The first initiation in this dance between you that’s of his doing. The second is pressure returned against your lips, firm, insistent.

A line is being crossed; a barrier is being broken. Desire that he keeps tethered on a firm leash is slipping through his fingers as they land on the base of your spine.

This was always going to be something forged between the two of you. In response, you bring your second hand to join your first at the base of his neck, tangling in the hair you find there.

He pushes forward, and you’re left with nowhere to go but the expanse of the wall behind you. Back flush against it, you can’t help the small noise of surprise that escapes. Somewhere between a sigh and a hum.

Whatever it is, it has Heeseung doubling down. As if he wants to swallow every sound you make. As if he wants to earn them first.

His mouth opens against yours, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere. Your spine, your hips, the hem of your shirt. He pushes further, crowding you against the wall. Until it feels like your desire, the feverish heat brewing beneath your skin, doesn’t belong to you anymore.

Sensation is suddenly a shared thing, and you’re both chasing fleeting glimpses at a future neither of you thought you would ever have.

Fingers tangling further in his hair, you can’t help the small, pitiful noises that escape now. Crawl up your throat and drip from your tongue with every give and take, every push and pull.

Heesung is anything but immobile now. And he’ll give as good as he gets.

It’s on an unsteady exhale that you feel it, a quick, sharp pain on your bottom lip. Hissing in pain, it’s nothing but a knee jerk reaction when you pull away slightly.

Heeseung doesn’t let you get far. Mouth chasing yours, he hovers just a fragment of an inch above you. Whatever remains of his inhibition keeps him there, a hair's breadth away from you.

Slowly, you raise a finger to your bottom lip. To the source of your gasp, the site of the small flicker of pain. When you pull it back to eye level, your fingertip comes away red.

You’ve never seen his fangs before, as your eyes drop to his mouth, you realize that they’ve made an appearance. Sharp, predatory, destructive. All the things you’ve been told to fear, raised to run from.

His eyes, however, hold nothing but apologies.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s still just as close, but you can feel the way he’s pulling away, retracting into himself even as he remains tangled in your embrace. “I didn’t realize I had—”

You don’t hear the end of it. It doesn’t take much to erase the space between you again.

And where you expect to find that same resistance from before, where you expect to have to fight his hesitation, convince him to give into the sensations building between you, you find only a feverish desire.

If you thought you were falling into him before, you’re surely drowning in him now. Consumed in your entirety.

There’s no space for you to breathe, to think, against the sudden insistence of his mouth, the fervent exploration of his hands. Pretenses between you have been vitiated, and the only thing you crave now is the feeling of reciprocation, some kind of indication that he’s fallen victim to it, too.

You don’t miss it, either. The particular attention he pays to your bottom lip. The way he bites at it, pulls at it. Careful of your injury and meticulous about using only the teeth of his that don’t double as weapons, yes, but it’s desperate all the same.

“Fuck, ___,” he whispers, the taste of you on his tongue, sliding down his throat. You feel his words reverberate down the length of your spine, settle heavily in that space just behind your navel. It’s sharper this time, more poignant. You want to follow it, trace all the lines between you until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. “Fuck.”

It’s slipping from him, that facade of aloofness, that pretense of detachment. It belongs to you now, all of it. His attention. His desire. His feverish lust for everything his inhibitions have always kept him away from.

His tongue presses against the sensitive skin of your broken bottom lip just as his hand slides under the barrier of your shirt, traces a steady path up your spine until it finds a place to settle, just beneath your rib cage.

“I’m sorry,” he’s still whispering, because he hates himself for wanting this, loathes the way it feels like he’s stealing something from you. Your blood is on his tongue and your trust in his hands. He’s never felt more like a monster, never had such selfish prayers.

But this was never transactional in your mind, and you feel the furthest from fear that you have since you woke up with his wound etched in the skin of your neck.

You pull away, only slightly, breath forgotten as you look at him. Your chest heaves with it now. His eyes are cast downwards, as if he can avoid the reality of what’s passed between you by averting his gaze, by looking away. As if his hands aren’t still sitting on your skin. As if he can pretend nothing has happened between you.

It’s not a particular peace you’re willing to give him. And an apology was never what you wanted.

Sliding your hand to his jaw, you turn his chin upward, forcing him to look at you. Your touch, like his, is gentle but firm. Insistent. Again, despite the obvious mismatch in your strength, he lets you adjust him to your will. Allows himself to be manipulated.

You don’t want his apologies. You don’t want his regret. You hate every unearned sorry he lays at your feet. “Don’t be.”

Slowly, you bring your other hand, the one not tangled in his hair, up until it’s at eye level. Without breaking eye contact, you press the pad of your fingertip, still stained with a drop of your blood, against his mouth. He opens it under your insistence, maintains eye contact as his lips part, wrap around the tip of your finger.

When you retract it, the night air feels cold against the wetted skin of your finger.

It’s only then, when his lips descend on yours again, imbued with a sense of desperate urgency, that you realize you were never disturbed. That the footsteps have faded, lost somewhere that your mind has no use for now.

The only thing you hear now is the mingling of sighs and the fervent thrumming of your own heartbeat.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUU for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. all the best <3

#heeseung fanfiction #heeseung fanfic #heeseung x you #heeseung x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines

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tmntxthings · 17 days

Note

(First of saw your recent ask with the anon and I hope you’re feeling a bit better since answering that! Please don’t rush to answer this or your other requests and i hope you feel better soon!)

I AM CHEWING ON YOUR DONNIE X READER WORKS OML BRO WHAT ARE YOU FEEDING YOUR INNER WRITER YOUR WORK IS ✨DIVINE✨ 😔👌

I cant resist making a request but you know Donnie flies/hovers with his battle shell in some episodes right to get around?? So what if Donnie having an s/o who is fascinated by the idea of flying, so one day, after much pestering Donnie gives in and decides to fly them around New York for a bit. BUT only if he is there with them, cuz Donnie is not about to have a stress induced heart

attack if they loose balance.

Donnie himself doesn’t really understand the fascination with flying cuz….well nothing is especially different, it’s just the city but from high up. But then mid sentence he looks to his partner and stares in silent awe at the fascination twinkling in their eyes as they admire the view??

I’m sorry I’m such a goddam sucker for this sort of stuff

一∑ Nights Like These 。・゜・

author’s notes: you paint a pretty picture anon, I could see it all play out thru my head! hope you enjoy <3

warnings: fluff, unedited

—————————————————————————

“Y’know what would be cool?”

Donatello blinked, his stare deadpanned. He was over this. You had asked so many times already. And each time, he had given you his answer. A resounding no. So he continued to tap at his phone while you sidled up next to him on the couch.

“Donnieeeeeee!”

A drawn eyebrow twitched. He wasn’t going to deign that with a response. You were being trivial at this point.

“Please!”

He let out a long sigh. Clicking his phone shut as dark irises finally turned in your direction. By this point it was clear you were never going to let it go. The word no, didn’t exist in your vocabulary. At least not when it came to the possibility of flying.

With his attention now on you, a speech was suddenly underway.

“I’ll do everything you say! Take a whole Donnie-training-course on how to fly a jetpack!! Just let me try! Please! Pretty please!”

You sure did know how to beg. Maybe it was unfair of him. But he didn’t like the idea of you in the air at all. You weren’t exactly known for coordination. You sucked at driving video games. How would you be able to command a jetpack that could go from zero to a hundred in seconds flat?

It was dangerous.

You could get injured or worse! There were so many terrible scenarios that ran through Donnie’s mind, he almost went back on his phone. But your hands latched onto his arm, pulling his thoughts back to the here and now.

“Nothing bad will happen! You’ll be right there beside me!!”

It was weird how you knew exactly what to say. Exactly how to sway him. Maybe his face was an open book, or maybe you just knew how to read him too well. This time his sigh was one of defeat.

You cheered.

After many, many lessons Donnie finally felt it was safe enough for you to put the jetpack on.

By this point you knew what all of the buttons did. All sorts of emergency protocols. And you may even be considered a certified pilot depending on the country.

Rigorous couldn’t even begin to describe what regiment Donnie had put you through. But it all paid off in the end. Because now you were strapped in.

“Alright, looks like it fits. How does it feel? I designed this one according to your specs.”

Donnie was circling around you. A hand underneath his chin as he looked for a reason to call the whole thing off. But you were on the moon.

“It’s perfect! Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. Finally!! We get to fly together!!”

How could he shatter that bright smile of yours now? He’d put this off long enough. So he nodded, and led the charge out of the lair.

“Remember, if you feel out of control—“

You cut him off before he could finish.

“Don, I know! Stop and hover. Can I power on now?”

“No not yet we have to go through all of… Y/N!”

There was no patience left within you as Donnie kept talking so you just took off mid-sentence. He hollered after you. He took chase, his own jetpack roaring to life.

You were going way too fast. Donnie couldn’t tell if you were even under control! Just above the rooftops you flew by. Weaving past units and it became clear that you did know how to fly. His anxiety lessened but he still kept tailing you. Just in case.

At one point you slowed down enough for Donnie to be flying right by your side. Your smile dazzled him as you glanced over. Eyes twinkling in awe as you pointed out the bridge where Donnie and his brothers did the pizza box stacking competition.

“Race you there!”

You shouted and not a second later you were going max speed.

Now you may be a natural but Donnie had been flying far longer than you. The only advantage you did have was a slight head start. The wind picked up as the two of you flew higher. The finish line apparently being the highest point on the bridge.

Donnie won. He knew the best path to take after all from a projected route via his goggles. He watched as you made it to him. Slowing down and then circling him in the air while you laughed out in joy.

“This is amazing!!”

You exclaimed as you landed in front of him. It was high up, the wind whipping past the both of you. But the cold didn’t seem to affect your spirits at all. Your arms were raised in the air, back turned to him, whooping out for all of New York to hear. None of them would, not even the passengers in their zooming cars below. But Donnie could.

His heart did a strange thump beneath his plastron. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He felt a little breathless.

“Thank you! I- just, thank you for this! I never thought in my lifetime I’d be able to do something so… so..!”

The words were slipping from you as you had faced Donnie to express your gratitude. This was something that only happened in movies. That only happened in dreams! Your hands came up and moved in an expression that tried to convey how big this all felt to you. These emotions!

“We can do it again. However many times you like.”

Donnie replied after a moment.

You didn’t let the shock pass your features. You had wondered if he would let you fly again. So you had tried to get it all out of your system. Not knowing if the first would be your last. You smiled brightly for him.

“My worries seem to have been for nothing. You’re a natural at flying.”

A compliment. You could only smile brighter.

“Well, I don’t know about all that,”

And his mouth opened to argue. Not liking how you were putting yourself down. But before he could you continued.

“I had a great teacher!”

You mused at how his mouth snapped shut. His eyes darting away, a hand coming up to rub the back of his bandana.

“Really. He was the best! He’s too smart!”

He had to turn away as the compliments kept coming. Had the wind stopped? It was suddenly a bit warm up here. You had the nerve to giggle at his shyness before you powered up your jetpack again.

He turned immediately back to you, expecting you to take off again. But this time you hovered. Offering your hand to Donnie. He couldn’t help but take in the view. The night sky your backdrop, few stars even more satellites. But it was as if you were glowing before him.

His own hand reached out, fingers brushing against your palm, before taking a firm grip.

He held your hand.

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marlenesluv · 1 year

Text

Stress Relief. (OP)

summary: oscar has had a rough day at the track, but he comes home to his girlfriend to help him destress.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader (dating)

warnings: smut, 18+ only, mdni!, oral (fem!receiving), fingering

note: first smut on here! kinda random but i just had a thought and wanted to make a little thing blurb. i know it's kinda short, i'll write something else soon with more plot, lol. i hope it's decent :/

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all posts! ^

Qualifying day was always something that you attended. Showing up with Oscar, holding hands through the paddock, talking with his engineers, but you had an unfortunate amount of work to get done. Being a personal assistant for the head of a business firm was fun, in theory.

Your phone was going off every five minutes with emails, and texts, calls, and reminders. Your laptop glued to your side, as well as your ipad, and today was the worst it had been in months.

Big projects coming up and documents had to be read over, slides gone through, speeches double- no, triple checked, and emails responded to the second they came through.

Obviously, Oscar was a little bummed that you couldn’t make it, but work was first, and he had no problem attending alone, as long as he got to see you when it was over.

And he did. Unfortunately, the circumstances sucked. You weren’t able to have the tv on the race, you were mostly on facetimes with people, and you had to be in your office. So you were unable to see how his car had completely shit out. Brakes broken and balance off, as well as a loose tire, he was out fast. Meaning he would start at the back on race day.

“Y/N?” Oscar called out, about to call you again when he saw you. You. Wearing his favorite hoodie, eating strawberries, and scrolling through the Formula 1 app for updates.

He came over to the sofa, making you look up and part your lips to talk, but no words came out. Defeated, that was the only word that came to mind when you looked at your boyfriend. And what was worse? Lando had placed p2 in qualifying, meaning his press after sucked.

“Hey…” You frowned and greeted him back, not knowing his mind right now. Upset, yes, but you didn’t know if he wanted a kiss, a hug, or-

Your mind went numb as he pulled your bowl away, as well as your phone, turning it off and placing it on the charger on the side table. Blinking up at him, he bit his bottom lip as his eyes got a little darker.

“I’m sorry, Osc. Do you want me to-“ He cut you off with a kiss before you could even finish your sentence. Gasping into the kiss, he slid his tongue in your mouth.

You grabbed his hair, pulling him closer just as he broke away and smiled at your pout.

He got down on his knees in-front of you, in-front of the couch, “It’s okay, princess. Just relax, ok?” Oscar pulled your shorts down, as you nodded, releasing a deep breath.

Slowly, he lowered his lips, softly kissing your thighs as you let out soft moans that were barely audible. His kisses traveled up, closer to your core where you needed him most.

Shallow breaths filled the room as he traced his finger over your underwear, on top of your clit. "Please, Oscar." You whined, moving your hips closer to him.

The way the sunset glow was shining on his face made you all the more needy for him. He knew this, smiling at you through hooded eyes as he pulled your underwear down with his fingers, tossing them on the floor.

"Are you going to be good for me tonight, doll?" His accent seemed more prominent when he was turned on, which just made you moan out and buck your hips.

"Are you?" He asked again, fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs.

"Yes, please. I need you..." Your eyes welled up a bit, desperate for his touch.

"You need me? Hm, well, if you need me-" Cutting himself off, he placed a kiss to your clit.

His hands held your hips down as he continued to place sporadic kisses to your core. If you let him, he would stay down there for hours, maybe even days. You never failed to make him feel safe and happy. All he needed was you.

Your hands traveled down once more, grabbing his hair and pulling him closer. Letting out a moan on your clit, you jerked, feeling the vibrations at what seemed to be a heightened feeling.

He started to kitten lick, making you moan louder and throw your head back. Never wanting to lose eye contact, he tugged your hand that was on his hair, making your look down.

Raising his head, he spoke, "Eyes on me, beautiful, or you don't get to cum."

This gained your attention, now holding eye contact as he continued his ministrations. He boldly licked down to your hole, and back up before adding two fingers to the mix.

His fingers probed and eventually sunk in, making you moan out and clench around him. Oscar had no intention of actually fucking you tonight. All he wanted was to make you cum from his tongue and fingers, proving to himself, and you, that he was better than his p18 in qualifying. Your pleasure was above all else in his mind.

As your high was in sight, your stomach clenched, which he noticed straight away. His fingers still moved in and out at a fast pace, occasionally blowing cold air on your clit to add extra stimulation.

"Oscar- I'm gonna-" You moaned, unable to finish your sentence.

"I know, doll. It's okay, let go for me." He soothed, never letting up as his tongue went back to your clit.

When you reached your high, your hands grabbed the couch cushions and your toes curled.

Oscar helped you ride out your high, slowly licking and rubbing your calves as he pulled back. Wiping his chin with the back of his hand and sucking his fingers clean, he got up and wen to the bathroom.

Your eyes could barely stay awake as you felt a warm wash cloth on your legs and core, wiping you down and making sure you were clean. He then put a clean pair of his boxers on you and a new pair for him as well.

Oscar sat down beside you and pulled you to lay down on his chest on the couch, pulling a blanket over you two.

"Thank you, Osc. Don't you want me to-" He stopped you with a kiss, "I'm okay, tomorrow maybe. Lets just cuddle. Please."

You could tell he was exhausted from his day, so you agreed, nestling your head in his neck as he turned the television back onto your show. He kissed your head as you both drifted off to sleep.

No matter how much racing could frustrate him, he could always count on you to help him destress.

#formula 1 #f1 #formula one #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x y/n #f1 smut #smut #formula 1 smut #mclaren smut #mclaren #op81 #op81 smut

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reiding-writing · 8 months

Note

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You��re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #asks 🫶

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unreliablesnake · 11 months

Text

Bliss (Ghost x f!reader)

Summary: Ghost gives in to his feelings, putting the fact he's above you in the ranks aside, and meets you after your latest mission.

Note: Part 2 of this, but it can be read as a stand-alone. / Here's the happy ending, I hope you'll like it. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button.

Warning: SMUT, MINORS DNI! Afab!reader. Fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v.

A little voice in the back of his mind kept telling Ghost to break down his walls. Let’s not worry about ranks, let’s not worry about consequences. Keep it a secret, make it some fun sneaking game just for the two of you.

To his disappointment, you kept your distance after that night. Not like he could blame you after he made it clear there could be nothing between you. While he stood next to Price in the briefing room, you looked at him every once in a while, your eyes showing the kind of sadness that made it hard for him to focus. He wished he could hug you, tell you he was sorry and he made a grave mistake by pushing you away.

Because as the days passed, he became more and more sure that he should give in to his needs. He wanted to be with you, but strictly outside of work. This way he could keep a little distance, he could sell himself the idea of breaking the rules.

Soap noticed that something had changed between the two of you, but he only dropped half a sentence before changing his mind. He knew better than to dig into his superior's private life. Whether he had asked you or not, Ghost didn't know. But for his own sanity, he assumed he did not.

The night before they could finally go home, he was scrolling your Instagram profile while lying on his bed, smiling to himself every time he saw a picture of you. It was rare, mostly found among the photos you were tagged in, but he was grateful for each and every one of them.

Suddenly he felt the mattress shift as someone sat down on its edge. He turned off the phone's screen and put it down next to his head to see who it was. When his eyes landed in you, he felt a wave of guilt passing through his body.

"Why are you torturing yourself?" you asked kindly as you reached out to place a hand on his chest.

His skin burned where you touched him, making it really hard to resist the urge to put his hands on top of yours. "What are you talking about?"

You let out a sigh at this. "You liked those photos by accident, I guess. Ghost, you said we can't be together, yet you keep looking at my photos. I'm gonna ask you again. Why are you torturing yourself?"

As he propped on his elbows, Ghost thought about the answer. "I don't want to be away from you," he admitted so honestly that he surprised himself. Well, based on the look on your face, there was no turning back now. "I know I said we can't be together, but I can't stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try. Why are you like this, huh? Why are you so irresistible?" he asked, his question nothing more but a barely audible whisper.

With a smile, you leaned closer and slowly moved your hand up to his neck, your fingers brushing the hem of his balaclava. "Meet me after the mission," you told him quietly, your voice carrying the sort of authority that made it impossible to say no to you.

Ghost knew he was at your mercy, there was no way he could say no to that. He wasn't strong enough. So he took your hand in his and moved closer to give you a kiss through the fabric of his mask, savoring the feeling just in case this was the first and last time he could do it.

"Come on, I know you want to meet me," you tried kindly, your eyes locked with his as you waited for his response.

"Fuck, love, how could I say no to that?" the lieutenant breathed against your lips.

And he sent you a DM to discuss the details, making sure to keep the conversation online so the others wouldn't know about it. He didn't want conflict. He didn't want tension. The tension between the two of you was more than enough on his plate.

Three days later he was standing in front of your door, this time without his usual mask, his hand raised to knock. But he hesitated, he wasn't so sure anymore about this date. No, he could do it. He shouldn't be that–

"So you're just gonna stand here without letting me know you're here?" he heard your voice all of a sudden.

When he looked up, he noticed you standing in the now open door, your arm resting against the doorframe. You looked so happy and relaxed, the total opposite of what he usually saw during missions. With your trendy clothes and light makeup, he felt like kissing you on those cherry red lips.

"God, why are you like this?" he asked from no one in particular before acting on his instincts and pulling you into a kiss.

You giggled against his lips as you pulled him inside by the front of his shirt. "And you're really handsome. Have you been told that?" you inquired with a wide grin when he kicked in the door and pushed your back against it.

He gently bit on your lower lip, happy to hear a satisfied moan escape you. "We're not gonna leave for dinner, are we?"

You shook your head in response, letting him know that he was free to do whatever he wanted. And Ghost didn't need you to repeat yourself, he took the lead without hesitation, his hands moving to remove your clothes with precise and calculated moves.

Ghost's hands roamed your body as if he was trying to memorize every inch and every curve, turning it into a core memory along with everything you were about to do tonight. Because he was sure this would be a night to remember, he could feel that what you had there was truly magical.

"I want to taste you," he mumbled against your neck, enjoying the way you pushed your body against his upon hearing his request.

You gave him the directions to your bedroom, moving in perfect sync with him until the point he picked you up and gently laid you down. Ghost kneeled down next to the bed then wrapped his muscular arms around your thighs to pull you closer to his mouth.

"Prop on your elbows, sweetheart, I want to see your beautiful eyes," he ordered you sternly, making you do as he said while his tongue ran along your already wet cunt. "Look at you. I barely did anything and you're already having trouble focusing on me."

While Ghost laughed at this, you couldn't mirror his reaction. Your thoughts were somewhere else, somewhere much higher, but he didn't mind as long as your eyes were on him. He gently sucked on your clit, the mewl leaving your swollen lips sounding like music to his ears.

It wasn't a race, but he wanted to win, and winning meant drawing an orgasm out of you as fast as he could. He wanted to see how badly you wanted him, how your body reacted to his touch, and so when you tried pressing your thighs together only from feeling his tongue exploring your pussy, he pushed them wider apart, not giving you the chance to stop him.

Your eyes were hazy when he looked into them again, which drew a satisfied smirk on his shiny lips. He let go of one of your thighs and gently dipped a finger into your needy hole, slowly pumping as he returned to your puffy clit, sucking on it as if he was having his last dinner in this world.

You threw your head back in pleasure when he pushed another finger inside you, whispering his name over and over again, begging him to keep going, to make you come. "Simon, please, I can't," you whined between your moans, your hands twisting the sheets.

Ghost let out a deep growl as he put his other hand on your stomach to keep you in place. "Come on, love, come for me," he said, his eyes fixed on you, looking for the eye contact that could hopefully push you over the edge.

And the moment you looked into his amber eyes, your body began to shake, meaningless words leaving those perfect lips like a prayer as you finally reached your first high. He lapped up every drop of your flowing juices, just like he was a man starved, and he couldn't stop smiling while he watched your body slowly relax again.

He licked his fingers clean before pressing one more kiss on your cunt and getting rid of his own clothes. He signaled you to move on the bed, and you crawled up to the headboard, your hand reached out to invite him closer, legs wider apart to give him enough space. He gave you a sloppy kiss, simply loving the way his cock teased your entrance.

"Mind if I don't use a condom? I wanna feel you, baby," he asked between kisses.

You were probably still too lost in the sensation your orgasm left behind to think straight, so you agreed, and he was bad enough not to care about whether or not it was the right decision to make. He wanted it too badly to play nice this time. And if it came down to it, there was always a morning after pill to solve the problem.

So he pushed the tip in, teasing you just enough to earn your whispered pleas for more, begging him to finally fill your needy cunt. But for now he enjoyed this little game of his, only giving you the tip before pulling out, slowly turning you into a desperate mess.

"Si, please," you begged again as you reached up to grab his bicep.

"You want me to fuck you this badly?" he asked with a smirk, then leaned down to give you a soft kiss.

You returned it, hungrily devouring him while moving your hips in a futile attempt to get him to finally make a move. Ghost thought for a second, wondering if he should stop being cruel and just give you what you wanted so badly. Seeing the look in your beautiful eyes, he let out a sigh and decided not to tease you any longer.

At first he went slow, pushing his cock into your cunt slowly, giving you the time to get used to his size. Your tight pussy felt like heaven, and he didn't think he could last long if you didn't relax soon. "Love, try to relax," he told you quietly, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"It's hard to relax when you're filling me up so well," you whined before pulling his head down into another kiss.

He began to move his hips in a steady rhythm, feeling ecstatic from hearing your sweet mewls and moans, feeling you press your body close to his as you arched your back from pleasure. He felt your cunt clench around his cock, keeping him deep between your velvety walls, and sending him closer to the edge.

He sped up, going a little harder maybe, but not hard enough to hurt you. He paid attention to your reactions, making sure you enjoyed every second of your time together. When your breathing and the noises you made changed, he knew it wouldn't take much for you to have your next orgasm.

So he reached down to rub your clit with his thumb, earning a pathetic whine from you in return, but he didn't stop, it only made him more determined to give you what you deserved. "Come on, baby, I know you're close," he told you before kissing your neck.

And soon enough you finally came around his cock, causing him to reach his high as well not long after that, but he was still focused, he still wanted to fuck you through it. You were overstimulated, completely lost in the sensation, and he simply couldn't get enough of this sight.

He raised his body to kneel between your legs after he pulled out, pushing his leaking cum back into your cunt as he proudly smiled to himself. There you were, a broken mess despite him not even going that hard on you. This was intimate and caring sex, not the rough stress relief he usually experienced with other women.

You were special, the light in his dark life, and the more he thought about it, the more sure he became that he didn't want to let you go. He crawled back next to you, pulling you against his chest before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Mind if I stick around for a few more days? I could use more of your perfect little pussy," he suggested cheekily.

You let out a quiet chuckle before giving him a soft kiss. "I wanted to ask you to stay, so we were thinking the same thing."

Ghost wasn't used to this, but he loved this feeling. He loved how calm and happy he was around you, how easily you could make him forget about his crappy life.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 #modern warfare #call of duty #smut

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h-hollieskz · 9 months

Text

BE GOOD

introduction | masterlist

->pairing: sub seungmin x dom gn reader

->word count: 1000+

->synopsis: your desperate pup just couldn’t wait until you got home

->tw: briefly mentioned edging?, fingering (m), slapping, crying (men crying is my ultimate weakness 😔), you call seungmin pup n stuff and he wears puppy ears and a collar, ties his wrists, overstimulation, ruined orgasm?, aftercare sorta, sry if I missed anything

->authors note: I hate it :)

Buzz

Your phone buzzed from your pocket and you saw it was your boyfriend, Seungmin, but you ignored it returning to your conversation. It was only when you heard the second ping, that your hand began to snake to your pocket to retrieve your phone once more.

You opened the notifications, rolling your eyes when you saw what he had wrote.

Please come back.

You can’t leave me here like this.

He couldn’t even let you go out with your friends for more than a few hours before he was spamming you with messages. He’s so clingy.

Buzz

Please

Buzz

I’m begging you

Buzz

I need you

Buzz

😭

“I’m sorry-“ you apologised to your friends who had paused whilst you read the texts. “It’s nothing carry on.”

Buzz

Why did you leave me on read?

Your finger pressed the silent button.

Pleeeease

It’s your fault I’m like this anyway :(

You’re the one who told me I couldn’t cum last night :((((((

Your eyes scan his messages, choosing once again to ignore him. He can wait a few more hours surely.

☆☆☆☆☆

As you arrive back home, you take off your shoes at the door, plopping your bag on the kitchen table. You pull out a chair, sitting down to check your messages. Two texts from your mom, and a staggering 32 texts and 3 missed calls from your boyfriend. You barely bother to check each individual message, but one draws your attention. It isn’t a text at all. It's a video.

It was sent almost an hour ago, a pathetic 3 minute video of Seungmin fucking his pillow. You can’t deny how his gasps and whimpers turn you on and it suddenly reminds you of something. You haven’t seen him yet- where is he?

You press your ear up against your bedroom door barely hearing the tiny moans coming from the other side. Cracking open the door very slightly, you catch a glimpse of Seungmin, lying on your bed. His legs were wide open, one hand desperately pumping his cock, the other with 2 fingers knuckle deep in his ass. There was one thing however that you couldn’t take your eyes off. He was wearing his collar and brown, floppy ears you had bought him. Such a cutie.

You tut slowly, making a big deal of pushing open the door, relishing in how his eyes widen. He jumps at the sight of you, spilling all over his stomach for what can’t be the first time. He hastily grabs a pillow, trying to cover himself, face flushed red.

“So shy pup? You weren’t like this in that little video you decided to send me earlier.” You raise your eyebrows.

Seungmin stutters slightly, trying to come up with an explanation. “I-uh. It- it’s”

“Hm?” You press. “And what’s this? I thought I told you this morning. No touching whilst I’m out.” As you get closer, you pull the pillow away from where he hugs it to his chest. His angry red dick presses up against his toned stomach- covered in various fluids- and his cheeks only burn a deeper crimson as you crouch down in front of him. “Don’t ignore me Minnie. I want an answer.”

He bites his lip before answering, “It’s not my fault.” A tear slips down his cheek and you wipe it away with your thumb. “I couldn’t hold back any more.” He whispered.

“That’s okay pup, I understand. But you understand you have to be punished for this- don’t you?”

Seungmin whimpers, “I under-“ You don’t let him finish his sentence, landing a harsh slap on his left cheek. His face contorts with pain, but his dick gives him away, twitching as you make impact.

“Puppies don’t talk Minnie, lie down.”

You wait for him to lie back down on your bed before you get up to retrieve the box from your closet. Out of it, you pull a length of pink ribbon and a wand vibrator. As Seungmin sees, he lets out the most adorable sound.

“Colour Seungmin?”

“Green.” He whimpers.

“Good puppy, I’m going to tie your wrists to the bed frame okay?” With his eyes scrunched shut, your boyfriend nods, lifting his arms off the mattress to help you.

When you finish, tying it off with a bow, you crawl back to admire your work.

“You look so pretty like this Minnie.” Seungmin gasps beneath you as you press your finger against his softening dick. He looks so overstimulated. “How many times did you cum before I got home puppy? You can speak.”

“Th-three.”

“Oh you little whore.” You remark. “Does this hurt?” You grip his cock tightly, slowly but firmly beginning to jerk him off.

He nods softly.

“Good.”

You turn on the vibrator and he flinches at the low buzzing. He squirms as you start at his balls- teasing him before moving further up his length. His back arches and he strains against the ribbon, legs starting to kick as it gets higher and higher. You pin him down by sitting on his legs, straddling him as he keeps trying to escape. As you reach his angry-looking tip he finally loses it.

“N-nghh” he whines as he feels himself getting hard again. Tears are falling freely by now, staining his pretty face as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

“You look so pretty like this, my adorable little puppy.” Drool slips from his parted lips as you continue your mean teasing, occasionally switching to play with his sensitive nipples.

“Are you going to cum again pup?” You ask coyly, smirking at his pained whimpers as he nods his head desperately. “Okay then, cum for me Minnie.”

Seungmin’s mouth forms an ‘o’ as clear liquid splatters against his chest, a scream-like sound escaping his mouth. He shakes uncontrollably as he comes down from his high.

When he’s done you quickly turn off the vibrator, going to untie his wrists from the ribbon he’s been pulling at. You pull him in your arms, fingers brushing through his sweat-soaked hair.

“You did good baby.” You praise, stroking his soft puppy ears as Seungmin buries himself in your embrace

It’s not my fault the voices told me to write it

#skz smut #stray kids smut #sub skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #sub stray kids #dom reader #skz x reader #seungmin x reader #sub seungmin

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strawberrysnoopy · 8 months

Text

ACT ONE: The Photo Shoot, part one

prologue

summary of the series: for months, leon has been writhing in his bed dreaming of his friend's wife (you). he's been fighting the desperation for months until that one night you bring up a lingerie shoot you've done for a prestigious brand.

summary of this part: recalling the first time you and leon met, you've realized you've been poorly treated by your husband. leon is no different, in a toxic relationship with his wife, ada wong. as the seeds of resentment have begun to germinate, the desire for you grows like a brush fire nearby.

warnings: MENTIONS OF PUKE, BUT NOT ACTUAL PUKING, leon teaches you how to smoke (i don't wanna see no dumb stupid comments about "oh but leon hates smoking", well leon isn't disloyal but here we are), brief use of (adjective) girl (atta girl, good girl, silly girl), praise, mentions of misogyny (not from Leon ofc), awkward, tense ass convos, a fuckton of desc. and a little description, no sex (yet ;) ), cussing, descriptions of fucking, descriptions of masturbation, semi-public masturbation, almost caught masturbating, slight corruption kink (? if you squint), alcohol consumption, use of tobacco, smoking, implied sexual references, etc.

also a/n, writing this as of feb. 2nd, 2024: 60 notes?!!!!! i was writing this for my own personal pleasure but like...??!?! i got reblogged so many times?! im gagged, tysm you guys!!! making a playlist rn, so excited to release the soundtrack. if you see little random edits, i'm probably obsessing over the fic and trying to make it perfect lol/anticipate changes. i would also like to write I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING! always communicate with your partner, discuss issues, etc. this fic is just a lil’ taboo type of fantasy, do NOT cheat on your partners.

The first time you met Leon was at a grocery store: two weeks before your husband would have any idea of his existence and one week before he had invited Leon and his wife, Ada, over for dinner. You were picking up a bottle of red wine for you and your husband under the guise of wanting something nice for date night. The reality would actually be you were buying it for yourself after your husband decides you're not worth his affections anymore, lazily mosey on over to the spare room, and pull out his phone to text other women. The wine would be something to drink to inebriate you while you watched a shitty re-run of a sitcom from the 90s. Maybe if you got lucky, Golden Girls was on.

He was only browsing, stumbling upon the liquor section and staying to look if there would be anything worthwhile. And there was. It was you. He knew he had to think of something witty, something cool people say, before you left and thought he was some creep staring at you because he saw a smidgen of your breasts in a magazine. "You're a famous model, right?" He asked. Oh, how stupid he felt. He was a chronic overthinker: thinking of every last terrible scenario, a trait he picked up after becoming an agent. This had certainly felt like one of the worst options he picked, especially with how you would-- You interrupted him. "Yeah, that's me." The subtle sweetness, the slight rasp in your voice was better than anything any street drug could offer with the amount of dopamine flooding into his brain: overloading every neuron, synapse, dendrite, and cell membrane in his body.

But for whatever reason, he stretched his hand outwards and lazily grinned towards you. "I'm Leon." "Nice to meet you. Well, I'd say my name but y'know..." He nodded in an awkward agreement before you could even finish your sentence, but not daring to go as far to interrupt you. He felt as if he already started off the conversation with a cumbersome beginning. "Right, right. So, that's your real name? I see a lot of models use stage names n' stuff like that." He adjusts his weight from one foot to the other, switching the hand holding his grocery basket from his right to his left. He felt so...awkward around you. Maybe it was the fact you were a famous model, or maybe it was the fact you were just so calm. The joke causes a soft chuckle to leave your lips and the mere look of a fleeting moment of bliss to cross over your features makes his knees turn into gelatin. Those nerves solidify into stone when the overwhelming sense of guilt hits him like a tidal wave but allows it to wash over him for the sake of continuing the conversation.

"Yeah, just my regular name. I'm not that creative outside of modeling. Usually the photographers do the thinking and the creative processes for me." He chuckled, shaking his head and barely moving himself a little closer. Leon wanted to sink in that gentle, warm, and soft presence you carried around with you. Your aura felt comforting: like a hug after a tough day: it had felt so much more different than his wife. True, Ada could be affectionate but that's usually only after something good has happened to her or Leon was her last resort of attention. He really hated how much he would act like an obedient dog, awaiting her arrival home, coming back to her after she's treated him like dirt. You? You felt so goddamn altruistic and considerate. And he's only known you for three minutes.

You notice he's gone silent and you're silently hoping he thought you were cool. Cool. Like a teenager trying to fit in. You silently cringe at yourself until he smiles at you, almost like he's signaling you to continue the conversation. You can't think of any conversation starters. And you're a model for gods sake. You're usually so outgoing and social with other people but now it's like a cat came by and stole your voice box. Thankfully, he takes over that portion for you. "Buying wine?" He knew it was dry as all hell but he wanted to steer the conversation away from him being a fan of your modeling gigs. No, he just wanted to talk to you and discover what you were like behind the camera. (Okay, and maybe he wanted to see if you'd flirt with him.) "Yup. But I'm just buying wine for..." You paused, about to say 'for me and my husband' but your throat becomes dry whenever you feel like you're about to announce it to him. "...Myself."

He smiles. He likes that you're awkward in real life. The fact made you feel more real, like you weren't just some sexy model with expensive tastes and a bratty attitude. You were a person like anyone else.

"Right. Me too, just uh...just browsing." You nod, fidgeting anxiously with the sleeves of the coat you decided to toss on last minute before leaving the house.

The conversation went on to end when you eventually realized you would be home late. Although you thought that worrying your husband a little would be the thing that reignited the spark in your marriage, you knew that punctuality was a habit you'd like to upkeep. That, and you also knew if you talked to this handsome stranger for longer, you'd cheat on your husband. That night, Leon had fallen asleep to the thought of you for the first time. Soft little visions of pressing his lips against yours, caressing your cheek softly and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, etc, etc, cheesy lovey dovey bullshit. So much more different than the truly filthy thoughts he had about you nowadays. You're torn from your conversation with your friends when you make eye contact with him. You can practically feel his eyes travel from the hair at the highest point on your head to the very last bit of your black, leathery heels with perfect pretty pearls embellished on the pump. For a moment, you feel like you're trapped in some type of horny labyrinth while you stare longingly at him.

He's ripped out of his own longing by the feeling of your husband's hand slapping his back. Ada sat beside Leon with her arm protectively wrapped around his bicep. You felt as if the gesture were a signal to everyone at the party that Leon belonged to her. He was under her control, nobody else's. Or maybe the protective message was for her husband, as if he was an unruly friend to her husband. And you could agree with that. You fell in love with your husband because he was wild and care-free but after the diamond ring was slipped onto your ring finger, you realized he was also carefree in the sense that hurt you: talking to other women behind your back, and leaving for days at a time only to come back inebriated. But you stood by his side, no matter what. You hated how you felt like a doormat but you didn't know what else to do besides stay married and play the role of an oblivious wife while your husband fucks other women in various positions. In a way, you and Leon sat in the same loveless boat. Who knew when that same boat would be shaking from the violence of the both of you fucking, clothing pulled out and to the side instead of being fully taken off. Your thoughts become interrupted by an unmistakably handsome voice.

"Hey."

You feel a hand being placed upon your lower back except it's so much more different than your husband's. The palms were rough, callouses inside the nooks and crannies, and pulsing veins make you all dizzy if you thought about it for too long. His voice was dampened with some undertone of lust, his fingers prodding into the skin of your sides. He's always been a little too handsy for a man that's supposed to happily married. But you always figured touch was how he communicates: touch. But he's never touchy with your husband. Or any of your friends. And he missed you? Sure, your're friends due to the fact your husband was friends with Leon. (Even though you met him first, but I digress.) The simple phrase had your mind reeling, cheeks flushed red due to the hidden intimacy of it all. His wife shoots him a look and his hand immediately retreats back to his side, fighting the urge to palm the engorged erection struggling against the seam of his boxers. "Haven't seen you in so long, hm? Thought you disappeared on me for a minute." He's holding his facade of being totally and irrevocably in love with Ada up and steady. Like he had no feelings for you other than being friends.

"Of course not." You murmur, feeling a hearty chuckle reverberate from his chest. He takes his index finger and his thumb and gently swiping it against your chin.

"Atta girl." And of course, with how hoarse his voice is, your panties are instantly puddled with a thick pool of arousal. You hate his stupid, thick, sexy, and deep voice. You especially hate his voice whenever you imagine him degrading and praising you whenever your husband was away and you just happened to have your hand down your underwear, playing with your clit to ease the throbbing impulses you felt for Leon. He gives your back a single pat before moving back to stand beside his wife. You really hate that you feel jealousy flare like wildfire within you, but you brush it off.

Everyone would eventually be drawn to the several dining tables that were arranged in a group and had golden candlesticks and smooth white tablecloths on top. Once you are seated, you observe that Leon appears to be striving extra hard to guarantee his place beside you. He looks right at you for a brief moment. And only then can you see, just a hint of thirst sprouting in his eyes, before he glances away from you and gives Ada a quick smile while patting her thigh.

It's only a few minutes before Leon decides to break the awkward silence.

"How's that modeling gig going?" You nod, gulping down way too much champagne.

"Good, been going good. Have to admit it gets a little boring posing in front of the camera after a while but can't bite the hand that pays you, right?" You joke, and the table laughs with some sense of jealousy. "Nice to hear. What was your latest shoot?" He asked, leaning forward in a sudden rush of intrigue. Then those words pass your lips. Words he had never anticipated, even in his wildest guess (oddly.)

"A lingerie shoot. For Chanel." The table goes quiet. And everyone, including your dumb-ass husband, look at you. Someone (Ada) clears their throat in the dining room, hinting at you to elaborate and it's almost like you suddenly developed to ability to hear from light years away.

Leon, who had just finally got his goddamn boner under control feels his cock twitch back to life, fully hard instead of a semi this time. And correct him if he's wrong, but he starts to feel pre-cum smearing his dress pants. He's thankful he chose the black slacks instead of his lighter colored ones otherwise this would be downright humiliating.

"Sorry, um...I did an intimates photo-shoot for Chanel a few weeks ago for their new line of clothing." That seems to help lighten the mood a lot more because everyone goes back to their conversation with their respective friends, the embarrassing "confession" from you immediately leaving their minds. "The theme was Overtime. Like, staying later in the office with my shirt unbuttoned and stuff. Nothing that interesting."

The table simultaneously nodded, Leon going as far to excuse himself for a cigarette.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go have a smoke." Leon scoots out from his seat, heading towards the upstairs balcony to take care of business. Asshole, leaving me with his mean ass wife.

You decide to join him outside.

The air had finally gotten too tense, felt too judgmental for your taste. Scampering outside, you're met with the sight of Leon smoking a cigarette outside. That's odd: you've usually pegged him to be the straight-laced, no-nonsense type of man yet here he was, smoking a cigarette while leaning against the balustrade of their friend's top floor home. At the sound of the balcony door opening, he turns his head to see what you're doing out here. His eyes scan you, almost like he would while he's in combat but it's more or less to get another glimpse of the outfit you were wearing tonight. Okay, and maybe he wanted to commit the sight of you to memory.

"You alright?" He asked, trying his best to look straight forward when you step closer and cross your arms over the balustrade.

"M'fine, just needed a minute of fresh air, I think." When you sit beside Leon, there's a few things you notice. The first was his outfit. A white button-up that usually would be covered by his black suit jacket, though he left it behind on his chair in the dining room. There's also mentioning his blacks slacks, fitting his muscular thighs a bit tight but loose enough so they're comfortable. Then there's the dress shoes, ones he wore at his wedding due to how overly formal they looked. Maybe he wanted to get some more use out of them? Who knows.

"What about you? Why are you out here?" You decided to be the one to take the reigns since the air outside had become incredibly awkward as well. "Same. Thought I'd take a minute of fresh air, you know?" The second thing you notice about Leon is how much he calms you. More importantly, how much you never noticed that you were anxious when you were around others. He had this aura of relaxing or maybe you were just buzzed, who knows that either? Maybe it's the cigarette, speaking of...

"I haven't smoked since college. Cigarettes, I mean. Don't think I even know how to do it anymore." The confession makes his head tilt to the side, now taking more of an interest in the conversation than before. He grinned wolfishly, taking your chin in one of his thick and strong hands and pulling your head forward. For a second, you could almost be dumb enough to think he'd be moving in for a kiss. Of course not. You'd never be that lucky. "Open f'me, sweetheart." And like an obedient puppy, you opened your mouth just enough so your pretty pink-shaded lips could be parted. He placed the cigarette on your lip, the moisture making the filter stay in your mouth alongside his index and middle finger holding it up, thumb brushing your chin. Little hazes of grey smoke dance along your tongue without even taking a sip of the smoke yet, your lips trembling with a lustful agony. "Now close your mouth..." He whispered, his damp and hot and horny breath hitting your ear like an affectionate declaration of love. "And inhale."

You close your lips around the cigarette, faintly tasting the flavor of him where he had sucked on the cigarette. You got notes of citrus, rum or some expensive, top-shelf label of whiskey he used to help quell the pain he experienced on grueling missions, tobacco, and maybe even the slightest hint of his wife's lipstick. Chanel's Rogue Allure, if you had to guess correctly. "...Now hold it..."

You held it. "Silly girl." He whispered, pulling the cigarette away from your lips while you slowly exhaled the rest of the smoke you've been holding in your mouth and then some. You can't tell if it's because of the alcohol, Leon's presence, or your mere anxiety but you begin to feel dizzy. Thankfully Leon seems to swoop in with his questions to keep your head in the game. Bless him.

"Why'd you need a minute, huh?"

For a minute there, you didn't know how to respond. Looking down at the leathery pumps you chose for the evening, you begin to wonder why you even chose them instead of answering his question. But you answered him. Eventually.

"I'm just tired. This whole night just seems a bit…” You gesture to the party in the background. “Fake. I don’t want to be here."

He hummed in agreement, but it felt like more of a signal for you to keep going. "I'm also just terrible at making conversation. Especially when it's awkward and silent."

His eyes flicker down to the pumps he'd already stared at tonight, not finding an interest in them anymore than your own body. He tucked his lip between his teeth, pulling the pink flesh away from his mouth before he spoke up again. "You're not that bad, you know? I think you're pretty good. How about this?" He pauses. Then a beat passes.

"Tell me something true. Tell me something you wouldn't brag to anyone about." He moved his cigarette to rest on the balustrade instead of the space between his fingers. "Something that's yours...and only yours."

You look at Leon with wide eyes, mouth agape as you struggle to answer his question. Your eyes rake down his face from the space between his eyebrows to his parted, pink lips: just a little chapped from the cold chill of the night air. You wanted to kiss him. All of those times you've had him over for dinner, all of those times you've spent with your hand down your panties while your husband was away on "business": dreaming of his best friend, Leon, and god, all of those times you thought about throwing caution to the wind and leaning in to press your lips against his: the sum of all of those moments had you quivering for more.

But you'd never cheat. You have a reputation. You have a husband that gifted you the pretty diamond ring on your finger. But how did it always feel so...impossible? Like you couldn't live another day if you weren't able to fuck Leon like a rabid dog in heat. But he was staring at you, almost as if his eyes were laser beams and searing holes into your skin: you had to answer.

"I don't know what I could tell you that's only mine." You chew on your lip. "Huh. How about..."

How about the fact I wanna kiss you? I wish it was you I was in bed with rather than my stupid, cheating husband? The fact you are so much hotter than him?

"I hate being a trophy." And that brings the biggest grin on Leon's face. A massive shit-eating grin. Leon had gone stir crazy. He wanted to peel your entire being open, see all of the nooks and crannies of your soul and devour it whole. But now wasn't the time to scare you away: even if he wanted to fuck you, you were still a friend to him. So he calmed down. "I can't say that's too surprising. I mean, who would? Being able to be pretty and have money being tossed at you is nice until you want something deeper. Then it seems like one of the only things that are scarce in your life."

You nod, letting out a breath of consolation. "That's exactly how I feel. Like my only purpose is to sit still, look pretty, serve my husband, and be a hole when he needs it."

His eyes become downcast, looking down at the garden on the ground level of the restaurant. "I get what you mean." The moment was interrupted by a waiter peeking out on the two of you: head poked outside of the door that lead to the outside area. He pulls his hand away from your soft skin and back to his side, sighing wistfully that tonight wouldn't be the night he gets to act on his desires for you. Damn it all to hell.

"You should head back. I'll be back, yeah?" You nod and within a few seconds, you've returned to your spot at the dinner table. He sighs, hand slipping down to palm at his erection. Fuck. Can't go back like this.

Just resist. You're just another woman. You have a husband, He thinks to himself, I'm married to a lovely woman. I am a faithful husband. The silent mantra he practices on himself works about as well as a band-aid on a bullet hole. Resist. God, but you looked so pretty tonight. That cute jewelry set you wore with your little black dress? Hot. The smoothness of your skin?

Resist.

But he can't stop picturing you on your knees in front of him, sucking on his cock. The sounds your perfect, wet mouth would make. How he'd ease himself down your throat. How you'd whine.

Resist.

Or how about when he could be fucking his cock into your tight, wet, and warm cunt? The tip of his dick kissing your cervix? Or what about the positions he could force your body into? Like having his arm around your throat, bicep curling into your mouth to muffle your moans from his wife hearing? Or how one of his hands would be gripping your hips while he needily plowed into your pussy, while you begged him to let up. Resist.

Resist.

Fuck it.

In the few moments after he's excused himself from you, he's already rushing to the upstairs bathroom of the restaurant: thanking the holy beings above for making it a single stall bathroom for his jerking pleasure. He hastily unbuckles his belt with one hand, other hand impulsively opening Twitter as a first resort to find some fashion fanatic post about the slutty lingerie photo-shoot you did for Chanel. Alas, you're still a bit of an undiscovered goddess in the modeling industry at the moment: so Google is his next best option. He pulls out his half-hard but hardening cock from his jeans before he can even find your photo-shoot and gives it a quick few pumps to ease the throbbing that's starting to build up in his loins. Eventually, he finds it. Thank fucking god because the creativity for his fantasies are beginning to run quite dry. And instantly he's grunting and groaning while he strokes his cock and scrolls through the multiple scandalous photos the photographers took of you.

"Fuck." He winces in pleasurable agony as he stares at quite possibly his favorite photo of you. The photo was in black and white: theme being "Overtime" like you mentioned. The white button up shirt was undone, revealing you had nothing on underneath, and allowed for the side of your perfect breasts to be revealed. If he squinted just a little harder, he could see your puffy nipples threatening to peek out of the shirt. He tried squinting a little harder to see your nipples a little easier. And oh my god. You have piercings?! He almost shot his entire load on the spot. God, he needed to fuck you. And hard. He groans as he feel himself get closer to orgasm. Closer, and closer, until--

"Leon?"

Fuck. It was you. God, of course you're so goddamn sweet, checking up on him to make sure he's okay. He didn't dare stop stroking himself off, especially not when he's got jerk-worthy material of you almost catching him. That's also not mentioning the soft intonations of your almost innocent voice right there. He's trying not to cum too quick, wanting to savor those images for as long as he could but he also realized his wife might start asking some questions and she wouldn't be on the other side of the door if she came upstairs. "F-fuck, yeah?" He responded after much too long of hearing your sweet voice. "Did you need something?" "Are you okay? I just got worried when you left. You've been gone for like..." You check your wristwatch: a classic and dainty Timex from the 80s with a blank band that wrapped around your wrist snugly.

"Fifteen minutes. Do you need water? Ibuprofen?" He shakes his head as if you could see him while he continues to jerk himself off, hand swirling in a sort of cranking motion as he tries to work his cock to orgasm. But his pre-cum isn't coming out fast enough, not as fast as the pumping motions his hand was doing right now, so he spits in his hand before bringing his palm back down to his cock and lathering his dick in spit. You believe him enough to think he might be getting ready to vomit.

"Nah, jus'...ngh, drank too much, I think." Please keep talking, He selfishly thinks to himself. "Oh, okay. Well, if you need anything, just text me?" He nodded, grunting out a thank you while he continues to dream of ruthlessly fucking you until you're embedded into his mattress. He wants you. He needs you. He feels himself get a little closer until he finally releases into his fist. His hot and sticky cum ran down his palm while the waves of post-orgasmic bliss and post-nut clarity simultaneously moved together as one. For a few minutes, he's panting like a rabid dog in heat until his breath eventually stills and he's able to walk downstairs and look his wife in the face while giving her the impression that he definitely didn't just masturbate to his best friend's wife. When he sits down at the table, the first person he makes eye contact with is you. You smile at him, mouthing a "you okay?" because, of course, you're still worried about him being sick. He nods with a grin peeled onto his face. Because he came to the sound of your voice. And you didn't have a fucking clue.

credits: snoopy divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more heart divider by @saradika-graphics

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