#things like that don’t motivate me as a writer at all

[little-diable]

Pleasure - Prof!Tom Riddle (smut)

Just a small Drabble about our fave fucked up, dark professor. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Riddle threatens to fail the reader, something she won’t accept. Just pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking, degrading, orgasm denial, Tom being Tom, power imbalance

Pairing: Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (1.2k words)

“You threaten to fail me? Are you out of your mind?” Her voice boomed through the class room, eyes set on the professor whose assistant she had been for the past months now. His piercing eyes didn’t meet hers, he kept his gaze set on the papers, correcting the homework she had collected minutes ago. All before he had dropped this bomb on her, telling (y/n) that she was about to fail his class. “Look at me!”

“Careful, (y/n).” His eyes snapped up to meet hers, voice sharper than a knife. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front of his chest while staring at her like a snake about to snap at its prey. He had always been a dangerous man, a man whose aura was a warning itself, set on pulling her into his dark trap. But today he had something else to him, something even more ruthless.

“Tell me why!” She was fuming, set on letting go of a piercing scream. This must be a joke, a prank he was pulling on her - her grades were better than most, she was always on time, and when she was working for him, she did everything he asked of her.

“I don’t owe you any explanations. And your behaviour proves to me that you’re not mature enough to work on it. Leave.” (Y/n) didn’t move, she kept staring at Professor Riddle who slowly rose to his feet. A part of her screamed at her to leave, to run before it was too late, but the more stubborn part forced her to stand still and watch his every move. “Is this how you want to play? This is my last warning, (y/n).”

Her body was trembling in anger and need, all while her mind brought back flashes of a similar moment that had happened weeks ago. Back then she had left this room with trembling thighs and his handprint burned into her behind. The following hours had been spent hidden away in her room while pushing herself over the edge numerous times with his name burning on the tip of her tongue.

“I am not scared of you.” She cocked her head, chin pointed in his direction while she looked up at him. It was a foolish game she was playing - a game she was about to lose, but she didn’t care, couldn’t worry about any wins or losses, knowing that whatever would happen between them would count as a win in her book.

“You should be.” His ringed hand found her throat, tugging (y/n) in for a teeth clashing kiss. She moaned into the touch, unable to stop her hands from wandering, from finding the back of his neck to keep him close. (Y/n) felt her surroundings spin, throwing her into another dimension while the professor moved her backwards to heave his TA onto his table. With her legs wrapped around his waist, (y/n) kept him close, not daring to think of parting just yet. “You try to distract me with those pretty little things you wear, you try to make a fool out of me, but you’ll never have this much power over me. You’re mine, (y/n), I’m the one guiding you.”

She could only moan in delight, feeling his hand disappear beneath her skirt to press his fingertips against her clothed heat. Slowly, he began to circle her bundle through the fabric of her panties, feeling them grow damp beneath his touch. A soft chuckle let him, buzzing through both their bodies while his lips moved down her throat, sucking on the spots that drew moans from her.

“You’ve been asking for it for months, so now you’ll take my cock like the desperate slut you are. But I won’t let you cum, not this afternoon.” His words drew a protesting moan from (y/n), eyes wide while she stared at him. No words managed to pass her parted lips, unsure how to speak up as the sounds reaching her distracted (y/n).

Within seconds he had freed his cock, pushing a condom down his length before her panties were tugged aside. Her fingernails left crescent marks on the spot where his shoulder met his neck as he pushed into her, forcing her tight walls to adjust to him. A part of her wanted to beg him to slow down, to give her some moments to relax before taking all of him, but that part didn’t get a chance to speak up, silenced by her loud moans.

Professor Riddle fucked her ruthlessly, he was using her body, set on chasing his own high while sticking to his promise. Tonight he wouldn’t let her cum, at least not for a few hours before finding his way to her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the back of his hand which was still holding her throat. She was torn between focusing on the way he perfectly stretched her, about to push her over the edge, and the way he held onto her all too possessively, leaving her heart jumping in excitement.

“This is why I need to keep you around, love.” The nickname had a condescending touch to it, leaving her gasping while she tried to focus on his words. “You’re all for me to use, all for my own pleasure.”

(Y/n) nodded her head while another gasp left her, head wanting to roll back - though without any luck as he kept holding onto her. She felt his cock tearing her apart with every thrust, drunk on the feeling of him fucking her this posessively. With moans ripping their way through her, she clawed at his skin, giving into the subconscious need to mark him up to have the same claim on him.

“What would you ever do without me, huh? You’re so needy, such a pathetic little girl.” She was close to letting go, high on the low tones of his raspy voice, on the way he spoke to her with spite and adoration dripping from his tongue. With one hand still clinging to him, she let the other find her pulsing bundle, circling it a few times to give herself the needed push. Something he instantly stopped her from doing after a second or two.

“I told you I won’t let you cum for now. I don’t make empty threats, love.” More tears fell from her eyes as she stared up at Professor Riddle. Her walls clenched his cock, hoping to pull him into her trap - something he didn’t seem to care for as he pulled out of her to cum on her thighs.

“You’ll wait for me tonight, and perhaps if you’re good, I’ll let you cum.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

asking about so mordor it is during 24/7 hype is like asking the teacher if there’s hw at the end of class HAHA

nooooo never!!! mordor is my baby

i will be honest — i’ve been avoiding asks about it due to a few unkind ones i’ve gotten recently where people haven’t been the… nicest in the way they expressed wanting an update (but most of you are lovely who ask!! even simple “hey how’s mordor going” is welcome <3). i just haven’t known how to respond i guess.

the short answer is: it’s going! i wish i could give a more definitive answer regarding the next update because i love writing that fic very dearly, but i’ve just worked the last few days and haven’t gotten the chance to sit down and finish the final scene for the next chapter. 😭

the longer answer, which it’s not specifically you that has mentioned this nonnie, but others, is that my process with mordor just takes longer than 24. it’s more involved. when i say i’m working on mordor, it means i am rewatching the show, i am meticulously researching, i am rereading shire and going over my plot specifically for mordor. it’s just a lot more brain power required, which i fully brought upon myself and don’t mind because like i said, i love this fic and getting to write it and share it with you all!! it just means there’s a lot more happening behind the scenes with it on my end. i know it may not seem that way to all of you (as some people have expressed), and i know that maybe some don’t find the writing reflecting all that effort/being up to par, but at the end of the day… i’m trying my best and i’m most worried with my enjoyment. if i’m not enjoying it anymore, then it’ll show in the writing, and that just… isn’t what i want for my fic, y’know?

i really am sorry that updates on mordor take longer, and i am so endlessly appreciative to those of you who are patient enough to wait it out and still show so much support <3 i love y’all. thank you for taking a story that has turned into a very vulnerable part of my heart, and for treating it with care. 🖤

also i’m so sorry for picking on you specifically nonnie you’re just one of the nicer asks i’ve received recently regarding it and i’d rather extend an answer to you then someone being rude!!! <3 thank you for reading and thank you for being excited about it haha ily <3

[hwsforeignrelations]

Everybody learns at their own pace everybody learns in their own time everybody everybody learns at the time best for them everybody-

[writerfae]

I’m a firm believer that duty kills passion, at least for me personally. So I could never be a professional writer or photographer or something, even though I love to do those things.

[rooolt]

truly scouring the trailer for the next season of a show for my dear reoccurring character bestie who has never had a relevant plot line not including his childhood best friend and didn’t even get one of those last season. Is it too criminal to hope my king will do something?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Write a Character

For creative writing to have as deep an impact as possible, you need to give the reader strong characters they can relate to on a personal level.

By borrowing from tried-and-true character archetypes and giving them your personal spin, you can create heroes, villains, and sidekicks that will affect your readers as if they were real people they knew.

Come up with a backstory

Crafting a backstory can help you flesh out an interesting character profile.

“When I’m dealing with characters,” says legal thriller author David Baldacci, “and I’m trying to explain somebody's situation and motivations, you have to look into their past, because [the] past always drives motivations.”

Ask what experiences your character had in elementary school or high school that shaped who they are today. Your character’s backstory can greatly inform your plot.

Develop a character arc

A character must evolve throughout a story.

“The character has to change,” insists crime fiction writer Walter Mosley. “The character doesn’t have to become better. The character doesn’t have to become good. It could be the opposite. He could start good and become bad. He could start off hopeful and end up a pessimist. But he has to be impacted by this world that we’re reading about.”

Plan out your storyline based on your character's goals and how achieving or not achieving them will change them as people. This sort of template can help anchor your narrative.

Do research

If you plan to set your story in a specific locale or period, do enough research to make your characters seem true to life and believable.

“What does it mean, for instance, in the Tudor era to be a male person?” asks Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaid’s Tale. “What does it mean to be a female person? What do those things mean when they’re at different social levels?”

Empathize with your characters

No matter what the type of character you’re developing, try to find some reason you and your reader can relate to their internal conflict.

“You’re living with these people every single day for months at a time—in some cases, years at a time,” says acclaimed children’s author Judy Blume. “You had better feel for them. So, for me, yes, I have great empathy for them.”

When people can empathize with characters, they’re more likely to find them compelling.

Experiment with different approaches

If you usually write characters from a particular point of view (or POV), change things up to challenge yourself.

“Write about someone entirely through the eyes of their friends and family,” suggests journalist Malcolm Gladwell. “So do a profile of someone where you deliberately never talk to the person that you’re profiling.”

There are plenty of ways to craft compelling character descriptions—free yourself up to try new alternatives.

Give your characters flaws

To craft believable characters, you need to give them flaws.

“One, it makes the characters human, just by default, because everybody recognizes that we all have flaws and mistakes,” David says. “But two, it gives you plot elements and plot opportunities because somebody makes a mistake. Why? Because they’re flawed.”

Learn from real people

Pay attention to real people’s mannerisms, personality traits, body language, and physical appearances.

Do research, and be respectful, when you want to write characters with backgrounds that you are not familiar with. Become familiar with different people's cultures, sexual orientations etc.

Talking to people about their experiences will help form your character’s personality.

Let your characters surprise you

Character development can proceed down a host of different avenues.

“Spend a lot of time with your characters and getting to know them,” Judy suggests. “And the way that you get to know them can be different from the way I get to know them. But my way is: They don’t come alive until I write about them, until I put them down on paper.”

As you write, your character’s motivation or perspective might change from what you originally planned.

Play characters off each other

Ask yourself how a secondary character’s personality might thwart the main character’s motivation.

“One of the best ways, as I said, to develop a character is to put that character in relationship to another person,” Walter says. “So as they talk, as they fight, as they work together, we find out more about who they are and what they are.”

The character’s close friends, adversaries, and acquaintances might all have different effects on their behavior.

Take an organic approach

Over the course of the story, be ready for your characters to surprise you as much as the people you know in real life might, too.

Your characters may take on a life of their own.

Avoid static characters by letting yours have their own lives and personalities. Let their stories take you where they lead.

[rosewine-5]

Baby Come Over

Wolverine/Logan Howlett x black fem reader

gif made by blursbian

Summary: Wade is hellbent of getting you to meet his new roommate, but what is his motive? (Note: I am not the best writer, but I had motivation, and the title is definitely not taken from Virgo’s Groove)

Warning: drunken asshole, Wade Wilson, cursing, unprotected piv smut (wrap it before you tap it) fingering, riding, soft!dom Logan MDNI 18+

Word Count: 4.2

-

Wade encouraged you to meet the new man in his life, not knowing if it was a new friend, a boyfriend, or someone he wanted to pursue romantically. Knowing him, it was probably both, but you agreed anyway. "Come on, sugar. I'm a vigilante, you're a fine-as-wine vigilante, and he's an old but good-looking mutant who needs some TLC— he'll love you immediately," Wade insisted, bringing it up again as you two talked over a late dinner while sitting on his couch.

Wade, I have to work all next week," you said, trying to get out of it. "Yeah, bartending is so hard. When was the last time you got laid? The pink vibrator doesn't count," he added for extra measure, almost making you slap him. "None of your business. Besides, I don't ask about your business even though we, unfortunately, share a wall. And why did you go through my drawer?!”

“My point being said, he needs friends, you need a new one, and if you won’t be with him I will! And besides, I'm Marvel Jesus, there's nothing I can’t do!” Wade insisted, emphasizing his statement with his hands and ignoring your question.

You knew better than to argue with him because he could go on for hours, so you agreed. You had pulled your braids into a ponytail and walked next door, where you saw the small get-together Wade had arranged. “Sweetie! You made it!” he cheered, answering the door, and dragging you in. He put you in front of him as he walked you to the back of the apartment, where Logan wasn’t facing you.

“He’s a bit grumpy today, but I’ll talk to him. Hey, three-pronged wolf!” Wade said, trying to get his attention.

He got it all right.

Before you could even introduce yourself you felt something pierce your arm, three things. You were met with the face of a man who looked like he was ready to knock someone out, it was Logan. His face quickly changed when he realized he hadn’t stabbed Wade, and immediately tried to cover the wound he made. “Ah, shit!” He cursed, looking you in the eyes.

“Now this is not how we greet potential lovers, gramps! Shame on you.” Wade scolded playfully, looking between you and Logan. “Well that’s a good icebreaker, or skin breaker I should say.” He said, looking at your already healing skin.

“Well, Logan, this is my best friend, she heals like us, curses like me. Sugar, this is Logan, the old good-looking man you should kiss for helping save the timeline. Do not fuck on my bed, and I don’t babysit.” He said, patting your cheek before walking away. You watched him leave and then leaned on the wall.

“Hell of an introduction, neighbor,” You said, trying to start a conversation. He didn’t respond but kept looking over your features as you did the same. Wade hit one thing on the mark: He was fine as hell. “How long have you known him?” Logan asked. “Ehhh, a couple of months, he’s good people, but he can be annoying as fuck some.” You said, that you two agreed.

It turns out that you both had something in common, besides the healing factor. Both of you were no strangers to drinks, and pain was a familiar feeling for both of you.

And that was how the foundation of the friendship was built. You didn’t talk much, mostly just passing each other in the hallway, a short greeting when you left for work and coming back home. That was until he found the bar you worked in. It was 5 minutes before closing, and you heard the man sit down. “What’ll it be buddy?” You asked, still wiping down the table with your back towards him.

“Whatever’s left.” Logan’s voice said, cutting through the faint sound of Sade’s voice coming through the jukebox. Your head snapped around at the familiar tone of the voice. “Wade mentioned you worked in a bar, been wondering which one it was,” Logan said, sitting down at the bar. “You didn’t think to look at the closest bar which is only a 15-minute walk from here?” You asked, leaning on the bar, a laugh leaving your lips.

He reached over, grabbed a bottle of beer, and shrugged, “Good point.” He said while taking a drink, a long one. “Let me guess. Roommate annoyance?” You asked, seeing him set down the bottle, and bringing him another one. “Yep. He made me leave the place today.” Logan explained. “Any reason for him kicking you out?” You joked, meeting his ever-so-serious eyes.

“He said either I try and make friends, or he walks around naked until I leave.” He said, almost making you cringe, “No one wants to see that.” Logan let out a short hum, before downing the beer before putting it down. As

You reached for the bottle your hand brushed his, and your eyes met in an awkward look. “Sorry-.” “My bad.” You both said at the same time. Logan then held your hand, moving it completely taking it off the bottle, and set it down behind the bar for you with his other hand.

“There. Less confusion.” He said, sitting back down. You nodded and looked at your still joined hands, noticing how his completely covered yours. You allowed yourself one more look before slowly sliding it out of his hands. As you finished cleaning up and locking up the bar, Logan stayed. As you walked back to the apartments, he walked beside you, in total silence, and both of you did.

That’s how it continued for almost a whopping 2 months. He’d show up for the last call, talk until closing, and walk you home in silence.

Until one night Logan walked in 1 hour earlier than his normal time. “You’re here early.” You pointed out, looking at the clock above the door. “Well, Wade mentioned something about you hating thunderstorms, thought you might want a familiar face around.” You never froze so fast in your life. “Oh? He told you that?” You asked, passing him a beer, Logan nodding in response.

“What if I told you he lied?” You asked, seeing him stop mid-drink to look at you, eyes with confusion. “I’m gonna strangle him,” Logan said. “He’d probably like it,” then you thought for a moment, “No, he’d love that.” He dropped the beer just in time for you to see a chuckle leave his lips with the taste of a smile, and your heart jumped. You already found him attractive, but that smile could’ve made an entire country swoon and sigh.

You looked away just in time for him to not catch you staring. “So, what do you do other than work?” Logan asked. “Vigilantism.” You replied, holding up another beer, switching up his empty bottle for a new cold one. “What did you do in your universe?” You asked. “Was a part of a team, had a suit and everything,” Logan explained. “Did they have abilities like you?” You asked, cleaning up some glasses while he talked. “Better. Way better than these claws in my skin.” He said, looking down at the counter harder than he should've.

You heard a little bit of how he was “the worst Wolverine” from Wade, and given how he was acting right now, he might have told the truth. “You remind me of one of them too. You don't look like her, but your mannerism reminds me of her.” Logan added. You took a chance and put a hand over his, “I won't pry, but if you ever want to talk, let me know.” He looked up at you with a greatful gaze, nodding his head and letting his hand hold yours.

You then looked at the clock and took your hand away from his “Closing time. Imma lock up real quick.” You said, wiping down the tables. As you were about to lock up, one man stumbled in. “We’re closed man. Go home.” You yelled. “One beer, sweetheart, it’s all I ask.” The random drunk asked, now grabbing onto your sleeve. “Were closed. Let go.” You said in a harsher tone. Trying to get your sleeve free.

“Come on sugar, just one drink.” He asked, eyes looking you up and down. “Dude. Let go!” You yelled, now trying to get his hand off you, but he had a strong grip on your wrist. Before he could respond Logan grabbed his arm, freeing you and walking him out. “Hey man what are you-.” Before he could finish Logan put his claws under the man’s neck. “The lady asked you 3 times to leave. I’m giving you 3 seconds to bounce before these find a home in your neck.”

The man stumbled back before slipping out the door. “You alright?” He asked, looking at your torn sleeve. “I’m alright.” You sighed, putting your jacket on. He walked next to you that night, almost arm and arm with you while you both made small talk. “I could’ve handled that asshole you know?” You asked him, bringing up the drunken man again. “I know, just wanted to do it.” He said, lighting a cigar, smirking, making you chuckle. “There she is.” He said, looking down at you. “What there? You asked, now across the street from the apartment. “That smile.” He said, still smoking the cigar.

As you opened the door to the building, you missed the faint blush on his cheeks. But you didn’t miss that look in his eyes and the way he looked over your body. But as he tried to open the door to his shared apartment, it was locked. “Are you fucking serious?” Logan said, now banging on the door. “Wade! Open the door!” he yelled.

Wade locked me out, and he’s not waking up.” He said, looking over at you. “I’ll try and call him.” You said, pulling out your phone and trying to call him, only for it to go straight to voicemail. “This son of a bitch.” you sighed, and put your phone away. You could tell what Logan was about to ask, so you beat him to it.

“I got a couch,” you said, unlocking your door. “I don't want to-.” “Logan, come over,” you interrupted, moving. so he could get in. You could tell he wanted to protest, but he knew he didn’t have a choice or another place to sleep. He gave the space a once-over and nodded. “Nice place,” Logan said.“I'm gonna take a quick shower, and I’ll be right out,” You said, he nodded in acknowledgment.

You turned on your heel, went down the hallway, and hopped in the bathroom. After 15 minutes you put on an oversized shirt and sleep short and walked to your close. You grabbed an extra pillow and top sheet for him.

“Here I got-.” Before you could finish you saw Logan with his shirt off looking you up and down. It was then you remembered you had gotten out of the shower, only wearing an oversized shirt and your shorts, that barely covered your thighs.

You saw his eyes staring at your legs, and then back up at you. His eyes were hungry with desire, and it was safe to say yours were too. His and was clenching and unclenching by his side. “Honey,” he breathed, “go to bed before I make a mistake.” You didn’t move, you didn’t dare. You moved closer, setting the blanket and pillow on the couch, your eyes never leaving his. “Please, walk away,” Logan said, licking his lips. “Why? When we both want the same thing?” You asked.

You swear you saw his breathing stop.

That was all he needed. He surged forward, claiming your lips with his. You could still taste the beer on his lips. His hand found your waist and then your thighs, lifting you, and groaned, looking up at you with a wolfish grin. Before he could say anything, you kissed him, your nails running through his hair as your tongue fought for control against his. His hands mapped out your skin, going over every contour and gripping your ass as he rolled his hips into yours.

A shiver ran through your veins, your thin shorts doing little to hide how much you wanted him, and he knew it. “Already? We’ve barely even started and you’re soaked?” He teased, one of his hands leaving your hips and dipping under the fabric. His fingers ran over your folds, his lips forming into a smirk as he sucked another mark into your neck. A soft moan left your lips as you felt two of his fingers dip into your cunt, “Oh fuck.”

“That’s it, honey, let me hear you,” Logan whispered. You let out a loud moan when his fingers hit your G-spot, your nails digging into his skin, emitting a groan from his lips. “Sorry.” You whispered, looking at him, only to see a feral smile on his lips. “You have no idea how much I loved that.” Logan groaned, his fingers working another finger in, making you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moans.

“I wish you would.” He grunted, grabbed a handful of your braids, and pulled your head back, assaulting your neck with bites and kisses. “Logan!” You squealed, feeling his thumb find your clit. “Cum for me baby, let me hear it,” Logan whispered. Your hands made crescent marks on his back as you came undone, feeling his lips soothe you down from your climax.

You felt his fingers slowly come to a halt before Logan pulled his fingers out of you, his other hand letting go of your braids. “Still there, honey?” He asked, peppering kisses across your neck. You couldn’t even speak, your brain was still fogged from the orgasm you just went through. “Holy shit,” You breathed out. You finally cracked your eyes open, meeting Logan’s hungry eyes and seeing his fingers disappear in his mouth.

His tongue swirled around his digits, his eyes trained on yours. “Taste like heaven.” He said, licking his lips before claiming your lips in another kiss. You snapped out of the trance you were in as the taste of your juices hit your tongue.

You need him. You needed him now.

Your hand went to his pants, slipping under his jeans and finding his cock. He was rock-hard. He shuddered under your touch, a deep moan leaving his lips. Logan helped you get his jeans on the floor, his cock springing free and hitting his chest. “Goddamn. Someone’s blessed.” You whispered. “Is that someone you?” Logan asked, his hands slipping under the waistband of your underwear.

“Hold still for me baby,” he sighed and your arms framed his shoulders. You heard his claws come out and slice your bottoms off. “Someone’s done that before.” You teased, watching as his hand threw the fabric on the floor. Logan didn’t respond as he started to pick you up, but you held him firmly on the couch. “Nope, stay right there.” You breathed you, stroking his cock a few times.

He watched your hand pump him before positioning yourself above him. Logan’s eyes were trained on your pussy as you eased onto him. As you finally bottomed out, Logan let out a loud moan, and it almost made you cum on the spot. “Goddamn, you trying to kill me?” He asked, his hands going back to your hips. You didn’t respond as you started to move up and down, riding his cock.

Logan did little to stop the moans that were leaving his lips. “Fuck, honey. You’re squeezing me like a goddamn vice,” Logan sighed, letting you set the pace. You kissed his neck and sucked marks into his neck, not giving a damn that they wouldn’t be there tomorrow. As you bit one spot closer to his collarbone, he let out a whine. You focused on that spot and bounced on his cock a little faster.

He suddenly gripped your hips as a broken moan left his lips, “Fuck, wait.” He sighed, holding you still on his cock. “Why’d you make me stop?” You asked, looking at his screwed-shut eyes. Logan suddenly grabbed you and picked you up, still keeping you on his cock. “Which one is your room?” He asked. “Down the hall to the left,” You said. Logan walked down the hallway and you thanked god you left the door open.

He laid you and climbed over you, kneeling on the bed and pulling you closer, his cock moving between your thighs to rest on top of your belly button. You leaned up and rested on your forearms, and looked back down at his cock. “To answer your question from earlier,” Logan said, leaning down and tilting your chin up to look at him, “I stopped you because there’s more room on a bed than a couch.”

He looked down at you and licked his lips before catching your lips in a passionate kiss. Your hand cupped his cheek as you returned it, your tongue finding its way into his mouth.

You were so caught up in his kisses you didn’t register the head of his cock tapping your clit until you felt it slam into you, a scream falling out of your lips. Logan laid you back in your sheets and let his hand that wasn’t holding your thigh trail in between your chest and down your stomach as he fucked you. “Keep those eyes open for me, ya hear?” He asked, you nodding in response.

He didn’t waste a second after. Logan’s cock began to thrust in and out of you, sliding almost all the way out of you to only slam back in, emitting a moan from you every time. You writhed under him, looking up at his wild and feral expression. His mouth was open, looking down at your fucked out one, moaning loudly as you held the pillow behind you.

You could hear the sound of your headboard hitting the wall, the grunts coming out of his mouth, and you didn’t give a damn if anyone heard. All you cared about was the amount of pleasure he was giving you. As he hit that one spot that cut your breath off, you bit the pillow and screwed your eyes shut.

Immediately you felt Logan stop and he grabbed your wrist with one hand and pinned it beside your head, his own hovering over yours. “I said eyes open, darling. And don’t even think of hiding those pretty fucking moans from me.” He whispered. He then dropped his hand from your thigh and put it over his.

He now used one hand to wipe the sweat off your forehead, “You still here honey?” He asked, you nodded in response and opened your eyes. Logan was grinning down at you, taking in your tired face, “There’s my girl.” He softly kisses your lips before picking up his bruising pace, making you scream again, “Logan!” Your nails found their way to his back, making marks on his skin. “That’s right honey, let everyone on this goddamn floor who’s fucking you,” Logan grunted, using his free hand to hold your hip, his fingers digging into your skin.

The bed was creaking more as his thrust picked up, one of his hands starting to play with your clit. You instinctively let out a high-pitched whine and you swore he growled for a moment. “Logan, I’m gonna-, oh fuck!” You moaned, your hips bucking into his as you writhed your bed. “Yeah that’s it, let me see you come.” Logan cooed, His hand working your clit faster.

It didn’t take long for a long moan to erupt out of your mouth, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your walls squeezed him like a vice as his free thumb caressed your chin. “Now that’s a sight I need to see more of.” Logan moaned with a smile on his face. You felt his hips pick up the pace and his moans getting louder as he was on the verge of his orgasm, both of his hands now holding your legs open.

“Tell me where honey,” Logan asked, looking down at you. Your legs only pulled him closer, and that was all the confirmation he needed. A sinful whimper left his lips as he spilled into you, his eyes screwing shut. Logan held himself up and let the waves of the orgasm wear off before he moved, flopping down in your bed next to you. “Goddamn.” He sighed, catching his breath.

You nodded, looking up at the ceiling. “For a 200-plus-year-old, you fuck like you’re 30.” You said, looking over at him only to meet his gaze, “I don’t hear you complaining.” Logan teased, pulling a chuckle from you. “After the two orgasms you gave me, I’d be a goddamn fool too.” You said with a laugh. A yawn soon came from your mouth as you turned on your side, “Wore you out that much?” Logan asked, leaning over and looking down at you with an amused smirk on his face.

“Yeah, and I’m, once again, not complaining,” you said, feeling yourself drifting off to sleep. That night was one of the best you ever had, followed by one of the best mornings. You awoke to the sound of someone breathing in your ear and an arm around your waist.

Logan slept in your bed last night, and you slept in his arms. As looked down, his hand was rubbing your hip through the sheets. “You’re awake?” You asked, turning around and meeting his eyes, “I’ve been up for a while.” You felt his thumb caress your cheek, a tender touch matching the emotion in his eyes. “I know this is probably a stupid to ask, given the circumstances, but would you like to grab a drink with me? Ya know, outside of work,” Logan asked.

You only leaned up and kissed his lips before pulling back and looking at him, “I’d love to.” Logan broke out into a grin that could rival the sun and returned the kiss. After a quick shower and getting dressed, you were about to make breakfast when a loud knock hit your door. “Who is it?” Logan asked, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. You couldn't stop your eyes from wandering down his chest, but you refocused, “I don't know, I didn't answer it.

The person knocked harder a second time, almost startling you. Logan walked forward and opened the door, only to find no one there. You peeped out the hallway, saw Wade’s door open, and heard music coming from it. “I think I know who it was.” You recognized the song coming from inside too: Sexual Healing. As you walked in, Wade was singing along before he saw you walk in and popped a confetti cannon.

“Congratulations!” he yelled, and Blind Al popped hers as well. “I guess Christmas came early because I know you did last night,” Wade then looked over your shoulder, and nodded, “Both of you did.” Logan was standing behind you and closed the door, only in the towel. “What the hell is all of this?” Logan asked. “A small celebration for you finally getting laid. All part of my plan last night.” Wade explained. Logan immediately walked past you, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well come on man, I knew it was bound to happen when you took more than 15 minutes to get back, you think I locked you out by accident?” Wade grinned, and it all clicked. “You knew I would let him crash?” You asked, seeing the shit-eating grin grow on his face. “Oh I knew you would let him do more than that, sugar, besides that's what you both fucked on wasn't it?”

You and Logan shared a look, confused about how we knew. “First of all, neither of you tried to be quiet, at all, especially you Donna Summer,” Wade said, pointing at you. “Two, I could hear the headboard hitting the wall thanks to tall strong big dick vintage-rine over here,” he continued. “And three, someone with claws made a little hole in the wall, and trust me, I heard it all.”

Logan’s mouth was open while you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Wade then went to the fridge and pulled out a cake and got candles. “Happy first fuckiversary, my friends,” Wade said, putting the candle in the middle, above a gel doodle of two stick figures. One of them had boobs and was on her back with her legs in the air while the other with claws was in front of her. “Made this little doodle last night,” Wade said as he lit the candle, “go ahead, blow it, you’ll be doing a lot of that later.”

You didn't miss the wink he gave Logan as you blew out the candle. You took the cake and looked at Wade. “Thanks for the cake,” You said, hugging him, “and thanks for locking the door.” You took the cake and then left, Logan shutting the door behind him as you both went back to your apartment. “He’s never gonna let that go is he?” Logan asked, you shaking your head in response. “Nope, now go back over there and get dressed.”

He had a quick, confused look on his face. "Why?" you explained, throwing him his pants and shirt. "You made a damn hole in my wall, you're helping me fix it." "Yes, ma'am," he chuckled, walking back over to his and Wade's apartment.

You never thought you would see the day you would thank Wade for bringing you a man, but I guess Marvel Jesus works in mysterious ways.

[weakformingyu]

Another Love | Part 6

Summary: you've been hopelessly in love with Han since you were children. One night you confess your feelings to him.

Genre: angst, smut, fluff

Words count: 8,416

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Warnings: angst, hickeys, unprotected piv(don't do this at home), dirty talk(I think that's it)

A/N: I'm finally here with the last part of Another Love. This fic means the whole world to me, it's the story that made me grow a lot as a writer and was the first story that I thought "woah this is really good" when I finished the first part. I hope you all like this last part, I poured my whole heart in this and I really want you all to feel what I tried to convey with my words. Thank you for all the comments, reblogs and feedback, that's what made me motivated to finish this fic.

Also, I wanna thank my best friend @baby-yongbok for bearing my whines and rumbles about this story. Thank you baby for helping me through the difficult times 🫶🏻

You may have regretted telling Han that you would give him a chance. How soon? As soon as the sentence left your mouth. Why? Because now, you are going to have to face all the demons you kept inside of you for all these years.

While having an unrequited love, you had a motto: if you don’t get too delusional, it's going to hurt less. So every single time, when your mind started wandering through those dirty thoughts, you made sure to stop yourself. However, now it’s not a one sided love anymore and you’re honestly afraid of what that means. The furthest thing you thought about doing with Jisung, was a kiss and even that left you hot and bothered. Now, you are thinking about other things, like having sex and that’s something you never did before for the sake of your sanity.

It doesn’t help that Jisung is a menace and surprisingly you didn't know about it. 15 years of friendship and just about now did you find out that this man has no shame.

Things were going pretty normal, he had been treating you like always so things didn't seem to have changed much and that gave you some peace of mind, afterall, he was always affectionate to you.

However, little by little, you started noticing some things. Like, walking around the house shirtless like he wants you to look and unsurprisingly that’s exactly what you do. Every fucking time, you feel like you'll explode and in your defense, it's really, really hard not to look. He shows up wearing nothing but sweatpants and you try with all your willpower to look anywhere but him but in the end you can't help but look. Honestly, it's impossible and you know he's doing it on purpose because you get glimpses of his condescending smile whenever he catches you watching. You wish you could punch him in the face but then he’ll know he has won and you can’t let that happen.

Jisung is trying to prove a point, is it risky? Yes, but he's not entirely confident about winning you over. Even though you said you would give him a chance, every time he tries to get close to you it seems like you push him away and that scares him, he’s afraid you will change your mind and he can’t have that. So he’s trying to show you that he’s the full package.

He's good to you and funny but that you already knew, you have been friends for a long time. So he wants to show you a new side of him, something you only get to see from a boyfriend.

After days of hesitation, one night he finally makes his move. You’re in the kitchen, trying to get something on the top shelf but you can't seem to reach it. Jisung sees that and a brilliant idea pops on his head, you can only hear his footsteps coming behind you and in the split of a second, you feel the warmth of his body almost touching yours when he leans over you to get the bowls you wanted.

That’s the moment you lose your mind, years of restraint ending in a simple touch of his. Actually, the fact that he’s not even touching you makes everything worse.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask, not turning around to look at him.

“Helping you, what else?” He answers, voice shaking a bit with the proximity. You can feel his breathing on the top of your head.

“I didn’t ask for help”, you clarify, not to sound rude but just trying to control yourself.

Unexpectedly, you feel his hands lightly holding your hips and in a quick move he turns you around, caging you against the kitchen cabinet and you release a shaky breath, heart beating like a hammer on your chest.

“You’re pushing me away”, he points out, “I won’t be able to win you over if you don’t let me”

You stare at him for a minute, he’s looking at you with puppy eyes, making you sigh.

“I’m sorry, I just have to get used to it”, you say, “I thought you would never like me so this change is kinda overwhelming”, you clarify.

“Shall we go on a date, then?” He proposes, taking a step back, looking at you hopefully. You nod, earning a big smile from him. “Okay, be ready tomorrow at 8 am”, he tells you, making you frown.

“What are we gonna do so early in the morning?” You ask, confused, making him shrug.

“It's a surprise”, he says, “but I can tell you that you should dress comfortably”

That's all he says, turning around and leaving you alone in the kitchen. Why does it seem like you just fell right into his trap? Like he already had everything planned and you acted exactly how he wanted you to?

There's nothing much you can do now since you already accepted the date, so you forget about what you wanted to do in the kitchen and go to your room, preparing a handbag with anything you'll possibly need.

He's up before you, waiting with breakfast and a warm cup of coffee. While you two eat you just know he's dying to tell you where you're going but he also doesn't want to ruin the surprise.

You realize it's going to be a trip when he drives out of the city, giving you the task of taking care of the playlist. You scroll through his songs, some from the boys, some from the artists he likes, you add some that you like, until you see the seaside.

“Are we going to the beach?” You ask, eyes sparkling. You missed this place so much.

“We are”, he smiles, stretching his hand to grab yours, interlacing your fingers. You feel your face hot, sure that you're blushing but you glance at him, seeing Jisung stare at the road with that shit eating grin on his lips.

“Don’t you think you're being too much?” You ask, trying to hide the smile that's trying to escape your lips.

“Not really”, he shrugs.

You and Jisung would always come to the beach when you were younger, it would be usually on your vacation but when you two were feeling down or something upsetting happened, you'd catch a bus and come here. You'd just sit in the sand, watching as the waves came and went, as the ocean reflected the color of the sky. It didn’t matter if it was winter or summer, that was always the place to make you feel better.

Jisung parks in front of a restaurant, inviting you to come out to eat and you look around, seeing how much it has changed since the last time you went there. When you moved to Seoul for school, you stopped traveling farther than your parents house. Even though you didn’t really need to save money because your family always supported you, you like to have savings for an emergency, so you had to give up on luxuries like traveling too far. Also, as you got older it became more difficult to stay close to your best friend in a place that was meant for just the two of you, every time you would go to the beach with him, you’d feel the urge to confess and that couldn’t happen, you were not ready yet. So you spent the last few years avoiding coming to your favorite place.

You were planning to come alone one day, when you had gotten over Jisung but life seems to be playing with you and now you’re there with the man you love and he’s the one holding himself not to confess to you right then and there. Not because it’s a secret, but because he doesn’t want to pressure you more than he already feels like he’s doing.

“I can’t believe we came all this way to eat spicy fried chicken”, he tells you as soon as you order your favorite.

“Stop”, you pout, “you know this place has the best chicken wings in the entire planet”

“Have you ever tried all the chicken wings on the planet?” He teases, making you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need to, I just know this one is the best”, you argue back, crossing your arms.

He stares at you with an idiotic smile, biting on his bottom lip trying not to laugh at you.

“Maybe on our next tour you can come with us?” he says, feeling his face warming up, “I’ll accept your opinion only after you try the fried chicken from two other countries”

Jisung looks around, trying to hide his blushing or his pout, anxiously waiting for your answer but you can see his ears as red as tomatoes.

“Maybe”, that’s the only thing you say, holding yourself from giggling.

You and Jisung take a walk when you finish your food, needing some exercise after eating too much. You take your sneakers off, feeling the sand hugging your feet and the cold water making you shiver when the waves finally get to you.

“Remember when I had to go on tour for the first time?” Jisung asks, glancing at you and you nod. “You got so upset that I would go away for an entire month, that you disappeared, your mom wanted to kill you”, he chuckles and you sigh, remembering that time.

You were 20 and had barely settled down in Seoul when he had to go away. You were upset that you would have to stay all by yourself since classes had already started but you pretended like everything was alright.

“I didn’t really disappear, that’s an exaggeration”, you scoff, “I just forgot to mention that I wouldn’t come home that night”

“Well, that sounds like disappearing to me”, he argues back, “and it did to our parents too”

“The point?” You try changing the subject, not really wanting to admit that you were in the wrong.

“The point is, that I found you seated on that rock right there”, he points to the place you were walking to. “You were a mess, you cried and were already sick because you didn’t bring a coat and it was already night”, he scolds you, making you roll your eyes.

“And?” You push again, starting to feel guilty again about that day.

“I should have realized your feelings for me sooner”, Jisung bites on his bottom lip, fidgeting with his hands. “Everyone but me knew and you had to struggle on your own. I’m sorry”

You feel tears brimming on your eyes, you don’t want him to pity you.

“I never wanted an apology from you”, you explain, “I was always aware that you didn’t have to like me back. It was not fair of me to expect you to feel something you didn’t. That’s why I never told you… I mean, until I couldn’t hold it back anymore”, you chuckle awkwardly. “Even if you had never liked me back, I wouldn’t want you to apologize to me”

Jisung pouts, nodding in agreement.

“But I’m not apologizing for not liking you back”, he say, “I’m apologizing because you struggled because of me and if I had realized it sooner maybe you wouldn’t have had to-”

“And maybe you wouldn’t have fallen in love with me too”, you blurt out, hand flying to your mouth as soon as the sentence left your mouth, making a big smile show up in his lips.

“Am I hearing this correctly?” He teases, seeing you blush. “Did you just admit that you are satisfied that I’m the one in love now?”

“Why, of course”, you bite back a smile. “You deserve a bit of a punishment for dating so much in your life”, you shake your head in disapproval.

“There’s nothing wrong with falling in love”, he teases, laughing when you roll your eyes.

He’s right, you were in love with him for a long time and there’s nothing wrong with that. However, for some reason, that makes your heart ache and an awful thought appears in your mind, making you stop on your tracks, glancing at him and staring for a whole minute before speaking up again.

“For how long are you going to be in love with me though?” You ask, letting your insecurities speak but you can’t help but think about that. “Your relationships didn’t last that long, are you sure you won’t just fall out of love with me in a bit?”

That makes his smile disappear, his brows knit together in a frown, pure confusion on his complexion.

“I- you’re different”, he says like it is the simplest thing in the world.

“What’s so different about me?” You push, trying to understand him, trying to look for some reassurance.

“I don’t think I ever felt like this for anyone before”, he explains. “I was never the jealous type, but when I saw you with Jeongho I wanted to explode and my chest hurt so much. I think of you every minute of the day, I was never like this before. I want to show you places, I want to take you to eat different foods and see your reaction when you taste them. You know you’re just like Hyunjin right? You do that face when you eat something delicious”, he smiles, “I want to be the one to make you smile and I want to be the one who’s there when you need to cry. I want to be your best friend, but I don’t want to be just your best friend, I want to have it all. All of you”

You feel like all the air from your body just decided to come out, you can’t breathe and at the same time you feel like you’re breathing too much — too fast, but when you see his dark eyes watching you, waiting for you to say something — anything, its like your body move on its on and in the split of a second your lips are on his.

You always dreamed about kissing Jisung. You always imagined how it would be to kiss him. But not even your greatest dreams came close to reality. His lips are soft just like cotton and warm like the hot chocolate you drink on a cold day. His body pressed against yours is something you never thought you needed but now that you have it it's something you don’t think you can let go.

His hands cup your face, fingers digging on your skin like you’re going to run away if he holds you with less strength. He’s shy, just pressing his lips against yours, until it's too much for him to handle and his tongue comes into your mouth, making you sigh. Jisung's hands trail gentle caresses down your arms, leaving a trail of warmth behind and sliding around your waist and pressing himself more against you.

You are completely lost in his lips, not sure what to do next, it's like it's your first time kissing someone. You grab his shirt, trying to get a hold on something, trying not to fall because your legs are almost giving out and your chest feels like exploding. When you two need to breathe, he pulls away from you, looking at you breathlessly, waiting for you to explain yourself or at least give him another kiss. But when he sees doubt in your eyes, he hugs you, squeezing you against him again.

“Please, don’t run away now”, he pleads. “I don’t think I can handle it, not after this”

“Jisung, I-”, you hesitate, trying to say the right thing.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now”, he assures you. “I won’t expect anything from you until you are sure about your decision, so don’t worry about it”, he says.

“Okay”, you nod.

The fact that it seems like your feelings didn’t change at all, scares you. How could you try so hard to get over him but still feel the same? If he hadn’t come around to like you, would you have struggled your whole life with your unrequited love? It didn’t happen but the ‘what if’ is haunting you and you can’t give him an answer until this feeling goes away.

The trip back home is quiet, not as awkward as you thought it would be but Jisung seems lost in thoughts and you are not very different. You don’t know why you keep letting all these intrusive thoughts win over your mind, if it was before your confession, you’d jump in his arms at the mere mention of him liking you back, so why is it so different now? Why are you so hesitant?

“Do you want pizza?” He asks, as soon as you enter Seoul again.

“Yeah”, you nod, looking at him.

Jisung changed too, he’s treating you the same as he always did but it seems different somehow, you just can’t quite grasp what changed. He looks more mature, like something switched inside of him and that makes you a bit nervous. You’re not so familiar with this Jisung, you can’t predict what he’s gonna do next or what he’s thinking. Your best friend doesn’t look just like your best friend anymore and maybe that’s the whole point. If things stayed the same would it feel like you were dating? Would you understand that you don’t have to hide your feelings anymore? That you can kiss him and be jealous of him? If things stayed the same, would you let yourself love him freely?

“So she kissed you”, Chan points out, eyes squeezed, trying to make sense of the situation, “and she hasn’t talked about it since?”

“Yeah”, Jisung pouts, “but in her defense, I told her I didn’t need an answer immediately”

“And that was your mistake”, Hyunjin says, “you have anxiety, you always need answers immediately”

“Well, you’re not wrong”, Jisung sighs, “but I didn’t want her to feel pressured. Especially since it looked like she was about to run away if I said anything abrupt”.

“I guess she’s just confused”, Chan tries to help, “but the fact that she kissed you is a good sign”

“You think so?” Jisung looks at his older friend with puppy eyes, hopeful.

“Yeah, of course”, Chan chuckles.

“You know what?” Changbin comes in from the kitchen, he’s been listening to the whole story but didn’t say a thing until now. “You should do something romantic for her”

“Like what?” Jisung asks.

“Think about something that would be touching, something that has to do with your story together”, Chan advises, making the youngest think.

Jisung frowns, there's something that comes to mind but would you like that? Until now, he has tried to be subtle in his ways of approaching you. He wakes up earlier than you everyday and makes you eat before you go to class. He's always home when you come back at night, waiting with snacks and a movie for you two to watch together. You have been discovering a new side of him, even though you thought you knew everything about your best friend, but now Jisung watches you with heart eyes.

Would you like it if he was more romantic? He’s not even sure if you’re into that kind of thing, the boyfriends you had never made big gestures like that and you didn’t seem to care. Would you like it if it's him doing it? Well, it doesn’t hurt to try.

“Okay, I think I know what to do”, Jisung decides.

You still haven't given an answer to Jisung and that's making you feel bad, what's holding you right now? You know he likes you, but what if things don't work out, will you be able to keep being friends after all that?

To take your mind out of that for a bit, you finally graduate, after what it felt like ages. You poured all your blood, sweat and tears in the years that you spent in college, now you're finally free.

Jisung's parents and yours came to the city for your graduation celebration. You organized a dinner in a good restaurant and the night was so much fun, you laughed till your stomach hurt and your friends brought up all your embarrassing stories through all the years you spent in college.

The morning after you had trouble even opening your eyes, any light was too much and your eyes refused to open. You hear a few knocks on the door of your room, making you groan, telling the person — Jisung probably, to enter.

“You should get ready”, he says, making you frown, eyes still closed. “Don't pretend that you're still sleeping, it's afternoon”, he whines.

“I'm not pretending, my eyes can't take this much light”, you explain, you shouldn't have drank so much.

Jisung walks past you, going to the window and closing the blinds.

“Now you have no excuses”, he teases, watching as you flutter your eyes open slowly.

“Why do I need to get ready, though?” You ask, sitting down.

“We are going out”

“We are?”

“Yes, so get ready”, he informs you, walking past you in the direction of the door and leaving with no further explanation. What's this guy planning now?

You get up, grab a towel and a change of clothes and go to take a shower, knowing that arguing won't take you anywhere.

Jisung is waiting for you in the car, a cup of coffee and a sandwich waiting for you.

“Shall we?” He asks, turning on the engine when you enter the car and close the door.

“Couldn't we have had breakfast inside?” You ask, biting on the sandwich.

“It's not a breakfast if it's already afternoon”, he rolls his eyes, “I ate a long time ago and we are already late”

“Late for what?” You enquiry, sipping on the coffee.

“It's a surprise”, he grins, eyes focused on the road.

You sigh, knowing that he won't tell you, so you just finish eating while watching the scenario change, buildings turning into threes and farms.

“Don't you know how to plan dates in the city?” You ask, making him laugh.

“I do, but I wanted to do something specific on this date and I had a bit of trouble finding it”, he tells you.

The sun is already starting to set when Jisung parks in front of a school, making you from, what kind of date is this? You ask, trying to understand, until you see a crowd.

You get out, walking by yourself while Jisung locks the car, hearing his footsteps after you a few seconds later.

“What's this?” You ask, when you see the booths spread around the campus and the families and students walking around.

“A school festival”, he smiles, watching as you turn to look at him, confusion in your face. “A little bird told me that you found out about your feelings for me right around the time I took Haneul to the school festival on elementary school”, he bites on his bottom lip, “and you were there to witness my first date, even though you liked me”, he sighs, “so I thought that maybe I could make it up for that time by bringing you to a school festival, just me and you”, he explains, making your heart skip a bit. You never thought Jisung could be this romantic, you never knew you liked this kind of romantic stuff either, but the way your heart is beating makes you think that you do.

“I- Jisung I-”, you try to say but you can't form a coherent sentence, making him smile.

“Let's go, I got a lot of prizes to win for you”, he informs, stretching his hand in your direction so you can hold it and you do, you hold his hand without a second thought, ignoring his red ears and how hot your cheeks are.

You walk around the place, going to every booth, watching the performances and eating to your heart's content. Jisung is giving you food like his life depends on it, it's a mission of his to make you eat everything you set your eyes on and when you can't finish he does it for you, but he wants you to try everything.

“How are we supposed to carry all this?” You ask, arms full of the plushies he earned you.

“Like we are doing right now”, he answers, as if he has not been dropping the ones he's carrying all the time.

“You know the children must hate you, right?”

“It's not my fault if I have the power of love to help me win the big prizes”, he winks at you, making you feel your cheeks hot.

“Let's go, it's already late”, you tell him, walking faster in the direction of the car so Jisung won't notice how flustered you got.

You stuff the plushies in the backseat, feeling a few drops of rain fall on your face when you close the door, making you run to the passenger seat to escape. Jisung comes right after you, starting the car and driving back to the road.

“Can you check the forecast? I did it in the morning and there was nothing about rain”, he asks, the rain outside getting stronger.

“Sure”, you take your phone out of your pocket, searching for news about the weather. “It seems like it's one of those rains that start out of nowhere”, you explain, “and it's not going to stop any time soon”, you watch the dark road, little to no lighting.

“Should we look for a hotel, then?” Jisung asks, making you turn to him with wide eyes. “Hey! Don't get any weird ideas, we are going to separate rooms”, he informs you, covering his chest like you have the dirtiest mind.

“I didn't say anything”, you retort, crossing your arms.

“Hmph, but you thought”, he murmurs. “Can you look for a place nearby?” He asks but you were already doing that.

There's a nice hotel a few minutes from where you are and when you call them, they tell you there are rooms available but when you get there things are different.

“So… they only have a room”, you say, fidgeting.

“It's fine, I can sleep on the floor”, he shrugs, pressing for the elevator to come to you.

“Actually there are separate beds, so there's no need”, you chuckle, seeing his ears turning red.

“Great, that's great. My back appreciates it”, he rumbles, flustered like an idiot making you laugh.

The rain seems to get worse outside, now adding thunder and lightning to the chaos. The room is comfortable and clean, there's a bathroom and a minibar so you can eat something.

You take your coat, throwing it in one of the beds and walk to the window, closing the blinds and shivering watching the lightning outside. Jisung opens the fridge, looking inside to see if there’s anything interesting to eat and grabbing a bottle of water.

“Do you want it?” He asks, making you turn to look at him and nod, waiting as he walks to you, handing you the bottle.

“I think we should get to sleep soon, so we can go back early tomorrow”, you say, gulping the water and Han nods, finishing his.

You two get on your beds, it's weird to sleep in the same room as him after so long. You turn your back to him, hoping that not seeing his face is going to make it easier for you to sleep.

However, a thunder rumbles so loudly sounding like it's right by your room's window, making you jump.

“Jeez”, you squeal, covering your face with the blanket.

“Are you alright?” Jisung's voice sounds behind you, making you turn to look at him. He's staring at you, brows knit together in worry.

“I'm fine”, you tell him, even though you're not so sure.

“I know you're afraid of storms”, he sighs, biting on his bottom lip. “Do you want me to lay down with you? So you won't be so scared?”

You feel heat spreading all over you just by thinking about sleeping in the same bed as Jisung. You slept together a hundred times before so it shouldn't be so embarrassing to do it once more, but you're not sure if you're going to be able to behave if you go there.

“There's no need”, you tell him, closing your eyes and trying to fall asleep when another thunder sounds out there, seeming so much louder than before and making you jump again. “You know what? I think I'll accept your offer”, you say, watching as Jisung sits down, grabbing his pillow and blanket, standing up to move to your bed. He lays down so far from you that he's almost falling from the mattress.

“I won't bite you”, you roll your eyes, turning to look at him, facing the middle of the bed.

“I wouldn't mind if you did”, he chuckles, “I just don't want to make you uncomfortable”, he says and even with the darkness of the room, you can see his cheeks reddening when he gets closer.

“You won't make me uncomfortable, it's okay”, you put your arm down your pillow and the other one on top, your hand beneath your head, watching as Jisung fidgets, trying to find a good position without touching you. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” You enquiry, seeing as his eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically.

“Not at all, you're the person whom I feel the most comfortable with”, he confesses, making your cheeks burn and something more spread through your whole body.

Maybe things need to change. What then, if things don't workout? If you were going to think that way, you should have never confessed to your best friend in the first place. You decided to risk it all when you told him about your feelings and now he's the one pouring himself to you, waiting for you to choose him once more.

“If I asked you to kiss me now, would you?” You ask, gulping down, trying to stay calm even though your heart just turned into a hammer in your chest.

“Can I?” He asks, hopeful, watching as you nod slowly. His hands cup your face and in the split of a second his lips are on yours, his fingers caress your cheeks delicately and he holds you like you're the most fragile thing in the whole world.

This kiss is so much better, kissing him while being certain about what you're feeling is delightful. His kiss is still soft and sweet, yearning and hungry as if he's been waiting for this for a long time.

You slide your hands down his shirt, going to his back and digging your nails on his skin. He sighs on your lips, letting a little groan escape his mouth. Jisung's hands go down from your face too, sliding to your waist and hips to pull you closer to him, pressing your body against his.

When you two find it too difficult to breathe, he pulls away from you, trailing kisses down your jaw and your neck, biting on your soft skin, making you moan. Your eyes widen in embarrassment but Jisung looks at you with dark eyes, licking on his lips.

“You sound so good, please don't hold back”, he pleads, going back to marking you. “Can I take it off?” He asks, grabbing the hem of your shirt, making your whole face burn as you nod, sitting down so he can pull the piece of fabric out of your body. He watches as your chest rises and falls, you lay back down, looking around extremely flustered but he can't take his eyes out of you. You're the prettiest woman he ever got to know and he's so in love with you that it feels like his heart is about to explode.

Jisung leans closer to your face, kissing you again as you let your hands wander through his body, sliding them to his hips and digging your nails on his skin, pulling him against you, feeling his length pressing on your thigh.

“You're so pretty”, he sings praises as he kisses down your collarbone, reaching your breast and his hands go to your back, undoing your bra.

“Stop staring”, you feel your cheeks burning with the way his eyes wander through your chest.

“I can't, you're too beautiful”, he answers, leaning down do suck on your hardened peaks.

“Ji-Jisung”, your hands fly to his hair as you press him against your breasts, “that's so good”, you sigh, feeling his tongue circling around your nipple.

Jisung starts humping against your clothed core, making you gasp and groan as your hands cup his face, bringing him back to kiss you. He doesn't stop the movements of his hips, rubbing his hard cock and sighing on your lips.

“Can I eat you out?” He asks, biting on your bottom lip as he pulls away from you.

His eyes are dark like you have never seen, like he's in a daze but the reality is that Jisung is too drunk on your scent and your warmth to think about how lustful he may look at that moment.

“How much do you want it?” You tease, making him sigh, looking at you with puppy eyes, his hands going to the waistband of your pants, pulling it slightly away from your hips and playing with it, wanting to pull it down but waiting for your permission.

“I want to taste you so bad, you have no idea”, he bites on his bottom lip, “I feel like I might die if I don't feel your pussy clenching around my tongue right now”, he pleads, making your hips involuntarily thrust against his shaft, making him groan, “fuck. This is torture, please let me taste you, please”, he begs.

“I like it when you beg”, you try to pretend you're not dying to have his mouth down on you, “go ahead”

In a second Jisung is pulling your pants down, your panties going with it, he has no time to waste. He rushes to fit in between your legs, setting them over his shoulders as he kisses your inner thighs, trailing kisses closer and closer to your aching cunt.

“I can feel the scent of your arousal”, he teases, taking a deep breath, “You smell so good, baby”, he completes, making you groan in embarrassment.

“What are you, a dog?” You retort, trying to ignore the burning on your face.

“Only for you”, he grins before diving in on your pussy. Jisung attaches his mouth to your clit, the warmth of his tongue spreading all over your body and you lead your hands to his hair again, pressing him against your core. His fingers dig on your thighs like he wants to mark you, putting more strength on the way his face sticks between your legs.

“Jisung- fuck, Sungie”, you whine feeling his arm moving, his finger being inserted inside your folds. He thrust them in and out, eyes closed as he enjoys your taste, the way your juices spill all over the bed sheets, he wants every bit of it in his mouth but there's just too much, he can't have it all. It's okay though, he's planning to lick you clean everyday from now on, every time he makes you come on his tongue, he's not going to let any of your juices go to waste.

He puts another finger inside you, finally opening his eyes when he feels your walls fluttering around his knuckles.

“Fuck, are you gonna cum baby?” He asks, the look of pleasure in your face is so much that he has to hump against the bed to get some relief, his cock is throbbing so much, he feels he can cum just by looking at you.

“Y-hmm”, you are unable to form a whole word, the feeling spreading all over your body is too overwhelming, it's making you dazed and you can't think properly but you nod to him, hoping Jisung can understand that he shouldn't stop, not right now.

“Shit, y/n, come for me, please, I want to taste you coming on my tongue”, he tells you, going back to licking your cunt. He can feel the moment you cum, not just because you moan so loudly he thinks the other people on that floor can hear it but because your hole gets tighter around his fingers. You arch your back, hands going to the sheets as you grab them for dear life.

As you come down from your high, you're embarrassed to open your eyes. You never thought Jisung was one to do the whole dirty talking thing but if you think about it, there are quite a couple of things you didn't know about him.

You feel his kisses coming up your stomach, forcing you to open your eyes, you prop up on your elbows, watching him sneaking closer to you.

“Was it good?” He asks and you feel your whole face burning again but you nod anyways, feeling breathless when he smiles brightly, ears turning red.

You're ready to ask something but the huge bulge in his pants makes you gulp, staring for a second until his eyes follow yours and he blushes, turning with his stomach down so he can hide that part from you.

“Can I suck you off too?” You ask, licking your lips, suddenly eager to feel him coming on your mouth.

“I- I really want you to”, he clears his throat, looking around embarrassed, “but I don't think I'm gonna last long if I feel your pretty lips around me”, he says, making a huge smile grow on your lips.

“I never thought you'd be such a sweet talker in bed”, you confess, still squirming to his words.

Jisung smiles, leaning closer to you know, his chest pressed against yours and his length brushing on your leg.

“So, did you thought about how it would feel like if I fucked you?” His eyes darken again.

“I mean, lately you have been showing too much skin, it would be impossible for me not to have any dirty thoughts”, you confess.

“Fuck”, he groans, “do you want to keep goin?” He asks, kissing your neck, going up to your jaw and then your lips, “I don't have a condom but I'm sure we can make it work without putting it in”, he stares at you expectantly.

You feel the warmth on your lower stomach spread to all your body, shouldn't you feel less turned on now that you came?

“I- I'm on the pill, so…” you start saying and his eyes widen to your suggestion.

“Are you sure, it's okay if we don't-”

“I want to”, you assure him, “I want to feel all of you inside me, you have no idea how much I want to”, you plead and Jisung breathes a laugh, he's glad to see you're as desperate as he is.

“Okay”, he nods, “but if you want to stop at any time just tell me”, he says as he gets up from the bed to take his pants and underwear off.

When Jisung cock springs out of his underwear, hitting his stomach, you can't hold the moan that escapes your lips as you watch how painfully hard he is. He crawls back to your side, letting his hand rest on your stomach as he kisses you again.

“Do you have a position you want to be in?” He asks, shyly, as if you both are not fully naked in front of each other.

“I'd like to stay on top if it's okay”, you whisper and he nods.

“Yeah, I'd love that”, he says, laying down after giving you a peck on the lips. You take a deep breath before kissing him too, mouth trailing down his jaw and neck. You mark him, giving him hickeys all around his chest.

Jisung cups your face, bringing your lips to his as you throw a leg over his hip, rubbing your wet folds on the length of his cock, that small stimulation making you moan.

“Shit, you're so hot”, he whines, biting on his bottom lip as he stares at you. You chuckle, grabbing his shaft and positioning it on your entrance, closing your eyes and sighing to the mere pressure of his head splitting your foulds in a half. You sink down on his cock, moaning loudly, feeling him stretching you out perfectly.

“Oh- oh, this is so good, fuck”, you whine, letting yourself get used to the feeling.

“You're so tight”, he groans, hands going straight to your hips, digging his fingers on the flesh. “It feels so good inside you”

Jisung closes his eyes, overwhelmed with you, it's too much, your warmth is hugging him, making him whine and groan like an animal. But he wants you to feel as good as he's feeling, so he takes one of his hands from your hip to your mouth, brushing his middle and index fingers on your lips.

“Suck on them, baby”, he asks, making you moan and do as you're told. Jisung grins, taking his hand down to your core and pressing them on your clit, making circles around the puffy bud.

“Ah- Sungie, that's- that's too much”, you whine riding him slowly, feeling your orgasm growing at each passing second. The knot on your stomach ready to burst when you feel his cock throbbing inside you, making you open your eyes to look at him.

He's stunning even coming undone beneath you, Jisung has his lips partially open, his hair stuck on his sweaty forehead and his moans are just like music to your years, the prettiest sound he ever made and it's just yours now, it's just for you to hear it.

“I'm gonna come! Y/n, I'm gonna come”, he warns you so you can get off him if you want to but you sink deeper, causing him to reach his orgasm, spilling his hot cum inside you. You follow him shortly when he puts more pressure on your clit while he's coming, making you tremble and moan as you spasm with pleasure.

You fall down on his chest, feeling Jisung's arms wrap around you as he gently lays you down by his side. He pulls the blanket to cover you and gives you a kiss on the top of your head as he watches you blinking into sleep.

Jisung wakes up to an empty bed. His hand wanders through the sheets, searching for your warm body to snuggle in as he opens his eyes but he finds nothing, just a cold space.

He sits on the bed to look around, trying to find you but you're nowhere to be seen and suddenly dread takes over him. Did you go home? Did you leave him behind? Did you regret spending the night with him?

Those thoughts break his heart, he looks around once more just to make sure he's not mistaken and you're actually there with him. He gets up, putting on sweatpants and walking to the bathroom. He knocks a few times, hoping that you're there, that you're going to tell him to wait because you're in there but no sound comes back to him and when he opens the door the space is empty.

Jisung sits down on the edge of the bathtub, he wants to cry. He shouldn't have expected you to stay with him just because you spent one night together, he should have known that, but why does it hurt so much? Why does he feel like a part of his heart was ripped out?

He sighs, guessing this is your answer to his confession. Could you still be friends after what happened last night? He can't be sure. He goes around the room, collecting the rest of his things and finishing getting dressed, couldn't you have waited for him? The keys are still on the table, so how did you go home without the car?

When he's grabbing said keys though, the room's door swings open, welcoming in a very sweaty you.

“Ah, you're up?” You pout, “I thought I would be able to come back before you woke up”, you smile. How can you smile like that when you just broke his heart? How could you have disappeared?

“You came back?” He asks, arms falling limp by his sides. He stares at you with the eyes of a wounded puppy and that's when you know you did something you shouldn't.

“Yeah? You thought I left you?” You tease, trying to be funny but when he sulks, eyes growing glossy, it sinks in. “You did”, you come to the conclusion, closing the door behind you.

You walk to Jisung, putting the bag you have in your hands on the table.

“I went to buy breakfast but it turns out there aren't many places that sell decent food around here”, you explain, “it ended up taking more time than it was supposed to, I should have left a note. I'm sorry”

“I thought you had decided that you didn't want to stay with me”, Jisung whines, “that after last night you found out that I'm not enough for you anymore. That I really ruined everything”, he cries out, a single tear running down his cheek.

“Jisung, of course I wouldn't leave you behind even if I had decided I didn't want to date you”, you tell him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, trying to give him some reassurance.

“I was even preparing a speech in my head”, he pouts, “about how even if we don't date I'd still see you the same way. I'd be by your side forever even if it's not romantically, I'd be happy to watch you live your life, even if it's with someone else as long as you were happy”, he tells you. “Your love was already something I couldn't reach so I'm grateful that you gave me the chance to show you how much I love you”

“So you're going to be happy even if I marry someone else?” You question, making him sulk even more.

“I won't be happy but if you're that's enough for me”

“But I wouldn't want my boyfriend to be happy that I'm marrying someone else”, you tell him, smiling slightly as you watch the sentence you just said sink in on him and the sparkling grow in his eyes.

“Bo-boyfriend?” He asks, hesitant.

“Of course, or did you think I'd smash then dash?” You chuckle, his cheeks turn red and he pouts pulling you closer with the hand you have holding yours.

“So you love me back, right?” He questions, making you smile, nodding.

“I do”

“‘Cause I love you so much it feels like my heart is about to burst”, he says, putting your hand on his chest, his heart beating like crazy, making you smile. “Then, do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“Ye-”, his lips are on yours before you can finish the sentence, making you sigh, just forgetting about the breakfast and also to check out, calling the reception and updating your stay for another half day.

When you show up at Jeongin’s birthday holding hands and looking lovey dovey, everyone sighs relieved and you have to hear Minho’s and Seungmin's sarcastic ass saying “finally” and “I thought I would die before you two would finally fuck”, respectively.

Your daily life with Jisung went about almost the same as before, except that now you'd basically share the same room, you'd rarely sleep in yours. You make food and take it to the company when he's too busy, sometimes you even stay there till late in the night, waiting for him to finish recording so he can come home with you and cuddle in bed until you two fall asleep.

Your parents don't make a big deal about it, you swore your father would make you move to another place after the news came out but he just sighed, telling you that he knew this would happen someday and that he's happy you are dating someone as good as Jisung.

A few months go by and your relationship is still going smoothly. Of course you have some arguments here and there but nothing that you can't fix with a conversation.

You accepted the proposal of the guys to go touring with them and that's how you ended up in their dressing room, waiting for them to get back there after their last show on the tour.

The door opens and you hear the boys' loud voices coming in, greeting them and telling how nice the show was.

“You see how hard your future husband works?” Jisung brags, walking up to you and pulling you aside. He wraps his arms around you and you feel your cheeks burn, you still feel flustered to hear him saying this kind of thing.

“Future husband?” You tease, giggling as he pouts, frowning.

“Yeah, or do you let any man do this to you?” He pulls you closer and gives you a peck on the lips.

“Maybe?” You tease, making him stare at you with his brows raised, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“It seems like you need some punishment”, he sighs, looking at his hands before attaching them to your stomach, tickling you.

“Stop!” You scream, laughing and trying to get away from him.

“Say you're only mine”, he pouts, tickling you even more.

“Jisung, I'm gonna kill you”, you struggle to say between giggles.

“I'll die happily if you say I'm the only one for you”, he pushes, pressing his fingers even harder against your stomach.

“Okay, alright”, you give in, making him stop to look at you. “You are the only one for me and I'm all yours, happy?” You roll your eyes, watching his pout turning into a big smile.

“Say it one more time”, he whines.

“I love you”, you say, making Jisung stare at you for a moment, before his cheeks start turning pink.

“I'll never get tired of hearing that”, he smiles, holding your hand and bringing it to his mouth for him to kiss. “I love you”, he says, leaning in for a kiss, the sweetest you have ever shared.

A/N: If you like my work, please don't forget to reblog, it really helps my stories reach new people so more readers can come to enjoy what I write.

If you want to support me you can also buy me a coffee ☕

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[david-talks-sw]

"The Acolyte" wasn't 'woke' propaganda.

I had my issues with the show (you can check out my other posts to see what they were) but there's this notion that The Acolyte was created to spread The Message™ of "woke propaganda"... and I think there's a bit of a mix-up going on, there.

Because that's simplifying things a lot.

When you're a minority, you're not "being woke" when you're just being yourself! Conversely, you're not "writing to be woke" when you're a minority drawing inspiration from your personal experiences to tell a story.

I talked before about how George Lucas implemented elements of his personal life in his own films. In his own words:

"There's no way to write without writing from yourself. Y'know, the stuff gets made out of things that you care about… whether you've actually lived them or not. There are emotional issues that you deal with, and I think that's always a major factor with any writer. I don’t think— it's hard to write without having some kind of emotional connection to the material. I've never seen any reason not to. It’s easy to write that way. It's hard to write in the abstract. So when I write a scene, I write a scene that moves me or I care about, or is something that is personal to me." - George Lucas, Q&A with Lynne Hale, 1994 (StarWars.com)

Any piece of writing worth some salt needs to come from a personal place to some degree because that's where the heart of the story, the truth, lies. That's what an audience will relate to.

Example: The six original Star Wars films are purely George Lucas. As in, everything in those films, from the characters, to the cinematography, to the editing style, etc are all a reflection of who George is as a person and what he stands for:

anti-Vietnam / "fight the corporate & imperial machine"

60s-70s white kid from Modesto, California

single father of three

who defines himself as Methodist-Buddhist,

has an anthropology major and

a passion for Kurosawa,

cinema vérité,

cinema history in general

art and visuals and

car racing.

You see all that in those films.

Same thing with The Acolyte.

Leslye Headland drew from her personal experiences.

Among other things, Leslye is gay. So that's what she uses as inspiration to, for instance, craft Qimir's character motivation.

"I was on the treadmill being like, “What is [Qimir] gonna say?!” And my wife, who is a huge part of my creative process, finally she said, “What do you wanna say? Stop thinking of it like you have to somehow tap into a different guy.” [...] I was like, “I wanna say that people don't want me to exist as a gay woman, as a woman in this particular space, working in this wild sandbox.” There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, “I am unaccepted for who I am because of what I believe in and wanting to wield my power the way I'd like without having to answer to the legion of people that just exist out there.”" - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

She took this specific life experience of hers, and then made it more universal, so that a bigger audience could relate to it.

"By the way, I think everybody feels this way. I think that's why it resonates when you're honest about yourself, and you get personal about it. When [Qimir] says, “I want freedom,” that's what I want. I just want freedom. I want to be able to just be out there and be myself and be the type of artist I want to be without having to answer to anybody." - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

Same goes with Osha and Sol's relationship, or how she defines the Jedi Order. It derives from her own relationship with her father and how she felt being raised straight, in a Christian household.

If you have the time, listen to this audio clip where she describes that.

In the context of the whole interview, her voice goes down a few octaves and starts to crack a bit. This is a vulnerable moment, when she's talking about it... and it's this experience that she turned into fuel for her writing of Sol and Osha's father/daughter bond.

"There's this thing that's called benign sexism, and part of it is this paternal protectionism — it seems like this good thing, but like you said, there's this, “I have to protect you from everything. I have to make sure you're okay. I have to tell you what track to get on, and then once you're on that track, I need to support you.” Ultimately, what happens is — again, this is a father-daughter relationship — as women evolve in their lives and develop their own personalities separate from their fathers, at some point, they have to reject that protectionism. [...] She cannot stay a little girl or an adolescent or young adult. She has to, at some point, say, “I reject what you have told me I need to do to make you proud, to follow in your footsteps.” She has to do that." - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

Now... if we're talking consistency with the themes in Lucas' Star Wars, then yeah, The Acolyte misses the mark.

The Jedi Order isn't the patriarchy or the Catholic Church. They're more like Buddhist monks, George has stated so multiple times.

The Jedi teachings aren't narratively meant to be the same traits found in toxic masculinity or benign sexism.

When a Jedi tells you to be mindful of your emotions, it's not meant in the "boys don't cry" sense.

When they talk about letting go of attachments, it's not meant in a stoic "don't get emotionally involved" sense.

Anakin too, the whole point is that he's wrong, the narrative frames his fall to the Dark Side as his own fault, it's not meant to be perceived as a failure in upbringing.

But she's not the only one who does it. Filoni does it too, a majority of fans have this take on the Jedi.

And because of her experiences, I can see why her takeaway would be that. Same goes for Filoni, they're products of their generation, upbringing and experiences.

My point is:

Leslye Headland is writing from a personal place, when she's writing The Acolyte. It's partially informed by her politics because - like she quotes, "personal is political" - but when it comes to the writing of the show, it's personal first and foremost.

What this was, was a Star Wars fan (arguably the nerdiest one we've had so far, in terms of creators) putting all of herself in the creation of a show that perfectly reflects who she is and what she stands for, resulting in:

a story about growing past your father's paternal control and accepting that our guides aren't infallible,

where her wife holds a role and gets to wield a lightsaber,

a show about taking corrupt religious institutions to task

about the Sith and the Dark Side

and questioning the unquestionable

and exploring whether the good are really so good and if the bad are really so bad.

This was a project written from the heart, and regardless of whether the resulting art found its mark, I think it's important to note that it wasn't written to spread a propaganda message in some "pro-woke holy war" or whatever the hell the YouTubers are peddling.

[novashelby]

The Nanny Conundrum~A Tommy Shelby Smut

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Nanny!Reader (3rd person)

Warnings: Male masterbation, voyeurism. Meant to be kind of funny. A little cringe and embarrassing.

Prompt 93

Word Count: 2,791

Summary: Tommy Shelby just got a new nanny for Charlie. She's a sweet, delicate girl, but learns quite a thing or two about men while hiding for a game of hide n seek.

Please enjoy. I appreciate reblogs and comments. Likes are kind and thoughtful, and I appreciate you reading my work. However, reblogs really help writers out. So, please, considering rebloging.

Tommy was only delicate and proper with a select few people, and she was one of them, but he couldn’t help himself. Not even Satan himself could give her a rough handling. She was delicate looking, sounding, and acting. Like a daisy, really. And on top of it, she was so, so good with Charlie. Just two years old, losing his mother a few short months before. He was hesitant at first, not wanting to go through a whole hiring process. And so, he convinced Mary and Francis to take on the extra duty. Though, two aging women, their patience was waning. Enough was enough, Mr. Shelby was getting a nanny for the poor boy. 

It was difficult for Mr. Shelby to find employees as many were aware of his antics. There were a few applicants…none did anything for him. They were old. Had no energy with a sharp tongue. Mr. Shelby didn’t want anyone with a sharp tongue. Then there was a quiet time with weeks in between; no applicants had walked through the door. 

Until one day, someone did. It was a Sunday, too. Which got a work motivated man like himself excited. Mary had knocked on the door and he grumbled for her to enter. Behind her was a girl, not too tall and with a young face. He couldn’t make out her age, but her cheeks were round and blushed with youth. He noticed how when she smiled, her eyes would as well and she’d let out this delicate laugh. 

It was right then that he knew. Unlike the others, he immediately slid back his chair and stood, straightening his blue white lined vest. Mary was surprised at the soft smile that tugged at his usually stiff lips. His stress lines seemed to ease, but most of all he turned gentle. Mary watched aghast how he waltzed around his mahogany desk and rushed over to her. Never had he ever shook a woman’s hand as such; both hands gently holding her right. “I’m Mr. Shelby,” he said, and Mary couldn’t take anymore. She gave her employer a pursed look, brow raised, and he mouthed what. 

“I will take my leave, Mr. Shelby,” she said. “I must go to the kitchens and yell at the staff.” The young girl frowned a bit and turned to watch the woman leave. 

“Is she alright?” she asked, turning her attention back to the man who was still holding her hand. 

He was quick to nod and offer a smile. “Yes, yes! She’s fine. Don’t worry about her, eh? I think all women get a certain edge to them when they hit about seventy-”

“And men,” she giggled, putting a finger out. 

Kindly, he chuckled back. “I think we develop that a bit younger. Anyway! Come! Take a seat, eh?” He walked her over to the desk, hand resting politely on her mid-back. “So, are you looking for a nanny position?” They sat across from one another and she handed over CV paperclipped together. His eyes quickly scanned it, grinning. “Nanny program in London, worked for the same family for 2 years, twenty years old, born in Boston to English parents, and the second oldest of six children.” He put it down and pushed it over to her. “You understand this is a live in position, love?” Love. A red rosy tint fell on her face and she had to look away shyly. She could not lie. Of course, Mr. Shelby was a handsome man smooth with his words. “You’d be here Monday to Sunday. Of course, you will have free time and vacation time. Sundays off.” 

“The pay?” she asked. “A family in London has offered me six pounds.”

Six bloody fuckin’ pounds, Mr. Shelby thought to himself, a bit stunted. But nonetheless, he said, “I can offer ten, plus you’ll have a room, food, and free roam of the property. I’ll allow leave for all holidays, Sunday’s off, and early leave on Wednesdays. You’ll be allowed three sick days a calendar year-”

“I can start today,” she said, abruptly, far too eager to work for him. The benefits were like nothing she’d even been offered. He paused, smile dropping a bit, not used to people being so…interested. She coughed a bit and fixed herself in the chair. “Sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “I can start today. If you would have me, of course.”

He nodded, “not today. Tomorrow. You’ll start tomorrow.” 

Everyone liked her. She was like a breath of fresh air. A positive influence on everyone. Francis and Mary seemed more at ease and talked with less grouch. The kitchen danced when she waltzed in. The other maids enjoyed how she was incredibly courteous of the messes Charlie would make. Even John and Arthur started to look forward to coming to Arrow house. Despite their miserable to be around brother who did nothing, but demand this and that from them. 

And Mr. Shelby, well...he found himself smiling a tad more when he saw her with Charlie. 

She was a wonderful nanny. On top of the normal tasks, she actually played with Charlie and helped with his coloring and motor tasks. She’d sing to him and dance with him. And unlike most girls her age, she wasn’t opposed to rolling around in the grass with him. They’d sleep in the grass and dance in the rain with their shoes off. Charlie was in love with her! Mr. Shelby would watch from the window, feeling this pool of warmth within him when they’d run around in circles. 

“Ah, look at her,” Francis sighed, putting the tea tray on his desk. “Her frocks are always stained with grass.” 

Mr. Shelby flicked closed the blinds and sat at his desk, making up his tea with just a tad of sugar and milk. He enjoyed some honey as well those days. “It’ll rain soon, suppose they’ll come inside. She’s been reading to him a lot.” 

Francis smiled. “Very good. Will you be heading to the stables? Should I prepare-”

“No, no,” he said. “I’m just going to enjoy my cuppa, eh? And you should take a rest.” A rest. That was also something new. Mr. Shelby was allowing staff to have much more rest since she came. 

He finished his tea and went off to the stables when the two were coming in from their adventures from outside. After clean up time and a book, Charlie was still restless, wanting to run around and play. She pouted and poked his nose, “Charlie, I got a game for you!” His eyes widened and he giggled in excitement. She leaned in as if it was something special. “HIde n’ seek! I will hide. Okay? Has Charlie remembered his numbers?”

“One…two..three..eight…four…six…nine…five,” he counted off and she chuckled, telling him it was just fine enough. She picked him up and placed him facing the wall, explaining that he had to count to ten slowly and not move.

“I will hide somewhere, Charlie, on the first floor, okay?” she smiled, ruffling his hair before skipping out. She giggled as she heard his cute counting before opening and closing each door, unsure of where to hide before he stopped counting. She slipped into Mr. Shelby’s office, not seeing the harm when he wasn’t around. Under the desk, she crammed herself in a ball and waited. 

She heard Charlie call for her in a laugh, running around the hallway. She could tell that he checked the bathroom first then her room before going back to his room. She waited and waited before the office door opened, and she grinned, getting ready to say you win! When Mr. Shelby coughed. Wincing, she wondered if she should climb out and explain that they were playing hide and seek or wait for him to leave, but to her annoyance, he took a seat at his desk. At first, he fumbled around with some papers before cursing under his breath, seeming frustrated. She was sucking in her lips to hold back any loud breathing. But what he did next was…shocking. There were no other words to explain it. Shocking. To her, at least. A young twenty year old girl who surprisingly lived a very modest and conservative life. Never had she even held hands with a boy, nevermind witness what she was about to witness. His hands went to his belt clasp and fumbled with the golden hoop before easily undoing his trousers. Peeking out was a pair of men’s white underwear. Maybe he’s just getting comfortable, she told herself, but was quickly proven wrong when he let out a soft groan and slipped under the waistband of his underwear. She watched, frozen. He rubbed himself a bit under his underwear, grinding his hips up at his hand. Soft groans and eager curses filled the room in a hushed manner. As if he was ashamed of doing such a thing in his own home. It was all new to her, and she watched equally horrified and curious while kicking herself for being so stupid. A million hiding spots and she chose the very one he had to wank in. Peculiarly, a small wet spot formed where the tip was. Stupidly, she wanted to just reach up and touch it, but the thought lodged to the back of her head when he pulled it out. There was nothing she could compare it to, being the first cock she’d ever seen. But her cunt ached in an almost fear-like response seeing the shape and length. The tip was glistening with a sticky substance that he didn’t hesitate rubbing his thumb against. “Fuck,” he let out, leaning back slightly. Between his thumb and index, he rubbed it before giving his cock three good tugs. How it dripped out in a long string before pooling a little tiny dot onto the floor next to her. Swallowing, she looked down at it…just a little dab. A droplet. For a split second, she considered touching it. Mimicking how he rolled it between his fingers just to see what it felt like. But she couldn’t do it. It felt grotesque…dirty. Sinister? That’s when she heard him spit on his hand, drawing her attention from the precum and back to his twitching cock. His spit ran down the shaft, wetting the chair.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunted, his hand wrapping around himself, twisting around. He moved slowly up and down, teasing the sensation. It’d been such a long time since he last rubbed one out. Though loving a good fuck, self pleasure was never something he needed to ease an urge. But he felt it that day. His cock consistently throbbed at the seams of his trousers. Not even a smoke and a drink calmed him. And so, he resorted to a good old school wank. Admittedly, it was quite nice. Alone in his element, just feeling himself. “Shit.” His started to roll upward, fucking his hand. 

Alone…except for the sweet nanny under his desk, trapped in quite a predicament she wasn’t quite sure she liked. His hand started to move a bit faster with a better rhythm. He was flowing a stream of grunts, curses, groans, moans, and inaudible sentences. “Baby,” he cried, head rolled back, eyes closed. “Fuck me, c’mon-shit!” He hummed, running a hand over his face. She swallowed and panicked that maybe he knew she was there. Did he? Who was he talking to? But she didn’t move. She hardly even breathed scared he’d hear her. “Mmmmhm.” Pausing, he spit on his hand again before rubbing it all over. Just as he resumed his speed, he said something she could hardly believe. Her name. Followed by a, “just like that…good fuckin’ girl.” In shock, her eyes widened and her hands instantly covered her mouth. “Bounce up and down, right on my cock. Ride my fuckin’ cock!” His breaths became jagged while his hips twitched and jolted. He was close…so fucking close. 

Meanwhile, the poor girl tried to block it out. But how could she? So close to a man jerking his cock, calling her name. Her fucking name? Imagining her bouncing on it. She couldn’t help, but wonder if this was his first time thinking of her like this. She hated to admit it, but her thighs were struggling to stay still. So, so tempted to rub them together to ease a surprise heat growing between her legs. “That’s good, baby, keep doing that….Ugh! Fuck!” He paused, edging himself. She noticed when he stopped, his hands clenched around it harder, shaking. Then he slowly went back to tugging and rubbing, easing back into the lost rhythm. “I bet you are so fuckin’ tight.” One hand slowly went between her legs to cup her aching pussy as she suppressed a whine. “Fuck, I want to corrupt that little fuckin’ cunt….Make you into a dirty little fuckin’ slut. My dirty slut…fuck!” He jolted upward, other hand gripping a chair arm before easing back into speed. 

Make you into a dirty little fuckin’ slut. My dirty slut. Those words imprinted themselves in her head. His words were disgusting, filthy, and humiliating, but so fucking erotic. His possessiveness was like honey. It took so much effort to not ease her curiosities and reach her hand up to touch his cock. So, she had to just watch. Watching was so hot, but so torturous. When he started to get sloppy with his movements, she prepared for him to stop again, but he didn’t. “F-fuck!” He cried out, tugging one last time before a stream of white came from his cock. She was expecting it to be like the sticky clear mess, but no, his cum shot.

In fact, it shot at her…on her face. Frozen, feeling the warmth that landed over her eyelids and dripped down her face and over her lips. Appalled and embarrassed, how was she going to face him after that? With his excrement painting her face. He let out one last, “fuck,” before tiredly tucking himself away and buckling his belt. He took the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands. Sliding back in his chair and standing, she was sure that he was going to leave, but no. He kneeled down to clean up wherever the cum landed, coming face to face with her…wearing it.

Never had he ever been so mortified, looking at the girl who seemed as if she saw death. His cum was right there…teasing at her lips. His nanny….Had she watched the whole thing? Heard every word? Of course. She had to. He swallowed, and said, “Um…this isn’t a great napping spot-”

“Mr. Shelby,” she stuttered out, tongue darting out almost instinctively, accidentally swiping the cum off. She winced as it tasted salty. His eyes flickered down to her quivering lips, widening. There was a bit of silence before she continued. “I was playing hide n seek-”

“In my office?” he asked, not exactly mad. More stunned and quiet than anything. He felt as if he was a young man again, ashamed of rubbing one out. 

“I’m competitive. I didn’t think he’d look in here,” she responded with the same tone. He nodded slowly, reaching out to clean her face, but she took the rag and did it herself before going to hand it back. 

“Keep it,” he said, slowly standing and grabbing for his whiskey. He didn’t even bother pouring it in a glass as he swigged it from the bottle. She crawled out from under the desk watching him gulp it like water. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he cursed, putting it down and turning to her. “Did you-”

“Yes,” she said before he could finish the quest. Nervously, she averted her attention off to the side, playing with her dress. His eyes skimmed over her, heart rate through the roof. His head was swarming with a whole bunch of conflictions. “Should I pack my things?” Mr. Shelby licked at his bottom lip and itched the arch of his nose. “Um…well, I think it is alright. You’re not the first woman to look at it. Probably not the last unless I drop dead right now…which is fuckin’ possible.” She bowed and tried to slowly back away when he looked over at her. “C’mere. I’m not done with you. As much as I’d like to jump out this fuckin’ window, you’re still my employee and you were in my office without permission. Why don’t you take a seat-no, no. Right here.” She nervously looked at where his hand was pointing. It was the desk. “C’mere,” he patted. “Sit on the desk like a good girl.” The words played back in her head and she did so…like a fuckin’ good girl.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: Warning Bells

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

I don't think I can do this again (do you remember it too?)

(In which a self-admittedly all over the place writer takes you on a bit of a rollercoaster)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Pining (the usuals)

Words: 6.1K

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Guess who made a deadline again? I'm as shocked as y'all are but I do wanna just warn y'all that August is gonna be really busy for me so as much as I'm gonna try to stick to schedule, there's a pretty good chance I won't. I really appreciate y'alls feedback with live-reacts/long reviews and it's truly the motivating factor behind my writing so pretty please keep sending them. I did edit (as usual) but please let me know the most likely existent typos anyway. As always, let me know what you liked, disliked and what you wanna see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033 

Here’s what Azzi has learned about motherhood: having kids means that there will come many times in your life, when you will look around you and wonder how the hell did I get here. It’s that thought that’s currently plaguing her as she finishes hanging up the WELCOME HOME banner on the living room wall in her ex-girlfriend’s new apartment. And when she’s talking about kids, she’s not talking about her five year old who’s currently sticking purple hearts on every surface she can find. No, she’s talking about her 6’5 teammate who she’d once “adopted” as a joke in college, but who’s basically become her surrogate child ever since they’d ended up on the same WNBA team. 

It had started as a casual conversation when Jana, as she often did, had shown up for an impromptu lunch. The topic of Paige was hard to avoid considering it was Stephie’s favorite subject, heightened by the fact that Paige was coming back soon and Stephie was far too excited to finally have her Miss Buecks back. Jana was more than happy to indulge the little girl in conversation about what Paige had been like at UConn. And if Azzi had lost herself in those memories for a moment, transported back in time to a world that had once been blooming with promise before wilting in a darkness she’d created herself, well, she’d done an excellent job not letting it show on her face. 

The real issue had started when Jana had casually let slip her idea of surprising Paige with a little welcome party. And as Stephie had started reciting all the different things they could do -because of course me and Mama will help you Aunty J, Azzi had glared at Jana, only to receive an innocent smile in return that told her everything she needed to know. She’d been set up. 

That’s how, instead of spending her Saturday curled up on her comfortable couch with a book in her hands, Azzi is here instead and in true fashion, she’s the only one actually getting anything done. Jana, who had just left about twenty minutes ago to pick Paige up, had invited some of the other girls on the team to come help out yet, something about more hands on deck. Those supposed helpful hands had spent the last hour blowing up and popping balloons and getting nothing else done.

“I can’t believe y’all have me decorating for the woman who cost me my first national championship,” Joyce laments, “I still have nightmares from that game.”

“You gotta let that hurt go Aunty Joy,” Stephie says impishly, mimicking what Jana would normally say whenever the infamous 2025 South Carolina vs UConn national championship got brought up. 

“Don’t sass me Miss Stephanie,” Joyce sticks out her tongue at the little girl, throwing a purple balloon at Stephie’s head, “hasn’t your Mama taught you that we don’t mock people’s pain.”

“Ignore her Steph,” Tessa says, bumping her former Gamecock teammate as she shares a devilish grin with Azzi’s daughter, “she’s just upset she only won one. Some of us have two.”

Joyce guffaws, throwing another balloon, this time aimed at Tessa, “dude we’re supposed to be on the same team. What would Coach Staley say to you teaming with UConn people of all things to bully me?”

“She’d thank me for making sure you didn’t get a big head,” Tessa snipes back. 

Whatever response Joyce has to that quip is cut short by the doorbell ringing and Azzi feels her heartbeat quicken as Stephie lets out a squeal, dropping everything to go answer it. Things had been different since the facetime call almost two weeks ago. They’d accidentally on purpose settled into a routine where Stephie would call Paige at exactly 7 p.m. and Paige would answer on the first ring, promising to stay on the phone till the little girl fell asleep. And it would’ve been fine if that’s all it was. But then Paige started staying on the phone till after Stephie fell asleep and suddenly it was like they were back to their teenage selves, talking about everything and nothing, trying to learn every page of each other’s story all over again. 

Azzi had missed so much about Paige in the last couple of years but there was nothing she’d missed more than just talking to her best friend. She’d missed the way Paige would tell a story, going off on a million tangents in between. She’d missed the way her eyes would light up when she got to a particularly exciting part of the story, specks of gold shimmering in the blue like sunlight hitting the ocean. She’d missed the way Paige’s hands would be flying animatedly all over the place, even when she was whispering. She’d missed the way the blonde would pause halfway through to observe if Azzi was still listening, making sure all of the attention was still on her. And she’d missed the way that when it was Azzi’s turn to speak, Paige would hang onto every word like it was gospel, intently listening like she’d never forgive herself if she couldn’t recite everything Azzi had just said from memory. She’d missed the way Paige would let her emotions freely flicker across her face, because whatever happened to Azzi, Paige felt it too. 

She’d missed and missed, convinced the pain would be the end of her, until she’d tricked her mind into forgetting. And now Azzi’s beginning to realize that remembering it all again, might just be the thing that kills her. 

“Nevermind,” Stephie walks back to the room, sulking slightly, “it’s just Aunty Liyah.”

“Oh thanks Stephie babe. That makes me feel so wonderful,” Aaliyah says, walking in behind Stephie with an offended expression on her face, “and here I thought bringing cupcakes would make me popular.”

“Tell me those are store-bought Chavez. I ain’t trusting them if you made them yourselves,” Joyce says, side-eyeing the cupcakes. 

“Trust me I would never waste my precious time baking for y’all ungrateful ass-”

“Aaliyah,” Azzi shoots her younger teammate a sharp look.

“-ungrateful people,” Aaliyah corrects sheepishly, “cupcakes because y’all clearly don’t appreciate me.”

“I pre-ciate you Aunty Liyah,” Stephie says innocently, trying to get a better look at the aforementioned cupcakes, “you got the pu-ple ones right? They have to be pu-ple for Miss Buecks.”

Aaliyah bends down to Stephie’s level to show her the box of sweet treats “the perfect purple cupcakes for your Miss Buecks. How come you never wanna do nice things like this for us Stephie?”

“Because Miss Buecks is special,” Stephie retorts matter-of-factly.

“Oh so we’re not special?” Tessa asks, raising an eyebrow at Stephie.

“‘Course you are but Miss Buecks is special-er.”

And while her teammates all pretend to dramatically gasp at that, shaking their heads at Stephie, Azzi feels like someone’s squeezing her heart, twisting and twisting but never fully breaking it. She wonders if that might hurt less.

It’s another 10 minutes later when the doorbell rings again and Azzi watches her daughter’s face break into an incandescent grin, filled with hope, as she rushes to open the door because it has to be Paige this time. Azzi follows after her, trying to keep her breathing under control as anticipation clings to her nerves. Azzi’s gotten so spectacularly good at lying to herself that she tells herself this next one with ease: there’s not a single part of her that’s eager to see Paige again. 

“SURPRISE,” Stephie screams, flinging the front door open with as much strength as she can muster. She doesn’t give Paige a chance to react before she’s throwing herself against the blonde’s legs, hugging her thighs. 

It takes a second for Paige to register what’s happening, but when she does, it’s Azzi she’s looking at. Everything seems to move in slow motion as they stare at each other, the reality of the moment suddenly settling in. Paige is here. In Oakland. They’re going to be teammates; they’re going to see each other almost every day. Just like they used to. Except nothing is like it used to be and as that bitter truth comes up like bile in Azzi’s throat, she has to force herself to look away. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie calls out, tugging at the hem of Paige’s white shirt to get her attention, “do you like my surprise?”

Paige tears her eyes away from Azzi, leaning down to pick Stephie up before peppering her faces with kisses and making the younger girl squeal in delight, “best surprise ever.”

And Azzi really, really, can’t watch this. Not when it makes her want to walk over and cocoon herself in with the two of them, makes her want to pretend that she’s living in another life, one where she hadn’t thrown away the chance of a happily ever after with the girl she’d fallen in love with at fourteen, 

“Oh yeah Stephie, your surprise. Take all the credit. Not like the rest of us did anything,” Joyce rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, before pulling Paige into a one-armed hug, “welcome to the Bay Area Bueckers.”

Tessa and Aaliyah are next, both sharing warm hugs with their new teammate. Once they’ve had their turn, all eyes seem to turn to Azzi expectantly and the brunette blanches under their gaze. Other than Jana, who suddenly seems pretty heavily interested in the doorframe, the rest of her teammates don’t know about her past with Paige. So it’s only natural they’d expect her to greet Paige with all the cordiality of an old friend. 

“Y’all good?” Joyce asks slowly, looking between the two of them, “do you want me to introduce y’all or?”

“Shut up,” Azzi murmurs before drawing in a deep breath and stepping towards Paige. She tries not to fixate on the way Paige’s jaw flexes when the blonde swallows, tries not to think about all the patterns she’d once carved against that little patch of skin because she knew it drove Paige insane. The thing is Azzi can’t even really remember the last time they hugged beyond a for-the-cameras one at a game. But as she wraps her arms around Paige, the older woman’s breath tickling against her ear as she grips Azzi’s waist, it doesn’t feel that much different from how it used to be. Paige’s arms are still safe and strong and Azzi still wants to melt into them. But what’s different is that Stephie’s in between them now, tiny hands securely fastened around both of their necks. And Azzi almost, almost gives into the feeling of belonging as she whispers two simple words that mean just a little too much.

“Welcome home.”

***

Seven pairs of eyes watch as the movers move box after box after box into Paige’s apartment, until there’s more cardboard than floor visible. The three non-UConn girlies are wide-eyed as they watch the pile grow endlessly. Meanwhile Jana is laughing while Azzi tries to hide a smile behind her hands as the realization that she’d have to unpack all of her stuff hits Paige in waves, and her expression grows more and more somber. Once the movers are finally done, it’s Stephie, whose hand is still firmly clasped in Paige’s, who breaks the silence. 

“You have a lot of things Miss Buecks,” the little girl crinkles her nose, as she points out the obvious, “do you really need all of this stuff.”

“Of course I do Stephie,” Paige says indignantly and Azzi scoffs, earning her a withering glare from the blond. 

“Aight well it was nice to meet you-” Joyce starts, slowly backing away from the mess until Jana blocks her way. 

“Oh no you don’t. I told y’all we were all gonna help her move in. Call it team bonding,” the Egyptian says, her voice vaguely threatening. 

“Most of the team isn’t even here,” Aaliyah points out cautiously. 

“That’s not the point,” Jana rebukes, “alright team listen up. Here’s how this is going to go-”

“Maybe Paige should take charge. It is her apartment,” Tessa says slowly. 

“If we put Paige in charge she’ll tell us all to go home and procrastinate doing anything until after the season,” Azzi says, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. 

Paige pouts, “hey! I’m not that bad.”

“Oh you absolutely are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“O-kay,” Jana claps, breaking apart the bickering, “it’s good to see the two of you are apparently younger than Stephie,” she holds up a hands a both Paige and Azzi start to splutter in their defense, “now as I was saying before being rudely interrupted. We’re gonna split this up. Joyce and I are gonna do the living room. Aaliyah and Tessa, y’all are gonna fix the guest room. Which leaves,” Jana smiles, and it’s only because Azzi knows her so well that she can read the menacing sparkle behind it, “Paige and Azzi to tackle the master bedroom.”

They both open their mouths to protest but are quick to get cut off by an excited Stephie, “I’mma help Mama and Miss Buecks!”

“Of course you are, why would you ever help anybody else? Clearly you don’t love us anymore. Not since your precious Miss Buecks got here,” Joyce says dramatically and while Paige smirks and the rest of the girls pretend to act mock offended, Azzi uses the distraction to sidle up to Jana. 

“What the fuck are you playing at El-Alfy,” she hisses under hear breath.

Jana shrugs innocently, “the master bedroom is the hardest because Paige has so many fucking clothes so I’m letting y’all old heads do it. Some of us are below 30 ya know.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azzi snaps. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about Fudd,” Jana says airily as she starts to unpack a box, leaving Azzi muttering curses under her breath. 

“Hey-”

Azzi spins around at the soft voice, only to find herself crashing against a solid body. It’s instinct, the way Paige’s hands immediately reach out to steady her and it’s instinct, the way Azzi’s hands grab at the lapels of the blond’s shirt. Goosebumps trails up her skin as Paige's breath, hot and heavy, fans across her face. They’re too close; way too close and yet the idea of stepping away feels like a sin. Azzi gulps as her thumb accidentally brushes Paige’s collarbone and the other woman shivers under her touch. She thinks she could probably get drunk off the feeling of knowing that she can still affect Paige like that. 

“You uh-” Paige swallows, fingers squeezing involuntarily against Azzi’s hip, “you don’t have to listen to Jana. I can- I can figure it out myself.”

“N-no,” Azzi stutters and she wonders if Paige feels a high from the way she still affects Azzi too, “there’s um- you have- uh- you have a lot of stuff. I can-,” she sucks in a deep breath, “I’ll help.”

“You sure?” there’s a vulnerable edge to Paige’s tone and any resolve Azzi could ever have melts immediately. 

“I want to help,” she says softly, letting a small smile slip onto her lips. 

The smile she gets in return is bright and sparkling, just like Paige herself and Azzi’s heart lurches, pleased to be the one receiving it, pleased to be the one who’d elicited it, “Good, cause I really wanted your help.”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to ignore the warning bells blazing in her head at the fact that they’re still holding each other, “why’d you pretend you didn’t?”

“I just wanted to hear you say it first,” Paige says, biting at her bottom lip. It leaves a light mark and Azzi finds herself wanting to soothe it over with her own tongue.

She thinks it might have been easier if it was just a little harder to fall back into Paige. It shouldn’t be so simple to fall back into late night conversations, so simple to fall back into easy teasing, so simple to fall back into feeling at peace in Paige’s arms. But it is. 

“Mama, Miss Buecks,” it’s Stephie who breaks their bubble but instead of jumping away from each other like they should, they step apart only enough to let the little girl into the space between them, so she can lace her hands through both of theirs, “are you ready?”

“Before you go Paige,” Tessa calls out, holding up a clear bag of corner guards and edge protectors, “what are we doing with these?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously, “you um- you put them on the edge of like tables and stuff.”

“Bro but they’re for people who have children?” Joyce says, giving Paige a weird look, “you have a kid we don’t know about?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to Stephie for a brief second and Azzi freezes, a warm realization tickling up her spine. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, their wings fluttering to the beat of what’s mine could have been ours. 

“Of course not. I’m just super clumsy so precautions and all that,” the blond explains, shooting Jana a glare when the taller woman barely masks a giggle, “quit procrastinating by asking all these questions and get to work.”

“Has anyone ever told you the importance of first impressions? Because I’m telling you Bueckers, using your teammates as unpaid labor the first time you meet them is not it,” Aaliyah gives Paige a pointed look. 

“This wasn’t even my idea in the first place,” Paige defends. 

“True,” Tessa nods with a sickly sweet smile, “but you’re gonna pay for the pizza anyways.”

“I’m not pay-”

“PIZZA,” Stephie squeals, “Miss Buecks you’re gonna get us Pizza?”

“Yeah Miss Buecks,” Azzi smickers, crossing her arms as Paige’s stubborn retort dies on her lips, “you gonna get us pizza?”

Paige glares at her before she’s swinging Stephie up onto her lap again. And she really needs to stop doing things like that because it’s not remotely good for Azzi’s mental health to watch the way Stephie seems to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, “of course I am Steph, what do you want?”

The two of them are lost in their own world discussing pizza toppings as Paige starts walking over to the master bedroom, until suddenly they're both turning around, looking at Azzi with identical expressions. And the brunette feels her heart tap out this could be my everything against her ribcage. 

“You coming Azzi?”

“Mama, are you coming?”

I’d go anywhere with the two of you, Azzi thinks as she nods her head, a light skip in her step as she moves to catch up with the two of them. 

“Of course I’m coming.”

***

Less than 10 minutes into trying to unpack, Azzi realizes that she’s the only one trying to unpack anything when she looks up from where she’s been folding t-shirts -trying and failing at not breathing in their familiar scent- to find Stephie decked in a colorful cardigan that goes all the way down to her toes, her feet clad in a pair of PB4’s that must be three times the size of her own shoes. A pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses hide almost her entire face as she strikes pose after pose and Paige diligently takes pictures of her. 

“YES Stephie,” the blond indulges, “work it girl. There you go babe, hold that pose for me. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

Stephie giggles and Azzi feels her heart constrict. Her favorite sound in the whole world has never sounded more like a signal for danger. 

“Ahem ahem,” she coughs, narrowing her eyes at the two people in front of her, “doesn’t look like y’all are unpacking to me.”

“Mama Miss Buecks has so many pretty clothes,” Stephie gushes, completely ignoring what her mother just said. 

“They’d look even prettier folded in her closet,” Azzi says pointedly. 

Stephie pouts, “you don’t think I look pretty?”

“You look really pretty in my clothes Stephie,” Paige cuts in, tapping the little girl on the nose before she turns her gaze towards Azzi, “just like your Mama used to.”

The silk material shirt slips out of Azzi’s hand as Paige’s words drizzle around her, like the rain after a drought. It takes every little bit of strength she can muster to force herself to ignore Paige’s words and pick up another shirt to fold even if she can’t stop the rouge tint that colors her face. There’s this part of her that’s been dormant for years but every little interaction with Paige threatens to awaken it and Azzi’s scared that if she lets that happen, she’ll never be able to put it to sleep again. 

“Just- just focus on unpacking,” Azzi mutters darkly. 

She spends the next hour or so, keeping her eyes downcast, her complete focus on the task at hand. Because if she looks up, if she lets herself see the way Stephie and Paige are folding clothes together while giggling about something, if she lets herself see the way Stephie climbs onto Paige’s back so the woman can give her a piggyback to the closet to deposit the folded clothes, she thinks she could fall in love with this moment, capture it behind her eyelids and let it live there forever. But this moment doesn’t belong to Azzi. Because Paige doesn’t belong to Azzi. Not anymore. 

Azzi’s taken away from her thoughts when she feels a tiny hand wrapping around her neck from behind, Stephie’s warm body pressing against her back and just like that, all the tension in her muscles seem to dissipate. 

“What’s up sweetheart,” she asks, turning her head to press her lips against her daughter’s temple. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says sweetly, “just wanted to give you a hug.”

“Sure you’re not just trying to get out of helping Miss Buecks unpack?” Azzi asks slyly, pulling Stephie from behind her, so the little girl’s lying on her lap instead. She can feel Paige’s eyes focused on the two of them and even without looking, she thinks she knows what she’d find in them if she did. 

“Of course not Mama,” Stephie grins and then squeals as Azzi begins to tickle her. 

“I think you are,” Azzi sings-songs as she continues to poke at her daughter’s stomach, reveling in the way it makes the child laugh. 

“N-no Mama stop, stop,” Stephie manages to wrench herself out from Azzi’s grip, darting to hide behind Paige’s legs, “Miss Buecks save me.”

“There’s no saving you now Stephie-bear,” Azzi roars dramatically as she picks herself off the floor, smirking at her daughter as she wriggles her fingers menacingly. 

“You know what the best way to stop someone from tickling you is Stephie?” Paige says slowly, sending the little girl a conspiratorial wink.

“Don’t you dare-” 

“You tickle them back,” Paige yells and Stephie eyes widen with excitement, “did you know your Mama’s extremely ticklish?”

“Paige no,” Azzi starts moving back, hands held in surrender. 

“You started it.”

“Yeah Mama, you started it.”

“Paige. Stephie. Ple-” Azzi cuts herself off with squeal as two sets of hands start mercilessly prodding at her ribcage. She can’t get away, not when Paige has her securely wrapped from the back and Stephie’s pressed against her front, both of them laughing maniacally. They’re a mess of limbs that’s becoming harder and harder to tell apart as the three of them topple onto Paige’s bed. And Azzi thinks maybe she doesn’t want to escape it at all. She thinks she’d like to freeze them in this moment instead. Forever. 

“Pizza’s here,” someone yells from the living room and it’s Stephie who stops first, immediately jumping off the bed at the mention of food, leaving Paige and Azzi alone. On Paige’s bed. Barely an inch of distance between them as they try to catch their breath. It’s Azzi who sits up first, smoothening the wrinkles on her shirt. And just as she’s about to stand up fully, she feels a hand circling around her wrist. 

“It’s gonna be weird being alone tonight,” Paige confesses softly and Azzi feels her breath hitch.

“Didn’t you live alone in Dallas? At least after the divorce?” she tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the last word, a bitterness she knows she has absolutely no right to feel. 

Paige shrugs, her shoulders brushing against Azzi’s, “I did but I knew Dallas. I don’t know this place.”

“What exactly are you asking me?” Azzi asks even though she knows. 

“I’m not asking you anything. I don’t know if I have that right anymore” Paige says softly, letting go of Azzi’s wrist as she starts to walk towards the living room, turning her head back slightly once she gets to the door, “I’m just telling you I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

***

Damn Paige Bueckers and her vulnerable eyes and her earnest tone because Azzi would, really, really like to be enjoying her slice of pizza right now. Instead everything tastes like ashes as Paige’s unsaid plea rings in her head. There are so many reasons why Azzi absolutely shouldn’t give in, why she should grab Stephie, get into her car, drive home and never look back. This involuntary dance the two of them are starting is far too familiar to what they’d done when they were teenagers and the vivid memories of the day the music stopped and they’re feet stopped moving still haunt Azzi every time she lets herself think of it for a little too long. And she shouldn’t push herself into this fire again, not when there’s Stephie to think about, but there’s a tiny little problem. She thinks she might be addicted to burning in Paige’s flames. 

So when the pizza’s done and the house is more or less in order, and her teammates are ready to leave, looking expectantly at Azzi, she finds herself leaping into lava, “um- I think Stephie and I are gonna stay for a little bit longer.”

“We are?” Stephie asks, a huge smile stretching the length of her face as she looks up at her mother. 

“Yeah. Um- Paige’s bedroom still um- still needs some work,” Azzi tries to justify her decision, ignoring the heat of the blond’s eyes that seem to be perpetually stuck staring at her. 

Joyce raises a perplexed eyebrow, “it looked done to me.”

Paige clears her throat, “there’s definitely uh- a couple more things that need to be handled.”

“It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime. I could stay and help-” Jana begins, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“No,” Paige says, a little louder than necessary, “I mean you’ve already done so much for me today Jana,” she manages a smirk, “let Azzi pull her weight a little bit too ya know.”

Janna narrows her eyes but doesn’t push it. It’s oddly domestic, standing side by side with Paige bidding goodbye to their teammates, Stephie in between them happily waving at the people that are leaving. The warning bells get louder and louder; Azzi continues to do nothing to stop them. 

“Mama, how long are we staying?” Stephie asks innocently. 

“We um-” Azzi chews at her lip, finally giving into the temptation to look at Paige, “we’re gonna stay with Miss Buecks tonight so she doesn’t feel alone.”

The shrill scream that escapes Stephie’s mouth could probably break glass as she turns herself around to grab at Paige’s waist, “Miss Buecks I’m gonna stay with you! We’re gonna have a sleep-over.”

Paige laughs, kneeling down so she’s face to face with the little girl, “yeah we are.”

“Are you scared to sleep alone too Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks cautiously, cupping Paige’s face with tiny hands. 

“Just a little bit,” Paige admits, leaning into Stephie’s touch. 

“Me too,” Stephie whispers shyly, “that’s why I sneak into Mama's bed and she gives me lots and lots and lots of cuddles. Mama’s cuddles are the best,” she turns to Azzi, “Mama will you give Miss Buecks cuddles tonight too?”

“I uh-” Azzi swallows, taken aback by the question, “I thought you didn’t like sharing Mama’s cuddles?”

“I don’t,” Stephie agrees, “but I’d be okay sharing them with Miss Buecks.”

***

Azzi had planned -a loose term because really she hadn’t planned on any of this- for her and Stephie to take the guest room. Paige had been ready to give up her own room on the grounds of politeness. And Stephie was insistent that she needed to sleep in between both Mama and Miss Buecks tonight because it’s a sleepover we all have to stay together. Obviously out of the three of them, only one of them was going their way and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who that would be.  That’s how they’d ended up here, dragging chairs and pillows and blankets into the middle of the living room to create a makeshift fort. 

Azzi’s putting on the finishing touches, stringing purple fairy lights Paige had produced out of nowhere, when Stephie emerges from Paige’s bedroom where she’d gone looking for something to wear in lieu of pajamas. 

“Mama look what I found,” Stephie beams, proudly pointing at the black t-shirt she’s found that covers her whole body, “it’s you and Miss Buecks when you were littler.”

It’s their SLAM cover t-shirt and Azzi feels tears prickling at her waterline as she’s met with the picture of a younger version of the two of them. Back when they’d been so hopeful and carefree, ready to take on the world as long as they could do it together. Back when they’d been 2 in a million.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” Azzi whispers, unable to stop herself from running her fingers across the version of who they used to be. She wonders what those girls would think of them now; those girls who’d laid and bed and pinky promised forever. She thinks they’d probably be appalled at the fact that Paige and Azzi had spent eight years barely speaking. She thinks maybe they’d hate her for what she’d done. She thinks maybe she hates herself a little bit for what she’s done to them. 

Paige is leaning against the wall, her voice quiet when she speaks, “I couldn’t let it go.”

And they both know she’s not talking about the shirt. 

“Can we watch a movie?” Stephie asks, diving into the fort and peering up at the two adults. 

Paige recovers first, “yeah- yeah of course Steph,” she looks at Azzi, “do you- do you want something else to sleep in?”

“I’m good,” Azzi says, trying to inconspicuously brush away a rebellious tear. The shirt she’s wearing feels itchy against her skin but she doesn’t think she could handle wearing something of Paige’s. She scooches into the fort, leaning back against one of the pillows and Stephie’s quick to curl into her and Azzi absentmindedly rubs her hands down her daughter’s back. Paige switches on the TV, letting Stephie dictate a movie choice before letting herself into the fort, laying down on Stephie’s other side. 

“Miss Buecks come cuddle,” Stephie demands from where her head is laying on Azzi’s chest. When Paige hesitates, the younger girl takes it upon herself to pull Paige’s arms over her, making the older woman lie on her side so she can drape her hands over Stephie's stomach, accidentally brushing against Azzi’s ribcage. Stephie lets out a satisfied sigh, lying back down against Azzi, crossing her arms so she can hold Paige’s hand with one and latch onto her mother with the other. 

“Perfect.”

And it is. The sound of Stephie’s chatter slowly fading away mixed with Paige’s quiet breathing is the perfect lullaby and Azzi finds herself drifting off into the best sleep she’s had in years. 

***

Sunlight peeks in through the window and Azzi groans at the interruption. Her whole body feels a little stiff, not used to sleeping on the floor like this. A quick glance at her phone tells her it’s 7 a.m. and Azzi’s just about to let herself fall back asleep when her eyes land on the two sleeping figures next to her. Stephie’s face is buried in Paige’s neck, one arm slung over her waist. Paige, mouth slightly ajar as she sleeps, has both hands fastened on the younger, holding her tightly against her chest like she’d fight the world if someone tried to steal her from her grip. They look happy, content, at peace. And Azzi can’t breathe. 

The warning bells in her head create a cacophonous commotion that she can no longer escape. It hits her like whiplash that she can’t do this. She doesn’t know what had gotten into her last night, why she’d agreed to this, to any of this. But she can’t do this. 

“Stephie,” Azzi whispers urgently, trying to pull her daughter out of Paige’s grasp, “Stephie wake up.”

“Az?” Paige asks groggily, stirring in her sleep, “what’s going on?”

“We need to go home,” Azzi says and she can’t bear to look at Paige. 

“What?” Paige is far more awake now as she glances at her phone, “it’s 7 am Azzi. What’s the rush?"

Azzi ignores her, still trying to wake Stephie up who groans, “Mama too early.”

“Steph-”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is firm as she wraps her hand around Azzi’s wrist, slipping Stephie off of her, “what is going on.”

Azzi grits her teeth, “nothing’s going on. We just need to go home.”

“Azzi-”

“We shouldn’t have stayed last night Paige,” Azzi bursts out and Paige freezes. 

“Come out of the fort Azzi,” the blond says, her voice eerily calm as she stands up. Azzi follows after her, heart beating rapidly against her chest as she tries to keep the tears at bay. 

“We need to go home,” the brunette repeats, struggling to breathe, “this was a mistake,” Paige flinches and Azzi feels a knife turn in her own hurt, “we can’t do this.”

“Do what Azzi?” Paige asks exasperatedly, still trying to keep her voice low for Stephie’s sake. 

“This,” Azzi all but shrieks, throwing her hands up, “it’s too much, too quick and Stephie- Stephie’s getting attached and I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not?” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“Because these last two weeks she couldn’t fall asleep without you on the phone. Because you’re all she talks about sometimes. Because she’s gonna want you forever,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “and she can’t have you forever.”

“Az-”

“And you’re getting attached too. I see the way you look at her and it’s amazing but it’s not- it’s not sustainable Paige. For either of you. Because you’re gonna find someone soon,” the words taste sour on Azzi’s tongue, “and you’re not gonna have time for her and missing you is going to kill her and the guilt of that is going to hurt you. I’m trying to pro-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige’s voice is hard now, eyes gleaming with fire, “you’re basing all of this on a hypothetical that might not even come true. You’re not protecting anybody. You’re projecting.”

Azzi reels back, “I am not projecting.”

“Yes you are,” Paige hisses, “you’re not scared of Stephie or me getting too attached. You’re scared of yourself getting too attached.”

“Mama? Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s tired eyes look warily between the two of them, “what’s going on?”

Azzi plasters a smile on her face as she picks up her little girl, trying to pretend that the truth in Paige’s words haven’t just made her feel hollow, “we’re going home Stephie.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Stephie fights against Azzi’s grip, looking helplessly at Paige, “Miss Buecks I wanna stay. Can I please stay?”

“You have to listen to your Mama sweetheart” Paige says softly, heartbreak written over her face as she moves to press a kiss against Stephie’s knuckles, “but I’ll see you soon okay. I promise.”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers and Azzi has never hated herself more as she rushes out of Paige’s new house, willing herself to not look back. She buckles Stephie in the back, pretending she doesn’t see the way Paige is watching them leave from the porch, like she’d do anything to stop it. And then she drives away. 

It isn’t until she’s safely in the confines over her own room, that Azzi finally lets the tears fall. And she consoles herself with the fact that it’s okay to crack her daughter's heart, to crack Paige’s heart, to crack her own heart, if that’s the only way she can stop their hearts from breaking altogether.

[little-diable]

Cocky Tornado Wrangler – Tyler Owens (smut)

Finally watching Twisters tonight. My poor aunt who has to listen to me gush about our husband. Thank you so much for the love on my other Tyler fic, I hope y'all will love this just as much. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: There are many things (y/n) would prefer to having to share a room with the man she hates. But does she really hate him? Or will the bed they share be enough to push them closer together?

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), piv, enemies to lovers, lots of teasing

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (3.8k words)

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Her voice dripped with exhaustion, eyes tired and ready to flutter shut any moment now. But fuck, she couldn’t give in just yet, had to fight yet another battle with the self proclaimed tornado wrangler who was staring down at her with his signature smirk glued to his lips.

The smirk he wore in every video of his. Videos she watched whenever they were uploaded to his channel. Not that she’d ever tell Tyler that. And god forbid he’d ever stumble upon the saved favourites she watched in moments where she needed distraction from everything but him. 

“Well, seems like your prayers were answered, pretty. An EF4 and now we get to share a room, certainly feels like we’re even closer to heaven now, doesn’t it?” Tyler’s hand found her waist to give it a soft squeeze before he gently pushed her further into the motel room. It had been an exhausting day, filled with adrenaline highs as they chased tornadoes until the late evening. Even though they had been mesmerised by the beautiful disaster, they were now forced to stay in one of the close towns, cut off from the highway heading home. 

“I can take the couch.” She had her eyes set on the rather worn out couch which had been pushed against one of the walls that were painted in a faded out pink colour. The whole room made her feel like she was back at her grandparents home, letting an almost melancholic feeling settle in the pit of her stomach. 

“You sure you don’t wanna share? The bed’s big enough, or I could take the couch.” Tyler hung up his still wet hat before placing his bag down on the bed. (Y/n) watched him take in the room, giving her a few seconds to curse him for wearing a white shirt that now clung to his muscular upper body. His back muscles were shining through the wet fabric, letting her get lost in the thoughts of how it must feel to brush her nails along his soft skin. Thoughts that shot heat straight down to her core, knowing that she’d have to take care of that cursed longing in the shower. 

“In your dreams, Owens, and we both know you won’t fit on that couch.” His raspy laugh left her grinning, unable to stop her tired face from reacting to the man (y/n) claimed she hated and yet needed to feel close at any given chance. 

“Trust me, baby, my dreams are all about sharing a bed with you and so much more.” With a wink thrown her way, Tyler plopped down on the bed. He studied her for a moment, taking in her wet frame while his tongue kissed his teeth and his muscular arms were locked behind his head. She needed to get out of here, needed to find shelter in the warm shower before her body would do something she couldn’t stop it from doing. 

“I’ll grab a quick shower.” (Y/n) didn’t wait for his reply, darting for the bathroom that was just big enough for her to let go of a deep breath. 

She hated that she had dreamt of moments like these, wondering how it may play out with Tyler by her side, having to share a bed while the world outside was ending. And all they’d have eyes for would be one another, no matter how many tornadoes called for them. 

Within seconds, (y/n) had shuffled out of her wet clothes only to step into the small shower. She couldn’t stop her soft moan from leaving her as the warm water cascaded down her back as if it were hugging her. The silence she was now offered forced her thoughts back to the longing she couldn’t shake, the need to take care of the pulsing between her thighs that grew stronger with every passing moment. 

Her fingers moved quickly, knowing that she didn’t have much time before Tyler would disturb her peace, desperate for a shower himself. With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) let her fingers circle her pulsing bundle, imaging Tyler’s fingers instead of her own. 

Would he touch her with the same kind of urgency? Would he draw the same moans from her she oh so desperately wanted to give in to? No, he wouldn’t. He’d make her feel things she had never felt before, clashing through her like a tornado stronger than she had ever been fortunate enough to study. Tyler Owens was her own personal disaster and she was close to letting him rip her off her feet, close to allowing him to have his way with her without being able to protest. 

“Fuck,” the word rolled off her tongue all too quickly, knowing that she was already close to giving in to her high. (Y/n) didn’t pay the ache in her forearm any mind, didn’t worry about the way her fingers begged her to move slower, all she was focused on were her thoughts that painted a picture of Tyler and the way he’d touch her.

And with her head rolled back and her lips tightly pressed together, she came. (Y/n) let her orgasm wash through her, rubbing her pulsing bundle a few more times before her tired body found its way out of the shower.

It took her a second to realise that she hadn’t taken any clean clothes with her, drawing yet another exhausted groan from her. Carefully, she opened the door, hiding behind her towel while her eyes found Tyler’s frame. No longer was he wearing his shirt, exposing his muscular upper body to her eyes which tried to burn every inch of his naked skin into her mind. 

“Tyler,” her soft voice drew his eyes from his phone. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

She expected a snarky comment, anything to tease her and rile her up some more, but Tyler stayed quiet, eyes focused on the parts of her body that weren’t covered by the door or her towel. (Y/n) could have sworn that he had swallowed heavily first before rising to his feet to reach for his bag. His eyes stayed glued to her while he reached a shirt out for her to take, letting his fingers brush against hers for a moment. 

It was cheesy almost, the buzz of lighting striking her at the small contact. A touch so small and yet so significant, her mind would probably think of it for days and nights to come.

With a small “thank you” rolling off her tongue, (y/n) stepped back into the bathroom to put on the shirt, grateful that it was long enough to cover her panties. Trembling legs carried her back into the room, not daring to look at Tyler, whose eyes she felt on her frame. No words were spoken between them as he pushed past her into the bathroom, allowing (y/n) to deeply exhale the second she was left alone once again. 

……

The moments after Tyler had returned from the shower, wearing nothing but boxers that clung to his body just as tightly as his wet shirt had, had been filled with a tight atmosphere. Barely any words had been shared between them, not as she had made herself comfortable on the couch, not as he had turned off the light while stretching out on the bed.

She had turned her back to him to stop her eyes from wandering, knowing that no matter how tired she was, her mind wouldn’t let her rest. Not when he was so close to her. Not when she heard his uneven breaths that told her he was still awake. Not when she could easily move closer to feel him pressed against her. 

What was he thinking of? Was he still riled up by today’s chase? Or was he also thinking of those moments where he had passed his shirt to her? 

Even though she begged her body to stay calm, to not move back towards him, she lost the fight within seconds. Her front was turned towards him, letting her eyes rest on the parts of his body that weren’t hidden by the blanket, making her awfully aware of how close he was to her. 

This was unusual for them, quiet moments where neither spoke, where no teasing or bickering could be heard. Nothing but the breaths both let go of while he kept his eyes focused on the ceiling and she wasn't strong enough to look away from him just yet.

“I can feel you staring, pretty.” Tyler rolled his head towards her, eyes meeting (y/n)’s like lightning striking a tree, buzzing straight through it to set it ablaze. “What’s going on in that confusing mind of yours?”

“Just because you’re not smart enough to understand my thoughts it doesn’t mean my mind’s confusing.” The words had left her all too quickly, drawing a gritty laugh from Tyler. A sound she loved hearing, no matter how hard she tried to deny it. A sound that left her smiling the second her ears were fortunate enough to hear it. 

“You wound me. I’d say we’re a pretty good team when it comes to understanding your plans.” Heat spread through every part of her body, a heat she was all too used to by now but still didn’t know how to work with. She rolled her eyes at Tyler before refocusing on his handsome features, taking in every part of the face she knew like the back of her hand. 

Her breath hitched in her chest as he lifted the blanket, patting the spot next to him, “Come up here, I don’t need you complaining about back pain tomorrow.”

(Y/n)’s body moved without holding back, crawling to the spot next to him as if she had done this numerous times before. It felt awfully right to lay next to him, to feel Tyler’s arm slowly wrap around her middle to cage her against his chest. 

“Do you remember the first time we chased together?” She tried to stop her hand from moving as he spoke, she really did. But yet (y/n) miserably failed, unable to keep away from his soft skin any longer, needing to feel it beneath her wandering fingers as she traced slow patterns on the skin of his warm chest. 

“I wanted to break your nose that day, god, you were even cockier back then. Do you still think people instantly recognise you when you meet them?” He shook his head with a smirk playing on his lips, tightening his grip on (y/n) as she shuffled even closer. That day was replaying in her mind every now and then, remembering how he had misjudged her for a fangirl, expecting her to almost faint when shaking his hand. And yet she hadn’t known much about him, had never watched any of his videos before that day. Something Tyler hadn’t taken as lightly as he should have, turning into the cocky asshole she had cursed for the past months.

“I no longer care about that, only worry about impressing you, pretty.” He pressed a kiss to her hairline before he let his eyes flicker back to the ceiling. His sharp jawline was exposed to her wandering eyes, making (y/n) awfully aware of how easily she could kiss him right now. It took everything in her not to move, to hold still as her heart picked up its beat. Whatever it was that had urged her on to fight against him these past months, it was now gone, leaving her unable to fight back and in need of something more. 

“We both know that’s a lie, Owens. All you worry about is tornadoes and busty women who ask you to sign their cleavages.” Her laugh was mixed with his as he let his gaze find hers again while squeezing her side. She fought against his grip, hating that he had found her most ticklish spot that made her toss and turn against him. Tyler seemed to enjoy the sight, letting his fingers find the spot again while shifting her around to hover over (y/n). With one hand pressed to the pillow and his knees caging in her right thigh, he left her no room to move away from him. 

“Do I hear jealousy?” His eyes wandered over her face, focusing on her lips as she fought against the need to look away. “You know there’s no need to be jealous, pretty. All you gotta do is give in and stop fighting our bond.” 

A sharp reply was burning on her tongue, and yet her body managed to win the fight, letting her fingers find the back of Tyler’s neck to pull him in for a soft kiss. He instantly replied to the touch, adding more pressure to the kiss with his body shuffling closer. It felt as if they were burning, tied together like two matches setting a petrol station ablaze, ready to alight the darkening night. 

With every swipe of his tongue, with every moan rumbling through them, it set in further that this was finally happening, that they were finally crossing that last bridge. No longer was she set on fighting it, purely focused on Tyler’s touch and the need to feel him as close as humanly possible. 

“Talk to me, baby, what do you want?” Her mind was torn between the kisses they kept sharing and the feeling of him growing against her thigh, telling (y/n) that he needed and wanted this as much as she did. Her fingers combed through his hair, letting her nails scratch his skin with just enough pressure to leave him tingling in excitement. 

“Everything, I want all of you, Tyler.” Hours ago she would have cursed herself for giving in so easily, for admitting that insatiable hunger she had felt for months now. But she no longer found it in herself to care, could no longer shy away from having whatever Tyler was about to offer her. Her words drew a groan from the tall tornado wrangler who kissed his way down her throat while shifting his weight onto his knees. They held eye contact as his hands disappeared beneath the shirt of his she was wearing, finding their way straight to her chest. 

“Fuck, feels like you were made for me, every part of you.” His praises sank in like a ship hitting the ocean ground, sinking lower with every passing second, forever resting on the ground like the praises he spoke to her. Forever etched into her mind. Forever remembering the way they made her feel lightheaded and giddy. 

Urgently he pulled the shirt over her head, set on exposing her body to his hungry eyes. Tyler let go of another groan as he looked down at her, making a silent promise that he’d have to take a picture of her in that position one of these days. He dipped his head down to  suck on her nipples, making her moan for him while she spread her thighs for him. His core met hers, leaving both breathless as his clothed cock rubbed against her clothed heat – a feeling so intense, it only urged Tyler on to move further down her body. 

“Will you let me taste you, pretty?” Only a breathless “Please” left (y/n), drawing a smirk to his lips. She watched his eyes light up as he pushed her panties down her legs, looking like he was marvelling at art – art so mesmerising he couldn’t stop staring. 

“Let me make you feel good, baby.” Those were the last words Tyler spoke before his tongue brushed her folds, drawing a moan from the both of them. His arms wove their way around her thighs, keeping her pressed to him as he ate her out like a starving man, high on her taste and the sounds she made for him. 

Nothing but moans managed to leave (y/n), getting lost in the feeling of Tyler sucking on her pulsing bundle, while he pushed two fingers into her – doing just what she had imagined him doing in the shower a while ago. He instantly managed to find that spot that made her see stars as he pressed down on it with his fingers, forcing (y/n) to choke on her sounds.

“Oh god, Tyler,” he chuckled against her skin, letting the sound vibrate through every part of her. From the corner of his eyes he could see her fist the covers with her free hand, the one that wasn’t buried in his hair, telling him that she was already close. And yet Tyler knew that he’d pull away soon, wanting to feel her cum around his cock like he had imagined her doing the past months. 

Tyler had worked hard for her attention, knowing that he had fucked it up the first time they had met. She had instantly managed to push him off his high horse, bruising his ego with her sharp words he could still recite today. And yet it had only made him desperate for more, set on pulling her closer like no other woman before her. 

“I could die a happy death between your thighs, pretty, but I need to fuck you now.” The dazy look she shot him made him feel proud, knowing that she had been about to cum on his tongue. She didn’t reply, at least not with words, with nothing but a whine did she pull him towards her for another kiss. He shuffled out of his boxers, freeing his twitching cock with a few movements. 

“Let me grab a condom.” He left her side for a moment, allowing (y/n) to sort through her thoughts which were all over the place. And yet she couldn’t carry about anything but the need to feel him buried inside of her, knowing that once she knew what it feels like to have him so close, she’d never be able to let him go again. A thought that left her torn between excitement and anxiety, unsure what was awaiting them. 

“Do you still want this? We don’t have to do this if you’re unsure, (y/n).” Tyler’s whispers ripped her out of her spiralling thoughts. She shook her head at him before pulling back in, focused on his handsome face, mustering every spot she could blindly find. 

“I want this, want you.” That’s all he needed to hear before aligning himself with her heat and slowly pushing into her. With his forehead pressed against hers, both needed a moment to adjust, not expecting to feel this, unable to put the sensation into any words that would make sense to their minds. It felt like they had been made for one another, made solemnly for this moment that felt as if the world had spinning, thrown off its path. 

“Move, please, Ty’.” He instantly gave in, pulling out of her only to push in with more strength. Their bodies met with every ferocious thrust, sending bolts of electricity down her spine. She arched her back off the mattress, needing to be even closer to him while he kept burying himself inside of her. 

Blood rushed in her ears, drowning everything out but the sounds Tyler made, sounds so raspy and deep she feared it was another tornado growing in the distance, guttural sounds which left her walls fluttering around his cock. Her fingernails scratched at his shoulder, set on leaving red marks that wouldn’t fade for days, claiming him in the most primal way she could come up with at that moment. 

“God, I can’t wait to fuck you like that for the rest of my life.” The words roll off his tongue just like that. There was no way he could stop them from leaving him. And for the first time in minutes she finds herself ripped out of her state, staring up at him with wide eyes. But Tyler doesn’t say another word, all he does is study her while fucking her closer to the edge. 

“Do you mean that?” She struggled to speak, needing to ground herself before choking on her words. Their eyes kept holding contact, even as he nodded his head while watching a smile grow on her slightly swollen lips. “Good, I don’t want you to let me go again, Owens.”

He took the words as a challenge, adding even more pressure to his thrusts to throw (y/n) back into her dazed state. With his fingers circling her pulsing bundle, he knew that it was only a matter of moments before she’d cum around his cock, allowing him to take in the most beautiful sight he’d ever be fortunate enough to see. 

His name left (y/n) one last time before falling off the edge. His hips kept meeting hers, fucking her through her high while feeling his own crawling closer. She clung to him, murmuring his name like her own personal mantra as he followed her, letting go with a groan she’d forever remember.

It took both a moment to move again, for him to pull out of her and to get rid of the condom and for her to slightly shift around on the mattress, watching his every move with her weight balanced on her forearms. Tyler found his way back to her within seconds, hovering over her to press another kiss to the lips he’d never get tired of kissing. 

“Are you okay?” His whispers left (y/n) grinning, nodding against his lips while another wave of euphoria swapped through her. 

“More than.” Unspoken feelings were hanging heavily in the air, knowing that both would have to address them rather soon, but all they did was look at one another, marvelling at the person they never wanted to let go of again. “Thank you for this.”

“Nothing to thank me for, pretty. And hell, I’m not even close to being finished with you tonight.”

[bitchlessdino]

put it in writing (m)

In collaboration with @camandemstudios Pairing: college student!seungkwan x Fem!TA!reader Genre: humor, smut Word count: 7.8k tags: college au, TA x student dynamic, push-and-pull, mentions of TXT's soobin, mentions of Ryan Gosling, a lot of fucking lying, explicit content, unprotected sex, hair pulling, cream pies, oral, cum-consumption, pet names (baby, good boy), praise kink Summary: You keep things professional--as you should--even if one of your students is someone you hooked up with one night before the college semester started. Meanwhile, Boo Seungkwan is anything but honest--he's a writer after all--but if he is honest about one thing, it's about wanting to write a new story with you. a/n: thank you @highvern @sluttyminghao and @strxwberry-skiess for beta reading <3 (late note: I wanna thank @gyuswhore @highvern and @haologram for the brainstorming if I forgot to mention anyone I’m sorry. They’ve been a really big help and we’re super motivating and supportive the entire process I love yall 💕)

You don’t go out. Period. As simple as that.

Until tonight. 

Summer is almost over, and once it ends, you’ll be Professor Yoo’s newest TA. You've worked hard to get to this point and despite the inevitable late-night grading sessions, you expect the experience to be rewarding and maybe even inspirational. You’re sure this achievement would make your academic-forward parents proud. Their daughter, at the top of her class, brimming with excitement and potential, jobs coming in from left and right, all while on her way to...a Writing degree. 

The one downside: they didn’t believe a writing degree would lead to anything substantial. Not like Biomedical engineering or Accounting. The one degree worse than Art. You almost forgot that writing was useless in their eyes because who couldn’t just pick up a pen and paper to scribble some words down?

You down another cheap shot of tequila, muttering your grievances under your breath as your friends revel in the club's pulsating atmosphere. They are only mildly concerned with your drinking habits, accustomed to your tightly wound, studious nature. Typically, you are the one buried in textbooks, rarely venturing into the party scene. Yet tonight, you surprise them all with your ironclad liver, effortlessly downing shots without a hint of a stumble.

“You, okay?”

You scoff, taking yet another shot, “Really depends what that means. ‘Okay’ as in life or ‘okay’ as in financially, mentally, emotionally, sexually, and-slash-or physically fulfilled with proud parents that love me unconditionally?”

“Oh, boy.” Hyeri tries to tear you away from any more alcohol and lays you flat against the back of the leather booth, twisting the top of a water bottle before putting it on your lips. “Let's get you hydrated, hmm? Can’t have you hungover the next day. I’ll be the one you’re complaining to.”

“Suffer my consequences!”

“Of course, darling.”

Hyeri, your steadfast friend since high school and now a new TA from another university, is like a sister to you. She knows your every habit and inclination, no matter how shit-faced you decide to get. “Don’t look, but there’s supple skin, high cheekbones, and a pretty smile looking directly at you.”

You subtly fix your gaze and accidentally meet the young man’s eyes as he nurses a highball glass between his lips. His eyes narrow back at you with interest. You muse back at him, mimicking his action with the water bottle in your grasp. As you drink with your eyes glued on his expression, the water passes over your lips, with the excess trickling suggestively down your chin and neck, your skin glistening in its sheen.

His lips part, dropping in a smug smile–and my, was it prettier than anticipated–and tilt his head as if quietly beckoning you closer. 

“I’m going over there.” 

Before you could get up from your booth, Hyeri is there to immediately tug you back down, eyes full of concern. “Are you sure, hon? You had quite a bit to drink.”

Your eyes crease as you smile back at her reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.”

“He looks young, he probably doesn't even know what a 401k is.”

“Do any of us?” You leave off before striding in the direction of the pretty boy, who still can’t keep his eyes off you.

You weave through the sea of sweaty bodies, sidestepping spilled drinks and the pulsating lights of the dance floor, your eyes locked on him. His gaze trails you with every step, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes, speaking to you like an incantation. When you finally reach his feet, the distance closing with each heartbeat, his smile grows wider, more inviting. The moment your legs brush against the softness of his leather couch, he leans to maintain your locked gaze, a now more playful glint in his eyes. Your smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Is this seat taken?”

“Only by you if anyone else asks,” he smoothly responds.

You gently lower yourself beside him, lifting one leg to cross it over the other, feeling the cool leather beneath you. His eyes follow your every movement, lingering on the curve of your thigh as it presses against the other. You lean in slightly, your curiosity evident in the arch of your brow. “Why all alone? With a face as pretty as yours, I’d expect someone to be all over you by now.”

He shifts his body toward you, his eyes drinking in your appearance, savoring every detail from the whip of your hair and to glitter on your legs. Meanwhile, the subtle spicy sweet scent of his cologne mingles with the ambient aromas of the club, and you can’t even breathe the air without the desire to jump his bones. Especially one in particular.

He regains his smile, a slow, confident curve of his lips, and extends a hand toward you. “I could say the same for you. I’m Seungkwan.”

You take his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch and the gentle caress of his thumb against your knuckles. With a graceful nod, you gave him a firm handshake. You return the gesture by introducing yourself, your voice smooth and inviting, matching the rhythm of the music that pulses around you, and that seems to only grow his interest. “What a pretty name. You’ve been here long?”

“Just long enough,” you say, your voice carrying a playful challenge.

“What is it that someone like you does to want to let loose in a place like this?”

“Mmh, I don’t know. It really depends on how much you’re willing to share,” you reply, narrowing your eyes and taking in that body begging to be undressed.

“Well, if you must know, I work somewhere…uncommon,” he says, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

You lean in too, resting your elbow on the back of the couch and propping your chin on your hand, your fingers lightly brushing your lips. “Do tell, Seungkwan.”

“Don’t be surprised, but I’m a bit of a big deal, especially around here,” he brags.

You raise an eyebrow, ready to bite. “That’s very vague. Mind elaborating?”

He briefly shifts his eyes to glance around the room, the smile never leaving his lips. He leans in closer, his breath warm and tickling against your ear, making it burn. “Just know I know the ins and outs of this club,” he whispers, his voice a tantalizing murmur. “Some information you might find even surprising that no one else knows.”

You pull back slightly, your eyes locking onto his, a spark of intrigue dancing between you. “Sounds like you’ve got some secrets,” you murmur, your voice low and rich. You reach for his drink from the table in front of you, your fingers brushing against his thigh for balance as you lift the glass to your lips. You take a slow, deliberate sip, not minding that its rim has touched a stranger's lips. “How sketchy,” you dare insult with a playful glint in your eye as you set the glass back down.

“Care to find out?”

“What part of ‘ sketchy’ did you not understand?” You softly laugh.

“I promise it’s harmless,” his voice brimming with mischief, poking the inside of his cheek playfully. “Or at least, you’d have a little fun.”

You hum amused. “Define fun.”

He takes you by the hand, his touch firm yet gentle, leading you away from the pulsating dance floor to a secluded corner of the club. The music echoes softly in the background, its bass reverberating through the walls. You follow him through a maze of dimly lit corridors and alcoves, catching glimpses of other partygoers lost in their own worlds.

The air changes as you enter an empty private space, cooler and quieter than the crowded main room. Your eyes fall on a single secluded corner with windows going ceiling to floor, flooding the room with skylight. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of alcohol and the crisp air of a cracked open window too high to reach.

As you settle into a seat in front of the windows, you observe the city through the crystal clear glass, drinking in the scene of small tables adorned with flickering candles, and erotic artwork adorning the walls. The music from the main floor is muted here like the world behind closed doors fell silent for this moment, and only you two are left in the room to bask in it. If temptation was room, this had to be it.

There’s a subtle shift in his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable—resembling pride—before they revert back to his calm suavity. He assumes the seat next to you on the plush velvet couch tucked into a private nook that touches the light of the stars. The soft glow of ambient lights casts a warm, intimate ambiance around you, contrasting with the pulsating beats of the club music that drifts in from the main floor.

“It’s a V.V.I.P area,” Seungkwan explains in a low voice, “Some of the employees don’t even know it exists.”

“But someone like you does?” you inquire, your voice tinged with intrigue.

He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of pride evident in his demeanor as his body dipped into the leather. “I have my way around here.”

“Really?” you tease, growing slowly more convinced.

Seungkwan meets your gaze with a playful grin. “I obviously can’t tell you everything,” he says, his tone brimming with mischief. “Just know that I’m involved in ways that keep this place running smoothly. The club would die without me.”

You chuckle softly, savoring his playful confidence, and leaning against the cushions, head turned to him. “What can you tell me?” you ask, your voice growing softer. Your finger traces a teasing path down the collar of his shirt, undoing a button with deliberate slowness. “Humor me,” you exhale, your breath brushing against his ear and your gaze locked with his.

You can hear his breath hitch, and finally, you have him right where you want him. He fixes on the way your legs cross, tracing the curve of your calf up to where they disappear under the hem of your skirt. He seems momentarily captivated by the subtle movement of your flesh as they collide against each other, giving hardly any brain capacity to cumulate words.

You notice the furrow of his brow, a slight tilt of his head—as if he were mentally dissecting his thoughts. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes tried to regain clarity. You can almost visualize the gears turning in his mind, each cog clicking into place as he forms a coherent story, if any.

Each word comes out in complete shambles and he is saying more nothing than anything. Whatever the truth is at this point, you don’t care. Seungkwan is just too cute to pass up.

The clearing of his throat tells you he’s finished, the tilt of his smile growing less confident and more anxious as your weight pushes against his chest. He tries to come back from his stumble, picking off strands of hair in front of your face and playing with their ends before changing the subject. “Now tell me your work. What is so amazing that you do?”

“I’m—“ a teacher’s aid in massive debt on their way to graduating with potentially a useless degree neither of their parents is proud of because, although you love it,  you’re too proud to say otherwise, “—a indie movie producer with one of the films up for a reward. Super lowkey right now, but…we got Gosling.” You shrug, impressed with your own lies. “So, things are looking up.”

“That’s quite impressive.” he hums, intrigued and interested in hearing about more. “Is he as nice in real life as he is in interviews?”

“Ryan’s got a screw or two loose, but pretty okay guy. At least not into Scientology or anything.”

“Interesting,” He gaze dips towards you, being drawn to you immensely, if not locking eyes with you, scanning over your features, particularly your lips that wished to be claimed. “You call all big-name celebrities by their first name?”

You shrug, the lying coming more and more naturally than anticipated. “Only the ones I’m close with.”

His palm hugs the curve of your cheek, thumb softly brushing against your bottom lip. “I wonder what getting close to you entails.”

“Are you planning on finding out?”

You give each other a long look, one that keeps waiting and ushering the other until your lips decidedly crash into his. His lips part, making way for your presence, the heat of the kiss flushing your skin and pleased shivers running throughout your entire body. Your breath hitches when you feel his teeth pulling your flesh and a soft sigh escapes his lips before his hand creeps behind your head and muffles a moan that neither were sure from who.

You lift your body from the couch, chasing his pace, and pull him closer, kissing him deeper with all your might. You crawl over his lap, straddling his hips, hands in his hair, breath on his skin. Your chest tightens as he presses you closer by the small of your back, to which you gasp as you part from his lips.

He finds your gaze, his round and glistening eyes meeting yours in soft urgency. “You okay? Something wrong?”

You shake your head, palm clasped against your burning face. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He lets out an amused scoff. “Keep up, Miss producer.”

Your lips reconnect, and fireworks play in your like it’s the fourth of July. Popping and popping. Your lip lock only intensifies as your tongues brush against one another, entangling deeper and soon you realize Seungkwan wasn’t one just to kiss with his lips. 

You ball his clothes in fists when his hands use your hips, running them over his lap, the friction so tantalizing you could hear temptation like a devil on your shoulder. You let him take you, moving towards him replicating crashing waves against sand. Loud. Harsh. Seamless.

Clothes come off soon after, starting with the delicate unbuttoning of Seungkwan’s silk top–donning the torso of one fond of sports and sprayed in excitable perspiration–before then he levers you up and slides slacks down his thighs hurriedly. His bare legs crushed underneath yours, you readily pull up your dress, bunching at your waist as feel him unzip the back, the metal chill against your spine.

“Fuck,” he softly mutters, eagerly digging his fingers in your exposed flesh and whimpering against your kiss. “Don’t hold back with me.”

“Hold back?” you repeat with a chuckle, your fingers that threaded through his hair pulling his head back, angling his head so that he was forced to look up at you in what currently looks to be in awe. “You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

“Shit stirrer, huh? I guess that’s why you’re the one handling production.”

Your lips begin to trail down his jaw, front teeth nipping his skin. “Real question is, would you let me handle yours?”

“I’d let you do anything to me,” he mumbles, earnest in every word, every inch of his body vibrating off yours, including the hardening presence between his legs pressing against your stomach. “Just don’t stop.”

Your dress abandoned on the floor, Seungkwan claiming your tits in either hand, kneading them between his fingers as he’s rolling his hips against your plush flesh and feeling your radiating core slide against his shaft. He involuntarily moans through a bitten bottom lip, imagining you ride him just like this until the end of time, thinking he could cum from this alone until he feels you move the tip of his size towards your entrance. “Oh god,” he gives out, the head of his cock readily grazing over your slit, quickly pleased. “So fucking wet. Fuck…”

“I want you inside me,” you admit, not bothering to subdue your desires. “I want to put you inside me and make me feel every inch of you.”

“Fuck…me…” he presses into your skin flushed against one another, lips curled downward in impatience, gripping your full thighs to either of his sides. “I wanna fuck you so bad. Please give yourself to me.”

“You promise you’ll handle it like a good boy?” You tease, pushing his tip only a centimeter deeper.

“Please, please, anything. I just wanna feel that pussy choke me please.” He begs.

Your hand clamps against the couch enthusiastically, “Fuck you’re so needy. That’s so hot.” Gingerly, you reward his pleas, feeling his raw length make contact with your contracting walls, squeezing around his girth and making Seungkwan flip his eyes before he starts guiding your hips.

“Fuck that’s so good, baby.”

You lightly scoff. “Baby? A little soon don’t you think?”

“Thought we found some common ground when you decided for me to fuck you. My mistake,” he chides.

You catch a tendril of his hair between your fingers, “Maybe it’s how you fuck me that grants you such a term of endearment.”

“Better up my game then.” He lifts you up, tangling your legs around his waist before he pushes you on your back, swiftly slamming his hips against you.

Your head crashes deep into the leather, the musky scent of sex now invading your nose as you drown in heat. “Shit.”

“Making sure I get the advantage.” He folds forward to press against you, your breasts back in his hands before his lips wrap around a nipple, his tongue attacking your sensitivity before he inevitably sucks. He leaves you in an ache, your hips thrusting back into him conveniently in time for him to regain his rhythm.

“S-Seungkwan…”

His moan vibrates against your skin, teeth pulling your nipple as he thrusts deeper, grazing your deep end just perfectly not enough. Fucking tease.

You whine beneath him, squirming. Your legs tighten around him, attempting to make friction, and finding a growl in your throat as a hand of Seungkwan’s squeezes your behind. A whole ass cheek in the clutches of his well-groomed hands, squeezing and memorizing its swell, while he’s splitting you in half to deduce you to a bumbling horny mess.

“Where have you been all my life?” He mumbles with glee.

You clench your fists behind him as he heightens his pace, melting into the tender assault of his lips that burn your skin and silence your voice. He ruts into you deeper, pounding away his frustrations and when he makes it known he’s found your spot, you make it clear as day.

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping him tighter. Your jaw drops slack, silent screams coming out of you, and you cling to him like in desperation to maintain that high as you claw against his broad back.

“That’s so good. Is it right there, am I hitting your spot, baby?” he asks with an exhausted grin.

You nod, softly pleading for more, and he generously grants. In an attempt to intensify your core’s pleasure, his hand cups just above your slit, fingers finding your blossoming bud. Your breath is shot, feeling the caress of his thumb press down before rubbing your arousal around your clit. Your hips thrust into his touch, gripping him by the shoulders, feeling your combined sweat drip from your sides and squeaking against the couch fabric.

“Oh my god, oh my god…” You can’t control it anymore. Seungkwan isn’t just pushing you past the edge, he's shoving you off.

“Like that, baby. Yes, what good girl cumming all over my cock,” he sweetly praises.

You reach him by the back of his head and propel him forward, colliding lips in a fervent liplock. Your moans drowned between one another, your climax coming in tenfold as he didn’t for a second stop, even well after you came. 

Yet, it isn’t enough. Seungkwan shifts and tugs your legs to border his torso. He lifts himself from the ground, his feet flat, shutting your legs tight, having the sweat of your thighs chafe against another unsettlingly. It then becomes completely overlooked with his hips, his cock starts pushing in and out of you, and folding himself into you with your closed legs as your pussy choked around his cock. Your walls pulsating around him, hot and lush, he death grips your body and watches your flesh recoil back against him deliciously. 

“Fucking shit,” he groans, plunging deeper as your cries moisten your cheeks and he brings you to a foreign level of ecstasy. 

His release from what you can tell is thick, warm, and inviting. Your legs find a mind of their own when they decide to lock the stranger in place, feel every ounce of pure pleasure shooting down inside you, coating you in your collaborative efforts, and residing peacefully deep, deep in your sore heat. 

Your lover collapses against you, eyes barely managing to open as he guides your bodies in a more comfortable position, his cum and cock still inside you. 

He’s softly pant, red on every inch of his face, residual from his raging orgasm and…fluster? “I…I don’t usually—“

“I don’t mind,” you gently reassure, brushing away the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. “I wanted that to happen.”

“But what if—“

“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” you hint and fortunately he gets the clue, cuddling up to you closer.

“Good.” He nods, sounding off in relief.

You play with his ear, thumbing over the flaming red tip. “That was really good.”

The boy can’t help but grin, “I make good on my promises…and if you want, we can do it again.”

Your movement stops. “Oh.” Now you’re panicking. “I don’t think we should.”

His cock slips out of you with ease at your confession, both flaccid and disappointed as cum drips down the leather. “Why not? I thought you liked it.”

You begin sitting up, taking Seungkwan with you. “Of course I do! It’s just…my schedule doesn’t allow me to date—let alone see people outside of work—so, this wouldn’t work.” You offer him an apologetic pat on the back, feeling the muscles pulse against you before you regretfully pull away. “This is actually my last night in town, I was gonna leave soon for another shoot…but this was wonderful.”

You cup his cheek, flushed red and soft as can be, and kiss its fullness, letting your lips linger. “I’m so sorry.” For absolutely lying about everything about me when you gave me the most incredible orgasm I’ve had in centuries and to myself for cutting lose the hottest fucking man fiction and nonfiction you’ve ever fucking met.

“No, I get it,” he answers, a hint of sorrow in his gaze. “You got things going for you. That’s ok. Just let me know when you’re in town, hmm? We can get together again, maybe?”

His sense of hope is admirable, something you saw in yourself a few years ago before the toppling towers of crippling debt fell on you. “I don’t think so, handsome.”

He sighs. “Alright. I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head with a knowing smile. “Don’t be.”

“You ended my vacation the best way you could’ve,” you egg on, “Couldn’t have ended my last night in town any better.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, finally a light flickering back in his eyes. “Then maybe I can give you a parting gift.”

You raise an eyebrow, following his figure leaving your body and find his knees back in the ground and between your legs, “Seungkwan?”

“Can’t have you leave a mess.” His hand glides over your thighs, gaze flickering from you and your cunt oozing in cum, and his full lips kissing your inner thigh, tingling legs and garnering goosebumps down your shins.

“Are you actually—“

His tongue scraps on the skin just next to your lips, a mixture of your climax settling on his tongue, and you mewl at the sight. He kneads your flesh, his moans tickling your skin and admiring it how he knew how: worship.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His fingers play against your sensitive folds, tension pressed on your clit. “You’re everything I could want…tasting you and pleasing you is the least I could do.”

His mouth wrapped around your lips before sucking, tongue parting what’s between, and sighing at the harmonious flavor dancing inside his mouth. Your worn walls contract around him, it feeds his desire as he pushes his face deeper inside you, and melts at your hands finding hair in soft strokes. 

Your voice aches for another release. The sensation of his jaw locking and nodding in your heat as his tongue fucks his cum back inside you drives you to up a wall. You squirm the faster he flicks his tongue, legs pulling back and forward, overwhelmed by Seungkwan’s mouth until he holds either one at either side, locking it around his neck.

His eyes ooze with determination and his face falls from color. The compromising position he put himself in is not one free consequence, but for the last single of the most greatest fuck of his life, losing a bit of oxygen was worth it, and his efforts are soon proven.

When you cum this time on his tongue, Seungkwan has never tasted anything sweeter, or rather bittersweet knowing this would be the last he’d get the chance to. He’s tasting you, savoring you, worshiping you. From the scent of your body, to the face you make, from what you feed him. If he knew how impossibly decadent you just were–only for you to leave–maybe he wouldn’t have done this. Or maybe he would.

Reluctantly, Seungkwan breaks apart from your lips to reconnect with another. One last shared, heated breath of this spontaneous exchange. One that he’d remember for a long time, and think about over long nights. Tenderly, your foreheads are the ones to kiss in a silent farewell, sad smiles on both your faces.

“Thank you…for reminding me what it feels like to live my own life.”

The pretty boy softly scoffs, kissing you once more, the tingle his lips lingering on yours. “Make your stories magical as you’ve made my night. Take care, Miss Producer.”

You quickly get dressed before the sexy stranger pulls you right back in his trace and you drag your friend and club attendee all the way back home, giving you the pleasure of finally resting in bed, body still aching from the sweltering sex hours ago. Sadly, without the warm body you enjoyed so much tonight. He made a lasting impression on you and you hope maybe one day on better circumstances you’ll meet again and the lie may someday be true. If you’re so lucky.

Eventually, summer takes its final laps and you’re entering the college semester and start working closely with the professor you’re aiding. The matter that your life is slowly being sucked away becomes more real the longer you look at his lesson plan and although you love writing, you know you’re about to dread the long evenings of paperwork to come. 

The first day of being a TA: get in the building by the car you have barely hanging on, meet with the professor, get in lectures and “TA”, skim through your new work for graduate classes, and sadly eat your late lunch/dinner alone because you know the ziplock of trail mix marinating in your backpack would not be enough. That’s the plan. Easy to follow.

Students start trickling into the classroom about twenty minutes before actual lecture time, some with nervous faces and excited expressions. Then a few minutes before the lecture starts, hoards of students are coming through, the classroom getting louder and louder as there is not enough space for white noise. You feel your heart beating increasingly–admittedly more nervous than anticipated–finding yourself focused on papers to avoid eyes with the other students until you can’t anymore.

With over 100 students, you start to feel like an imposter, a kid playing dress-up in her mom’s closet. Normally, you're not one to get nervous on the first day, but being a teacher’s assistant makes this situation different. You’re terrified of screwing up, whether it’s a big mistake or a small one. You tell yourself you need to get out of your head.

When roll call becomes necessary, the professor hands you the clipboard, forcing you to introduce yourself and make your presence known. Your hands tremble from natural nerves as you call out the names on the list, doing your best to pronounce each one clearly and coherently. Then your gaze lands on a name all too familiar, one that’s been on the tip of your tongue before. You can’t help but look up, eager to hear the voice that responds.

He stares at you, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, his lips curling up at the corners as his eyes gleam with intrigue—just like that night before.

You clear your throat, quickly averting your gaze, and resume roll call. You decide right then to ignore him for the rest of the day, the semester, and possibly the rest of your college career, if you can help it.

When you finish, you don’t dare look up again, telling yourself it’s because it’s the first day. You’ve done everything you needed to do for now.

As the lecture wraps up, it’s time to leave. The professor dismisses the class and exits the room, leaving you to pick up the pieces and answer any lingering questions from students. You just hope this particular student isn’t one of them.

“I had a question, Miss LN.”

You’re reminded that hope is just another word for wishful thinking. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. His voice is already etched into your memory, feeding the part of you that wants to respond, and you clench your thighs at the memory.

“Sure, what… um, what is it?” you respond, still not looking up.

“It’s about the syllabus. I was hoping we could discuss it in private?” His tone carries a hint of something familiar, something that doesn’t belong between a student and a teacher’s assistant.

“The syllabus is pretty self-explanatory,” you reply, trying to keep your voice neutral, though your pulse quickens.

“But I wanted to ask, just in case I misinterpreted anything.”

You make a show of straightening the papers on your desk, the crisp shuffle loud enough to make it clear you’re not amused. “You're a writing major. I’m sure you understand everything just fine.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check,” he says, a casual shrug masking the intent behind his words.

You sigh, knowing you won’t easily shake him off. Finally, you meet his gaze, catching the anticipation simmering in his eyes. With a resigned breath, you gather your belongings and stand. “Fine, follow me.”

As you lead him to a tucked-away corner, your footsteps echo in the quiet hallway. You glance around to ensure there are no prying eyes before stopping. He waits until you’re both out of sight before speaking, his voice lowering in that familiar way that sends a shiver down your spine. “So, how’s the indie film coming along, Miss Producer?”

Your arms cross instinctively, a barrier against the playful look on his face. His eyes sparkle with amusement, as if this is all a game to him. As if your college career and your career career didn’t hang on the very balance of this conversation and your history. “Very funny,” you reply, glaring at him. “Just two big liars caught in their own webs of lies. How serendipitous.”

He chuckles softly, the sound unnervingly familiar and instinctively arousing. “I know why I lied, but why did you?”

You plant a hand to your chest defensively. “Excuse me, I never anticipated seeing you ever again. It’s natural I’d lie—wait, why did you lie?”

“To get laid. Duh.” He answers as if it was the obvious thing in the world.

You roll your eyes, back knocking against the wall behind you. “Of course, fucking dumbass college boys.”

“You fell for it, so who’s the dumbass now?”

“Still you? Were you even drinking age?”

“Uh, yes that’s how I got in, otherwise they never would’ve let me in.”

Your palm runs over your face in embarrassment, cringing for long nights of thinking of your student of all fucking people. “I fucking knew you didn’t own the Gemstone.”

“Yet, you fucked me anyway.”

You rush towards him, your breath catching as you pin your fingers in front of your lips and hiss, “Will you shut your mouth?”

He crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Why? You’re a TA, not a professor.It’s perfectly kosher.”

“It’s still highly frowned upon to fraternize in that manner, regardless of whether I’m a TA or a professor. I grade your fucking papers,” you shoot back, your eyes narrowing as the frustration rises in your chest.

He just shrugs, that infuriating grin never leaving his face. “Hey, if it gets me a good grade…”

“Or watch me fucking fail you,” you snap, stepping even closer, your voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever speak a word about that night again, got it?”

His smile falters slightly, but he quickly recovers, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, geez.”

“Good.”

But he can’t resist one last jab, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “My lips—and pants—are sealed.”

“Seungkwan!” You hiss his name, barely keeping your voice down, your cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and something else you refuse to acknowledge.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, it’s been a while since you screamed my name.”

You grit your teeth and speak through harsh whispers, your patience wearing thin. 

“I will drop-kick you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He grins wider, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans in just a fraction. “Like I said, I keep my promises. See you on Wednesday, Miss TA.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, seething, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hallway. The air still buzzes with the tension between you, and you take a moment to collect yourself before heading back, wondering how you’re going to survive the rest of the semester with him in your class. If all your encounters are like this, you might as well quit now.

As expected, that initial confrontation isn’t the last you see of Seungkwan. While being your student, your forced interactions have become a bit of a spectacle among other students, especially considering Seungkwan stares back at you every lecture like you’re the only two people in the room. His routine of pestering during and after lectures has become something his peers have look forward to and you wonder if this kind of thing is normal for a teacher’s assistant.

It seems to have stirred up varying opinions, even among students from other classes—ones far removed from your department, who typically wouldn’t give a second thought to your work. The rumors have even reached the ears of other TAs, the ones you’ve built strong camaraderie with, turning casual conversations into whispered speculations. Some of those speculations have been harmless, fueled by curiosity and mild intrigue. But others? They’ve taken on more confrontational, and their tense gazes have you questioning just how far these rumors have gone.

But is it really a rumor if its all true?

"So, you and that Seungkwan kid, what's that about?"

You give a grand sigh, the weight of your colleague's curiosity pressing down on you as he peers at you, eyes alight with nosy mischief. His intent is clear—he's fishing for details about your relationship with one of your many students. But Seungkwan is different. Far different, even if you’d never admit that aloud knowing how your reputation would stand.

"Really not your business, bud," you reply, trying to keep your tone light, though it’s hard to miss the edge beneath your words.

Your colleague, Soobin, raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed by your attempt to shut him down. "Funny enough, I’m in the business of making things my business."

You scoff, fingers curling tightly around the handle of your freshly brewed coffee, the warmth of the cup your only source of comfort in this conversation. The rich aroma wafts up, offering a brief distraction. "He's my student, obviously, and he’s going to stay that way."

The words come out sharper than intended, the finality of your tone surprising even you. You take a long sip of the coffee, letting the bitterness anchor you. This conversation is tiptoeing too close to a line you’re not ready to cross.

Soobin raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. "Okay, okay. No need to be so defensive. Good thing you’re keeping it professional."

"I know that. Why are you mansplaining, Soobin? Don’t you have work to do?"

"Of course. Just wanted to point out—it’d be a real problem if you did."

"Uh, yeah. Obviously."

"Good."

"Good."

"I just wouldn’t want to lose anything over it."

You narrow your eyes at him. "What now?"

He hesitates before continuing, grinning sheepishly. "Okay, okay. There might be a bet going around about whether or not you and that kid sleep together again."

"What the—again? Again? What are you talking about?" You gape at him, incredulity painting your features as you struggle to process his words.

"Oh, come on, don’t play dumb," Soobin says with an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes. "Everyone knows."

You blink, your mind racing to catch up. "…Everyone?"

"Everyone." He nods emphatically, the corners of his mouth twitching as he takes in your stunned reaction.

Your face falls, and you run a hand through your hair in frustration, your shoulders slumping. "Well, fuck." The words escape you like a dismayed exhale, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"And I bet that you wouldn’t. At least, not until the end of the semester."

"You bet  money on me?" You’re seething, anger now directed at him.

"Not money," Soobin says quickly, raising his hands in a defensive gesture, as if to ward off any further criticism. He leans in slightly, his tone taking on a pleading edge. "But seriously, just don’t do it, okay? Be a good TA and a good friend. Don’t sleep with the boy. Just... don't."

You glare at him, incredulous. "I oughta do it just to make you lose."

"Please don’t! It wasn’t money I bet!"

You narrow your eyes further. "What did you bet, then?"

Soobin shifts uncomfortably. "Just... test answers."

"Soobin."

"Please! Just help me win this. I’m begging you!" Soobin’s voice is desperate, his eyes wide and pleading.

“You could jeopardize your scholarships with this kind of bet.”

“So don’t let me lose this one!” His frustration is palpable, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“I could just hit you,” you threaten, though the words come out more resigned than menacing.

“But I’m so lovely. Don’t you think?” Soobin’s attempt at levity falls flat, his forced grin barely concealing his anxiety.

“Soobin, this is seriously messed up.”

He continues, undeterred, “The money I could win could buy me a new apartment to rent out. I’d finally be able to move off-campus.”

“This is so fucked up,” you mutter, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I know, I’m literally on my knees here, dude,” Soobin says, lowering himself as if pleading for mercy.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to stave off the growing irritation. “Fine, damn it. Okay. I hope you’ve fucking learned your lesson and won’t pull this kind of stunt again.”

You meet his gaze head-on, your patience visibly thinning. "Are we done here?"

He nods vigorously, a small, almost imperceptible smile of relief tugging at the corners of his lips. "Of course."

As Soobin walks away, you watch him go, the remnants of the conversation hanging in the air like the fading scent of coffee. You take another sip of your drink, this time more deliberately, letting the warmth seep into you. You try to channel your remaining energy into something productive, determined to salvage what’s left of your day. The knowledge of the bet and the weight of your friend’s reputation hanging in the balance makes every decision weigh heavy on your shoulders.

Despite the sprawling campus and the vast number of students, gossip is as vibrant and pervasive as ever. Seungkwan doesn’t help matters, especially with the frequent discussions you’re having about his late assignments. No matter how stern and resolute your tone becomes, he meets you with a gaze that’s both wistful and enigmatic. His eyes, filled with a mix of wonder and intrigue, follow your every movement. They start by meeting yours directly, then drift downward, lingering on your face, then lower, then lower, and finally–

"Are you paying attention, Seungkwan? Or am I going to have to talk to Professor Yoon about you finally dropping the class?"

Seungkwan leans against the auditorium chairs, averting his attention to the sharp expression on your face, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "No, nothing of the sort, Miss TA. Please, continue to lecture me about what an awful student I am."

Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms, forward on your desk, tapping your foot with growing impatience as you shuffle through to gather your belongings. "I will—and starting where your assignments have been showing up several days late. I can’t keep making exceptions for you."

"Why not? You’re so good at making me feel special," he teases, head tilted, his voice dripping with a sultry sarcasm.

Your patience snaps as you sharply tap the stack of aligned papers on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Stop it, will you? Your grade is sinking fast, and at this rate, you’ll be repeating the class."

He shrugs, that maddening grin still in place. "Would that really be so bad? You’d get a whole new semester with me."

You scoff, standing upright, pacing a few steps as frustration simmers just beneath the surface. "Are you seriously going to waste your tuition money just to fail? At least pretend to make an effort. Chatgpt exists for students like you I’m assuming."

He tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief. "If only someone wasn’t so distracting, maybe I could. You’d understand, Miss TA."

You stop mid-step, spinning to face him, your voice sharp. "Enough. And stop calling me that—it’s like you get off on it."

"Oh, I do." The playful tone in his voice is laced with something else now, something heavier.

Your jaw clenches, heat rising to your face, thighs sealed against one another.. "Your assignments. On time. By the end of this week, or I’ll recommend to Professor Yoon that you drop the class."

"Fine," he mutters, his tone nonchalant, the smirk still lingering lazily on his lips as he halfheartedly stuffs his books into his bag. His movements are careless, and a few sheets of notebook paper slip out, drifting lazily to the floor without him even noticing.

You sigh, bending down to pick them up. As you straighten, your eyes unintentionally flick over the handwritten lines—only for something to catch your attention. You freeze, blinking at the words on the page. "What the...?"

Seungkwan’s demeanor changes in an instant. His eyes widen, and he lunges forward, panic flashing across his face. "Don’t read that!" His voice is more urgent, almost desperate.

But you dodge his grasp, holding the paper just out of reach, your brow furrowing. "What is this? And why is it actually... interesting?"

"Give it back," he says, his tone softer, pleading now. 

"Why don’t you put this much effort into your assignments?" you ask, glancing up at him, your curiosity overtaking your frustration.

Before you can react, Seungkwan steps closer, his movements more deliberate this time. He snatches the paper from your hands, but his proximity catches you off guard. He’s standing close—too close—backing you into the edge of your desk. His face is flushed, his breath coming in shallow bursts, and you can see the embarrassment in his narrowed eyes, the tips of his ears burning red.

Your heart stutters in your chest, your breath hitching as the space between you seems to shrink. The air feels thick, charged with something you know too fucking well. For a moment, neither of you moves, your eyes locked like you’re frozen. You’re acutely aware of every small detail—the way his fingers clutch the paper tightly, how his chest rises and falls with each breath, the warmth radiating from him as he towers just slightly over you.

Suddenly, he stumbles, his foot catching on the leg of the desk, and you gasp as his weight nearly knocks you backward. Your hands shoot out, gripping the edge of the desk to steady yourself. Your glasses slip down your nose as you blink up at him, your pulse quickening, his face inches from yours.

"Sorry," Seungkwan mutters, quickly pulling away, flustered as he hurriedly gathers the fallen papers, stuffing them into his bag. "I’ll do the assignments. Just... don’t fail me. And don’t repeat whatever you think you read."

Without waiting for your reply, he storms out of the room, leaving you standing there, your chest heaving, the ghost of his presence lingering in the suddenly too-quiet space.

You try to steady your breath, ignoring how ragged it had become, and the unsettling way your blood pulsed—not just through your heart, but in places you'd rather not acknowledge. You forcefully push those thoughts aside, desperate for any distraction. Tonight, that distraction would be class assignments.

With an iced coffee marinating at the corner of your office desk, the papers in front of you blur as his face flashes through your head. You can’t help but recall the way his lips looked—full and slightly parted, the way his eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and something else entirely. And the warmth of him—how heavy and undeniably right he felt as he leaned over you, his presence lingering even after he was gone.

You shake your head, determined to refocus on grading, gripping the red pen a little tighter. But your mind drifts again, this time to the words you’d glimpsed on that crumpled page. The writing had a familiarity to it, something deeply personal that tugged at the corners of your mind. Reminding you of how much you remembered that night. Specifically how good that night felt.

‘Her whispers, haunting, breath heavy. She gazes at me with eyes full of want, strands of hair falling over her forehead, tantalizing and wild. Her cheek is warm beneath my hand as I pull her closer, our lips meeting, tasting the sweetness of something long desired but never claimed. For this night, she is mine—even if it's only for this night alone.’

Your cheeks flush as the memory hits, the realization settling in with a mix of shock and something you can't quite name. The words were unmistakable—vivid, intimate, dripping with a desire that mirrored the tension between you two. You recognized the inspiration behind them immediately.

He’s writing his own fanfiction. And it’s about you.

Suddenly, you’re not so much thinking about the bet Soonbin warned you about.

[stllmnstr]

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. 

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. 

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

[kingofbodyrolls]

Whalien52 (m) | pjm

you’ve been working for the New World Order as an assassin for years, guarding secrets without batting an eye or asking questions. But when a striking pink haired man shows up at the headquarters stealing information, he makes you question everything. With all of humanity at stake, what will you do? 

→ Pairing: Jimin (kitty gang!jimin) x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: apocalyptic, survival, dystopian + angst, fluff and smut. → Tropes: strangers to lovers → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 10.6k → Warnings + triggers: changing povs (between reader and Jimin), action, weapons, guns and swords, blood (it’s not in extreme detail or anything, but blood is mentioned a few times), death (people are dying, but no important character dies!!!), wounds, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, sickness (cancer due to radiation), mention of a cure and treatment for said cancer. Explicit smut in the form of unprotected sexy, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, degrading names, multiple orgasms, creampie, kissing. → Author’s note(1): okay, so I’ve been struggling a lot with this one too, lol. I miss writing sappy romance I think. This isn’t sappy, and I’ll hardly call it romance, well, it’s in there, but there’s honestly so much action in this one, compared to the Yoongi one. It’s also more fast paced, and shorter. I hope it’s alright! It was fun to write, even though I know nothing about writing action, I hope I did it well! And to everyone who’s scared or reluctant to read it because there’s angst and it’s kinda heavy/dark themed— IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. There, I spoiled the ending for you 😇 + This story is a gift for my friend @remmykinsff! Thank you so much for sharing your Kitty gang Jimin folder with me, and letting me use you for motivation and inspiration to get out of my writer’s block 💜 → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]*: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue *this story is technically a stand alone one-shot (and can be read just as is), but it is also a spin-off from another one-shot (that got a sequel, so a two-shot?). The characters and the story are the same, but the first two stories takes place before this one, and it’s with Yoongi x reader (not the same reader though).

It’s raining again. Lately, it’s always raining. The rain is everlasting, it seems, drenching the city in a ceaseless, oppressive downpour. The Capital is perpetually shrouded in darkness and gloom, a place where the sun is a distant memory. You’ve grown accustomed to it, ever since you were recruited by The New World Order to guard their secrets. You’ve been trapped in this godforsaken city ever since. Do you like it? Not really, but it’s a job that pays well. They give you a roof over your head and enough to survive—luxuries in this ravaged world.

You came from nothing, clawing your way up since the war began, fighting for every scrap of existence until The New World Order caught you. They gave you a choice: die or work for them. You chose to live, naively hoping that working for them wouldn’t be so bad. But it turns out, it can be quite bad. You’ve done unspeakable things to keep their secrets safe. You’ve killed for them, just as you had killed for yourself before they found you. Now, you don’t even flinch when you have to eliminate someone who gets too close to the truth. Part of you wonders what these secrets are, but you’re not interested. It’s just a job, nothing more.

Tonight is another shift. You head to the New World Order building, ready to patrol the city under the cover of darkness. First, you gear up: leather pants, a basic white shirt, and a black leather biker jacket. A belt around your waist for support, with a strap around your thigh that holsters your gun. A small knife is sheathed at your back, just in case.

You glance out the window. The world outside is as bleak as ever; night has fallen, and the rain taps a morose melody against the glass. You sigh, watching the neon signs flicker, casting a purple and blue glow that dances across your room. Grabbing your keys, you lock the door behind you and sprint down the stairs. This apartment is nothing special, but it’s a step up from the streets where you once lived before the war. It’s a small comfort in a world gone mad.

The rain soaks your skin, but you don’t bother with an umbrella. It’s just rain. You run down the dimly lit main street, the few wandering souls avoiding eye contact as they scurry to obey The New World Order’s curfew. Your boots splash through rain puddles on the unpaved, muddy road. It doesn’t take long to reach the towering New World Order building—its looming presence still sends a shiver down your spine, but you step inside anyway. Scanning your security card, you brace yourself for another night of duty.

You start your shift monitoring security cameras and patrolling the eerie hallways for any sign of suspicious activity. As you return to the front desk, you catch sight of a man attempting to bypass the card reader.

“What are you doing here?” you growl, your hand instinctively hovering near your gun.

The man fumbles with the machine, clearly lacking a security card. Desperation edges his voice as he yells, “I want the data that The New World Order is keeping from us!”

“You’re not getting that,” you reply coldly, assessing the intruder. He seems harmless, more frustrated than dangerous, so you relax, slightly.

“Do you even know what it is that you’re protecting?” he spits, abandoning his futile attempt to climb the machines as the alarm blares. The piercing sound echoes through the corridor, and you quickly pull out the phone issued by the New World Order to silence it.

“I don’t care what I’m protecting. You’ve got no business here. Now leave,” you say through gritted teeth.

“You shouldn’t be so blind to the secrets you’re safekeeping for them,” he hisses, making another hopeless attempt to scale the security machines.

His efforts are laughable, a pathetic display of defiance. A dark chuckle escapes your lips. “Leave, or I’ll shoot you.” This is his final warning. If he doesn't heed it, he’ll meet the cold, indifferent justice of your gun. So be it.

He freezes, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he gauges your resolve. Your unwavering stare breaks his spirit, and he quivers in fear before backing off. Without a word, he turns and bolts, likely retracing his steps. Fool, you think, watching him flee. 

The encounter leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s not the first to suggest you should question your work and the secrets you guard. Maybe you should. But you know the moment you do, you’re dead. You’ll lose everything you’ve achieved and everything you hold dear. That fear keeps you in place, and you reckon that’s the point of it all—the New World Order instills fear in everyone, ensuring their control remains absolute.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go in there alone?” Bora asks, her voice tinged with unease. It’s understandable—years of meticulous planning and reconnaissance are culminating in this moment. Whalien52 is about to attempt the impossible: stealing the cure for cancer that The New World Order keeps hidden away.

Jimin isn’t scared. He’s accustomed to these kinds of missions, though this will be his most significant one yet. A good kind of nervousness tingles through him, a mix of excitement and determination. “Yeah, Hobi’s done plenty of research. I know exactly which room to hit,” he says, flashing Bora a reassuring smile.

He gets why she’s scared. Bora and Yoongi have been through hell, and with both of them sick, finding the cure is personal. Yoongi’s condition has worsened over the years, a stark reminder of the injustice that The New World Order perpetuates by hoarding the cure while people die from radiation-induced cancers. The thought makes Jimin’s blood boil.

It’s this anger that led him to join Whalien52 after meeting Jungkook in the wasteland, a desolate remnant of what the bombings and wars left behind. The new government organization threatens to transform the remnants of humanity into a dystopian nightmare—if it hasn’t already.

Jimin thrives as an assassin, driven by a relentless quest for truth. The thrill, the chase, the stealth—it’s all part of the adrenaline rush he lives for. But beneath the excitement lies a deep-seated hatred for the rich elites who hid in their bomb-proof bunkers, safeguarding their technology, only to reemerge and rebuild a civilization for themselves amidst the ruins. Their swift reconstruction of the Capital stands as a bitter reminder of their enduring power.

The injustice has turned him bitter. It’s why he’s vowed to do everything in his power to change the world, to help Whalien52 make knowledge free and accessible to everyone, not just the rich. The gap between rich and poor has become a chasm, with only the vetted elite allowed to live in the Capital. The rest of humanity is left to fend for themselves, struggling for survival in a world that hopes they’ll destroy each other.

Jimin won’t stand for it. This mission isn’t just about stealing a cure, or getting data on possible treatment—it’s about justice, about leveling the playing field, about giving hope to those left in the dark. And he’ll see it through, no matter the cost.

Yoongi comes up to him, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m serious. You don’t have to do this for me,” he coughs, his voice so raspy it sounds like he’s been smoking forever.

Jimin places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze shifting briefly to Bora before settling back on Yoongi. “We are doing this for you. But I’m also doing this for everyone else,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion and a glimmer of hope. “You’re not the only one suffering from cancer because of the radiation. We want to help everyone; we can’t just let people die.”

Yoongi flashes a soft smile and sits down to rest, the effort of standing too exhausting for him now. Jimin will do this for him, for Bora, and for the rest of humanity. He doesn’t mind risking his own life in the search for a cure—he might need one later himself.

“I’ll go get ready,” he says, turning away from Bora and Yoongi. He walks past Jungkook and Taehyung in the dimly lit hideout and heads into his room. He pulls on his leather pants, a white shirt, and then his favorite leather bomber jacket, adorned with pink, silver and purple sparkles. The jacket complements his pink fluffy hair perfectly. He retrieves his gun, tucking it into his back pocket—risky, he knows. Then he picks up his katana, swinging it over his back into its sheath. The sword, his preferred weapon, feels reassuringly familiar.

Now he’s ready. Ready to infiltrate the fortress of secrets and retrieve the cure. Ready to fight for a future where knowledge and healing aren’t hoarded by the few. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the mission ahead, a mission that could change everything in this dystopian nightmare they call life.

He says goodbye to everyone, hugging each of them tightly, aware that any moment could be his last. This mission is perilous, and while he has infiltrated The New World Order before without getting caught, this time is different. He will be venturing deeper into their stronghold than ever before.

After bidding farewell to his friends, Jimin strides outside to his motorcycle. The powerful machine, stolen from the Capital, gleams with a sleek, futuristic design. Its pale metal body has an industrial look, and its size dwarfs Jimin as he mounts it. Neon lights flicker to life as he revs the engine, the bike purring beneath him. With a flick of his wrist, he speeds towards the Capital, sand flying from the back wheel.

He knows he must be cautious once he enters the city. Stealth is crucial to avoid detection and successfully infiltrate The New World Order’s building. Failure means everything will have been for nothing.

The rain is endless, a perpetual downpour that defines the Capital. He doesn’t know why it always rains here, only that it does. The empty streets are illuminated by the neon signs adorning the various buildings, casting a colorful glow in the darkness.

He parks his motorcycle near the New World Order building, at the secluded back entrance where security is minimal. This is his best chance. 

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door. 

It’s all or nothing.

It’s getting late, and the monotony of patrolling the building is wearing you down. The nights are usually quiet, save for the occasional curious stranger trying to access the information you guard. You sigh and head back to the surveillance room, your eyes scanning the screens for anything unusual. Suddenly, you spot a figure moving on one of the monitors. A shot of adrenaline surges through you, breaking the dullness of the night. 

The absence of triggered alarms tells you the intruder is a professional. No amateur could bypass the sophisticated security systems. The thought excites you, your heart rate spiking as you dash through the corridors, your hand hovering near your gun. You search each room hastily, growing more anxious with every empty space, until you reach the final room—the one that holds the most guarded secrets.

You pause outside the door, peeking in cautiously.

Inside, a well-defined man with pink, fluffy hair, leather pants, and a sparkly bomber jacket stands with his back to you, working at one of the computers. This is the information hub, where all vital data is stored. This is bad, but you have the element of surprise. Steadying your breath, you draw your gun and step into the doorway, your voice commanding, “Freeze!”

The man doesn’t freeze. Instead, you watch as he swiftly pulls a USB drive from the computer, moving with a grace that is almost dance-like. Before you can react, he glides across the floor and stands before you, a sword at your throat. A thrill of excitement runs through your body.

You stand still, a smile twisting on your lips, locked in a standoff with the pink-haired intruder. He’s chosen the wrong weapon to threaten you with. “You brought a sword to a gunfight?” you laugh, despite the blade pressing against your throat, your gun aimed at his chest. Who really has the upper hand here?

“Oh, I have a gun too,” he smirks, his voice sweet but laced with danger.

“What are you doing here?” you seethe, standing your ground.

“Getting information,” he replies matter-of-factly, not even breaking a sweat.

“You’re stealing. I can’t allow you to leave,” you spit, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Do you even know what kind of information you’re guarding?” he challenges, his words striking a chord. He’s not the first to ask you this today, and it makes you pause. “I know nothing, and I don’t care,” you respond after a moment’s thought.

“You really should,” he says, stepping closer until your gun is pressed against him. He doesn’t seem afraid, almost as if he’s an adrenaline junkie like you. But no, he’s not scared. He’s reckless. Your finger hovers near the trigger, but something makes you hesitate. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t like it.

His eyes, dark pools of obsidian, glint with amusement. He chuckles, and before you can react, his boot slams into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the cold, hard floor. Your gun slips from your grip, clattering away.

The man towers over you, his boot pressing down on your pussy, the katana poised at your throat, its cold blade grazing your skin. You raise your arms in a defensive pose, trapped and weaponless. He smirks, waving your gun tauntingly.

“You’re guarding information that can save humanity. What you’re doing is sick,” he spits, pressing his boot harder into you. Why does that feel hot? Why do tingles shoot through your body? Damn it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you growl back, genuinely confused. Your mind feels hazy with adrenaline and something else.

“The cure for cancer,” he snarls, his anger palpable.

Your eyes widen. The cure for cancer? You’ve heard whispers, but you didn’t know that’s what you were guarding. You know there’s treatment, but the New World Order has been hoarding those as well, making treatment inaccessible for the common people.

He presses his boot into you even more, a mix of pain and pleasure surging through your body.

“Oh my god. Are you getting turned on right now?” His voice drips with dark amusement, mocking you.

“Fuck no!” you yell, even as your body betrays you, responding to the pressure of his boot. You know you’re aroused, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.

“I can smell you from here. There’s no point in lying,” he chuckles, lifting his boot from your crotch, though his sword remains at your throat.

You hate how observant he is, and you need to change the subject, to find a way out. You growl, “I’m not. And you’re not getting away. I don’t care if it’s the cure for cancer or whatever you’ve stolen.”

“I have my katana at your throat. I’m sure I’ll make it out just fine,” he replies, his dark chuckle sending shivers down your spine. “I’ve got what I came for,” he says, smirking down at you. “I’m flattered you’re turned on. Maybe if we met under different circumstances,” he adds, his eyes glinting with dark lust. “You should look into the secrets you’re guarding,” he says, withdrawing his katana and retreating, tossing your gun far out of reach.

You scramble to your feet as soon as he’s gone, snatching up your gun and bolting after him through the corridors. He’s silent, almost ghost-like, but you chase him nonetheless. He can’t leave with the vital information. The New World Order will have your head if they find out. You hear the click of a door—it’s the backdoor. You rush outside, the heavy rain stinging your face as the neon lights flicker on the deserted street. You catch sight of his motorcycle’s tail light disappearing into the rain. 

Fuck.

As soon as he crosses the threshold between the Capital and the dystopian suburb, the rain ceases abruptly. He twists the throttle of his motorcycle, speeding through the desolate landscape back to the hideout. His heart pounds, but he doesn’t look back. He doubts he’s being followed.

The journey back is swift. As the hideout comes into view, he decelerates, parking his bike with a sense of triumph. He’s relieved not to return empty-handed and, more importantly, to have survived the mission. Reflecting on the encounter, a smirk forms on his face. You were easier to deceive than he anticipated. A part of him hopes to see you again, intrigued by your reaction to seeing him. 

He wonders if he could sway you, make you see the truth about the secrets you’re guarding for The New World Order. Could he enlist you in his cause? The thought intrigues him, though he doubts it. You seemed too ignorant, too indifferent to the atrocities made by the regime.

The night is still young as he dismounts his bike and strides toward the door. It opens easily—unlocked, as usual. They really should lock it; you never know who might come by.

He’s greeted by a flurry of curious eyes as his friends jump up, their eagerness palpable. “Relax,” he gestures, “sit down.” Reaching into the pocket of his leather pants, he pulls out the USB drive. The tiny piece of tech holds the key to saving the world— the cure for cancer. Something they had all doubted, but had uncovered through relentless investigation, exposing the dark secrets of The New World Order.

He strides over to Namjoon, whose eyes glitter with excitement, his fingers itching to grasp the device and run an analysis. Jimin hands him the USB drive with a proud smile. “Here,” he says, “I hope everything’s on there. I was interrupted while pulling the data.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon responds, already heading into a back room, eager to delve into the contents.

Jimin collapses onto the spot Namjoon vacated, feeling the weight of their stares. 

Bora clears her throat. “You said you were interrupted?”

“Ah, yeah,” he chuckles, revealing his crooked teeth. “A security guard. But she was easy to handle.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Yoongi grunts, his voice strained and raspy.

“It was,” Jimin shrugs, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. In truth, it had been almost too easy. He can’t shake the thought: had he overlooked something, or was fate simply on his side this time?

Jungkook’s questioning stare pierces through Jimin, but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t want to share how you made his blood boil with adrenaline and lust. He doesn’t even know your name, but you ignited something within him, a cocktail of emotions in mere moments. He’s both intrigued and captivated by you.

Time blurs as Jimin waits, lost in his thoughts until Namjoon reenters the living room. The look on Namjoon’s face is enough: it’s not the cure.

“This data isn’t complete,” Namjoon groans, frustration etched across his features as he waves the USB drive. He paces anxiously, “It has some information on cancer treatment, but the data on the cure is fragmented. Jin, can you take a look at it? All I see are molecules. I don’t know what to make of it,” he adds, his voice tinged with nervous laughter and defeat.

Jimin’s stomach sinks, a heavy weight of disappointment and anger settling in. He had hoped to secure all the needed information, but now they’re still unable to help Bora, Yoongi, and countless others suffering from the cancer that The New World Order likely caused. The thought sickens him. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were behind everything—the war, the slaughter of mankind. Sometimes it feels like The New World Order is playing a sick game of battle royale with the world’s population. People fight desperately, both for information and survival, in a world where information and treatment are hoarded like treasures. 

Jimin’s mind races, thoughts swirling with the grim reality: when people are dying and sick, they become desperate, willing to do anything to stay alive. He feels a bitter mix of anger and sadness, questioning if he was delusional to think it would be easy to obtain the cure or even secure vital treatment information. The hope that things could change for the better feels like a distant dream.

Jin takes the USB drive, slipping it into his pocket, and gives Jimin a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading to his patient and study room. Jimin feels a gnawing sense of inadequacy, berating himself for getting caught and distracted by you. He wonders if he should attempt to sneak back into the New World Order building, determined to obtain the missing data they desperately need.

“I’ll go back and see if I can get the remaining data in a few days,” he declares, his voice tinged with deflation but underpinned by a strong current of willpower. He can’t afford to fail again. The mission is too important, the stakes too high.

It’s been a few days since the pink-haired guy infiltrated the New World Order building undetected, slipping through your fingers like sand. The incident has left you feeling weird and anxious. You expected The New World Order to contact you, reprimand you, or worse, eliminate you. But there’s been nothing—no messages, no ominous visits. Maybe they don’t know about your slip-up yet? Or perhaps they’re biding their time.

Your phone, a sleek piece of tech courtesy of The New World Order, vibrates in your hand. You unlock it, and a text message glares back at you.

New World Order: Come to the headquarters in 15 minutes.

That’s all it says, nothing more, nothing less. You gulp, feeling your palms grow sweaty. This is it. This is how you die. Thrown off the tall building. You’ve heard stories, and they’re not nice. The tales of disappearances and silent executions run through your mind, making you shiver with nerves.

You lace up your boots with trembling hands, each loop a countdown to your potential demise. Trudging down the stairs of your dark apartment, you step into the rainy street. The city around you is a dismal sprawl of neon lights and shadows, a perfect reflection of your inner turmoil. You try to calm your racing heart, but it’s a futile effort. Every step feels heavier, every breath more labored as you make your way to the New World Order headquarters, fearing that this is the end.

You reach the New World Order headquarters, a monolith of cold steel and glass looming above the city. For a moment, you let the rain caress your face, cleansing you of your sins. Maybe they won’t mention anything? Clenching your fists, you walk into your workplace, passing through the security scanners, the impassive front desk, the sterile halls, and finally to the elevators. You step into one, the doors closing with a cold finality. The elevator ascends, a silent reminder of the 30 floors that separate you from potential death should you be pushed out. You close your eyes, banishing the thought.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing an amble-lit hallway adorned in red and gold. The color scheme feels both luxurious and ominous, a blend of future opulence and ancient dread. The red rug underfoot seems out of place, a relic amidst the high-tech surroundings. It suddenly hits you—it might be there to hide a certain color of liquid. No, you shouldn’t think about it. Nothing’s going to happen to you.

Each step down the hallway feels like walking through a graveyard at midnight, the silence thick and oppressive. Your breath quickens, your hand hovering over the handle of the door at the end. This is it. Just get it over with.

With sweaty hands, you push open the door and step inside. A tall man in a black suit stands with his back to you, staring out of the tall windows. The view overlooks the bleak, rainy city, a desolate wasteland stretching to the horizon. The room is deathly silent, save for the patter of rain against the glass. You feel a shiver run down your spine.

He doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, his presence as cold and unyielding as the cityscape beyond. You gulp, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for him to speak, waiting for your fate to be decided.

You clear your throat, the sound echoing in the tension-filled room. The man’s attention snaps to you, and he turns on his heels with a sinister smile. “Y/N!”

The way he says your name sends shivers down your spine, raising the hairs on your body. An urge to flee or jump out of the window floods your senses, but you force yourself to steady your resolve.

You recognize him as the head of the organization, though his name remains a mystery, like everyone else’s in this godforsaken place. Faces are familiar, but names are a dangerous luxury.

“Glad you could make it. Take a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of his imposing wooden desk, an artifact of richness you could never dream of affording.

You gulp, a slight ringing in your ears accompanying your erratic heartbeat. Your palms are slick with sweat as you move to sit down.

“Nervous?” he asks, his voice calm and commanding as he paces the room.

“Yes,” you manage to say, gulping again as you track his movements.

“Good,” he replies, looking down at you with a predatory glint in his eye.

“I saw the surveillance footage from the break-in a few days ago,” he begins, his eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity. Fear knots in your stomach, paralyzing your muscles as you brace yourself for whatever comes next. You remain silent, too scared to speak, knowing that he already knows everything that happened.

“You’ve gone soft. If this happens again, shoot the intruder, or you’ll be the one staring down the barrel of a gun,” he says, his voice sharp and precise, each word like a blade against your throat. A chill runs through you, and you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You’ve messed up, but somehow he’s letting you off with a warning—something you didn’t expect. A small part of you dares to breathe a little easier.

“Now leave before I change my mind,” he hisses. You flinch, your body reacting instinctively as you rush to the door. Bowing quickly, you slip out without a word. Outside, you realize you’ve been holding your breath and you gasp for air, your hands trembling.

You know you have to do your job better if you want to survive. The threat lingers in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder about the secrets you’re guarding. What could be so important? Maybe it’s time to investigate—time to find out if this job is truly worth risking your life for.

Your boss won’t find out, right? You gulp, pushing the thought away. You need to know. You’ve done your job blindly for so long, but the time has come to uncover the truth. You know the higher-ups won’t give you any information, even if you asked, which is why you find yourself downstairs in the control room.

You locate the computer you usually use, turn it on, and log into the company drive. Your fingers tremble as you navigate through multiple folders, delving deeper into the rabbit hole. You uncover information you never imagined existed. Details about how and why the war started shock you—who knew a failed peace treaty could lead to such global devastation? The realization hits you hard: the war was actually orchestrated by a few countries aiming to seize power when the peace treaty collapsed. Those people now form The New World Order. A chill runs down your spine.

You stumble upon a folder detailing the side effects of radiation, studies on various cancer treatments, and ultimately, a cure for cancer. Disbelief floods your mind as you stare at the words on the screen. You blink, hoping the text will change, but it remains. The next document reveals their sinister plan: to keep this life-saving information hidden, ensuring only the rich survive while letting the rest of humanity rot and die.

This is what the pink-haired man wanted you to know. Regret and anger churn in your gut—you should have listened, should have questioned everything from the start. You feel sick, overwhelmed by the weight of the truth. You close the computer, resolve hardening within you. 

As you leave the control room and head home, your mind swirls with thoughts. You need to figure out what to do with this explosive information before your shift tonight. The rain continues to fall, each drop a reminder of the world’s decay. You realize now that your role in The New World Order’s scheme is far more sinister than you ever imagined.

Jimin has to obtain the missing piece of data his group needs for the cure for cancer, or at least information to develop new treatments. Ever since the war started, all research and treatment for cancer have been inaccessible. Late at night, at their hideout far from the Capital, Jimin prepares for his mission. He looks at Bora and Yoongi—Yoongi, in particular, has deteriorated, and Jimin fears he doesn’t have much time left. The urgency gnaws at him; failure is not an option.

He doesn’t know whether he hopes to meet you at the New World Order headquarters or not. The thought of you makes his heart race, but he knows that if you get in his way, his mission might fail. He sighs, waving goodbye to the group, then steps outside. The night is oppressive, the air thick with the scent of decay and rain. He puts on his helmet, the world narrowing to the visor’s view, and straddles his bike. The engine roars to life, vibrating through him, merging with the adrenaline surging in his veins.

It’s now or never.

He twists the accelerator, the bike surging forward into the darkness, toward the lifeless, desolate Capital. The neon lights flicker ominously as he speeds into enemy territory, a lone figure against the backdrop of a crumbling dystopia.

The room is dark—just the way you prefer it. Your eyes, adept at seeing through the gloom, catch every detail, including the pink-haired intruder hunched over a computer terminal, stealing vital information from your employer. Silently, you watch him, observing his methodical movements as he navigates the screen. The monitor casts a ghostly blue light, making his hair shimmer with a surreal purple hue. You can’t deny he looks striking.

Tonight, you decide not to intervene. After your own clandestine investigation into your employer, you understand why he’s after the data—why so many risk everything to steal it. The New World Order’s secrets are dark and twisted, and the pink-haired man’s quest suddenly seems justified.

Minutes tick by in silence, the intruder’s focus unbroken. His sparkly bomber jacket gleams faintly in the dim light. Finally, he seems satisfied, pulling a USB drive from the terminal. The moment he turns around, you flick on the lights.

Yellow fluorescent tubes flicker to life, bathing the room in a harsh, sickly glow. He freezes, one hand instinctively hovering over the katana strapped to his back, the other gripping the USB drive.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you smirk, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, blocking his escape.

He hisses, scanning you up and down before his features relax into a smirk. “Where’s your gun? Aren’t you gonna try to stop me again, pretty?”

Your eyes sparkle at the compliment, much like his jacket, and you chuckle softly. “Nah,” you shrug, but straighten your posture, exuding confidence.

He quirks an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Why?”

You take in his appearance—black leather pants hugging his thick thighs, lace-up military boots, and that unmistakable sparkly bomber jacket. With a soft, yet sultry smile, you reply, “I finally opened my eyes to what’s really going on. What’s truly been happening, and I don’t like it one bit.”

His shoulders relax further, and his hands withdraw from the katana and the gun stashed behind his back. He eyes you with a mixture of caution and intrigue, seemingly pleased by your revelation.

“So, you’re just gonna let me go?” he asks, ensuring he hasn’t misheard.

“Yeah. But actually…” you begin, drawing out your words to capture his attention as you step closer, batting your eyes at him. “I have more information back at my apartment that you might want to see. I can take you there. Show you.”

You can’t help the way your body responds to him—you want him, and you want him bad. It’s true, you do have valuable information at your place, but your ulterior motives are undeniable. The risk is immense. The moment you make this move, you’ll become a wanted criminal, hunted by the New World Order. But the thought of remaining complicit in their schemes sickens you. You crave freedom, and he might just be the key to it.

For a flicker of a second, you catch him stuttering, but he quickly collects himself, smirking back at you. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips in a teasing move, and you feel a tingle between your legs.

“Let’s go then,” he says, brushing past you and out the door. You follow closely, aware of the cameras tracking your every move, but you don't care. Time is short; the New World Order will come after you soon, so you need to be quick.

The pink-haired man leads the way through the dim, familiar halls to the back door. The green emergency light flickers ominously overhead. He pushes the door open, and the bleak night greets you with flickering neon lights. His sleek silver bike stands nearby. As you approach, he hands you his helmet and lets you straddle his bike, taking the place behind you. His body presses close against your back, and a surge of arousal courses through you.

You turn the bike on, and it roars to life. With a swift movement, you speed through the empty, rain-soaked streets back to your apartment. His arms wrap securely around your torso, and it feels nice. His head rests against your shoulder, and you catch a whiff of his scent—like fresh cotton on a summer's breeze, something you haven’t smelled in a long time. You long for it.

It doesn’t take long to reach your apartment. You turn off the bike, parking it out of sight from prying eyes. He gets off first, then you remove the helmet and jump down. Neither of you speaks as you walk up the stairs to your first-floor apartment. You quickly unlock the door and push into your dark space. The lights are off, and the place is messy with clothes strewn about, but you don't care. The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom, an open space where the kitchen, living room, and bedroom blend together. It’s small, but it’s home.

“Welcome,” you whisper, closing the door behind you, sealing both of you in a cocoon of secrecy and danger.

The tension between you feels thick as you make your way inside, heading straight to your desk and rummaging for the flash drive you’ve hidden. The man’s eyes follow your every move as you open a drawer and pull out the drive, smirking as you wave it in the air. “This has more information on it that I think you’ll need.”

He stalks closer, his smirk widening. In the minimal light, he seems even more predatory than before. The look in his eyes suggests he wants to devour you right then and there.

“What’s in it for you?” he asks, standing mere millimeters from you, your noses almost touching. His warm breath fans your ear and neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“Take me with you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. His eyes roam your body, lingering on your eyes, cheeks, nose, lips, and collarbone.

“Hmm,” he hums, his hands landing on your hips. You feel the warmth of his fingers through your leather pants.

Your breath quickens, and you feel like you’re crumbling beneath his stare, utterly aroused for this man whose name you still don’t know. The mixture of arousal and adrenaline makes you feel almost high.

You close the gap between you and kiss him. It’s quick and needy, and he responds immediately, pressing his body hungrily into yours, his fingers digging into the bare skin of your waist above your pants. His lips are soft, but his moves are hard and hungry.

He moves his lips to your ear, kissing and licking it, then trailing down to your neck. He marks it with his teeth, eliciting a needy moan from you. The world outside your darkened apartment fades away, leaving only the desperate, electric connection between you.

“You’re really something,” he pants into your ear, his breath sending tingles down your spine and all the way to your core. “I want to taste you, and I don’t even know your name.”

You chuckle, the sound strained and laden with lust. “It’s Y/N,” you manage between pants. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Jimin,” he murmurs, his tongue tracing your neck before biting gently.

Fuck.

“I want you, Jimin,” you groan as he pulls back slightly, his pupils blown wide with desire.

“But we don’t have much time,” you say breathlessly, the urgency of your situation seeping into your voice. “The New World Order will be looking for me soon.” You fumble with your pants, dragging them and your panties down to expose yourself to the cool air of the apartment.

In one fluid motion, Jimin drops to his knees, looking up at you with a teasing lick of his lips. “No worries, I can be quick.” Without another word, he dives in, his mouth sealing around your wet heat.

You gasp his name, your legs turning to jelly as your hands find purchase in his pink locks. His tongue is relentless, strong and skilled as it laps over your clit and teases your entrance. The obscene noises he makes against you only heighten your arousal, your breathing growing shallow as you lose yourself in the sensation.

Your back meets the wall, and you do your best to hold yourself up as he devours you from the floor. His mouth works you expertly, sucking and licking, driving you closer to the edge. The coil in your stomach tightens, your body trembling with the impending climax.

Jimin grunts into your cunt, his teeth grazing your clit, and the world shatters around you. He sucks hard, creating a perfect seal around your sensitive nub, and the coil in your stomach snaps. You come undone on his tongue, panting furiously as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Even as you orgasm, he doesn’t stop, his tongue continuing its assault, his nose pressing against your clit. You grab his hair, trying to pull him away as your sensitivity peaks, but he holds you there, pushing you to the brink of overstimulation and back into the abyss of pleasure.

His face glistens with your slick, and you think he looks beautiful, so you grab his sharp jaw and pull him up for a kiss. You don’t care that you taste yourself on his plush lips.

You break away and say, “I really want to return the favor,” your hands toying with his pants as you brush against his already erect dick.

He pushes your hand away gently. “It’s okay. You said to be quick, so you can do that another time.” He kisses you again, trailing down to the other side of your neck, then up to the shell of your ear. “I really just want to fuck you now.”

You’re drenched, dripping with arousal. His words render you speechless; you bite your bottom lip and nod, anticipation coursing through you.

The sound of his zipper sends a thrill down your spine as he opens his pants. He drags his boxers down, and his cock springs free. It’s thick and of an average length, and the sight makes you salivate. You wish you had time to take him into your mouth, but that’s a pleasure for another time, like he promised.

The head of his cock is red, with a bead of precum at the tip. It looks beautiful, and your pussy clenches around the emptiness, eager to be filled. You can’t wait to have him stretch you, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex. It’s honestly been years, and as you realize this, you think he should have prepared you more. But you don’t get to mull over it for long; you feel the tip of his cock against your folds, and in one fluid motion, he pushes inside you.

You moan his name as he grabs both of your legs and wraps them around his waist, driving himself deeper into you. You feel so fucking full, it’s delicious.

“Fuck. I forgot about a condom,” he pants, slamming you hard against the wall. He stays inside for a moment before beginning a relentless rhythm of thrusts.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, “I’m clean, and I can’t get pregnant.”

He just grunts in your ear, then starts nibbling on it. The pace he sets is quick, hard, and dirty—unforgiving. But you don’t mind; you're pressed for time anyway. The pleasure is intense, and the way he growls into your ear makes the knot form in your stomach again.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he growls, thrusting hard and deep. “You wanted this right from the start, didn’t you?” His voice is low, dangerously so, making you even wetter because he’s so right.

“Such a fucking slut for cock,” he pants, his tongue trailing along your neck. “No one in this godforsaken city to satisfy your needy pussy.”

You clench around him, your hands gripping his shoulders, fingers digging into the back of his sparkly jacket.

“Fuck. You’re so tight,” he groans, his hips working overtime to pleasure you, and your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

“Are you gonna come?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eyes.

You moan in response, releasing a wave of liquid around his cock, making the glide even smoother.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous,” he says, licking your neck again. “I’m gonna come too.”

With a rapid burst of thrusts, he spills his warm seed inside your still-pulsating pussy. For a moment, you rest your foreheads together, panting for air. Your legs remain wrapped around his waist as he hungrily kisses your lips.

You feel a mixture of your essences trailing out of you, pooling on the floor or your panties—you don’t really care.

As you struggle to steady your breathing and rapid heartbeat, a pounding on your door shatters the moment. It's not gentle—it’s hard and oppressive, sending a terrible shiver down your spine. The New World Order. Your mind turns razor-sharp, senses heightened. Jimin quickly softens inside you, then pulls out, your legs falling to the floor, dripping semen as he pulls up his pants and grabs his gun and the hard drive.

You do the same, hastily pulling up your pants as the banging continues. The door handle rattles, but it doesn't open. Thank fuck you locked it.

“We have to leave,” you pant, your heart in your throat. You fumble for your phone, then throw it into your room—you don’t need it; they can track you with that.

“No shit,” he grunts, running a hand through his disheveled pink hair.

“We gotta jump out the window,” you say, fear in your eyes. You know it’s only a matter of time before they break down the door.

You grab Jimin’s hand and pull him to the window beside your bed. Thankful that you live on the first floor, you make the jump first, landing on the dirty ground. Jimin follows, landing more gracefully. You hear the brute force of the door breaking, and you startle, fear coursing through you. But Jimin is quick, pulling you to his bike, shoving his helmet onto your head. He straddles the bike, and without much thought, you climb on behind him.

You lean against him, feeling the rapid beating of your heart. He turns on the bike, and you hear shouting and gunshots from your apartment as Jimin speeds down the rain-soaked streets. You lay your head against his back, closing your eyes against the chaos behind you.

Jimin parks his bike in front of the Whalien 52 headquarters, and you dismount first, removing the helmet and handing it to him. He follows suit, and you both stride into the building. It’s well past midnight now, and as you walk into the headquarters with Jimin, all eyes turn toward you. The tension in the room is palpable; they’ve likely been anxiously awaiting his safe return.

“Hi,” he says casually, plopping onto the couch with a soft thud.

“Who’s this?” Taehyung strides up, pointing at you with a raised brow.

“Oh, that’s Y/N. The woman who got in my way last time,” Jimin shrugs as if this is information everyone should already know.

“So you decided to take her home?” Taehyung asks in disbelief.

“I helped him gain extra information. And I want out of the New World Order,” you say, crossing your arms, not flinching under their scrutinizing stares.

“You’re the enemy though,” Yoongi joins the conversation, his voice strained with a cough.

“She really isn’t. Do you even know how much she’s risked just by coming here?” Jimin retorts, defending you without fully understanding why. He knows you can defend yourself just fine.

“I have a target on my back now. So I want to help you guys. Make things right in the world. That’s what you want to do, right?” you ask, scanning the open living room space.

The room falls silent, the weight of your words sinking in. The dim, flickering lights cast long shadows, amplifying the room’s tension. Each member of the group seems to wrestle with their thoughts, eyes flicking between you and Jimin. Finally, Seokjin steps forward, his gaze steady and thoughtful.

Seokjin approaches Jimin with an intense gaze. “Did you get all the data?”

Jimin nods silently and hands over both the USB drive and the flash drive you gave him in your apartment. Seokjin’s eyes light up with a rare glimmer of hope as he takes the hardware and retreats to his makeshift lab.

You slump down beside Jimin, exhaustion finally catching up with you. Jungkook steps forward, extending a hand. “Welcome to Whalien52, Y/N.”

You shake his hand, offering a tired smile, then lean back against Jimin. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you both allow yourselves a moment of rest. But Jimin’s mind races with concern. How quickly will the New World Order track you down? Did they follow you here?

Time becomes a blur in the dimly lit room. You drift off to sleep on Jimin’s shoulder, and his eyelids grow heavy as well. Just as he’s about to succumb to slumber, Seokjin bursts into the room, a triumphant smile lighting up his face.

“I’ve sequenced a cure from the data,” he announces, his voice brimming with joy. “And treatments for various cancers too.”

The room erupts in cheers and laughter, a collective sigh of relief and celebration filling the air.

“I’m preparing the cure for Yoongi and Bora now,” Seokjin adds, his pride evident.

Jimin feels a surge of relief and accomplishment. They’ve finally done it. You’ve secured the cure for cancer. Now Yoongi and Bora can be saved. And perhaps, just perhaps, they can save the rest of civilization. But first, they have to deal with the looming threat of the New World Order. 

The battle is far from over.

It’s been a few days, and the absence of the New World Order’s presence is unnerving. You expected them to chase you and Jimin out of the city, but they haven’t. This silence feels ominous, a dark cloud hanging over your newfound sanctuary.

You’ve settled into the daily routines of Whalien52, where hope and caution dance a tense waltz. Seokjin tirelessly crafts cures and treatments. Yoongi and Bora, the first recipients, show promising signs of recovery, their improvements a beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty. The group celebrates these small victories, buzzing with a cautious optimism that almost feels too good to be true.

In these days of uneasy peace, you’ve found roles within the group. Namjoon introduced you to his intricate tech—ingenious weapons and machines designed for survival. Taehyung showed you around the small town that Whalien52 calls home. On the horizon, the Capital looms like a dark sentinel, a constant reminder of the lurking threat.

Despite the calm surface, the air is thick with anxiety. The lack of action from the New World Order feels wrong. Yoongi polishes weapons with a grim focus, and you’ve all had tense conversations about the impending attack you’re sure is coming. Jungkook echoes your concerns, insisting on readiness.

Hoseok monitors the New World Order’s communications, but all he gets is an unsettling silence. This lack of intel twists your stomach into knots. Each passing day, the tension ratchets up. The quiet eats at you, turning every creak and rustle into a potential threat.

Weeks pass, and the tension in the headquarters is palpable. You’re all on edge, constantly looking over your shoulders. Every sound is magnified, each one making you jump, hearts racing with the fear that the New World Order has finally come for you.

Everyone is exhausted, sleep deprived and on edge, each day a relentless battle against the looming threat of the New World Order. You long for an end to this tense limbo, for the chance to truly rest.

Yoongi’s condition has worsened, and Seokjin’s latest research scatters your fragile hopes. “This isn’t a cure,” he admits, deflated. “It’s just a temporary fix, a treatment.”

Yoongi coughs weakly but manages a smile, hugging his girlfriend Bora tightly. “But it helps,” he says softly. “A cure was always a dream. There’s never been a real cure for cancer, and maybe there never will be.”

Bora kisses his forehead, her eyes glistening with determination. “The treatment is helping,” she insists, caressing his cheeks. “Maybe Seokjin can alter it, make it better, stronger?” She turns to Seokjin, who nods, already lost in thought, considering how to enhance the treatment. You all want to help, driven by a fierce collective will to save Yoongi.

You walk over to Jimin, giving him a soft kiss, seeking a moment of solace. Suddenly, the sharp crack of a gunshot shatters the room. Bora screams in pain, and chaos erupts. You all drop to the floor, hearts pounding in sheer panic. For a moment, there’s an eerie silence, broken only by Bora’s agonized cries. You can’t see her or Yoongi, shielded by the couch.

Frantically, you search for Jimin, and his hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. The connection is a lifeline, a brief reassurance amidst the terror.

More gunshots pierce the air, and you hold your breath, praying Bora is alright. Your heart races, the reality sinking in: the New World Order is here, ready to kill you all.

With steely resolve, you clench your free hand, feeling the cold metal of your holstered gun against your thigh. 

It’s time. 

Time to make a stand. 

Time to fight back.

You look at Jimin, your eyes wide with panic as your heart pounds in your ears. He army crawls to your weapon stash, grabbing an arsenal: a rifle he slides over to Yoongi, a gun for himself, and his sword, which he straps on while still lying on the floor. Jungkook, with his tattooed hand, clutches a rifle down his length of his body. You scan the room for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

Bora’s screams have diminished to grunts of pain. Yoongi drags her towards Seokjin’s room, leaving a trail of blood. An eerie silence falls as you watch them. You hear Yoongi's voice from Seokjin’s room, explaining that Bora’s wound is a flesh wound, pleading for Seokjin to take care of her. Yoongi crawls back into the living room.

“Is Bora okay?” you ask, sweat beading on your hairline, your breathing quick and shallow.

“Yeah. Seokjin’s got her. Namjoon, Tae, and Hobi are in there too,” Yoongi grits his teeth, his face pale with anger.

Jungkook crawls over to join you, “I guess it’s the New World Order knocking down our doors.”

“We have to fight back. Or die trying,” Yoongi spits, his anger palpable. “I’m sick and tired of them. We need to overthrow them,” he says, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. You’re all on high alert, fighting for your lives.

The door bursts open, a harsh light from outside flooding in as heavy boots stomp on the floor. You count six people by the rhythm of their steps and then a seventh, moving slowly and deliberately. Ominous, and just by the sound of the boots, you know who it is—the leader.

A cold shiver runs down your spine as your fingers curl around the trigger of your gun. The footsteps grow louder, the moment drawing closer. You roll onto your back, raising your gun for the inevitable confrontation.

Suddenly, you’re yanked by your legs, sliding across the floor with a yell, losing your grip on Jimin’s hand. The leader looms over you, a shadow of dread, as you prepare to fight for your life.

“Well, well. What have we here? Y/N. Nice to see you,” the man sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. You don’t know his name, but you remember him all too well—the leader of the New World Order, the man who had last spoken to you in his office after Jimin’s initial attempt to steal information from your former employer.

You gulp, pointing your gun at him.

He tuts dismissively, “You know that’s useless,” and with a swift kick, he sends your gun skidding across the floor.

“You’ve been a bad, bad girl,” he hisses, his hands casually resting in his pockets while his men, guns trained on you, stand menacingly behind him.

“What you’re doing is sick,” you fume, anger bubbling within you.

Suddenly, Jimin rises, his gun aimed directly at the man before you.

Recognition flickers in the leader’s eyes, “Ah,” he chuckles darkly, “so this is the man you left me for.”

Jimin grunts, “Hands off her.”

“Protective, huh?” he laughs, a cold, mechanical sound that sends chills down your spine.

Your eyes dart between Jimin and the leader, anxiety tightening your chest. You don’t know who will be quicker on the trigger. You hold your breath, terrified for Jimin’s safety. Your heart pounds so loudly it nearly deafens you.

A gunshot echoes through the room, followed by a heavy thud. Your heart sinks as you see the leader still standing. Fear grips you, paralyzing you from turning around to check on Jimin. You feel a scream or a sob rising in your throat, maybe both.

Then, you hear the sound of someone standing up and Yoongi’s voice cuts through the tension, “You are one sick bastard. Keeping vital information to yourself, letting people die of cancer and radiation.” His voice is thick with anger and disdain.

The leader turns his attention to Yoongi and chuckles again, a sound you’ve come to loathe. “Only the elite deserve to live. I don’t mind letting people die to create the perfect world.”

You scoff, the revelation of his twisted ideology making you nauseous. The horror of being part of such a sick scheme churns in your stomach.

As you try to glance over your shoulder to see Jimin, one of the leader’s men grabs you, yanking you into a sitting position. Panic surges through you, but determination hardens your resolve. It’s time to fight back, no matter the cost.

Finally, you spot Jimin lying on the floor. There’s no blood, thankfully, and his hand is giving you a thumbs up. Relief floods your body, momentarily pushing back the fear.

“You are so sick,” Yoongi spits, his voice a raw edge. “You killed so many people, for what? Utopia?”

Your old boss nods, chuckling darkly. “Too much freedom breeds murder and chaos. I needed a clean slate,” he shrugs, strolling past you towards Yoongi, who keeps his rifle trained on him. “People need order. Someone to follow. When the weak and poor have died off, I’ll guide the rest into a New World Order.”

Yoongi spits on the floor, “Over my fucking dead body.” His index finger twitches towards the trigger, his stance solid and ready. 

You stop breathing.

Yoongi fires, but your old boss is faster, landing a shot in Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi hisses, dropping the rifle to the floor.

“I told you it’s useless,” your old boss sneers, chuckling. “Next time I’ll aim for the head.”

Time stretches and warps as he paces the room, taking stock of you all. You’re at a standstill, trapped in the crosshairs of his malevolent gaze. Jimin remains prone, waiting for an opportunity. Yoongi grunts in pain, clutching his wounded shoulder. Jungkook lies still, eyes flicking between you and the leader. 

It feels like game over. 

You’re all going to die.

Your old boss paces slowly, chuckling, reveling in your predicament. “I wonder who I should kill first…” he muses, dragging out the words as he turns towards you. “Your boyfriend, maybe? How do you feel about watching him die?”

Your heart pounds wildly. 

You struggle against the grip of the man holding you by your hair, pain searing through your scalp, but the thought of Jimin’s death is unbearable.

The leader strides towards Jimin, raising his gun. Your breath catches in your throat, terror gripping you as you watch. You scream with all the force in your lungs, a primal sound tearing through the air as you close your eyes, bracing for the worst.

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

The sound of three gunshots fills your ears, and you scream even louder, tears streaming down your cheeks as you call out your lover’s name. More gunshots follow, and the man holding your hair lets go, dropping you to the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Tears blur your vision as you struggle to blink them away, desperate to find Jimin.

But you don’t see him.

Panic surges through you. Where is he?

Your gaze shifts, and you see your old boss, his head snapped back from a point-blank shot, blood pooling beneath him. You gasp, turning your head just in time to see familiar lace-up boots moving purposefully across the room. Chaos reigns. Bora stands in the hallway, a rifle trained on the lifeless body of your boss. She was the one who shot him?

Jimin moves through the room like a lethal dancer, his katana slicing through enemies with precision. Jungkook is on his feet too, methodically picking off the men from the New World Order. Amid the chaos, you see Bora approach Yoongi, who is clutching his shoulder.

“Are you okay, babe?” she asks, her voice strained but determined as she examines his injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he pants, noting the bandage on her thigh, stained with blood. “You should lie down.”

“I could say the same to you,” she chuckles, raising her rifle to take aim at another man.

How many are down now? You scan the room, counting seven bodies sprawled on the floor.

“Is it over?” Seokjin calls out, peeking from his room down the hall.

“I think so,” Jungkook replies, clapping his hands together, trying to shake off the tension.

The room falls into a tense silence, the aftermath of the battle settling over you like a shroud. You push yourself up, your body aching and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Jimin meets your gaze, and you feel a flicker of hope amidst the wreckage. 

For now, you’ve survived.

You rush over to Jimin, pulling him into a tight embrace, relief flooding through you. “I’m okay, babe,” he murmurs, kissing you softly. Thank God.

“We need to take the fight to their headquarters. They’ll be coming for us anyway. Better to surprise them,” Yoongi declares, his voice grim.

“Don’t you think they’d anticipate that?” Jungkook counters, eyeing Yoongi critically. “And you’re in no condition to fight, hyung.”

“The fuck I’m not. It’s just my shoulder. I’m fine,” Yoongi pants, picking up his rifle.

“Let’s go,” Bora interjects from behind Yoongi, her voice determined.

Yoongi spins around, his mouth agape. “You’re staying, babe. Your leg—”

“This is as much my fight as it is yours, and Seokjin patched me up,” she retorts, her stern look brooking no argument. Yoongi deflates, conceding to her resolve.

You all huddle together, gathering weapons for the imminent battle. Taehyung, Namjoon, and Seokjin stay back, while the rest of you head outside to your vehicles.

You and Jimin mount his bike, while Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora take the car. Jimin hands you a helmet, then puts on his own before revving the engine. The bike purrs to life, and with a roar, he accelerates toward the Capital, Jungkook and the others following in the car.

The journey is a blur, the rain pouring down in relentless sheets as you navigate the desolate streets. The Capital looms ahead, a monolithic reminder of the oppressive regime you’re up against. You skid to a stop in front of the New World Order headquarters, jumping off the bike with Jimin close behind. Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora emerge from the car, weapons in hand, steely determination etched on their faces.

The rain-soaked mud reflects the harsh glow of neon lights, casting eerie shadows as you steel yourselves for the fight. The headquarters stands ominously before you, a fortress of tyranny that has caused so much suffering. You take a deep breath, fingers tightening around your gun.

It’s time to end this.

“Follow me. The building is massive,” you say, leading the way into your old workplace. Navigating the familiar lower floors is swift; they’re almost deserted. Jimin dances with his katana, each swing mesmerizing, cutting down any opposition with ease. 

Clearing the lower levels quickly, you ascend the stairs, banging open doors and moving through the less familiar upper halls. The men from the New World Order fall easily; many surrender, unwilling to defend a crumbling regime. 

Finally, you reach the top floor, the office of your now-dead boss. Stepping inside, you look out through the tall windows overlooking the city. 

“What do we do now?” you ask, your voice echoing in the silence. 

The horizon flickers with a strange yellow glow. 

Jimin, his katana sheathed on his back, joins you. “Is that the sun?” he asks, his eyes following yours.

“I think it is,” Bora says, intertwining her fingers with Yoongi’s.

“Now that the New World Order is gone,” Yoongi muses, “won’t another group try to take its place?”

“Maybe,” you respond, lost in thought.

Jungkook chuckles beside you. “We’ll make sure no one does. All information will be free and accessible.”

“Aren’t we just like the New World Order then?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“No,” Jungkook replies firmly. “We’ll let people live freely, with no ‘order’ imposed.”

You all hum in agreement, turning your gaze to the horizon. For the first time in a long while, the oppressive clouds of the Capital part, slowly revealing the sun. The relentless rain stops, and you feel the air shift—this is a new beginning.

→ Taglist: @jeonsbabygirlsworld @11thenightwemet11 @haru-jiminn → Disclaimer: the photo of kitty gang Jimin is a concert photo by a fansite, and I’ve been trying to reverse google search the image to find the fansite/photographer, but without luck. I can see on the original that the fansite name is something along the lines of ‘CelestialYM9999’ but that show on results on google either. If you know the fansite, please let me know so I can credit properly (my photography brain really wants to give proper credit). → Author’s note(2): what do you think? Please let me know! A big shoutout and thank you to @manipulatedstars for having the idea to make Jungkook run a survivalist camp 🥳💜 Now, I can’t wait to write something that isn’t action— back to my sappy romance writing! I think one of the mermaid fics is next on my list ✨

[byoldervine]

Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point