#i’m always so close to dying my hair white because of her and storm

[yuzukult]

acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan​ , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she’s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”

[notnctu]

switchin’ lanes - l.jn | ridin’ club

━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series 

genre ➠ slow burn, smut, pwp???, fluff (if u squint) wordcount ➠ 8.3k details ➠  fem!reader, streetracer!jeno, badboy!jeno, college!au,  ━ where you and jeno are in a relationship, but not with each other. warnings ➠ explicit language, cheating, flirty banter, alcohol consumption, drugs, yall at a party, physical fighting (not with you), mentions of cuts/bruises, hickeys, drunk public dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f/receiving) synopsis ➠ If your boyfriend didn’t decide to join such a stupid unofficial club, then maybe you wouldn’t be in such a sticky situation where Lee Jeno is literally knuckles deep in your sticky situation as he drives you home. Or maybe if your boyfriend actually touched you, then you wouldn’t be seeking it from someone else, who can’t keep his hands off of you. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi ; @darkneogotmyback ; @im-lame-irl ; @p-mini ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck ; @saniahmichael ; @jaehy9ngs ; @danyxthirstae01 ; @jaehyunoos ; @pikijaemin ; @suhweo​ ; @dearlyminhyung​

a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! i hope you enjoy the series pls leave me feedback lmaoo ill literally take anything. we also hit a milestone for followers and honestly its so crazy to know how quickly this tiny sideblog has grown! we’re so thankful that yall follow us, thank u for lovin us and we will try our best to put out more content!! also through the lens hit 1k notes how is that even possible like wow im speechless thank u for everyone who left such kind comments i treasure every form of feedback :) 

The heavy double doors of the classroom stare tauntingly at you. The evening setting in, painting the sky with strokes of orange and pink. You managed to remain complaint free the entire day, until your forgetful boyfriend canceled on you because of a club meeting. A meeting for an unofficial club on campus because it is illegal to street race. A club consists of delinquents that are obsessed with cars and steal your boyfriend away from you. 

This is the fifth time this week that your boyfriend stood you up or coincidentally forgot your dates. You can’t remember the last time he physically stood in front of you and not through a phone screen. However, it is not completely the stupid club’s fault that your boyfriend has neglected you. 

He truly is the worst boyfriend ever. He blames everything on his bad memory and does not prioritize you in his life. He loves one thing --- his car. You could be lying in a hospital bed, and he wouldn’t care to check up on you. 

So why did you stay with him? Because you’re scared of being alone? Possibly, but it is a can of worms that you did not want to open just yet. Sex is definitely not the reason you stay with him. He hasn’t touched you sexually since the first and now, last time you two slept together. 

You try your best, to only be waved off with a yawn. He doesn’t compliment you. He doesn’t look at you lovingly. He doesn’t even kiss you for longer than two seconds. You are a toppling tower, ready to crumble at any given moment.

The anger in your body fuels you as you pull the door open to reveal several men in leather jackets chatting away with each other. One by one, they all begin to lay their eyes on who abruptly interrupted their joyous conversations. Your eyes scan the room full of intimidating men, whose auras cause a shiver to run down your spine.

Your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, given that there are plenty enough guys who have the ability to cover him. You walk into the open space and the entire mood of the room shifts. 

Heavy cologne and a deafening silence fill the air. One particular male, who has been eyeing you the entire time, gets up and walks towards you. 

“Are you lost, baby?” Scoffs and chuckles sparsely cover the corners of the room. The unknown male has a jarring cut on his eyebrow, matching a small bruise on his upper cheekbone. 

“I’m looking for my boyfriend…” Your weak voice trails off from the sudden attractive male intimidation. The tall man peers around the room, crossing his arms.

“If you are this beautiful woman’s boyfriend, please fucking come out now. It’s very rude to keep your girl waiting for you!” Initially, his low throaty shout startles you. A heavy heat falls on your cheeks when you register his choice of adjectives.

The whole room falls silent once more, before your pitiful boyfriend steps out from between two bulkier men. “Hey babe, what are you doing here?” His eyes nervously bounce around the room, a shaky laughter erupting from his gut. 

“Sorry, Jeno. I didn’t mean to cause such a scene. I didn’t even see her come in.”

Like a trigger, you remember your intentions for storming in uninvited. Jeno gauges your flaming reaction to your boyfriend’s apologetic words. He nods, not out of acceptance of the apology, but out of disbelief.

He pulls your boyfriend by the collar of his white shirt and your eye widens at the condescending tone that causes your boyfriend to cower, “I’m not the one to apologize to.” With a careless toss, your boyfriend ends up shaking in front of you.

“Jeno is not the only one you should be scared of.” You whisper angrily to him as the rest of the room continues on with their previous chatter. 

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes, “listen, Jeno’s been arrested before. You don’t want to get on that man’s bad side.” 

Your eyes wander behind your boyfriend’s hunching shoulders, catching Jeno steal peeks at you too. There is no interest in the other rambling male that stands in front of him. He just wants to check you out a bit more. 

He is the hottest person you’ve ever gotten the attention of. You feel flustered, and a bit flattered at his lingering gaze. His brown hair is slicked back messily, giving you more to admire. Jeno is an absolute cliche from a bad boy fanfiction. He is unreal, and the odd chance that he can’t keep his eyes off of you, is also unreal. 

But with a light nudge from a blue haired fellow, Jeno’s eyes peel away from your’s. They exchange a few words, which then propels Jeno to hurriedly put on his slightly tattered leather jacket.

You lick your lips to the sight of his body lines as he stands up to follow his friend, but not without another look back at you. Noticing your stare still on him, he bids you a tiny wave goodbye with a smirk to die for. And like that, he’s gone. 

“Are you listening to me?” Your boyfriend’s voice finally reaches your reality. Your focus shifts to the obviously irritated expression on his face. 

“I guess, I’m not. Don’t fucking stand me up again or I will key your car.” You aren’t actually those kinds of girls, but your boyfriend didn’t take a threat seriously unless it involves his highly treasured car. 

And like Jeno, you also make your exit out of the steamy room. The chilly night brush against your unknowingly hot cheeks. Then, you take yourself to the only unhealthy coping mechanism you can think of: a place of free alcohol and no boyfriend.

It takes you a few months to completely stop caring about your dying relationship. You figure how easy it is for your boyfriend to do it, so you make the same decision.

He spends his nights with his friends he made from his club, and has totally become a self proclaimed car enthusiast. You lose yourself in copious amounts of cheap alcohol at your local parties and it’s almost like you stop sulking over a man who kisses his car goodnight.

While being alone did not bother you as much as you had been dreading, the sexual frustration is a completely different issue. You are absolutely drooling whenever your eyes find Jeno in the crowds of sweaty bodies.

If there is one good thing that came out of your boyfriend’s membership in that club, it had to be Lee Jeno and a few other notable people who attended the same parties as you.

He became a very close acquaintance, and you had learned some very important names associated with the Ridin’ Club. Na Jaemin, Lee Haechan, and Huang Renjun. But the three could not compare to the kindhearted Jeno that makes butterflies stir in your lower abdomen. 

Over the months, you also had learned rather quickly that your sexually clouded mind had tricked you previously into thinking that Jeno’s stares were full of lust for you. His girlfriend makes it clear that it isn’t the case.

Although you have caught the couple making out several times when trying to use the bathroom, your feverish, impure attraction toward Jeno never calmed down.

“You’re looking very tempting tonight, baby.” Jeno’s beaming eye smile greets you, even after completely undressing you with his gaze. His arms are wide open to embrace your warm body. 

The parties are always too hot to wear a fully clothed outfit. You often settle for a cute tank top and a short skirt to prevent your legs from collecting extra moisture. Jeno, without a fail, shows up in black jeans that clad his lower half, tucked with a simple white shirt. His tattoos and toned arms being on full display for you to admire. 

“Better make sure your actual baby doesn’t hear that.” The loud beats of the music make Jeno’s chuckle almost inaudible, but his expression remains cheerful, as per usual. “Did you get into another fight?” 

The fresh wound cut through his smooth complexion, which will eventually join the rest of his collection of fading scars. He mindlessly grazes over the new bandaging and dramatically winces. Clearly concerned, you grab his hand away from the injury. “Don’t touch it, stupid.”

His smile curves into a sly smirk, as he intertwines your fingers and kisses the back of your hand. “It doesn’t hurt at all.” His chest heaves into a fit of giggles, “just wanted to see you care for me.” 

Groaning, you shake his massive hand off of your’s. “Very funny. I should start charging you for my attention.” 

“Name your price, I got all the money in the world for you.” He winks, while lightly pinching your cheek. You are lying to yourself if you thought you could ever stay away from him. Jeno stirs up a part of you that craves the cheesy nicknames, flirty comments and the undivided attention. 

He motions you to follow him into the mess of people. Almost as if he’s a god, the crowd parts for you two to walk through without unnecessary extra bodies. The fear that settles in many individuals’ chest is understandable.

Like your first impression, Jeno is a complete walking fanfiction trope. He negotiates better with his fists, usually with good reason. The guns of the Ridin’ Club, though, his friends are very much to be feared as well. They will not hesitate to run someone over, if given the heated situation to do so. And most definitely, you can count them to be backing up their fighter, Jeno. 

You had not been mindful before of the chatter that regarded the secret Ridin’ Club. They are notorious for fast paced very illegal races in the middle of nowhere destinations and tempers that aren’t meant to be provoked. Besides their intimidating aura, it melts away after getting to know them.

Lee Haechan, the most annoying brat, but has the strongest, the most loyal bond to his boys. He’s also notably funny, often making you laugh with an exchange of banter.

Huang Renjun, the whiniest and initially quiet boy, but grows to be one of the loudest and will chew you out if anyone dares try engaging in verbal combat. 

Na Jaemin, the flirty playboy who always has a swarm of girls, but the gentlest man with a soft spot for cute things. 

And finally, Lee Jeno, the owner of your nights. He is the friendliest of them all, despite him being the toughest one. While his stare can kill, melting away his layers reveal the warmest heart. Not that Jeno is the only one to show initial interest in you, but he is the most considerate to the people he holds close to him.

He has taken care of you for many drunk nights and watched protectively over your intoxicated figure in the crowds. He makes you feel safe and seen, which are some of the many reasons you are entirely attracted to him.

“(Y/N)!” Jaemin’s scream pierce your ears the moment the blueberry catches your eye. He excitedly nudges the other two boys, who are busy pouring drinks into red cups.

“You’re going to make me spill it, idiot!” Renjun grumbles, but looks up to see your dazzling smile and tremendous excitement. His own smile grows, “so the life of the party finally decided to say hi.”

“Hi, my fanclub. I appreciate the long awaited greeting.” Your over the top, sarcasm causes all of them to chime loudly. Haechan hands you a cup and wraps his arm around your shoulders. 

Jeno joins you at your side and the five of you clink your drinks to the ceiling. A fit of yells over the music and a competition of who can finish first. As per usual, you set your cup down after draining the entirety. The others are still chugging the burning liquid down their throats. 

Haechan coughs after dropping his cup onto the counter. His face is twisted with the most disgusted contour, “I don’t know how you do it, (Y/N).”

“I already drank more than you guys, so it just tastes like water now.” You scream over the loud music. Jeno, Jaemin and Renjun toss their empty cups into the sink. 

At this rate, you are completely blindsided by the effects of the alcohol as your legs give out to gravity. Jeno catches you quickly, holding your elbows and your head is placed on his shoulder. Jaemin chuckles lovingly, before helping Jeno balance you against the island. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders, as the room spins in front of you. 

“You good?” Haechan pats your head gently, whispering close to you.

“I---” You try catching your breath after being winded. “--It’s hitting me now.”

Jeno wraps his arm around your lower waist to draw you close to him, “want to go sit down?” He mumbles into your hair. You nod, Jeno and Renjun supporting your limp body to walk over to the couch.

The dark living room is lit up only by colorful led lights, but it is not enough to make out much of anything. Everyone is in their own world, dancing and socializing within their own selves. The two men set you down on the cushion, but your impulse catches onto Jeno’s wrist before he leaves. Renjun is already lost in the crowd.

“Can I sit on your lap?” You pout cutely, all the shame in your body has been displaced with courage. Jeno’s eyes soften at your sudden request, and kisses the top of your forehead.

“The throne is all yours.” He says as he sits at your side and pulls you on top of his thick thighs. His arm is loosely dangling around your waist, resting on top of your thighs. 

The intimate position causes your mind to wander into dark thoughts. His strong, sturdy legs feel delicious against your clothed core. While you’ve been in this position once before, you could never forget how protected, yet very horny it makes you feel. 

“What’s on your mind, (y/n)?” Jeno’s deep voice brushes against your bare shoulder and you feel his chest press against your back. “You’ve been pretty silent tonight.”

You turn slightly to face him, “if I told you, I’m scared it would ruin things between us.”

“There’s nothing in the world that can hold me back from you.” He is always so quick to spill such alluring words. His soft lips graze lightly on your skin as his sparkling eyes look up at your expression.

All it takes is one more tiny kiss on your arm to get you grabbing his face, drawing him into a steamy, long awaited kiss. Surprisingly, he kisses you back, open mouth and tongue lapping with your’s. His hands reposition your legs to where you straddle him. Your faces dive deeper into each other’s as the kiss continues to intensify.

Jeno’s lips still have a hint of alcohol, but he mostly tastes like mint gum. And they are comparable to a cloud, the softest lips you have ever made out with. It is like kissing pure heaven, completely different from your boyfriend’s two second pecks. Jeno devours you in a needy way, like he’s been waiting to explore the wonders of your lips. 

However, you pull away when you feel the vibration of his phone against your inner thigh, almost like a wake up call. As if all the liquid courage disappeared, you blink back in shock at Jeno’s plump wet lips. The thought of his girlfriend crosses your mind, and maybe slight guilt for your own boyfriend fills your system.

You quickly start getting up from his hot body, “fuck, I’m so sorry..” But his hands pull you back onto him, your legs finding their way open above his thighs again. 

“Don’t be, I’ve always wondered what your lips would taste like.” A smirk, then a hearty chuckle relaxes your contracting nerves at the potential of a ruined friendship. 

“But, your girlfriend..” Your tiny voice trails off and Jeno picks up your chin. His fingers rubbing along your jawline.

His eyes do another lap around your features. He admires your averting shy eyes, your beautiful lips, and how they all come together to make a stunning you. 

There is no doubt in Jeno’s mind that he is very attracted to you. He knew it the moment you barged into the club meeting. You are his type of woman, a good mixture of confident and timidness. You like to have some fun, and aren't afraid to be bold. Not to mention, that you are incredibly hot and every time you flirt back just makes him melt inside.

“She won’t care. She hooks up with people all the time.” It puzzles you, all this time you had been holding yourself back from Jeno because he has a girlfriend. All to find out that the relationship isn’t as serious as you thought it to be.

“I know, it doesn’t make sense. But we aren’t two people to be tied down, but at the same time, we like each other enough to want to stay together.”

Your confused expression causes Jeno to laugh and ask, “what’s the dilemma with your boyfriend?”

Rolling your eyes at the mention of your boyfriend, you sigh, “it’s like we’re still together, but we aren’t at the same time. We’ve abandoned the relationship unknowingly.”

Jeno runs a warm hand up and down your thigh, while he listens intently to you. He nods, grabbing your waist to pull you over his groin. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“No, he’s a shitty person and an even shittier boyfriend. We literally haven’t fucked for the past year. I’m practically a virgin again.” His hand automatically gives your thigh a light squeeze.

Jeno’s eyes light up as you quickly cover your mouth out of embarrassment. A devilish smirk raises his cheekbone, and lust clouds his mind. Gauging his reaction, your cheeks turn hot.

“We’ll have to change that, don’t we? My baby must be all kinds of frustrated. Tell me, do you like when I touch you then?” Jeno drops in tempo, usually when he wants to be more intimidating with a deeper voice. 

You clear your throat intending to speak, but you can only nod your head in response. “C’mon, (Y/N). Use your words, like a big girl.” Even with the loud music and continuous chatter, you can hear Jeno‘s taunting whisper. 

His words tickle your collarbone as he runs his lips against your neck. Your heart is pumping rapidly at the turn of events, as if the possibility of having something beyond a kiss from Jeno is more than possible at this rate. 

Jeno enjoys your small whimpers as he marks your neck with purple love bites. Right in the center of the crowded room, Lee Jeno is just casually giving you hickeys.

“Yes, I love that you can’t keep your hands off of me.” 

Almost immediately, you can feel his lips curve into a smile on your skin. Pop! Jeno marvels the darkness against your skin in the mood lighting. A small part of him hopes you do end up seeing your boyfriend sometime soon, so he can see who you really belong to.

“How about we try touching like this?” Jeno pushes you down hard against his pelvis, the veins on his hands becoming evident from the grip and the tiny drawings permanently staining his fingers.

You gasp the moment you feel Jeno’s hip begin to move underneath you to the beat of the song. He rolls your hips rhythmically to match his speed. His clothed hard on can be felt through the only barrier you have on --- your panties.

The thin fabric is soon drenched in your juices after the continuous friction up and down his length. You throw your head back to every bump against your clit, the electrifying feeling enact more of your wetness to puddle. 

You can’t believe you were grinding against Jeno in the middle of a full party, as if his friends aren’t a few feet away. It is a good thing that your skirt pools around both of your waists to conceal the dirty deed underneath.

Jeno’s lip escapes under his top row of teeth as he rubs his clothed length against your barely covered pussy. He can feel his jeans dampening from your wetness and his eyes roll to the back of his head from how the feeling of wanting you consumes his body. He really becomes uncontrollable when it comes to you. 

This is the most sexual activity you have had with another person for over a year. Jeno just looks absolutely heavenly intoxicated with lust, and your mouth waters at how big his cock must be. You can feel his length the harder Jeno rolls against you, and it is definitely bigger than your boyfriend’s. 

You are trying so hard to stay quiet and unnoticeable, but the pleasure seeps out every crevice. Jeno is trained on you as your hand reaches up to cover your mouth, the muffled whimpers escaping your lips uncontrollably.

“I’m so close.” You admit, your body jolting every time his jean button grazes against your sensitive bud.

Jeno moves you over his thigh, forgetting his incredibly hard dick straining in his jeans. As long as you are satisfied, he can care less about his own pleasure. A low scream erupts from your throat when he flexes against you. 

His thigh is much more stable, with more control for consistency. You quickly notice the dark, wet spot on his jeans and you blush even harder. Your underwear clings onto you from the excessive moisture, but Jeno continues to help you finish.

The strands of hair cover your face, but Jeno needs to see your fucked out expression. He is taken aback when you start riding his thigh faster, grinding harder without the aid of his hands.

His mouth hangs slightly open in awe at your neediness, he truly did not know the extent of your sexual frustrations. Oh, but how he is incredibly turned on by you getting off on him. 

“I want you to cum for me, you deserve it.” Jeno brings you in for another passionate kiss. The mixture of his tongue sucking harshly on yours, and the friction on your clit are more than enough to reach your climax. 

Your legs clenched tightly around Jeno’s thigh. The small knot in your stomach that built, drops like the beat playing in the background. The feeling of white is familiar, but it is more intense than when you would touch yourself. You are finally receiving the pleasure from someone else’s touch, someone who wants you to unravel for him.

Jeno pulls away from your lips, kissing down your neck and collarbones as your chest heaves for air. His palm soothes your shaking legs as your climax subsides. You fall into his arms, and he laughs. The reality that you two just did that publicly registers in both of your minds.

Digging your shy face further into Jeno’s shoulder, he whispers lovingly, “let me drive you home.” 

“Are you still drunk?” The muffled question tickles Jeno’s neck.

“I think you beautifully cumming on my thigh sobered me up.” He jokes and you quickly cover his mouth. Your heart practically stops and you hope no one else heard him.

It is silly that you are now self conscious, as if the whole room didn’t just watch you and Jeno grind on the couch. But, the feeling of embarrassment and regret lingers in your stomach. You mentally thank the dark room for concealing both of your identities.

“I’m sorry for your jeans.” A pout begs for forgiveness as you stare at Jeno’s beaming smile. He takes your hand off of his mouth, not forgetting to give your fingertips a lingering kiss.

“I’m sorry for your boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Jeno parts your hair from your neck, admiring the marks he left on you. A small sense of pride builds inside of him, accompanied by a tiny bundle of possessiveness.

“Let me say goodbye to the boys and I’ll take you home.” 

Nodding, Jeno carefully lifts you off of him and onto the cushion. He leans over to kiss your cheek. As he gets up, you see the darker shades on his jeans from your doing. However, Jeno is completely unbothered and continues to find his friends.

Now that you are alone, you feel a bit nervous that someone would come up to you and talk about what they saw. Checking your phone, your screen blinds you with absolutely no notifications from your boyfriend. Going on social media is worse, as you scroll to see that your boyfriend posted a photo.

It is a photo of his hot, red polished car. He obnoxiously posed squatting next to the front wheel, his lips puckered up and kissing the rims. With a caption that makes every regret in your body disappear, “with my one and only.” 

The phone is tossed somewhere else, wishing to delete the image from your memory. Your eyes wander around the room, when they spot a suspicious man sneakily dropping a small pill in an unattended drink. He, then, looks up and catches your stare. Caught red handed. 

But the male smugly smirks, “you’re going to pretend you didn’t see that, like how half of this room pretended to not see you grinding on Jeno.” 

“You’re complete scum, I can’t believe you just roofied someone’s drink.” You yell in utter disbelief at the unwavering man. His disgusting smirk changes into a menacing smile.

He approaches you, his height allowing him to tower above. You gulp, scared at how he can easily overpower you at any second.

“And what are you going to do about it? What? Jeno didn’t loosen you up enough?” His revolting hot breath beating down your nose, invading every corner of your personal space. 

Before you can find any insult to speak back, his figure goes flying sideways and out of your face. It’d be a lie to not admit your heart skipping a beat at the sight of Jeno’s clenched fists and locked jaw. His sharp gaze watches as the stranger gets up from the ground, inflammation already growing on his left cheek.

“Dude, what the fuck!” He shouts angrily, holding his cheekbone as he winces at the pain. Immediately, the conversations are replaced with gasps, and small whispers at the sight. People gather around the living room to see the commotion. Even you are unsure how to react to the sudden fight.

The other man lunges at Jeno with full force, but Jeno stops him by grabbing the man’s collar, “this,” Jeno punches his lip, busting it open, “is for dropping a roofie in someone’s drink.”

The stranger groans at the impact, but still gets up with a fist straight for Jeno’s gut. Watching Jeno take a blow is much more difficult than you had been expecting.

He crouches over from the punch, but quickly regains his composure to put the man in a headlock. A few more gasps erupt and wonder if you should stop him before he does something unnecessarily stupid. 

“This,” the man squirms to try to get out of Jeno’s iron grip, “is for disrespecting my babygirl.” And with a shift snap, the male falls limp and unconscious.

A surprised intake of air and Jeno peers up at your scared expression. He calmly walks over to you, ignoring the swarm of people that had gathered around the scene. He can only see one thing — you. Jeno’s wandering eyes try to read your expression, but all he sees is a terrified girl.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, are you okay, (Y/N)?” 

Blinking blankly for a few moments, you are mortified at the laying body, “what did you do to him?” 

Jeno looks back at the stranger casually, “I put him to sleep for a bit. He’ll wake up in about 20 minutes.”

A rush of reassurance washes over you knowing that he is alive and Jeno didn’t just kill someone in front of you. You exhale all the anxiousness and nerves, 

“thank you for stepping in.”

“I don’t fight without a good reason. You are more than a perfect reason to fight for.” He pinches your cheek cutely, and his tough exterior fades away yet again. 

His famous eye smile that warms your insides is back as if the scary, intimidating expression didn’t exist a few seconds ago. Jeno’s good sides only appear with you. Nevertheless, you are happy to know how special you are to see them. 

“Violence is never the answer.” He nods, only taking it for a grain of salt. “Are you okay? It looked like stringbean knocked some wind out of your gut.”

The teddy bear thrusts himself forward into a fit of laughter, his head resting on your lap. His melody lights every dark corner inside of you. “He did get a good punch in there, didn’t he?”

His rumbling laughter stops, and he peers up at you. “I can’t believe you were still worried about a complete asshole.” 

Scoffing, you break the shared gaze. “I’m a compassionate human being.” Jeno stands up, extending his hand for you to take.

“I know, you’re the best kind of person.” He genuinely means it with the way his tone remains quite stern, eye contact unwavering. He is revealing more of his intimate parts, and in return, you wish for him to see your’s. 

Silence drowns out all the commotion between you two. Jeno grows shy at the way the galaxies reflect in your stare. “I--” Never once, did you think you would witness Lee Jeno stammer over his words. “I-I, let’s-- I want to take you for a drive.” 

To Jeno, a drive to him is equivalent to your hand in marriage. Even his own girlfriend has never been on a drive with him. It is a big part of his personality, given that he is a crucial member of the Ridin’ Club. However, out of all of them, he is the last one to flaunt his hobby. It is special, almost sacred to his entire being. 

“Me?” It is the dumbest question to ask, but you really want to clarify his intentions. Before this night, you two were barely considered friends. You two never saw each other outside of the late night parties.

But now, Lee Jeno wants to take you on a drive. It makes you wonder if the desire of companionship is mutual, that he too pines to further your relationship.

“I’m not looking at anyone else,” Jeno still waiting for your hand and holding an intense eye contact. His heart lays exposed for you, just right on his sleeve. An innocence paints his usual intimidating aura, “let me show my special girl, what is special to me.” 

He must possess some magic because he knows every way to make you swoon. And like that, your palm meets his and he locks his fingers between yours. 

The moment you enter Jeno’s striking, eye catching car, you automatically relax into the leather seats. His pristine car matches his personality --- simple, but captivating. Your boyfriend’s car is the exact opposite, which is why you never enjoy sitting in it.

Jeno has pieces of himself that scatter his car, like an adorable small plushie that watches out the back window. A beaded lanyard dangles from his rear view mirror. It even matches his scent of a deep ocean breeze.

Unlike your boyfriend’s obnoxious details, Jeno did not have a light up stereo that flashed annoyingly to every beat drop in a song. Instead, a sweet lilac color illuminates at your feet, along with his. 

“You like what you see?” Jeno catches you astonish at the tiny aspects of the interior. 

“Of course, it’s yours. It’s exactly like how I would imagine it to be.” Jeno is proud, hearing you praise his car. Even he can admit, it is a bit weird to be so connected to an inanimate object.

Nevertheless, his car, racing, driving became a huge part of his life. And unlike his friends, he feels rather shy and slightly embarrassed for being such a geek. 

But hearing you actually appreciating the small details of his car when you probably hate every aspect of racing due to your boyfriend’s doing, it makes him feel very happy.

Maybe happy is an understatement, more like overjoy at how you freely can recognize the things that make him content. You respect him, and are mindful that as mundane as a car is, you know that it is something important to him.

Silence becomes the majority of the ride out of the quiet, suburban neighborhood. While Jeno’s eyes remain focused on the road ahead, you are concentrated on him.

He drives with one hand on the wheel as he rests his elbow on the middle console. His eyebrow creases here and there. It is the most normal, mundane activity anyone can do --- drive. That is all he is doing, yet the effect it suddenly has on you can not go unnoticed. 

Abruptly, with the rev of the engine and a press on the gas, the car practically flies on the empty freeway. It catches you off guard, causing you to hold onto the grab handle. Jeno peeks over at your shocked figure, and smiles to himself.

“Relax, (Y/N).” He calls your name, reaching over to rub your thigh as a way to calm your anxiousness. Automatically, your hand grips onto his for support and the other one drops from the handle. 

Exhaling, your eyes are trained ahead. The car is moving so fast that you can’t even make out anything around you. Everything becomes nothing, but colorful streaks against a dark background. The gravity against your chest feels crushing.

“How-- How fast are you going?” 

Jeno glances at the speedometer and intertwines your fingers into his own. “I don’t think I should tell you that, you might actually have a heart attack.” 

The window rolls down and you are hit with rumbling wind, “I know you’re scared right now, so stick your head out the window and take a deep breath.”

You look at him in pure fear, “what?! I can’t even move, let alone stick my head out the window!”

Jeno shakes his head, “trust me. Please, trust me.” He needs you to experience the same thrill he does. His own adrenaline is through the roof, out the entire atmosphere of the vehicle. The amount of joy he is experiencing became tenfold now that you are sitting beside him. 

You trust him and very meticulously, go against the wind. Your hair crazily dances along with the rush and your eyes water from being dried out. Adjusting to the pressure, you also stick your hand out the window. It whips backward, but you feel the wind slip between your fingers.

The rise in heartbeat and excitement pump through your veins. The beauty in the white streaks that create a runway, it is nothing but you and the open space. There is no other way to explore it, except at a high pace. You understand why Jeno loved it so much. 

Jeno bounces between the road and half of your figure out his window. Your eyes are closed initially, before you barely squint open. Tears fly by with strands of your hair, but you start to move your hand to physically feel the thrill pass between your fingers.

Then he sees it in the side mirror: the sweet curve in your lips he loves the most and the wideness of life in your eyes. It only makes him press the gas harder.

“That was incredible! You should take me riding with you more.” You marvel at him as he starts the route to your place. It is complete playfulness that hints in your tone because you are aware of how sacred these are to him. Nevertheless, a part of you still hopes he agrees to do so.

Jeno nods, “only because I like you,” He pauses, gauging your reaction with his side eye gaze, “a lot.”

Your heart sinks to an unsettling place in your stomach. Jeno could not possibly be serious, however, his tone no longer matches the playfulness of your own. It almost seems like he is telling the truth. But you didn’t want to believe that. 

Your eyes make a full circle before settling at the disappearing sidewalks, “stay in your lane, Jeno.” It is to keep the mood still light, you and Jeno aren’t ones to be serious. 

His hand has been on your thigh for the whole night, whether it be out of habit or comfort. His touch is always welcoming and warm, but suddenly, you feel the small squeeze on your flesh. Turning your attention on his face, you can see how a smirk has grown. 

“But yours seems much more fun.” Immediately, your stomach leaps with somersaults. Your throat gets dry and tight, not anticipating that response. 

“Beside, you can’t act like we both haven’t swerved. It was barely moments ago that you were cum---”

“---No need to further explain.” 

“And I’d proudly do it again.” His voice drops several decibels and his hand slowly snakes it’s way up your thigh. All the while, his eyes still on the road ahead.

You gulp as every heartbeat constricts your throat. Lifting the ends of your skirt higher to expose more, you secretly want Jeno to cause your legs to shake again. “D-Do what again?”

Jeno perks up to the sweetness of curiosity in your tone. He pulls up to a red stoplight, being able to finally look over to your innocent face and needy hands gripping the cute, thin fabric. He stares deeply into your eyes, “make my baby cum.” 

Similarly to the stoplight, you give Jeno the green light to pull your panties to the side. You spread your legs wide as his finger massages your pussy lips. He gets dangerously close to your erect clit, barely skimming over it. 

A needy, yet delicate moan escapes your lips and Jeno’s jaw tightens. He’s more upset that he’s missing the view of your legs spread, open mouth in ecstasy, half lid eyes all in the passenger seat of his car. He hopes for another red light, just so he can peek over at your delicious figure.

“Jeno, please touch me.” Your voice is airy and desperate. He hummed in response, completely withdrawing his hand from your core. However, you catch his wrist and bring it to rest on your inner thigh. “Please.” 

The distinct beg in your tone drives him crazy. As he dips his finger into your sudden wetness, a shiver runs up your spine. Right when he applies minimal pressure on your bundle of nerves, you jolt and close your thighs around his hand.

One touch already feels too good to be true, that finally someone, Lee fucking Jeno, is actually touching your nakedness. Peering down, Jeno’s arm is flexing in between your legs. His veins popping ever so slightly and his tattoos paint his smooth skin. 

“Open your legs, babe.” His low devilish chuckle rumbles in your lower abdomen. “Let me give you the lovin’ you’ve been deprived of.” 

You shudder at his cadence and slowly pry open your legs. Jeno stops at a red light and gets to see your reaction as he rubs you in a fast rhythmic pace. A soft cry yelps from your throat and you have to grip the handle to keep yourself from spazzing out any further. 

Almost like a trance, he doesn’t notice that the light turns green. He’s locked into the sight of your contorting body. Your hips have a mind of its own, yet again, as Jeno feels you rolling deeper into his touch.

“Poor baby, you’re so touch starved that you can’t control yourself.” 

“It feels better when you do it.” You whine, your lip being bruised from your biting. But your eyes notice the green illumination and you blink over at Jeno.

He is practically drooling at the sight of you, his eyes are trained at your needy hips and dripping wet core that soaks his fingers. You stop every urge to steal more kisses from him.

Jeno briefly recovers from the trance and steps on the gas. He takes this opportunity to ease a finger into the core, causing you to exclaim and squeeze around his digit. “Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” 

“More, Jeno.” The way his name rolls off of your tongue makes his heart flutter and his dick to raise in his jeans. Without much hesitation, he slowly slips in another finger and you moan at the stretch. Pumping and curling, he ensures that you are enjoying every action.

His fingers curl against your plushy flesh and your legs spread wider for him to go deeper. You’re a moaning mess when he curls up to your sweet spot, rubbing his fingertips quickly. The familiar queasy feeling builds in your lower regions, and Jeno becomes merciless with his fingers.

He guides them in and out of you, feeling your tightness release and invite him back in. The sloppy wet noises fill the car and drown out the engine. Your half lidded eyes bounce at Jeno’s unbothered figure and the entire scene seems absolutely unbelievable to you.

One hand on the wheel. The other knuckles deep in your pussy. Eyes focus on the road ahead. A comfortable man spread. His hair is messy from the long night.

It is all too unbelievable, that Jeno’s already giving you a second climax of the night when you could barely get one in a year before. And he loves touching you as much as he loves driving. 

However, the guilty raises as fast as the ball of tension in your gut. You two pull up in front of your apartment building, while Jeno’s tugging his fingers against your flesh aggressively. In a split second, you hold onto his wrist to stop him. 

He shifts into park when the car settles into a spot and peers over to you. A curious expression daunts onto him, rather concern that he might have been too much. “I’m starting to feel guilty.” 

Jeno nods, and retrieves his fingers out of your dripping core. The feeling of emptiness causes all the built up pressure to dissipate.

“I understand,” he begins, but pauses at the sight of your sticky juices glistening on his fingers. Your eyes widen as he licks them clean, a soft moan escaping from the back of his throat. 

The small action spikes your heart rate and you rub your legs together. With a pop! Jeno hums delightfully, “baby, you taste so good. I’m a little sad I won’t be tasting more, especially directly from the source.” His lustful eyes glance down at your thighs and back to your profile. 

“I’ll walk you up to your apartment.” He says way too casually, unbuckling his seat belt. A mixture of emotions are running through your head. There is guilt, but lust is too powerful to ignore, especially when it’s Lee Jeno. The damage is already done, right? It’s not like it wasn’t moments ago that you humped him in the middle of a party. 

“Wait,” your hands find themselves gripping onto his leather jacket tightly. Jeno gently reaches over to release your strong grip and replaces the leather with his hand. 

“Yes, babygirl?” Jeno’s round, friendly eyes meet yours. The lust clouded darkness is no longer there. His hand feels hot and somewhat rough. 

“I’m going to break up with my boyfriend, so promise me, you’re not going to dip out of my life afterwards… I don’t need you to be anything more than a friend. I just can’t lose you too.”

He turns around in his seat to face you comfortably. “I don’t think you’ve noticed, but I can’t stay away from you, let alone have the ability to leave you.” He reassures you with a soothing and calm tone. His thumb draws circles around your knuckles. “I’m always going to be your friend, whether or not I know how you taste.” 

“Do you still want to try it … you know, from the source?” You shyly ask, an innocence embodying your gaze and voice cadence.

Jeno raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. “I’d love to, only if you let me.” 

Instantly, you shift to get on your lower back. Jeno watches as you excitedly position yourself open for him and actually finds your eagerness quite adorable. Your left leg bends behind the driver’s seat and your right rests on the dashboard. 

He hooks his arms underneath your thighs to pull you forward towards him and your whole body slides against the leather. With a slow lift, your skirt reveals your drenched panties. Rolling them off and tossing them to the back seat, he lays eyes on your still dripping pussy. Jeno takes a second to admire your flower, this being his first time he’s seen such a private part of you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that right?” He chuckles deeply, before his tongue licks a long strip up to your clit. You exclaim out of the tingling pleasure that seized your insides.

He flattens his tongue against your bundle of nerves, flicking and circling. His finger enters your pussy again, curling up to rub at the same pace he is licking. The pure sight of Jeno’s head in between your legs is enough for butterflies to explode. 

His sole motive is to make you feel good. There is nothing else in the world that he wants at this moment beside pleasure to overtake your body. Jeno eats you out like he hasn’t had a meal in months. His mouth wraps around your clit. The mixture of his flicks and sucks cause electric bolts to run down your legs. 

You get more wet as Jeno pumps his finger in and out of your hole. Your juices are practically dripping onto the interior of the car, but Jeno doesn’t care.

He fucking loves it. He loves the taste of you lingering on his tongue. Your breathless moans. Your waterfall dripping on uncontrollably. The view of you unwinding because of him. Nothing can be more perfect. 

Running your hands through his messy locks, you press him closer into you. A devilish smile draws on his face as he flicks his tongue side to side. “Oh, fuck! I’m.. so c--close.” 

Your back arches upward into Jeno’s mouth, feeling his muscle lick harder and faster on your throbbing clit. He adds a second finger, and the simultaneous stimulation practically throws you into another dimension. The pleasure overtakes your entire lower half, your legs trembling from pure ecstasy as you approach your orgasm.

“Don’t stop, I’m going to---” Then, Jeno pulls away and shoves his tongue into your warmth. A gasp hits the air as he also continues to rub circles on your sensitive nerves. His tongue fucked your pussy incredibly skillfully and deliciously. With this switch, your legs violently shake and try clamping together.

However, his strength holds you wide and open for display. A low grunt follows suit as his dark eyes zone in on your contoured facial expressions. Then, the white light blind you once again and the ball of tension unravels itself on Jeno’s tongue. Squirming and screaming, your hips buck forward on their own. 

It is close to being too catastrophic, this being the most intense orgasm you’ve had after a whole year. Nevertheless, the satisfaction is right on the tips of your toes and you greedily indulge in the euphoric moment. Jeno feels your walls squeeze around his muscle as he laps every last bit of you up.

He is absolutely addicted to your juices, making sure he catches every drop. Finally pulling away, he wipes the extra drip on the back of his hand. Jeno blinks at your raising chest and limp legs. Chuckling, his warm hand massages feeling back into your body.

“Do you want me to carry you back up?” His hoarse, raspy voice wakes you from your post orgasm daydream. You flutter your lashes at him fondly and happily nod at his offer. 

Getting out of the car, Jeno walks over to the passenger side and your arms rest nicely around his neck. His palms support your butt, but also smoothing your skirt over to cover your decency. A poke against your outer thigh makes you realize that Jeno is strained against his jeans.

“I can take care of you too.” You pout cutely at Jeno, but he shakes his head.

“It’s not about me tonight. It’s about you.” Leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, his eyes turn into moon crescents from his lovable smile. The kind, friendliness makes an appearance again.

Or so you think! In a sheer second, Jeno’s deep voice rumbles your stomach and his hooded eyes pierce your soul, “next time though, I’m fucking you real good, babe.” 

You hum in response. Saliva collects in your mouth, already looking forward to more of Jeno. But a chilly draft brushes up your exposed area as Jeno carries you up the flight of stairs.

“Wait, Jeno… I don’t have my underwear on.” The ‘Level 3’ sign is in view as Jeno turns to walk. 

He only laughs and shrugs nonchalantly, “it’s better that way anyways.” Without another word, he continues upward to your floor and you playfully punch his solid chest. In all honesty, that’s not going to be the only time you leave behind your panties in his beloved car. 

Your hatred for the notorious Ridin’ Club subside after such a wild night. If anything, you owe it all to your shitty ex-boyfriend for joining such a ridiculous club. Without him and the club’s existence, who knows if Lee Jeno would’ve still swerve into your lane. 

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,249)

(first part) (third part) (fourth part)

——————–

Part Two

He tries to pen a letter to Phil. It’s more difficult than he remembers.

Dear Phil, he starts, and that’s good, that’s fine. All is well here in L’Manberg, he continues, and that’s good too. But from there, he’s stumped. What next? What does he tell him about? This is the part where he’d launch into a cute story, something Fundy got up to, or some trouble Tommy caused. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway. But the last letter he sent to Phil was—a month ago? Two, now? So he needs to write, because Phil’s far from a helicopter parent, but he still likes to know what he’s up to. Will still worry, if he gives him a reason to.

So, he needs to finish a letter. Needs to stop procrastinating.

He could write about Niki’s bakery. He can’t remember if he told Phil about it or not. He probably hasn’t, not if it’s truly been that long since his last missive. So he sets his pen to work, scratching out a few more sentences, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t need to be overly verbose. Phil doesn’t need an essay. Just a paragraph or two to assure him that he and everyone else are well, that he’s having fun, that he’s thriving.

Telling him about the bakery will work for that. Except, then, after a bit, he ends up writing, It eases my mind to visit. Truly, it’s one of the only places I let myself relax, and—no. No, that won’t do. That will make him sound as though he’s stressed, and he doesn’t want Phil to worry about that. There’s nothing Phil can do about it, and he couldn’t stand it if the admission led his father to think any less of him. He’s not going to—to start complaining to him. That would be ridiculous.

So he scratches the line out and continues on, except then, he writes, I worry that I’m shirking my responsibilities, but then, I’m probably doing that anyway, simply by virtue of not being, and he stops before he can finish that sentence, because, no. Simply, no. He is absolutely not telling Phil that.

He bites his lip. He’s already scratched out enough that he’ll probably need to start an entirely new draft anyway.

He sets the tip of the pen to paper.

I’m exhausted, he writes, but my mind won’t allow me to rest. Too many shadows in too many dark corners, I suppose. Too many thoughts circling. It’s like a hurricane in my head, and I should be in the eye, but I think the storm wall has caught me. I’m tossing in the air, at the wind’s mercy, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I ever assumed that I did. And I feel afraid, because my inadequacies are failing everyone around me. I have to protect them, have to keep them safe, but sometimes I close my eyes and see everything aflame, or I see Dream and his friends flooding into the Final Control Room. We were betrayed, there. I’ve never told you this, but we all lost a life. Me, Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Somehow, I never thought that dying would be terrifying for me, considering who my mother is, but it is. I was so scared, and I still am.

I think I’m a disappointment. I think that if this country fails, it will be my fault, and it will only be right if I go down with it. My people have little faith in me, and they’re right not to, but I can’t bring myself to step down, because at the end of the day, I’m addicted to the power and responsibility. I’m nothing without it. If I can’t manage this, then how can I deserve the trust and faith that others have placed in me?

Most days, I think that everyone hates me. Most days, I think they’re right to do so. I can’t trust anyone. Not completely, not fully, no matter how much I love them. I feel very alone.

He stops writing. Reads it over. Feels his lips quirk up into a wry smile. He’s certainly not sending that.

But the smile fades away after a moment. He supposes that he hoped writing it all out would make him feel better, but if anything, he feels more tired. Drained. Wrung out. Blank.

He fishes around for a new, unmarred sheet of paper.

Dear Phil, he writes, All is well here in L’Manberg. The city is thriving, and my people are well. I really do want you to visit sometime—but not yet, of course! We’ve been having a spot of trouble with creeper holes lately, and I don’t want that to be your first impression. Between you and me, it’s just a little bit embarrassing.

It’s been a while since I last wrote. I do apologize for that; I don’t know where the time goes. There’s always so much to be doing, and I’m more and more thankful for this chance every day. It’s a lot of fun, having a country of our own, and we’re all working to make it as good as it can be. You should see Niki’s bakery—you haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve tasted something Niki’s baked, I swear. She’s a goddess, really, an essential pillar of our society. Baked goods make the world go round.

Tommy and Tubbo are well, and getting into just as much trouble as usual. Fundy grows up more and more every day. I’m so proud of them all.

Be careful of undead infants, and tell Technoblade I said hello, if you get the chance.

All love,

Wilbur

He sets down his pen and rereads. He’s satisfied with that, and more importantly, Phil will be as well. Now all that’s left is to let the ink dry and—

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, opening the door to his office without knocking. He startles, violently. “How’re things coming?”

His heart shouldn’t be racing. It’s just Tubbo. But he came in without warning, which is—irritating. It’s irritating. That’s what it is. He feels himself flushing, just slightly, but surely it’s annoyance.

“There’s a lot of ‘things’ you could be referring to,” he says. “Are you going to be a little more specific?”

“Nah,” Tubbo says, meandering further into the room. But it’s not a regular meander, it’s a Tubbo sort of meander, which means that he’s here for a purpose. He just doesn’t want to reveal it just yet, or perhaps he’s figuring out how he wants to approach it. “Just wanted to know about general things. Big, vast things. Deep things.”

“Deep things,” he repeats, nodding. “Not much of that going on at the moment. Not a lot of deep things in paperwork.” He pulls the nearest sheet of paper closer to him; technically, that’s what he ought to be doing, not writing letters to a father that’s worlds away. He scans the words; it looks like something complicated about trade, something that sets his head to pounding already. The words swim, like they’re dancing, like they’re taking glee in the way he can’t comprehend them.

“I thought there were lots of deep things in paperwork,” Tubbo says, and he looks back up. “I thought that’s why the print is always so small.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“It makes sense to me,” Tubbo says. “Wilbur, is your hair really white?”

He freezes. “What?”

“Niki said that your hair is turning white,” Tubbo says. “Like an old man’s.”

Anger flares. He thought—he didn’t like that she found out about it, but he at least thought he could trust her with it. Thought that she would keep it to herself, that she wouldn’t let it spread to others, to others that might take it and try to use it as a knife to his jugular. But here is Tubbo, and Tubbo is so obviously staring at his hair, eyes flicking across his forehead and around his ears, and he won’t see anything. He double-checked when he arrived at the office; all of the white is under his hat. But he doesn’t like that Tubbo is looking, that Tubbo is actively trying to see, that Tubbo is treating him like some kind of curiosity, and that Tubbo surely must have some sort of opinion and that opinion cannot be anything but—

“Niki said that hair can turn grey or white if a person is very stressed,” Tubbo says, casually. “Are you very stressed, Wilbur?”

Oh—oh, fuck. Is that actually a thing that happens?

“I told her, it was a bad dye job,” he mutters, glancing back down at his paper. The words remain incomprehensible, but he’s not focusing on it. He nudges his pen with his finger, latching onto the light clicking sound it makes as it rolls and then comes to rest.

“Yeah?” Tubbo asks doubtfully. “What, were you trying to dye your hair white?”

He grits his teeth. “Was there something you needed, Tubbo?”

“Nothing I needed, really,” Tubbo answers. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been doing. Seems like forever since you came out of this office. Do you live in here now or something?” He keeps talking before Wilbur can reply, which is just as well, since he might as well live here, considering the state of his room. “And I think I’ve got a new design for a TNT cannon. Kind of streamlined, you might say, if you wanted to check it out. But I think you should just come and hang out with me and Tommy sometime. You never really do that anymore.”

He has a few feelings about TNT cannons. He doesn’t think about TNT too often, because when he does, his mind fills with fire and smoke, and his heart starts beating faster, climbing into his throat, and he wants to run, wants to run far and fast and away, wants to sit and shake until his body can’t move anymore, even when he knows very well that nothing around him is exploding, that his country is secure and his friends are safe. But some days, he can’t so much as smell smoke without a memory rising up to overwhelm him.

Once, he found himself zoning out in the middle of a conversation, a nearby campfire taking him far away from himself, and be barely returned in time to cover for his lapse.

He’s not a fan of TNT cannons, and he can’t bring himself to pretend to be, not even for the sake of Tubbo’s enthusiasm. And—

Hanging out with him and Tommy sounds nice. He misses them, he admits, and some part of him misses the old days, the first days and weeks and months on the server, when it was them and a dream and his fingers dancing on the frets of his guitar, his voice strong and steady and hopes high on the wind, words ready at his lips and Tommy a force of chaos at his back and Tubbo clever and quick by his side, and he just—misses it. Misses them. Misses it all, misses the days before so much was riding on his shoulders.

But he hasn’t the time.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he says, and tries on a smile. “I’m a bit busy right now. Take a rain check?”

“Sure,” Tubbo says, and shrugs. “Later, then. You say that a lot, though, do you know that?”

He winces. Tubbo smiles. He means no harm. Probably. He thinks he would know if Tubbo meant him harm.

And then, Tubbo leaves, and the tension leaves him all in a rush, leaving him—exhausted. Exhausted, and near tears, for some reason, but he blinks those back. That can wait. He doesn’t cry in his office. That’s unprofessional; anyone could walk in on him, and then where would he be?

What was he doing before Tubbo came in?

Right. The letter. He glances it over, scoops it up, and tucks it away in an envelope. He’ll chuck it at the next crow he sees.

---

It’s Tommy who barges in next, a day later, though at least this time, he’s somewhat expecting it. Because if Tubbo knows, then Tommy knows. That is simply the way of the world. He has a difficult time imagining anything ever coming between those two, even information that would be better kept to oneself.

“Why the fuck is Tubbo going on about your hair, then?” Tommy says, with no preamble, and despite himself, Wilbur smiles. That’s Tommy, all the subtlety of a charging bull. And the question is just as irritating as it was yesterday when it came from Tubbo, but he’s more prepared for it this time. He looks up from his work—work that he’s actually doing, at the moment, and he feels rather proud of himself for it—and meets Tommy’s gaze squarely.

“I’ve had an unfortunate encounter with some hair dye,” he says. “The hair dye won.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy says, but there’s already a laugh in his eyes. Good. Tommy is fairly easily deflected, he’s learned. Because Tommy looks up to him, he knows, and that means he’ll willfully look away from any evidence suggesting that perhaps he is not worthy of admiration after all.

It makes him sick, the way he’s thinking about it. Makes him feel like he’s using Tommy, somehow, taking advantage of his affection, when really, that’s the last thing he wants to do. Tommy is his little brother, his little brother by choice, by years spent on the road together, by hushed conversations in the dead of night as the stars bear witness, by all the little intricacies they’ve learned about each other as time continues to pass. Tommy is his little brother, which means it’s his job to protect him, as best he can. He’s done a piss-poor job of that lately. Tommy only has one life left now.

So he can’t fail him again. And perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want Tommy to think he’s failed, either. If it ever turns out that Tommy hates him, he thinks it might kill him.

“Can I see?” Tommy asks, and he prepared for this, too, braced for it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sweeps his hat off his head and angles his face forward, letting Tommy take a good look.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Very impressively,” he says, and puts his hat back on. He’s sure to tuck all the white back under it. It’s a practiced motion, by now. “Or perhaps not very impressively, as it were.”

“Well, it looks sick,” Tommy says, and Wilbur glances at him immediately. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He seems almost—impressed? But he sees him looking right away, and immediately backtracks. “Sick as in disgusting, obviously. It makes you look old. Like an old, old man.”

Tommy’s joking, of course, is all bluster and smoke, no fire. But something in his chest stings, and he realizes that the words hurt, and more than that, they hurt because it’s an echo of what he tells himself. He doesn’t like to look in the mirror anymore—though he never did to begin with, actually—but he is well aware of what he looks like. The white hair is just one more symbol of his failing faith, his lack of ability to handle the job that he set himself out to take in the first place. He should be able to do this, and yet, he can’t, and the white hair—well.

After what Tubbo said, it can only mean that he’s weak. Physical proof of his incompetence. That’s really the only way to look at it.

“Shut the fuck up, child,” he says. “Why don’t you go and find a juice box to drink?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tommy says, and the song and dance is familiar. Tommy rolls his eyes at him—the disrespect in this house is unbelievable—but he turns to go, and that means that Wilbur’s won.

What he’s won, he doesn’t know. Some more self-disgust, maybe. That’s what it feels like.

Lying to Niki. Lying to Tubbo. And now, lying to Tommy. What a stunning specimen of humanity he is. Working through them all like he has a checklist.

And then, Tommy stops in the doorway and looks back.

“Wilbur?” he asks. “You really are alright, aren’t you?”

And that gives him pause. Tommy’s not supposed to ask him that question. If anything, he’s the one who’s supposed to be asking Tommy that.

“It’s just that,” Tommy continues, “I don’t see you around so much, these days. Except for when there’s a problem, and you come out to try and solve it with, with your words and shit. Diplomatic shit, innit? You do that, but you don’t just—you never come to just spend time with us anymore, like how it used to be. And I just sort of miss that, you know? So I was thinking that maybe we could try and do that again, sometime soon? Just, hanging out, like the good old days?”

The good old days.

He doesn’t quite have the heart to tell Tommy that the good old days are long over, that they have been long over since the day Sapnap came to arrest them all for starting a drug empire and the forest around them was set ablaze, since the day they declared independence from the Dream SMP, since the day he in all his naivety declared that all they had to do was ignore the conflict and it would pass them by, since the day he was proven so very, very wrong. Since the day he learned that as much as he values his words, his diplomacy, his efforts toward nonviolence, some people only recognize power in iron and steel.

Since the day he watched his men, his comrades, his family die around him, and knew that he led them to that fate. Since the day Tommy traded his life and then his discs for their independence, and he knew that he couldn’t do a thing to help.

The good old days are long gone. The good old days belong to a different version of him, one that was young and hopeful and stupid, one that had no idea what he was getting into. And he likes to think that he’s still hopeful, that he still strives for a better future, but—

He’s learned. Nothing comes easy, here. There will be no more halcyon summers. The days are getting colder, and there will be no more rest.

“Sure,” he says, and this lie tastes far more bitter than all the rest. “I’d like that.” He gestures at his desk. “I’ve been really busy, but I would like to spend time with you. I’ll let you know when I can, alright?”

And Tommy believes him. He sees it in his answering smile, and he hates himself.

“Sounds good, big man,” Tommy says. “See you later then, yeah?”

“See you later,” Wilbur agrees, and then Tommy, too, is gone. He’s alone in his office, with his duties and his thoughts, and neither of them are kind.

Not that he thinks himself deserving of much kindness.

---

He waits two weeks before visiting the bakery again. It’s not completely intentional; he doesn’t have much time to get away anyhow. But part of it certainly is. He doesn’t want to come again so soon, doesn’t want to know how Niki’s going to look at him, doesn’t want her to poke and prod at something that isn’t important, that is a minor, irritating detail. He doesn’t want to discuss it, and he thinks that Niki might try, so he stays away.

But not forever. He can’t bring himself to take so drastic a step, even if his visits are a bit of a distraction. One that, perhaps, he can’t really afford.

So he steps inside and immediately wants to backtrack, because Niki’s not the only one here. Fundy and Jack Manifold are both sat at the counter, and both of them are looking at him now, having swiveled in their seats to watch his entrance. And that means he can’t leave, because if he leaves without saying anything, they’ll ask him why he did that, and he’ll have to make up something to avoid admitting that he’s been a little bit terrified of interacting with people lately. Because absolutely no one can know that.

Because it’s stupid. Pathetic. He’s pathetic, and he’s become quite accustomed to that word. It seems to live in his head now, like it’s made a nest in his brain, a little roost. Pathetic. Everything he does feels pathetic to him, and probably to everyone else around him.

“Oh,” Jack Manifold says. “Hi, Wilbur. Didn’t expect you in.”

Fundy doesn’t say anything. Just blinks at him, tail swishing. He finds that he doesn’t know what to say. But he needs to think of something, some reason for being here, and if he can manage it, some excuse for extricating himself quickly. The silence has gone on just a little too long, and he’s been standing in the doorway for a full five seconds now, and he needs to come in completely because it’s weird, what he’s doing, and they’re going to call him on it.

And then, Niki pops her head between the two of them, leaning far over the counter, resting practically all of her weight on it.

“Wil!” she says, and smiles. “I’m glad you came! I’m making honey bread, and I know you like that.”

And just like that, he relaxes. Not completely, but to ask that of him would be to expect the impossible. It’s enough.

“I do,” he agrees, and steps further in, letting the door close behind him. “Seems I have good timing.”

The tension in the air—imagined or real? He’s not sure—dissipates. Jack grins at him, raising a glass of—probably not alcohol? He doesn’t think Niki keeps alcohol stocked in here, or at least, none other than the cooking variety. Might be milk. And Fundy still doesn’t say anything, but his tail keeps twitching, and his eyes keep darting between him and the empty stool next to him, and he really hopes that’s an invitation, because that’s how he’s going to take it.

He slides onto the seat, letting his coat fall behind him. His hat, he keeps on. He’s not laying his face on the counter today. Not with other people here. He probably wouldn’t have anyway, tempting though it is. He always feels sleepier in here. It’s probably the warmth.

But he won’t fall asleep.

Niki’s gone back over to the ovens, inspecting her bread. He can smell it on the air, fresh and sweet, and his stomach twists. Has he eaten today? He’s not sure that he has. Though he definitely did yesterday—evening. He thinks. Definitely. A couple apple slices shoved in his mouth, swallowed without really tasting them. But it counts.

“What have you two been up to lately?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not too much,” Jack Manifold answers easily. “Mostly been hanging around Tommy and Tubbo. Getting into mischief, you might say. Nothing too serious or anything!” he is quick to add, seemingly remembering exactly who he’s talking to. “Nothing—I mean, nothing illegal, no, sir. Not us. But, you know, it’d probably be best not to share the details.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Fair enough,” he says. “As long as it’s not something that I’m going to have to clean up later.”

“We’ve already cleaned up,” Jack says.

“Good.” He looks at Fundy, and affection blooms in his chest, sudden, almost overpowering. His boy’s grown up of late. He can barely remember it happening. It seems that only yesterday he came up knee-high, and now, he’s a man in his own right. But still his little champion, always. “How about you? I know we haven’t been fishing yet. I’m sorry—you know that’s the first thing on my list when I finally get a bit of time.”

Fundy glances away. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been fine.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and Niki saves him from having to say anything else—though why he thinks of it as a rescue, he isn’t sure—by walking back over and placing some bread on the counter before them.

“Fresh from the oven,” she says, “so it’s hot. Be careful.”

It smells nothing short of divine. Niki smiles, pleased, as Fundy and Jack reach for a piece right away, and he isn’t far behind them. Though he tries to be a little more neat about it than the other two are being. The way they’re digging in, he’d think that they’re starving. Frankly, he can’t blame them for it, not when it’s Niki’s food on the line, but he still tries to have a bit more decorum.

“Niki,” Jack says, mouth full, “you are an angel among mere mortals.” Fundy doesn’t say anything, but his tail is swishing happily.

Niki rolls her eyes, and takes a bit of bread for herself. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonishes. “But thank you, Jack.” And then, her gaze drifts to him, and he finds himself stiffening. For no reason. It’s Niki. It’s just Niki. He trusts Niki. She’s basically his best friend, and he’s comfortable here. He is. This is a place of safety, as much as there are such places to be found. Safety, true safety, is not a thing that exists, not really. But here is as close as he can get to it.

Why can’t he let himself unwind?

Is it because Jack and Fundy are here? He hopes not; that wouldn’t be fair to them. They are his countrymen, his citizens, and more than that, Fundy is his son. What would that say about him as a parent, if being around his child makes him nervous? Not just nervous in a I-hope-I-don’t-fuck-up-my-kid way, but in a I-don’t-feel-safe-here way?

But his shoulders are stiff, slightly hunched. He can’t force them down. So he has to hope it’s not too obvious, that the lines of his coat disguise the hard set of his posture, a stance that indicates he thinks there’s a threat, if they know how to read him right. Which they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t.

“How about you, Wil?” Niki asks, and he takes another bite of bread. Small, so as not to get crumbs everywhere, and he swallows before answering.

“It’s as good as always,” he says. “Do I have to say it?” Though it sits heavier in his stomach than usual, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m glad,” she says. “It’s been a little while since the last time I saw you. You are eating properly, right?”

It’s concern, not an accusation, no matter how misplaced. The question shouldn’t raise his hackles. But it does, and all that’s left is to keep it from showing, to keep it from his voice.

“Of course I am,” he says, and before he can get anything else out, Jack laughs.

“Wouldn’t do to have our president starving on us,” he says, and his voice is light, full of laughter, joking. It’s a good thing that Jack feels comfortable enough to joke with him. He’s glad, because—he doesn’t know him all that well, definitely doesn’t trust him, not yet, but Tommy and Tubbo seem to like him, so it’s good that he’s fitting in, that he’s found a place, that he likes it here. Though liking isn’t always enough to stop the betrayal before it comes. He ought to keep a closer eye on him, just in case, but—that wasn’t the point of this.

The point is that, joking or not, Jack is completely right. It wouldn’t do to let his eating habits interfere with his duties. He’s already weak; is he going to add malnutrition on top of that? Never mind that he often doesn’t feel like eating, these days, that he really only has an appetite when he’s here, in the bakery. He needs to keep his strength up so that he can get things done. And he can’t force himself to sleep, so that problem is out of his hands, but he can force himself to eat.

Jack couldn’t have known what he was prodding at, of course, when he made the comment. But he takes another bite of bread anyway. It’s tough to swallow, even though it tastes delicious. He doesn’t know why. He’s never had an issue eating Niki’s food before. He hopes this doesn’t become a pattern.

And he hopes it’s not because there’s other people here. It would be an explanation, at least, but not one he likes. The implications there wouldn’t be—good, to say the least.

“Jack,” Niki says quietly, admonishingly, and he wishes she wouldn’t, because he doesn’t want Jack to examine what he’s just said, to analyze it as anything other than a joke. So he musters a smile, a quirk of an eyebrow, and Jack grins back at him.

Safe territory. Level ground, even footing. Relatively speaking.

And then Fundy pipes up.

“Hey, Wil,” he says, and Wilbur wonders, suddenly, where he picked up the habit of calling him ‘Wil’ or ‘Wilbur’ more often than he calls him ‘dad’. Not that he minds it, but it’s curious. Could it be from him? He himself calls Phil by his name more often than not. Perhaps it’s genetic. But then Fundy continues, “Is your hair actually, like, turning white?” and Wilbur is no longer interested in thinking about little details like that.

He’s tense again. Tense enough now that they can probably see it, even without looking too hard.

“Why is everyone so interested in my hair, lately?” he asks. “It’s just hair. Grows out of everyone’s head. Except for yours, Jack Manifold.”

“Point,” Jack Manifold agrees, but there is a gleam in his eyes, behind his glasses, that says he too is interested in the direction this conversation has taken. Not ideal.

“It’s just that,” Fundy persists, “it’s a little bit weird, right? If it’s turning white like that? Is that normal?”

“It’s not ‘turning white,’” he says, which might be a mistake, because he’s lying through his teeth, now. “It was a bad hair dye incident. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Jack laughs. “How’d you manage to fuck up hair dye that badly?” he asks, and the way the question is phrased is irritating; he doesn’t want Jack to start thinking he’s an incompetent fool who can’t dye his own hair properly. But he’ll also take this line of questioning over the other, so perhaps it balances out.

Except then, Niki splays both her hands on the counter. Any earlier levity that she had is now gone.

“Is that so?” she says. “That’s not what you told me.”

His heart is pounding again. He really, really hopes that he’s not developing a condition of some kind. He’d know if he were having a heart attack, wouldn’t he?

“I’m pretty sure that is what I told you,” he says, and Niki shakes her head.

“No, you told me that it wasn’t dye, when I asked,” she says. “And then you said that it was, but you were lying.”

She doesn’t sound angry, which is perhaps the worst thing about all of this. She doesn’t sound angry that he’s lied to her, taken advantage of her trust and fed her a blatant falsehood. Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that isn’t annoyance or betrayal or any of the other emotions she should be feeling. Instead, it’s concern. That blasted concern again.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Really?” Jack says. “Huh. Well, what’d you do that for, then?”

He’s changed his mind. The worst thing about all of this is that there are other people present. That he’s not alone with Niki, which would still be an undesirable situation, but manageable. Jack Manifold and Fundy are both here, staring at him, expecting answers that he doesn’t want to give, and Fundy—

Why is his son looking at him like that?

“Why are you all so pressed about my hair?” he demands. “It’s hair. You don’t even see it.”

“I mean,” Fundy says, “like I said, it’s just kind of weird, right? I don’t think hair just turns white for no reason. Not unless you’re really old, which you’re not, I don’t think. So I guess we’re just curious about what the reason is.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. This isn’t why he came here. This place, this bakery, these people, it’s supposed to be an escape from his responsibilities. The only one he allows himself, even though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s the one place where he doesn’t have to think about his own failings, where he can relax a bit and let himself be, if only for a little while, but here they are, pushing him on this, and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be reminded of his incompetency. And they don’t know, can’t know exactly what they’re doing to him, but—

He slams his hand against the counter, sudden emotion boiling over. They all jump, the three of them. Niki’s eyes widen, and Fundy’s ears press back against his skull.

“Then don’t be,” he snaps. “Leave it the fuck alone. It’s really none of your business, is it?”

There is a moment of silence. The only sound is the crackling of furnaces.

“I guess not,” Fundy mutters, and he realizes what he’s done.

He’s just snapped, lashed out at his friends, his countrymen, his son, and for what? Because their questions are stressing him out? He should have turned around and left the moment he saw them in here, no matter what they would have thought, because this is worse. This is so much worse than that, and now he feels like an absolute shitstain of a human being. What kind of person gets so fucking upset over questions about his hair?

“I’m sorry,” he says. Too little, too late. “I didn’t mean—” Fundy is looking at him. They all are, and suddenly, he can’t bear it. Not any longer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I really should be going. Thank you for the bread, Niki.”

It’s painfully transparent, and he is very aware of the fact that it’s the exact same way that he rushed out of the bakery when he was last here. Except this time, there are more people here to witness his shame.

History repeats itself, he thinks, bitterly. History repeats itself, and it only gets worse.

But he’s not staying here. He can’t. He just—can’t. Because he feels very upset over such a stupid little thing, and he’s upset that he’s upset, and now he’s upset other people, and he can’t stay here any longer, because if he does, the gods only know what’s going to fly out of his mouth next.

“Wil, please stay,” Niki says, but he’s already standing.

“Be seeing you all,” he says, and the door isn’t far, but it feels like miles, because he can feel their stares burning into his back as he makes his exit.

“Aw, wait, Wilbur, you don’t have to—” Jack starts, but he’s out the door. He’s out the door, and he lets it swing shut behind him, and the words cut off. He doesn’t have to listen to them. So if Fundy says anything, he doesn’t hear it, and he wonders why that makes him feel so much worse. Worse than he does already, which is no mean feat.

His stomach growls. He’s hungry. How many bites of bread did he take? Two? Three? Not enough to be filling. But somehow, he already knows that if he seeks food elsewhere, it will turn to ash in his mouth. And he can’t go back, not after the scene he’s just made, so he’s going to have to be hungry. Which is fine. He’s fine. He’s fine, even though he’s just fucked everything up, and he rather thinks he might not be able to show Niki his face ever again. So, no more bakery. No more safe place, and wow, he is being a dramatic fuck, isn’t he? But he can’t help himself. He never can.

He should have known better from the start. There is no such thing as safety. No exceptions. He should have tried harder to remember that. And he’s not angry, not anymore, not really, because they weren’t aware of the hornets’ nest they were stirring up; rather, he’s angry at himself, for losing control, for letting himself react, for not being able to handle a simple question with the poise and calm that is expected of him as president.

For being weak. That’s what it comes down to. His weakness. Persistent, and now, persistently on display.

He does a lot of screaming into his pillow that night. It doesn’t help. And sleep, it seems, is determined to continue its avoidance, so the night stretches long, and even his tears eventually run dry.

---

The next day, Niki comes to his office.

[suicidalslasher]

𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒚 ➤ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆

Here's one of three Carrie White fics!! :D This is honestly short and sweet, plus simple... compared to the other two. But.... it's here and I'm very much happy with the way it came out. I hope you all enjoy it, as well.

Although, the gif is of Sissy, you can pretend it's either version of Carrie.

(Chloe or Angela's. I, personally, just prefer Sissy's. Although, I love all three.) And despite it being Sissy, too, I took inspiration from the (2002) adaption with Angela whereas Carrie never died in the accident of her house.

Instead, she lives and runs away. And yadda yadda. Enjoy!! xx

Warnings: None. Unless you count fluff and love confessions UwU.

“I know she was your friend but c’mon, (Y/N). She was nothing more than a piece of shit… Grow up. Move on.”

“She was a monster, (Y/N). Do you really think she wasn’t? After all she had done? She destroyed everything and hurt so many people… she killed several hundred people, too… if that isn’t a cruel, heartless bitch, I don’t know who or what is.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re just like her…. are you a demon in disguise, too, (Y/N)?”

They said the same exact thing. The statements were always said by different people but the topic of the subject remained the same - Carrie White.   Carrie White was the devil. So on and so forth…

It was a constant reminder she no longer was here with us - with me.  

 The tragedy that struck on prom  night wasn’t my fault. Nor, was it Carrie’s.

Carrie had so much anger built up within her, she was bound to explode with rage eventually. And that day just so happened to unravel at the dance. All thanks to the students (and some teachers) of Bates High.

They constantly bullied Carrie for no real given reason, they harassed her for things she couldn’t quite control, either.  Not me, though.

I’m not crazy, even if there are people that  say I am and even if there are those that put words in my mouth I never said to begin with, too -

It’s not true.

None of it is true.

Everything you’ve read about Carrie White is false. Everything you’ve, more than likely, heard about her is furthest from the truth, also.

She’s not a monster. She never was one. She was just an ordinary girl, begging to be loved,  to be happy. And I loved her.

I just… I wish more than anything she realized how much I loved her.  I was in love with Carrie White, truly, madly, deeply…. in love with her.

And nobody could ever change how I felt - how I feel - towards her.

The night I was going to confess my feelings, believe it or not, was before the dance. Before everything happened.

The moment I arrived to the dance, well…by then, it was too late.   I hadn’t known it yet but almost everyone  was trapped inside the gymnasium, nails digging through the doors as they tried - and failed - to escape.

Their blood curling whines and agonizing moans were silenced by the music that played out on the speakers which echoed outside of the windows and bounced back and forth from the building to the parking lot.

I didn’t realize something terrible had happened until I smelled an intoxicating scent that caused my eyes to blur over with tears and caused me to grimace as the odor only grew stronger, thicker.

I winced and gazed around the parking lot which still remained full of different colored vehicles.     Confusion struck but after a moment or two later, realization hit like a ton of bricks.

From where I had stood, I saw a huge  cloud of gray smoke lingering around the building, only growing more and more thicker in the sky.

When I first arrived, the sky was crystal clear.  Not a single   speck of white was seen from above.   Now, that beautiful shade of blue was replaced with dark and haunting clouds of gray.

Even the moon was no longer hanging in the air for the smoke had it hidden.

The odor that swarmed the air, I realized, was people’s flesh burning.   One by one, people within the school were dying and suffocating to death.

Call me whatever you wish, as I’ve been called every name in the book, but I mean it when I say that I could care less  about the students and teachers of Bates High. If that made me an insensitive bitch, so be it.

The only reason I even attempted to try to get inside the building was because I remembered Carrie had gone to the dance with Tommy Ross.  And I’d do anything to save her.

Expect… I couldn’t.

Every area of the school was locked. Every entrance and exit doors were shut tightly. No matter how hard I tried to open them,  the damned thing wouldn’t budge.

I even tried to go through the windows but they were shut, too. There was nothing I could do.

Nothing expect fall to the ground and bury my face in my hands as tears began to fall, one by one, a tear dropped and soaked my hands and stained my cheeks.

Everyone said prom was a night to remember… but I doubt anyone wanted to remember their prom like this.

*~*

The following week after the incident, I heard a knock at my door. Slowly making my way out of bed, I walk down my too small and narrow hallway and open the door once I’ve reached the entrance,  glancing at the  person behind the screen door.

Sue Snell stood there, hands in her pocket and a look of sadness painted across her face.

“(Y/N),” She began.  “Can…. can we talk?”

“About what?” I snarled, not caring if I came off as rude or ignorant or any other definition.  I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to sleep and never wake up. I already knew where the conversation was going and what the main subject was going to be about. And I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s about last week…  It’s…. it’s about Carrie.”

“I already know. She’s dead, okay? She’s dead and she isn’t going to come back, you don’t have to remind me.” I go to shut the door but Sue sticks her foot out and stops me from doing so. I narrow my eyebrows at her and give her a questioning gaze.

“Please…” She but all begged. “Tonight. Meet me at her headstone, tonight, would you? Midnight. I’m being serious. Trust me on this, would you? I know you have no reason to… but please.. if not for me, for Carrie.”

“Fine. I’ll think about it. Now, I have to go.”

“(Y/N), wait-”

Before she could finish her sentence, I’m  closing the door in her face and storming back to my bedroom, falling onto my mattress with an ‘ugh’ leaving my lips.

For the past few days, I didn’t do anything expect cry and scream into my pillow.

The moment I got back under the covers and buried my face under several blankets and two of my pillows,  the tears came rushing back down.

I was surprised I still had tears left in me from all the crying I had done, truth be told.

I tried, really, I did… to be strong but it was so hard. Especially when Carrie wasn’t here to make things better.

It was so difficult to live when  the one person you kept yourself alive for is no longer around…. it’s hard to live when your heart is no longer beating.

The day Carrie White died was the day a little part of me died, too.

*~*

It was 11:50PM.

The house was eerily silent. The only noise, from where I was at in my bedroom, was the whistle of the wind and the gentle knocking of tree limbs outside on my window.

I glance at the clock by my bedside table. It now read 11:52.

I sigh and sit up, my feet touching the cold hardwood floor. I rub my hands over my face tiredly as I try to come to a decision whether or not I wanted to meet Sue at Carrie’s gravestone.

I came to the decision… yes, I should go.  After all, I wanted to make sure nobody wrote any more harsh and ruthless slurs on Carrie’s grave.

Even in death, they wouldn’t let her rest and wouldn’t stop picking on her.   Carrie should be able to rest and yet there’s hundreds of people who forbid her from doing so. It was a shame.

People say Carrie White is a monster or the daughter of the Devil himself but in reality, the only monsters are the ones  that won’t leave that poor girl alone.

"If you look in the face of evil - evil's going to look right back at you."

*~*

The time I got to the cemetery  it had just turned midnight.  As I exited out the car, it seemed as if the howl of the wind grew louder upon my arrival.

“Hello?” I call out. My voice seems loud against the empty area and I grimace; I didn’t realize how wobbly it sounded until I had spoken.

(I blamed that on all the off and on crying sessions I’ve done recently.)

“Sue? Are you there? Hello?”

Nothing.

I groan and face palm, shaking my head from side to side. I should’ve known not to come. I should have known better and yet-

“(Y/N).”

My eyes dart forward and I feel my knees begin to buckle out underneath me and all the air in my lungs is snatched away from me.

“(Y/N).” She repeats, walking toward me and gives me a wry smile. “Hi.”

“C-Carrie?” My voice shook and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There she was, alive, breathing and all.

And she was right in front of me.

“You… I thought you were dead.” I was speechless. I could barely form any sentences without stumbling over my words.

“That’s why I’m here,” Carrie explained, stepping closer to me.  She rests the palm of her hand across my cheek, fingers brushing over my skin and I shudder, goose bumps prickling ever so softly across my arms.

“I didn’t know how to tell you….” She continued, sighing as she moves a loose piece of hair back and out from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“I didn’t want anyone to know but Sue found me  on the side of the road when my house collapsed… she took me under her wing and helped me out.” She informed.  Carrie looked up and gave me a shy smile, her cheeks turning a bright rosy red.

“She insisted I should tell you, too… I was wanting to tell you, regardless but… I had been so scared. I’ve been terrified recently…. and with everything that happened, I only got more scared and… well, I thought you’d be like them and laugh at me or go on and tell the world where I was at and-”

“Carrie, I love you.” I blurt, unable to stop the words from forming out my mouth.

“I’d never, in any way, hurt you. I’ve loved you for the longest time and I thought…. I thought you were dead, Carrie… and it truly felt like I lost a piece of myself, too.”

The blush on Carrie’s cheeks grows darker, deeper as she nods. Tears swell in the corner of her eyes and she laughs softly, taking her hand away from my cheek as she wipes her eyes, sniffling quietly.

“I know. Sue told me, too… and I didn’t believe her. How could anyone love a freak like me? The laughing stock? Everyone’s personal punching bag..” Carrie smiled sadly as she shook her head.

“Mama told me it was a sin, you know? Love only is shared between a man and a woman. Not two men or two women together but… I realized I’d rather burn in Hell and be with the person I love than to go to Heaven being the person I’m not. I love you, (Y/N).

“I prayed every night for a friend and you came into my life at the time I needed you the most. You’re not only my best friend but my blessing, too.” By the time she’s finished talking, I’m crying and pulling her into my chest, hugging her tightly.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” I repeat.  “From the moment I met you in the library and we bonded over our favorite novels together at the start of school, I knew I wanted to be your friend. I could care less what others thought.

And then when we went to the park that Saturday evening and had a picnic, I knew I loved you then…. I knew that no matter what, whether we were friends or more, I always wanted to make you happy, Carrie White.”

“And you do,” she reassured, voice cracking as she buried her head in the crook between my shoulder and neck. “You make me the happiest girl alive. I’ve never known true happiness until you came into the picture, (Y/N).”

I pull a little bit of ways out and take her face, pressing my hands across her cheeks and with little to no hesitation, I press my lips hungrily against hers.

Carrie, almost instantly, kisses back.

“I love you.” I murmur into the kiss, not daring to pull away.

“I love you.” She muttered. Through the kiss, I can feel the corners of her lips curling up into a smile. A grin finds its way across my face, too.

“Let’s go… let’s get out of here.” She said, pulling back as she looks up and into my eyes. “Let’s leave Chamberlain and never look back.”

And so, well, we did.

Carrie White wasn’t your average or your typical ordinary girl. She had powers, as I came to find out. I knew there was something unique, something special about her and now I knew what it was.

Carrie White wasn’t a demon. Or the daughter of the Devil or none of that sort.

Carrie White was simply just a girl, ready to start her own life and accomplish her own goals and seek happiness.

And I, (Y/N) (L/N) would do anything to help her achieve that.

Carrie White deserved better than to live in fear and shame.

Carrie White, just like anybody else, deserved to be happy.

So, whether you believe me or not, I don’t care.

If you still think she is a monster in disguise or whatever; I do not care.

I know the truth. Sue Snell knows the truth, too. Carrie White is anything but a monster.

Carrie White is, and forever will be, my girl.

And that’s just that.

End of story.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room. 

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles. 

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.  

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters. 

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans. 

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies. 

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm. 

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away. 

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again. 

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy. 

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket. 

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-” 

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep. 

“It will be.”

[onbeinganangel]

warmup ficlet for @the-starryknight! she picked 'i know we’re not together but i might die today so i’m going to kiss you just in case there is no later' from this wee list of kisses and asked me to drarry it up and I rubbed my hands together in glee knowing fully well i was about to put together a hell of an angst sandwich

not beta'd, not edited, just angst with a happy ending directly from my heart to yours! (cw: some canon-style mentions of blood, violence, injury and also kind of patient/healer relationship)

damned if you do it and damned if you don’t

(draco/harry, 1.8k)

Draco had pictured it so often throughout his life he sometimes couldn’t honestly believe he had made it all the way to twenty-seven.

He remembers saying it after being thrown on his arse by the family Abraxan. He’d been very little, then. Five or six, maybe. He’d cried, big fat tears running down his face, and when his Mother finally managed to pull his tiny fists down and stop him from hiding his crying behind them, he’d announced, “Maman, I am dying.” She had assured him he very much wasn’t. They’d had scones with big heaped spoonfuls of clotted cream and raspberry jam in the garden and he’d soon forgotten about his fall.

A few years later, he fell off his broom and straight into the lake. Dobby had spelled him dry to avoid him getting in trouble and he was still heaving, coughing up water and panicking when he told the Elf, “Dobby, I am dying.”

Then there was the incident at Hogwarts. He still felt the sharp talons on his skin way after the hippogriff was far, far away, as he bled, holding onto the gashes on his arm and announced to the whole class, “I am dying, it’s killed me!”

Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, it was more constant. It was the heavy burn of the Mark settling on his arm, it was the feeling of all his organs lighting up in pain and his bones breaking under Crucio after Crucio, it was the sounds of Nagini slithering outside his bedroom door at night, the sickening thud of death, the unsettling screaming, his aunt’s shrill nails-on-chalkboard voice, Greyback’s growls. A neverending chant of “I am dying, I am dying, I am dying, I am dying” inside his head.

It was confiding in a ghost, it was crying because the fear of failure was so intense he reckons he would have preferred to be dead then, it was the only person he believed was actually kind and pure and incapable of willingly inflicting pain on anyone slashing him open and leaving him for dead on a bathroom floor. Draco had looked at Snape, murmuring spell after spell over him, and he’d whispered, “I am dying.”

It was learning how to be numb, how to not feel, how to keep everyone out of his mind and away from his thoughts, it was the paralysing terror of crawling around in the shadows, the bone-deep dread of dropping leftover bread rolls on the floor by the bars on the dungeon and kicking them swiftly into the other side, where they kept his classmates. It was sneaking a blanket or two down and saying to himself, “If they find out…”

It was the persistent horror of knowing you don’t believe in what you’re doing and knowing you’re damned if you do it and damned if you don’t. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, Draco would lie in his bed at night — his own at home, his own in the dorms, Pansy’s in the girls’ dorms when it got bad, and he would say it to himself, hoping it would become true, “I am dying.”

But he hadn’t. Despite all odds, Draco is happy. Twenty-seven. He’s got friends, a flat, a job he loves and he’s good at. He’s no longer spat at on the streets. He survived, he made amends, he managed it all. Most of all, he had managed not to die.

Until now, that is. This time he’s pretty certain he won’t be afforded such luck. He feels the curse hit him square on the chest. It’s his own fault, really, for not realising there was someone already in the room he entered. He’d been too busy throwing a rather flourished Incarcerous across the room at the two potions dealers he’d been running after for the past five minutes to notice the third man.

Draco is falling backwards before he has time to even think about anything, his wand clanking noisily seconds before he joins it on the floor.

Then: “Incarcerous.” He hears it — muffled but there. And after, “Fuck, Draco.”

He’s way too familiar with the way his Auror partner works not to know it’s him when the strong arms wrap around him and pull him up. “Oh, Merlin,” he hears. His eyes flutter back open for a couple of seconds and he can tell he was right, even if it’s all blurry: red robes, orange hair, worried blue eyes.

Fear. “I am dying,” he thinks. “Harry,” he says.

“You’re gonna see Harry alright,” Ron says. “He’s gonna have words about having to heal you again,” it’s almost like a joke. Like a Ronald-typical joke. But there’s an edge of worry there. There’s panic. Ronald doesn’t panic.

And it dawns on him. Draco tries to look down but it’s all red. The burgundy of his robes, the sticky dark red of drying blood on his hands and the fresh and vivid blood still pouring out of his chest. He’s not gonna make it to St. Mungo’s, he’s never going to make it to Harry.

“I am dying,” he says, and Ron makes a noise that can only be described as half agony, half agreement.

It smells like St. Mungo’s when he wakes up thinking “I am dying.” Very faintly, he hears the same voice he always hears in his dreams. Maybe he is dead. The voice never sounds like this in his dreams, though: disembodied, frantic, quick. Draco catches half words, half sentences, half conversations that don’t make sense. A different voice is saying “just do it” and “you’re powerful enough” and “sod protocol” and “I am his partner, I brought him here.” The voice from his dreams responds with things like “unstable” and “I don’t know” and “can you please try” and a “I can’t get in touch with her” and “not without consent forms” and a louder, angry “he’s not going to d—“

Draco tries to move towards the voice.

“Draco!” Says the first voice and three pairs of feet come towards him.

“Don’t try to open your eyes, don’t try to talk, don’t try to move, okay? We have stopped the bleeding for now, but we’re still trying to reverse the curse.”

“Harry.” His Harry.

“Yes, hello. We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“I am dying,” Draco croaks out.

“I won’t let you.”

Draco wants to speak. He wants to say “I am dying, I don’t want to die without telling you,” but he has no strength. His thoughts are going faster than the newest Firebolt as he hears Harry tell whoever else is in the room (Ron?) to leave. He wonders if this is it. This what they show you in the films: your life flashing before your eyes right before you die. He thinks of Harry shaking his hand after his Auror graduation ceremony. “Well done, Malfoy,” he’d said. He thinks of that first time he’d been invited over to Ron and Hermione’s, a few weeks after he became Ron’s partner, and Harry had laughed at his stories, lips wine-red and plump, eyes kind like he’d never expected. He thinks of every moment of almost in between them, every moment where Draco considered blurting it out, saying what was on his mind. The Christmas Gala as he towered over Harry and fixed the little chain on his robes for him, and that night at that dingy club for Hermione’s birthday where they’d stared at each other for forty minutes and when Draco had decided he couldn’t take it anymore, he found out that Harry had left. Or just last month when they’d gone out to buy a housewarming present for Luna and ended up eating leftovers on Harry’s sofa, exhausted from people and walking. There are too many. Too many instances of hesitation, too many “nearly-but-not-quites.”

And he’ll die and won’t ever get the chance to tell him, to kiss his handsome, stupid, precious face, and it aches — it hurts almost as much as that spot just to the left of his breastbone where the Curse had hit, where he was profusely bleeding not long ago.

“Closer,” he manages, very quietly.

Harry approaches, but not close enough, not even close enough for Draco to grab at him.

“Cl— clos—uh—closer,” he tries again.

And Harry’s right there, by his bed and he looks beautiful in his Healer robes (unheard of, really) and Draco is blinking his view into a sharper focus and listing all the things he knows he loves, the things he doesn’t want to forget: the white-ish storm of a scar that slashes through Harry’s eyebrow, the shiny (shinier than usual?) green eyes, the touch of stubble, the slightly crooked nose, the lips — oh, the lips, plump and sweet looking and Draco will never get to find out just how sweet. And then, he has to do it. Because if he’s going to die anyway, he may as well use his last breath on this.

He pushes himself off the pillow slightly and his hand pulls Harry’s green robes closer until their lips meet, clumsily and hard — Harry not expecting it, Draco waning from the efforts of pulling Harry closer, but Draco will die knowing he’s kissed Harry. And if there’s no later, at least he’s done it. At least Harry knows.

“Stop. You’ll hurt yourself,” Harry says, and pushes him back down. Gently, like everything he does.

“But—“

“I know, darling. Me too.”

Darling? Harry… too?

“I’m going to heal you, okay? I’m going to heal you and we’ll do that again. I’ll take you to dinner, or brunch, I know you like brunch. Or just coffee. We’ll go to the pictures. I’ll hold your hand. We’ll go flying. We’ll go clubbing and I’ll dance with you, I promise I will, and I’ll let you tell me how bad I am. I’ll find you a copy of that book you were talking about with Hermione, no matter how much it costs. I’ll throw my name around if I have to, okay? And we’re going to do that again, properly. When I’m not your healer and you’re not hurting. I’m going to heal you now, you just—“ he stops, then, breathing wild and panicked.

Then, a small sob. A kiss to his forehead. Draco doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

“You just hold on, yeah? Don’t go anywhere.”

And Draco would cry if he had the strength, he would say yes to all those plans and more, but he focuses on the feeling of Harry’s magic sinking into his body like and he holds on, just like he was told to. He holds on, even if he doesn’t know exactly to what. And he thinks maybe he’ll get lucky again, and he’ll stop picturing himself dead like he’s been doing his whole life. Harry’s magic feels like love, like poetry, like cascading words of affection whispered into the space between his ribs, it feels like hope. And Draco holds on and thinks to himself, as loud as a thought can go, “I am not dying.”

[sweeethinny]

Everything will be alright

this story is going to be about missed abortion, I know it's a sensitive topic, so if you don't feel comfortable with it, I don't recommend reading this story. Missed abortion is when the fetus is not expelled, remaining in the uterus for weeks or months, and there are some possible reactions, like bleeding or disappearance of normal pregnancy reactions - like nausea

i know it's not usually possible to hear the baby's heart in the first few months, but i believe that magical obstetrics is much more evolved than ours :)

I was inspired by real stories to write this story, and I hope you like it <3

To the Anon who asked me for this <3

music indication: Sing of the Time - Harry Style

AO3

---------

They weren't trying to have a baby, they had been talking about trying two years from now, but Ginny wasn't going to say she wasn't at least a little excited when she found out she was pregnant.

It was scary, she and Harry were silent for almost fifteen minutes staring at the muggle tests and the orange potion in front of them, both of them sitting on the floor of the small bathroom in their apartment. Ginny cried when Harry said, 'We'll be parents.'

She was happy, but first of all, Ginny was feeling desperate. They had just gotten married, and had probably gotten pregnant on their honeymoon, Harry had been promoted and was traveling more than ever and she had managed to sign a five-year contract with the Harpies as Chaser, moving from being a reserve to being the most new star of the team.

They didn't have the time and were not prepared to have a child.

Teddy had just turned three and Ginny thought how difficult it was being to have time with him, trying to make the day last longer so that at least three days a week they saw each other, or when they couldn't, he would go there at the end of week. They couldn't do that with a baby, one of them would have to give up to stay home, and Ginny felt awful for hoping that person was Harry.

She didn't want to stay home, not when her life had just started.

And she knew that Harry thought so too.

But deep down, she was happy, and she was happy to see how happy Harry was. He even bought a baby outfit the next day that was patterned with several bears; panda, brown and polar. It was the most adorable thing Ginny had ever seen.

"We'll make it work, I promise," Harry whispered to her one night, a week after they found out about the pregnancy. He kissed her forehead and hugged her, making her feel safe as all those insecurities spilled over again and Ginny started to cry.

They didn't tell anyone, it was too early yet and Ginny thought it would be best to hold back this information for a while, just in case something went wrong. But she and Harry started to walk around the children's stores much more than usual, now and then buying a teddy bear, an outfit, a shoe, they even considered buying a crib, but she said there was no way to hide a crib and if anyone came by surprise at their house, they would have to tell.

And her father would probably want to build one for his first grandson, Ginny thought.

As the days went by, Ginny became more excited about the news, nothing to overcome her anxiety and nervousness, but she was already happier than when she found out. She even started talking to her stomach when she was going to take a shower, and that encouraged Harry to do the same.

"Daddy and Mommy love you so much already," he whispered before the fateful night, lying with his head on top of Ginny's bare stomach, smoothing her skin and smiling passionately.

And the next morning, Ginny faced what would be the worst day of her life for a long time.

It was almost five in the morning when she woke up thinking she was going to wet her bed for the third time that night, running to the bathroom still half-drowsy, trying not to trip over their mess strewn across the floor. They needed to clean the house urgently.

For Ginny it was a normal dawn, she had been feeling this urge to pee more often now, and she was glad that at least that was it instead of the morning sickness from before. It was harder to hide when she threw up than when she needed to go to the bathroom.

She needed to tell Gwenog, she remembered too.

She would do it today, they had practice at eight and Ginny would talk to her as soon as she got to the field. Afterwards, she would stop at the burrow, because she was missing her mum's hug and eating her biscuits with tea. And thinking about Molly made Ginny's eyes water for some reason. She was getting pretty emotional these past few days.

When her bladder seemed to deflate completely and Ginny cleaned herself up, she screamed much louder than would be respectable at this time of morning. But it didn't matter, she couldn't even hear her voice properly, nor Harry's as he ran to the bathroom, because her hand shook and her vision began to blur with tears, the paper in front of her now smeared with blood.

The sight of her blood-spattered thighs and panties made her scream even more. It was an endless nightmare and Ginny hoped she would manage to wake up in the end.

But she didn't wake up. She didn't wake up when she arrived at the hospital, nor when the healers took her to a room and laid her on the gurney, asking Harry several questions once they realized that Ginny couldn't answer.

She felt paralyzed, still seeing the blood on the paper and wondering how she was able to let this happen. It was a nightmare that seemed to take her closer and closer to the dark at the bottom of the well, and Ginny was reminded of when she thought that a child was not what she wanted now.

Now there were no more children to disturb her dreams. There was no one else stopping her.

Are you happy, Ginevra? She screamed to herself, not even knowing how she still managed to cry.

It felt like a century had passed when the healer Lana took her hand, a kind smile on her face. ‘Let's take you to the exam room, ok? Let's see how the baby is going.'

Ginny nodded, and again she tried to close her eyes so the nightmare would end, but when she opened it, she saw Harry beside her, holding hands with her as someone pushed her gurney down the hospital corridor, the white walls made everything even sadder.

"It'll be alright, I promise," Harry whispered as they entered the exam room, which was dark and cold, even more so than the rest of the building. But Ginny knew, she felt, that it wouldn't be, so she cried more.

“We're going to apply a balm to your belly so we can hear the baby.” She heard the woman say, and for the next minute after feeling something cold touch her belly, they didn't hear anything.

It was as if the whole world had fallen apart and Ginny had been buried under the rubble.

Worst pain of her life, forget tortures with the Carrows or Umbridge, that silence was worse than anything.

It probably hurt more than dying, Ginny thought, wishing she were dead.

She didn't remember much of what happened afterward, only that Harry never left her side, crying along with Ginny when they returned to the room and the healer came out to call someone. She remembered hearing them say they needed to remove the fetus. Her baby.

"I'm here," Harry whispered sometime during the day, sitting beside Ginny's bed, running a hand through her hair and kissing her temple.

"I killed him, Harry." Ginny sobbed, squeezing his hand and starting to cry again. ‘I thought I didn't want to have a child, I thought that-’

"No, Gin, no." As he managed, he hugged her, keeping her safe in his arms. “It wasn't you, no, no… The doctor said it could have been several things, but none of them were you.” He ran a hand through her hair, tightening his grip as she sobbed into his chest again. 'It was not you.'

The next few hours were the saddest of her life, being taken to and fro for exams, healers touching her... her belly, her vulva. And not that they were rude or anything, they were all very polite and they talked about every little thing they were doing to her, always asking her how she felt and always allowing Harry to be by her side. But it was the pain of having someone touch you, she thought, to prepare you for what could be the worst moment in your life; they were touching Ginny preparing her to pull her dead baby out of her, and it hurt so much more than she could ever put it into words.

'It's a potion to get us to induce an abortion, you can rest assured that we'll do everything to make this moment the least painful for you, alright?' Healer Amy smiled at her, a gentle and sad smile, her hands on over Ginny's. She didn't think she would have any other pain that surpassed what she was already feeling, so she nodded, unable to speak. The woman looked at the other healer, who handed over a vial of bluish liquid, and Harry helped Ginny sit down to drink.

It tasted like death, bitter and iron, and it made Ginny want to throw up, but maybe it was just because she knew why that potion worked that she felt even more disgust.

To take my baby out of me, she thought as she lay back down, my dead baby.

‘Let's wait a few minutes for the potion to take effect and we'll be right back. How do you feel?” Destroyed. Empty.

Ginny nodded, not knowing what to say. 'Fine.'

‘I know this is a difficult time, Ms. Potter, don't hesitate to ask our help with whatever it is, okay? We have a psychologist on duty today, and you.” She looked at Harry. “And you, sir, can ask to speak with her.” They both nodded, and the healer was gone again.

The silence made Ginny need to close her eyes to keep from starting to cry again, she felt Harry's lips on her fingers and then on her forehead. “We'll be fine, I promise. I'm here with you.” She nodded.

“I love you.” She looked up at him, already sensing she was going to cry again. Harry was crying too. 'So much.'

'I love you so much too. It barely fits inside my chest.' Ginny wiped the tears from his face, feeling the least bit happy in the midst of that storm because Harry was there with her.

[...]

When they left the Hospital the next morning, Ginny had been given a two-and-a-half week layoff from the Harpies on medical advice, and Robards had turned off Harry so he could stay with Ginny.

It was Harry who told Molly and Arthur what had happened, while Ginny was lying on the bed, watching as her mother sobbed and ran to hug her, her father right behind. She was still in shock, and the psychologist had said it was a normal reaction after trauma, but that Ginny had to try to tell the people she trusted the most for more support.

Her mom kept coming to their house or calling them on Floo at least once a day to make sure they were okay. She would bring Ginny cookies, stay with her in bed, hug her when Ginny started crying again, and watch TV with her daughter. Ginny didn't even bother to look like a needy child who called her mum when she was scared, because Ginny felt that was what she wanted, and Molly didn't seem to mind at all.

When it was a week old, they told Hermione and Ron, which was good too. The more Ginny talked, the pain seemed to get a little less. It was as if she gave each person a piece of pain, and the weight on her shoulders lessened and it was easier to live.

It still hurts, a lot. But it got a little easier.

On Saturday, after 10 days, Harry left in the morning to go to the market and Ginny was left alone watching TV, a cooking show that was a little too chaotic but made her smile and forget about life for a bit, following the pairs running against the time for making cupcakes and trying to win a prize.

Harry arrived two hours later when Ginny was watching a movie about a millionaire who fell in love with a prostitute. It was a pretty story, and the actors were pretty handsome too, which helped a lot in keeping her entertained.

'I thought you had lost your way home.' She said when she saw Harry enter the room, grinning from ear to ear and looking like a kid who's up to something and doesn't want his parents to find out. 'What happened?'

'Close your eyes.'

‘Harry, what-’

"Close your eyes." Ginny sighed but did as he asked, waiting for whatever it was he had bought her. Harry liked to give her presents when she was sad, Ginny found that out over time.

She felt something being propped up beside her, it was a little heavy and soft, and… did it have paws?

"Surprise!" Harry grinned even wider as she opened her eyes, watching the small caramel dog beside her, huge black eyes glaring at her, short furless tail swinging from side to side, ears pricked up intently. "There was an animal adoption fair near the market, and I saw this little one and they told me he was abandoned on the road and needed someone who could love and care for him."

Ginny's heart melted, and for the first time in 10 days her eyes filled with tears but for something other than sadness. The dog looked at her hopefully, eagerly waiting for her to do anything. When she reached out to pick him up, he seemed to smile and licked her face as if in thanks.

‘He already has a name, it's Sir...We could change, but I liked it... He looks pretty sassy, like me-’

"When you said Snape didn't need to call you Professor." Ginny laughed, still holding the little dog in her lap. He had a lovely puppy smell, his belly swollen and warm, and his little paws were resting on her chest, his nails still too small to hurt her. ‘I love it, babe.’

‘I remembered that you had said that our house seemed lifeless, and what is better to give life than a dog? Right?'

'Totally.'

'And since neither you nor I have ever had one, I thought it would be cool.' Harry sat on the bed next to her and Sir, who was now lying in her arms like he really was a baby, his head close to her elbow and his paws hanging one on either side of her arm. "I told you she was going to love you," he muttered to the animal. 'The vet said he wouldn't grow much.'

"That's good, we don't have much space in the apartment."

[itsthestutterforme]

I Thought You Were Dead (Divergent)

Characters: OG! Character x reader, Four x reader

Summary: Four and Y/N see each other for the first time in two years after she supposedly died in his arms. Things instantly became complicated and Y/N fights to move on from the past. Four disagrees. //SMUT WARNING ⚠️ 18+ ONLY

--

Tris, Four and Caleb were running away from Eric and his small posse. They boarded a train that was headed towards the city. Little did they know who was on that train. It wasn't just the factionless onboard. It was someone Four never thought he would see again: his ex fiance. His dead ex fiance.

You died in his arm after taking a shot to your jugular vein. You shouldn't have survived, but your heart beat was so faint, it was almost undetectable. Dauntless gave your body to the factionless to bury and one of Evelyn's doctor was able to revive you. Since then, you became Evelyn's second hand.

You boarded this train to make sure things ran smoothly. This particular train had A grade weapons and ammo in it. "Well hello," Edgar taunts Four, Tris and Caleb. "You just destroyed some of our cargo," "We're sorry, we didn't mean to," "Wait, those are Abnegation bolts right?" Caleb continues his rambling until Tris shot him a look.

"You better listen to your sister, punk." Edgar states. Tris lunged towards Edgar but Four held her back. They held eye contact for a moment before they both started fighting with the Factionless. "Y/N, they're fighting!" A woman tells you. "Who's they?" "Edgar and some stowaways," "Oh you've got to be kidding me."

You stand from the floor and runs through the cars until you reached where to swarm of people were gathering. "Enough! What are you children!" You yell and the entire crowd goes silent.

You makes your way towards the front of the crowd and the closer you got, the more beat up faces you saw. "Damn. Now who was the cause of all this," You ask but no one answered.

"Don't answer all at once," "I did," Four says. When you turns around to face the voice, your heart sinks in your chest. "Tobias. Wait, you go by Four, sorry." "You.. you were dead. You died in my arms."

"If it makes you feel any better, I did die. My heart stopped for thirty seconds," You say with a soft chuckle to lessen the tension.

You were debating on going up to him or staying where you were. Four stares at you like you were a ghost. In his mind, you were. And now you are standing in front of him two years later, alive and breathing. "I kept seeing you around the Square, was that really you or just a figament of my imagination?"

"I-" "Y/N, we're close to drop off," Edgar says. "Alright, all of you make sure you get yourselves clean up before you put away the cargo," You announce. "Yes, Y/N." They all say. "We'll have to talk about this later, I'm sorry," You say before walking passed them and walking to the first car.

"Who is she?" Tris asks, but Four doesn't say anything. You look over your shoulder to see Four staring at you. You break eye contact and close the car door. A few moments later, the train came to a full stop and those who were injured went to the infirmary. The rest unloaded the cargo.

You jump out of the car into your boyfriend's arms. He spins me around and captures your lips in a hot kiss. You hum into the kiss and caress his cheekbone with your thumb. "I was worried about you," he says, his eyes slowly scanning your face. "I can take care of myself, Beck,"

The whole time you were having a conversation with Beck, Four couldn't keep his eyes off you. Tris obviously noticed and stormed off, Four and Caleb followed after her.

"I know, but when I saw Edgar's face, I--" "Edgar is a hot headed and deserved that punch," "Wait, so you punched him?" "No, I wish I did though," you say, making him chuckle. You bite your bottom lip until the skin turned white and you close your eyes for a moment.

"Uh oh, I know that face. What happened?" "Things have gotten a little complicated." "How complicated?" "Tobias is here with some others. He goes by Four now," You say softly, looking at Beck's face for a reaction. "Four? What, was one, two and three all taken?"

You slap the back of his neck and he smiles at you playfully. "Play nice," you scold. "Oh but you love it when I'm mean," he says before kissing me again. "But truthfully, is there anything that I should be worried about?"

"Of course not, what happened between us is in the past." You explain. "But what happened between you was more than just romance. He was the love of your life, Y/N. You were going to marry him. Compared to him, I'm just a booty call." "Hey," You warn.

You jump out of his arms and hold his face in your hands. "Listen to me, you are much more than a booty call. Don't you ever forget that. Not after everything we've been through," You explain. "Y/N," Evelyn calls. "We need you in here," she adds. You press one kiss to his lips and another to his forehead.

"We'll talk about this later," You say before advancing towards the Evelyn's office. You've been saying that a lot lately and it didn't leave a good taste in your mouth. You hated drama and you especially hated when you were involuntarily placed in it.

When you entered Evelyn's office to see Four, Caleb and Tris sitting across from Evelyn. Oh hell. "You called for me?" "I figured that you would be best to explain to Tobias-" "His name is Four," You and Tris say in unison. "Right, sorry," Evelyn says.

"I don't know if I'm the right person for this. I've already caused enough mayhem as it is." "Then set it right. You are the queen of that and many things." Evelyn stands and leaves the room, leave everyone staring at me. "Alright, let's talk," you say with a huff.

"Answer the question, were you actually there at the Square or was that a figment of my imagination?" "I was there-" "Why?" "I had to see you but I was too scared to physically be there," "Why?" "Why wouldn't I?" "So the woman that left me with my abusive father could confront me but you couldn't," he snaps.

"I was going to, until I saw that you were happy with her," You say, referencing to Tris. "You deserved to be happy, so i--" "So you abandoned me? Seems like you took a page out of my mother's handbook," "That is not fair, and we both know what would have happened if I came back!" You state.

"What would have happened?" Tris speaks up softly. You look to her and your heart broke for her. You felt like you just tore her whole world apart. "It doesn't matter because I'm done dwelling on the past. Right now I'm focused on the future and taking down Jeanne." "That's all I am? The past?"

"I knew you when you were Tobias. And you knew me as Y/N/N. We both aren't those people anymore." "Listen to me," Four reaches out and holds my hands and Tris starts to cry. "I was able to move on because I thought you were dead. But I still have nightmares about you, about you dying over and over again."

"I'll always love you, Toby. But things are different now." You pull away from his hands and add, "Your mom and I are willing to go to war to get rid of the factions and to go against Jeanne. With you guys on our side, the chances of winning are that much greater. I'll give you guys some time to think things through and I'll make sure Evelyn doesn't intrude."

You give Four a once over before standing up to leave. "Y/N," "Stop, it's over," You say to him before rushing towards the door. As soon as you leave the room, you release a loud huff. "That bad huh?" Beck asks. You look over your shoulder and smile lightly. He closes the gap between you and places his hands on your hips.

You wrap your arms under his arms and say, "Yes, it was that bad. I think I just ruined their relationship." "What? Why?" he asks. "He just admitted that he still have feelings for me." You explain. He pulls away from you and asks, "Do you still have feelings for him?" "You said it yourself, I was going to marry the guy. Those feelings don't just go away."

"Then why don't you go be with him then?" Beck says before storming off in the opposite direction. "Wait, Beck, please let just talk about this." "There's nothing to talk about."

**

Later that night, you decided to go for a walk to clear your head and to have a good cry. You were on your way back when you heard a twig breaking. You decided to walk slower so the attacker thought they had the advantage. You went into a tunnel and waited on top for the attacker.

When they came out of the tunnel, you jumped onto their shoulders and tackled them to the ground. It wasn't until they turned around that you realized it was Four. "Four what the hell?" You scold. Your body perfectly draped over his. "I'm sorry," he says. "For what?" "For ruining everything,"

"There's no one to blame here, but that doesn't make us feel better about any of it, does it?" "No, it doesn't." "We should get back before Evelyn starts to worry." You say, trying to stand up from him.

He pulls you back down and pushes your hair back. "Four, not here." You warn and his eyes drift from your eyes to your lips. "Then where?" You two stumble into an empty loft from on the higher levels of the compound. You closed the door, and turned around to face Four.

He slowly approached you. He takes your hand into his and caressed the back of it with his thumb. You softly sigh at his touch and you watch as he brings your palm up to his lips for a kiss.

He holds the side of your face and you lean into his hand. You find yourself pressing your lips to his and time slowed down to a crawl. His hands fell to the back of your thighs and you completely let yourself go. He wraps your legs around his waist and your hands fell to the back of his neck. Our lips moved in perfect sync and your eyes fluttered closed.

He walks you to the bed and sat down with you in your lap. His hands ghost of over your ass before turning you around so your back was against the bed. You pull off your shirt and work on taking off your pants. He takes off his shirt and in a second, his body was draping over yours. You happily let his lips devour your neck as pulls off your tights.

He pinches your clit through your underwear and your body jolts forwards. "Four, we can't- I--" He silences you with kiss. "I remember how loud you can get," he says with a smile. He kisses down your stomach and massages your breasts through your bra. A breath hitches in your throat when he kisses your clothed bundle of nerves.

"Just relax, baby," he says, pulling my underwear off and tossing then to the side. He takes you into his mouth and your back arches off the bed. He drags his tongue along the top wall and dips it under the hood of your clit while he circles it with his thumb.

A knot was already starting build in your stomach.You always hated how quickly he could make you cum. He notices your leg starting to close so he presses them down with his elbows. You was helpless under him.

He started to speed up his actions and a loud moan leaves your lips. He pulls away a little to nip at the skin next to my bundle of nerves.

You look down at him and watch as he sends you a loving gaze. You held eye contact with him as he continues to lick and suck at your pussy. He curled his tongue at just the right spot to make you fall apart. Your body went rigid and you breath heavily as you ride out your high.

"You're so beautiful," he says after he sucks your juices from his fingers. He straddles my waist and cups my cheeks as he kisses you. The breath leaves your lungs the more rough his kisses get. You dig your nails into his back and he moans in your mouth. His airy moans makes my folds grow slick and he cups my pussy.

You jolt your hips in attempt to gain friction and he smiles. "Look at how eager you are," "Please, Four, just fuck me already." He attacks your neck with hickeys and you moan softly into his ear. You push him on his back and pull back his boxers. You bite your lip when you see his dick spring free from them.

He grabs you and scoots closer towards the headboard. You stand on your feet and slowly sink on top him. Your head falls back as your expand around him. Once you adjust to him, you rock your hips back and forth. He digs his finger nails into your hips which make you speed up your thrusts.

"Fuck, Y/N, just like that," he moans. You spell out the letter W over and over again until you feel his dick twitch inside of you. You stimulate yourself by rubbing your clit and your second orgasm came crashing over like a wave. His body freezes in its place as his cum fills me up.

You roll off of him and brush your hair from your face. He pulls you into his chest and pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead. As you lay on his chest, you think of how heartbroken Beck is. You told him there was nothing to worry about and later that night, you're sleeping with your ex-fiance.

Tears of guilt prick your eyes and you try to hide it but an unexpected sniffle left my lips "Hey, what's wrong? Did you not want to-" "No, it wasn't about that," You pull away from him and rest you back against the headboard. You pull your knees towards your chest and lean your chin on your knee caps.

"Talk to me," he says as he positioned himself so he is sitting right in front of you. "I feel like a liar," You say, wiping away some of your tears. "Why?" "I told Beck that you weren't a problem and now look at us." You burst into tears and sobs into your knees.

"This isnt your fault," "I ruined something really good, Toby. I mean Four- I'm so- I should just leave," You try to leave the bed but he pulls you back onto the bed. "You can call me Toby, Y/N. You have the right to call me that. You were the only good part of my child hood." He holds the side of your face and you turn away from him.

"All I ever do is hurt people. No matter how hard I try, I'll always hurt people. I can't talk you about Beck and I can't talk t-" "Why can't you talk to me about Beck?" "You're asking me what's wrong with gellinby my ex fiance about my ex boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I see where the problem is," he says with a chuckle. You don't laugh, you can't. You hold your face in your hands. "I'm here you as anything you want me to be. We don't have to have sex to tell each other that we care for each other." You look up from your hands and at him. "I'm serious," he adds.

"Thank you," you whimper. He presses another kiss to your forehead before pulling you closer to him and draping an arm over your torso as you two spooned. And for the first time in a long time, you felt okay.

[catflorist]

Stars (ao3/ffn) catflorist warning: major character death

Sasuke joined the Akatsuki for simple reasons. He heard they had a plan to destroy the shinobi world, and he wanted a part of it. 

As a blizzard raged in the cold northern air, he followed a dark-robed figure into a passageway carved into the cliffside of a snow-capped mountain. The tunnel twisted and turned, snaking past cavernous rooms and rocky chambers. Akatsuki forces milled about everywhere, red clouds hovering on dark cloaks everywhere he looked. His guide, Konan, led him past without stopping.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To our leader,” Konan said, leading him deeper. “She says she knows you.”

He was sure they were halfway through the mountain before she stopped by a metal door. 

“Wait here.” 

She knocked and the door opened a crack. Whispered words were exchanged, too low for Sasuke to overhear.

“You’ll have to wait,” Konan said. “She's still bathing.”

Sasuke was annoyed. Why was Karin going through these theatrics? He hadn’t seen her for months, not since disbanded the team and left to face Itachi alone. How she’d ended up in the Akatsuki he couldn't guess. Not only that, she somehow had all of them tiptoeing around her. 

“Tell Karin I don't have time to wait,” he snapped.

Konan gave him a curious look, but stayed silent.

“What?”

“Enter,” a voice called from inside. The way it echoed off the rock, it didn't sound like Karin’s voice at all.

He stormed in. Torches lit the dark room in a flickering glow, and the air felt warm. A shadowed figure rose from a steaming pool of water. An attendant held out a billowing Akatsuki robe, helping guide arms through sleeves. 

When the light caught her face, shock ripped through him. Because it wasn’t Karin.

Her pink hair was dripping wet, her cheeks hollowed. She pulled on glasses over red-rimmed eyes pinched with pain, the green irises huge beneath the thick lenses. The dark robe slipped off bare, bony shoulders—was that all she was wearing? He averted his eyes, stared at the steam curled in the air. His guard down, his chakra stretched out to meet hers of its own accord. But there was nothing. 

He recoiled. How was that possible? She should be dead.

A diamond mark on her forehead pulsed like the core of a star, the only part of her with any vitality, energy. That and her eyes—they were still bright and sharp. The rest was fading.

“It's good to see you,” Sakura said.

.

.

It didn’t take long for Sasuke to understand. The chakra stored in Sakura’s seal was all that kept her alive, and one day it would run out. 

At the same time, it all depended on her, it seemed, the meticulously planned attack on the shinobi world. She was its life force. Every ounce of her remaining chakra was rationed and monitored, planned in advance for that day. It was all anyone talked about, the reason why heads lowered in respect when speaking Sakura’s name.

To fill his time Sasuke accepted mission after mission. He brought back intel, took out troublesome political figures, and weakened supply chains, doing anything they asked of him to prepare for the attack on Konoha, three months away.

He avoided Sakura.

One night Konan pushed aside the curtain hanging in the door of his small chamber, an alcove in the stone set apart from the other Akatsuki members. “You’re back. What was it this time?”

“We intercepted a shipment of weapons,” he said. “They’re waiting in the meeting room.”

“When do you set out again?”

“I don’t know yet. What do you want?”

Konan met his eyes. “She wants to see you.”

He crossed his arms. “Tell her I'm busy.”

“You think you’re so important,” she said in that calm, mild way of hers. “You wouldn’t act this way, if you truly understood the magnitude of what she’s doing for us. For the world.”

Overcome with sudden anger, Sasuke forgot he came to the Akatsuki willingly, that each day he helped advance its mission. That he too hated what their world had done to his family. 

“It's all for nothing!” he spat. “You’re throwing her away. For nothing.”

“You’re selfish. It’s no wonder you don’t understand sacrifice.”

He grit his teeth. “Find another way.”

“She’s dying already,” she said. “She’s just making something from the time she has left. What have you done with your life?”

Sakura was frozen. Dying. Sasuke pictured her in a land of ice, the snowy expanse that surrounded the mountain lit by a weak and wintery sun. Perhaps she could stretch her life a few years, each day lighting her chakra no brighter than a candle’s fire, barely warming her hands in the cold. 

Instead she would burn up all at once, quick and hot and bright, like an exploding star, and maybe something would grow after the flames cooled. Fire always led to life in some way after all. She would not wait to freeze to death. 

“Go away,” Sasuke snarled. The curtain was already flapping in the doorway.

.

.

Sasuke stormed through the hideout after a botched assignment. What should have been a simple scouting mission had turned into a bloodbath after a surprise ambush. The hidden villages were growing more hostile and clever as the day of the attack drew nearer. 

He didn’t pay attention to his loud footsteps, the eyes following him in fear, until a figure darted into his path. One of Sakura’s attendants, blocking his way with an outstretched arm, a finger held to her lips. 

“What?”

“She's asleep.” Her voice was hushed, like discussing a sleeping god. Not his old, annoying pink-haired teammate. 

Sasuke stepped back. “So?”

“It's the first time in three days.”

Sasuke realized the hideout was utterly quiet except for their conversation. If he listened hard enough he might hear snow falling outside. 

An old memory flashed through him. When they were genin, taking missions as a team, how much Sakura hated waking up in the morning. She’d groan and clutch her pillow, though she’d always get up and help him with their breakfast anyway. That Sakura would never struggle to fall asleep for three days. How things had changed.

Sasuke knew when she woke up, because the deathly silence in the compound lifted. Foot traffic picked up again, the scent of cooking food from the mess hall drifted through the halls.

He walked down the twisted passageway to the metal door, following the route he’d memorized, though he hadn’t ventured this way since Konan led him the first time. He pushed open the doors without knocking.

A wide futon was spread on the ground, where Sakura lay against soft pillows. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell from the stiffness of her shoulders that she was awake.

“Sakura,” he said.

Her head turned, set deep in the pillows like it held a heavy weight. She did not look surprised to see him, did not ask why he’d avoided her for weeks. “Sit down.”

With some reluctance, he lowered himself on the edge of the futon. Steam curled in the air, and water gurgled somewhere hidden, feeding the spring. Beneath the blanket, Sakura’s legs shifted gingerly.

“What happened to you?” he said.

“It’s this world,” she said. “Person after person, sent out to get killed. To protect someone else’s money, or goods, or to fight in pointless wars. And the survivors, they sent them all to me. It never ended.”

She closed her eyes again. “I healed, and healed, until something inside me broke. I couldn’t make chakra anymore. Without my seal I would have died then and there.”

Without meaning to, Sasuke’s hand stretched out, brushing her forehead, where the mark lay. Her brow was feverishly hot. 

“That’s nice,” she whispered. He was about to pull away, but his fingers changed course, trailing into her hair, drawing a sigh. He didn’t know what to do. It was a long time since he’d tried to be gentle. He tried to think of what he liked as a child, the comforting touches he received from his mother, or Itachi, a lifetime ago.

When he finally lifted his hand, the cords of her neck seemed less tense, her head less heavy on the pillow.

She exhaled. “I was dying. I’d given everything away, but still they wanted more. That’s why I’m here. The way this world is, it can’t go on. Everything I have left is going into changing it.”

“This world won’t change,” he muttered.

A thin arm emerged from the blankets, fumbling at her bedside for her glasses. She slipped the frames on, appraising him with large eyes. “Then why are you here?”

.

.

This new Sakura was a stranger in many ways. She carried herself with a quiet calmness, a stillness, like she’d lived longer than her years. When she walked down the corridors of the hideout, heads bowed. At gatherings, she barely needed to speak louder than a whisper, because everyone listening hung onto her every word. 

Knowing she favored him, the members of the Akatsuki looked differently at Sasuke, too. They brought him into their meeting rooms, seeking his advice and ideas. He learned why each of them wanted to destroy the shinobi system. Its claws had harmed others beyond himself. He started to believe they could truly build something new. Something better, that would never force older brothers into cruel and heartless choices.

When Sasuke returned from a mission he found Sakura sitting on a ledge under the stars, snow gently falling around her. They were high up on the mountain, but the sky was white and hazy in all directions, so he could barely tell where they were or what lay in the distance beyond the haze.

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold.”

“I like the fresh air.”

He sat next to her, knowing it was useless to argue. Everyone knew Sakura did as she wanted. 

“My father used to use his katon on days like this. His fireball was strong enough to span the whole length of the lake. But when it was cold, he used it to warm his breath.”

“Show me,” she said.

His hands shaped the quick signs. When he exhaled, a soft puff of fire curled out, a flash of red and orange warming their icy surroundings. “Like this.”

Sakura watched him with furrowed brows. “Can you teach me?”

“Yes, but…” He stopped, tried again. “You can’t...”

“I can’t use my chakra,” she said. “But I can still learn.”

He took her hands. “Serpent, ram, monkey, boar, horse, tiger.” He didn’t need to, but he shaped her fingers through the signs. “Pull the chakra into your throat. Let it churn. Exhale.”

Sakura mimed the signs, paused in concentration so the chakra could build. Of course, it was only pretend. She exhaled. Her cold breath hung in the air, the furthest thing from fire.

“Thank you. I understand now. Your katon always fascinated me.” She opened her eyes. “Once, I saw you practicing in the distance. I secretly hoped, one day, you would teach me yourself.”

Bitterness filled him. “Not like this.”

“This is enough,” she said, her voice kind.

He thought about young Sakura—energetic and talkative, irritating, nervous around him. He pictured her, watching as he exhaled fire, wishing. The way her voice sounded as she spoke to his back, because he didn’t have the strength to turn and look at her, begging him to stay, or to take her with him. 

“Did you mean what you said? The night I left?”

For once she didn’t meet his eyes. “That I loved you? Yes, I meant it.” Then her calm returned. “I’m glad you’ve thought about it since then.”

He felt the urge to throw her off guard, to catch a glimpse of the girl from his memories.

“You still love me,” he accused.

Her eyes seemed to sadden. She touched his face, her hand growing warm. He wrenched away, but it was too late. A cut on his cheek was healed. 

He held his cheek like she had burned him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m in control. I know how much I have left. Shouldn’t I be able to do what I want with it?”

Her hand remained outstretched. He gripped her wrist tightly, so tight it must hurt, and threw it away from himself.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

.

.

“Why are you always bathing?” Sasuke asked her once.

Shameless, she stood up in the bath, reaching for her robe. He tried very hard to ignore her body, only glancing up when he was sure the robe was around her. The front hung loose, only her hand clasping it together.

“It hurts less in the water.”

Her eyes always gave everything away. Even when they were kids. They said everything she was thinking. When he met her eyes now, he was dazed to find unguarded curiosity, desire. The difference now was she put it bluntly to words.

“Haven't you wondered?” she said.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t. He was wondering now, painfully aware of how his body was reacting to her there, so close, so easy to touch. 

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “You’re—you’re sick.” Dying. But he couldn't say that. “I could hurt you.”

“I've never been as fragile as you thought I was.”

She let the cloak slip. It draped down low, revealing the narrow expanse from the hollow of her throat to the space between her breasts. Sasuke heard a small noise escape his throat, a strangled cry. And he was crossing the room, because he couldn't refuse her, not when it was something he also wanted so badly. Each footfall shed away the time and distance built up between them, laying in his wake like shed layers, so by the time he got to her he already felt naked. 

He walked straight into her touch, her palm pressing against his heart, the other curling around his nape. He slipped her glasses off, let them fall, secretly hoping they’d break on the stone ground. He hated them.

In the dark, as he leaned in to kiss her, he could almost imagine they were somewhere else. In a soft bedroom, in a life they lived together, elsewhere. But he could not ignore the echoes sounding off the rock walls, the feeling of emptiness handing over their heads, the cold pressing in.

.

.

Sasuke stared up at the sky, his back to the dirt.

Around him, battle was waging. The day they’d all been waiting for, fueled with Sakura’s remaining chakra, was almost over. He didn’t know which way the tide was pulling now. He could only feel the hole in his side and know for him it was over.

When he next opened his eyes, everything was green, like he was lying on the forest floor. It wasn’t what he expected death to be like. But Sakura was there, leaning over him. He smiled, washed with relief. At least, even in this place, they had found each other. It was such a comfort, it didn’t matter to him what happened next.

He tried to sit up, and pain tore through him, though it was fading quickly. His eyelids drooped. Sakura’s hands shifted across his body, so warm.

“Can I go back to sleep?” he mumbled.

She cupped his cheek. “Yes, my love.”

He almost listened to her, but strange sounds reached his ears. Metal clashing, screaming. He cracked open his heavy eyes. A body lay close by, red staining the ground beneath. Above him, Sakura’s face was streaked with dirt and tears.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“My part is over,” she said, hands rooted to his chest like an ancient tree to the earth, unwavering and sure. “I have some left. Just enough.”

His body rippled with an electric shock. “Don’t, Sakura!” 

He struggled to move, but she held him down with an iron grip.

“Just take it!” she cried. “What else would I do with it?”

It was always coming to this, he knew. But he wasn’t ready. He needed her to stay just a little longer. There was so much he still needed to tell her. 

“One more day,” he begged. “You could stay just one more day.” 

Her green eyes were like a storm, and as she steamed the last of her chakra into him, she didn’t look like she was dying. She looked as strong as he remembered. “If I stop now you’ll die.”

That night, when he left the village, he should have taken her with him. Taken her far, far, away. Why had he left her there? What use were his prized eyes and Uchiha blood if he couldn’t see the right choice to make? 

“Don't leave,” he gasped. It was hard to see her, tears blurring his vision. “Please don't leave.”

Her hands softly slipped from his chest. “It’s okay, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice came from far away. “Just go back to sleep.”

The mark faded from her forehead like a star at dawn.

.

.

Konoha fell. The world was raw and overturned. Burning, and growing, and burning, and growing. One day, Sasuke would want to see it. For now he returned to the mountain, to Sakura’s pool.

He floated in the water, weightless, aching with the life she’d given him.

.

.

.

.

notes: a longer multi chapter is coming soon, but for now take this, and sorry

[sassyhobbits]

Guess I lied “Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.” someone from the Cadre telling this to Fen and him breaking apart and crying and dying I want him to suffer

had to so this one. always happy to write about my boy fen!!! luv him

heres day 4!!!

~~~

“Are you sure you want to make that move?”

“Yes. No. Fuck. What’s wrong with this move?”

“Why the hell would I tell you? I’m trying to win.”

Aelin laughed at the stormy look on Fenrys’ face as his dark gaze studied the chess board before them intently. She knew he was determined to beat her for once. She had been on a winning streak lately.

Aelin settled in her seat before the fire, studying the board before them. It was a beautiful set, something she had bought Rowan for Yulemas the year before. Her husband loved the game, but loathed buying anything for himself. She knew he was pleased to have such a nice set, though he tried to play it casual. They played together at least one night a week. Rowan was terribly good at the game. Three hundred years of practice of both chess and military strategy had made him a truly formidable opponent. Aelin had yet to beat him, though she had been getting better.

Fenrys, however, she beat over half the time. Learning from Rowan had given her an edge.

The male across from her finally picked up a knight and moved it, capturing one of Aelin’s pawns that had been protecting her king. She raised a brow at him. “Really, Fenrys?”

“What? You were too well defended.”

Aelin tutted and shook her head. “Short-sighted once again, my friend.” She reached out and moved her queen on it diagonal, placing it down firmly and smirking at Fenrys. “Check mate.”

A slew of terribly, dirty curses streamed from Fenrys’ mouth as he knocked over his king. He shook his head, studying the board. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I’ve always been good at keeping my schemes to myself,” Aelin shrugged. “That’s all chess is, anyway. Schemes.”

He cursed once more. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Fenrys sighed, accepting his defeat, reaching over to the bottle of wine they had been working through and topping off both of their glasses.

Aelin enjoyed having her friend so close. Aedion, Lysandra, Elide and Lorcan visited Orynth when they could, though they were busy running their own territories. Dorian and Chaol were in Adarlan, Manon rebuilding the Witch Kingdom. Even Fenrys had been traveling until recently. She had truly missed her companion.

They spoke and joked between one another for a few more moments before the door to the parlor opened. Aelin recognized her mate’s scent without needing to look back, even beneath all the sweat.

She sensed his presence as he stopped by where she sat, tilting her head up and smiling at him. His silver hair was in disarray from training with the guards that evening, but his green eyes were bright as he looked to her and then to the board.

Her husband studied it with a general’s intent for a few moments before a smile curled on his lips, looking towards Aelin with pride glimmering in his eyes. Good job, Fireheart, he seemed to say before pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.

Aelin’s nose crinkled at the smell of him. “You, husband mine, are in desperate need of a bath.”

“I agree,” Fenrys added. “My eyes are watering.”

Rowan looked to him dryly, though it held no venom at the younger male’s teasing.

Aelin began asking him about how the training had gone. They had a recent surge of new recruits and though many of them had potential, they were rough around the edges. Aelin knew that if anyone could whip them into shape, it would be Rowan.

Aelin fell into the lull of conversation, and it wasn’t until a while later that she noted a strange quietness coming from across from her. Fenrys wasn’t one to hold his tongue for an extended period of time. She glanced away from Rowan, looking towards the male across from her. Fenrys’ face was somber, staring hard into the fire that made his dark skin glow. His brows were pinched together, lips pressed tight, eyes glazed. Somewhere far away.

Rowan followed her gaze, ceasing his report to study his comrade.

It took a few moments for Fenrys to recognize the sudden silence, blinking away the haunted look in his eyes before glancing towards the king and queen before him, as if he could feel their gazes.

Something in Aelin’s chest clenched. She knew what the look meant, had worn it herself plenty of times. Her head tilted to the side before asking softly, “Where did you go, my friend?”

The smile that slashed Fenrys’ face came just a fraction of a moment too late, confirming that whatever he had been remembering had shaken him more than he could admit.

“I’m just tired. Losing to you takes more energy than you would think,” Fenrys sighed, trying to muster some bravado into his voice, though Aelin saw right through it. “I think I’ll head off to bed.”

Aelin watched her friend warily as he pushed to his feet, nodding a brief farewell before heading towards the door. She glanced up at her husband, seeing a familiar look of concern on his handsome face. It was evident that the White Wolf of Doranelle was not alright.

…

Once Fenrys deemed himself an appropriate distance from where the king and queen sat in the parlor, he allowed himself to let go. His shoulders curved in, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he rested his back against a cool stone wall and hung his head in his hands.

Everything had been going well. He had spent the day assisting his queen with her duties while Rowan worked with the guards. He was fine through dinner, through their game of chess. Maybe it was because he had kept himself thoroughly distracted but… when he had let his mind quiet, even for a moment, he had felt himself drift away.

One moment he was laughing and teasing with Aelin, a smile lighting the queen’s face. The next, he heard echoes of her screams of agony, flashes of Cairn carving her up bit by bit while he had to sit aside and do nothing. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, spiraling down into the darkest part of his memories: Aelin sobbing in that iron coffin, the sight of Connall spilling his own blood, the feel of Maeve’s cold, pale hands on his body.

It happened from time to time. The memories getting the better of him. He always tried to play it off to the best of his abilities, making himself flash an easy smile to hide the vulnerability. He knew that the others suffered from similar afflictions, knew his queen was still haunted by nightmares. There were nights when he would wake to a knock on his door only to find Aelin standing on the other side, eyes hollow in a way Fenrys recognized. Sometimes she would talk about it, others she would just sit silently in his presence. The only person who truly had an inkling of what she had suffered for those two months. He knew Rowan still feared losing his mate, still saw the flash of panic in his eyes when he couldn’t find her in the sprawling palace, even though she was always safe and content. It was just… difficult to shake off those feelings.

And yet… Fenrys never wanted to burden his already burdened friends with his own troubles. He knew they would protest that description. Burden. They wouldn’t feel that way about it but… he did.

Fenrys was lost in his thoughts, all of them dark and swirling like a storm through his head. It distracted him enough that he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching until the purposeful scuff of a boot over stone caught his attention.

Fenrys raised his head, finding Rowan standing before him, green eyes studying him carefully. He stood straighter, forcing a wobbly smile to his lips.

“You miss me already?” Fenrys said, though his voice betrayed him, crackling towards the end.

Rowan’s expression turned sympathetic, a look Fenrys had never seen on his commander’s face until he had met Aelin. He stood a step closer.

“You doing alright there, pup?”

Fenrys shrugged, still trying to hold on to some semblance of nonchalance. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Rowan didn’t press him right away, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dirty trousers. “Your quick departure made my wife quite worried about you.”

“Aelin has enough on her plate. She doesn’t need to worry about me too.”

“I’m worried about you as well, Fenrys.”

Fenrys blinked, sure he had heard the king consort incorrectly. Rowan had certainly warmed up since he fell in love with Aelin, but he was still rather stoic most of the time. He saved most of his compassion for the woman he loved. Rowan wasn’t cruel to Fenrys, he never had been. Though he was a massive bastard and a pain in his ass once upon a time but… he had never reached out like this.

It seemed that Rowan took his stunned silence as a cue to continue.

“You try to hide it, but I can see it in your eyes. The pain.” Rowan’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. “I did the same thing for years.”

“Yeah, but you took it out on the rest of us poor soul.”

Rowan gave a dry chuckle. “That I did. But you know what helped me heal?”

“Bedding your stunning wife?”

Rowan smacked him softly on the side of the head. Rightly deserved, Fenrys knew. He was being immature.

“I’m serious, boyo,” Rowan said lowly. “I didn’t start coming out of that darkness until I started opening up. Talking. Confiding in people who knew what I felt and what I had gone through.”

Fenrys rubbed at his eyes before rasping, “I don’t know where to start. I don’t want to burden you. Burden Aelin.”

“Aelin loves you,” Rowan said plainly. “She would never feel burdened if you reached out to her. You’re her friend. You’re my friend too, Fen. We’re always going to be here for you.”

Fenrys nodded, not trusting that his voice wouldn’t fail him. He was grateful for the friends, family, and support he had found in the recent years. This life that he had now… he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

He was silent for a few more moments, simply looking down at his boots and trying to banish the lump clogged in his throat. Rowan, the perceptive bastard, simply cocked his head to the side and met his gaze.

“Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.”

It was with those words that Fenrys broke. The tears began falling freely down his cheeks, blurring his vision.

“There are moments where I forget where I am,” Fenrys confessed. “When I get so lost in the worst of the memories that I fear there’s no way out. I don’t know how to escape, how to be free of it. At times, I feel like I’m drowning.”

Fenrys didn’t bother to try and smother the tears, the shaking breaths he took. He knew Rowan was right. Holding everything in certainly didn’t help. He wasn’t sure if crying in the halls of Orynth would do much either but-

His train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt when he felt arms wrapped around him. Fenrys blinked once, sure he was hallucinating. But no. It was real. Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius was actually hugging him.

He was frozen for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Some older part of him hissed that it was a trick, that the moment he let his guard down Rowan would put him in a headlock as part of a training exercise. But, Fenrys also knew that the cold and calculating commander of his past was no more.

Slowly, Fenrys reached up and returned the embrace.

For a few moments, neither of them said anything, until Fenrys whispered, “Thank you, brother.”

Another few heartbeats passed before Fenrys felt another pair of arms wrap around his torso from behind, the scent of jasmine and ashes tickling his nose. Aelin.

“You were snooping that entire time, weren’t you?” Fenrys asked with a tiny laugh.

“Of course I was,” the queen mumbled against his back. “How else am I supposed to stay three steps ahead of everyone if I don’t snoop?”

Fenrys chuckled lightly, already feeling lighter than he had before. He was a lucky bastard to have such friendship and support in his life. And, although he was still healing, he knew they were as well.

They would find the path to the light. Together.

[sundaysundaes]

Iridescent

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader/Female OC | Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst | NC-17 | Soulmate AU, Childhood-Friends-Become-Lovers AU

An epilogue to Monochrome. Contains HEAVY SPOILERS, so please read Monochrome and Spectra before you read this.

Summary: Lee Donghyuck once believed in the concept of soulmates—how fate would connect a red thread from one lover to another, in a form of dreams and memories. That was how his parents met, that was how they claimed their happiness, and he wanted nothing more but to live his life the way they lived theirs. Until one day, as he sees her slipping away from his hands, he has no choice but to stop believing entirely.

Broken bones can be mended and bruises may vanish over time, but what befell Lee Donghyuck after the accident was deeper than fractures and scars. It took him five days to wake up from his comatose sleep, eight months for his body to fully recuperate, and another ten months in rehabilitation to overcome his trauma and mental state. But even then, he was never the same. He would never be the same.

As he could never be able to see the light again.

“Vision loss may strike as a devastating injury that could change your life,” his doctor once said during his regular check-up, “But it doesn’t mean that your life has ended, nor should you stop living. There’s still a beautiful world out there waiting for you. It may feel hard today or tomorrow, but you will get through this. You will get better.”

But to Donghyuck, they sounded like a string of murmurs as if the older man was drowning but still trying to mouth the words to him. Or maybe he was the one who was drowning instead, with no chance to resurface. And he didn’t mind, not at all. He wasn’t sure he had the will to do it anyway.

A gentle caress of warm fingertips and a voice as smooth as a lullaby to a child’s ears were the only ones who kept him sane. She was there, from the very first day he’d opened his eyes and seen nothing, and she continued to stay, no matter how much he’d cried in agony or screamed from bottled-up anger. She would hug him when the thought of hurting himself became too much to bear, and she would tell him over and over again, how lucky she was to have him alive and breathing in her arms. And she would still call him in the same way—Haechannie, Haechannie—between loving words that were filled with nothing but honesty, even if he no longer shone as bright as the sun.

She was the sole reason why he continued living, though not truly alive. The only one who gave comfort to his shattered heart and soul. To him, there would be no life without her.

On the day he was discharged from the hospital, dressed in his favorite white tee and a knitted navy-blue sweater she often borrowed to wear around her figure, his chocolate brown hair was long and untrimmed, nearly brushing against his collar. His skin was starting to lose its beautiful tan, and his collar bones were protruding from how much he had lost weight during his recovery. His matching dark eyes were  slightly opened and they shone in a soft glow under the sun, but they were as lifeless as the waves before the storm.

But to her, he was still a sight to behold.

Pushing his bangs out of his eyes with her fingertips, she smiled. “I haven’t seen you standing under the sun for a long time,” she said, mesmerized by the way his hair was fluttering under the wind. “My Haechannie is so pretty.”

He responded by kissing her inner palm and they hugged once before she accompanied him walking down the stairs.

“One step at a time, okay, Haechannie?” 

Her voice was always warm, always filled with the passion of life, as if she was trying hard to be happy for his sake as well. And it made him feel various emotions at once, from the elation of having someone as patient and loving as her nurture him back to health, from agony for being the one who always caused her trouble, and from fear of losing her if one day she woke up and decided to not love him again.

“Don’t let go of my hand. I’m here with you, Haechannie. I always will be.” 

Her promise found its way to his heart, and instead of making him feel drowned like anybody else, she was the one who pulled him out of the water.

“I won’t,” Donghyuck said, tattered voice escaping chapped lips. “As long as you’d let me.”

He couldn’t see her smile, but he could somehow sense it in the way she let out her breath, in the way she squeezed his hand, in every time she spoke his name.

“I got permission from your parents to take you somewhere today before we head back home,” she mentioned before a small, excited giggle tumbled down her lips. He was sitting in what he supposed to be his father’s car by the smell of it, and he let himself stay in silence as she dragged a seatbelt forward and tied it around his body with a click. “I hope you don’t mind taking a walk because I’ve been dying to go on a date with my boyfriend.” He could hear her placing her seatbelt and the sound of dangling keys. The car engine soon started with a stutter and Donghyuck’s fingers immediately tried to find reassurance by sinking their nails into the edge of his seat, his heart ramming against his ribcages.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She hastily laced their fingers together, stealing his shivers away with how firm she held on to his hand. “Breathe, Haechannie. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you, do you hear me?”

It reminded him of their old days when she tried to protect him with a plastic sword from the monster that hid under his bed. She still had the same effects on him as to how she did back then, clouding his entire mind with the feeling of safety and assurance.

He followed her guidance and tried to smile even when his throat felt like burning and his heart trying to find its way to leap out of his chest. “I’ll—” he swallowed when an inevitable crack appeared in his voice. “I’ll be fine.”

There was a pause and he desperately wanted to see what kind of expression she had on her face, but the thought went away when he felt a pair of lips meeting his in a soft, chaste kiss.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding somewhat shy when she parted away but close enough for him to feel her breath on his face. “I know you’re shaking in fear and a kiss would probably be the last thing you wanted right now, but…” She brushed her thumb along his lower lip, yearning for him. “I really miss you.” 

 Given the situation, perhaps it wasn’t the right thing to do but to him, it was exactly what he needed. She made him feel wanted, made him feel like his existence did matter to her more than just as a burden. So Donghyuck blindly reached out to her, searching for her hands, her face, her everything, and she met him halfway, lips melding into his as naturally as breathing.

To her, he still felt the same—just as warm, just as pleasant, just as passionate although his touch felt frail on her skin. Donghyuck was still Donghyuck she remembered, the one who reminded her of the sun, and how his entire presence made her feel joy in the way no one had ever given to her before.

She was devastated when she nearly lost her sun. Countless nights were spent with her crying with her face sinking at the sheet of his hospital bed, just a few moments after he fell into his slumber with lines of tears smearing his cheeks. She had always tried to be strong in front of him and his family, but when she was alone in the dark, listening to his soft breathing as he slept, she would allow herself to break apart, just for a few moments.

Those five days when he was in his comatose state was the  loneliest, most painful time she had to endure in all her years of living. Her fingers were desperately squeezing his just to feel a slight movement and she had called and called and called but he never answered. Her life was suddenly as dark as the night, where the moon had crumbled to dust with stars transforming into black holes.

So when he finally opened his eyes, her name escaping his lips, she felt like she was being reborn, finding back her purpose in life and there would be no way, no matter how hard it would be for them, for her to let go of her sun again.

“I love you,” she whispered between kisses, finding her way back to his lips with a sense of urgency every time, “I love you, Haechannie.” Fingers curling against his soft locks, lips moving from his mouth, nose, temple, cheek, before they went back to the start with shy tongues darting only to take a hint of how they other tasted. “Don’t ever leave me again. Please.”

It was he who should’ve spoken those words. It was he who should’ve begged her to stay. So knowing that she felt the same way, Donghyuck whimpered against her mouth, lifeless eyes began to spark in the way they used to.

***

He didn’t know where she was taking him away but by the briny scent that traveled the air, he muttered his guess, “Are we going to the beach?”

“Correct. Any idea which one?”

“The… The one where we spent our summer vacation?”

“Try being more specific.”

He curled his fingers, flush bloomed on his cheeks. “The one where I confessed my feelings for you for the first time?”

A soft chuckle. “That’s right. The one where you made my heart flutter, as promised.”

“I didn’t know I succeeded at that time.”

“You’ve always won against me, Haechannie. Even if I did win at something, it was only because you’d let me.”

The trip was a three-hour drive from the hospital, and they filled the silence by recalling their memories or humming songs to whatever the radio was playing. She begged him to sing, but he was only brave enough to do it after the fifth time she’d tried, and although he hated the croaky sound he made from his throat, she squeezed his thigh, saying, “Thank you for making me so happy.” He wasn’t sure what she was referring to—was it his voice or his entire existence?—but he realized he didn’t care, as long as he could fulfill his sole purpose of living.

The evening sun was warm on his face when she opened the car door and guided him to step forward into the sand, his sneakers sinking slightly into it under his weight. “Careful,” she reminded, circling one hand around his waist as he shakily wrapped his around her shoulder. “Can you smell the air?”

He could smell the scent of her strawberry shampoo. “Yeah. Salty.”

She quietly laughed. “Do you want to get closer to the water?”

“I’m…” The thought of him not wanting to trouble her was heavier than his desire. “I’m fine here.”

There was a pause, which made him ponder whether he said something wrong but then she huffed loudly. “You’re no fun. Well, we’re going to get, at least, our feet wet, whether you like it or not. So come on, keep up with me, slowpoke.”

Hearing that coming from a girl who didn’t even want to get sand on her shorts was something that made his entire body feel warm, and the sun had no part in it.

She helped him untie his sneakers, rolled up his jeans to his knees before she pushed him slowly into the water. He could feel the waves meeting his skin, could imagine how it would look like—the sand being carried away by the pressure of the water, his feet sinking a little deeper into the ground, perhaps a strand of seaweed catching around his bare toe.

“The sun is setting,” she said and he could somehow hear the grin in her voice. “Isn’t it romantic?”

“I guess.” He felt her wrapping her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna take you dancing.” Her smile was sheepish, her cheeks reddening almost the same color as the glow that illuminated her features. “Oh, wait. I forgot the music.”

“Noona—”

“Just a sec.” She held up a finger to his lips as she fiddled with her phone with her other hand. “Where’s that song you—oh, here it is.”

Donghyuck could hear the song—the exact same song he’d played back then when he’d asked her to do the same thing under the starry sky. “You’re right,” he murmured with a weak smile, as she tucked her phone back into her coat’s pocket. “I should’ve picked a better song. Thinking Out Loud is way too overrated.”

“It’s okay, it’s been growing on me these days. Been using it as my alarm even.” 

Her giggle was adorable and gleeful while his was soft, almost inaudible. “Is that so…”

She caressed his face, eyes becoming tender when she noticed him leaning more to her touch. “I’ve missed hearing you laugh.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitched a little so he stayed in reticence. The sound of the wind and the crashing waves were louder than her speaker, so she urged him to sing, knowing that he already remembered the song by heart. He disinclined at first but he grew soft at her pleading.

As he began to hum along the first chorus, she stroke the skin on his nape soothingly with her fingertips. “Have I told you about the day when I realized I loved you?”

He smiled, another flashback hitting him like the soft waves around his feet. “Enlighten me, please.”

“There were two different times, actually.” She leaned closer, swaying their bodies side-to-side ever so slightly. “The first time I realized I felt something for you was back when we were still in junior high. An asshole in my class stole my sketchbook and you got into a fight to retrieve it back—even though you said you got your bruises from tripping down the stairs. I felt so happy knowing that there was someone out there who cared a lot about me.”

“I did trip down the stairs, actually.”

“Of course, you did.” But like the old days, she saw right through his lies. “The second time was when we were celebrating your birthday. I wore this yellow dress that looked way too tacky for the occasion and people were looking at me weird. And you stayed by my side, ignoring everybody in the house even though it was your birthday, and you told me that I was the prettiest girl in the room.”

He hummed in agreement. “Prettier than me even.” 

“That’s right.” She snickered but her tone gradually turned into something more sincere. “So when I told you that you were my first love, I wasn’t lying nor was I exaggerating. I’ve loved you just as long as you have, I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it unlike you. And I still regret that, even to this day. We wasted so many days, and I hurt you so many times—”

“It’s okay.” He shook his head, his closed eyes somehow began to feel hot. “It’s in the past.”

She broke down into another smile, fingers reaching out to swat his bangs away from his face. “You’re right. We still have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

When he suddenly became mute, it made her heart thump faster in anxiety. But Donghyuck soon tugged her closer into his chest, his arms enveloping her entire figure and she sighed in relief as he laid his chin on top of her head.

“What are you wearing?” He asked, his lips brushing against her hair.

“Only in my skimpy bra and g-string, lover.”

“No, I’m serious.” He could feel his laugh reverberating from his chest and it still felt unfamiliar after all this time. “Describe it to me in detail. I want to imagine the scenery.”

She was smiling but her eyes grew softer. “I’m wearing that red dress you said you loved.”

“O-oh…” He wetted his lips. “I didn’t realize that since you’re wearing—what is it, a coat?—“ She confirmed with a nod. “Right. What else?”

“My hair is untied, but I’ve cut it short since it became a nuisance whenever I have to go to work early and don’t have time to style my hair.”

“How short?”

“Short enough to show the necklace you gave me.”

His heart was loud in his ears, almost deafening. “You’re still wearing that?”

“Yes.” He could sense her moving away, sliding her hand down his arm in a silky-smooth touch before she intertwined their fingers. “Along with something else.”

“Wha—” He felt her guiding his fingers to trace hers and the second he touched it, it felt like his world was turning upside-down. “You’re wearing… a ring…” whether it was a question or a statement, he wasn’t clear himself.

“Yes,” she gently replied, moving even closer. “Want to guess what ring it is?”

His heart was in his throat. “Please don’t…” he shook his head, taking a step back. “Please don’t say it’s the engagement ring I was about to give you.”

But she didn’t need to answer, because what else could it be?

She reached out for him but he slapped her hand away when it reached his sleeve. “Haechannie—”

Donghyuck tripped on his feet, falling to his knees and felt the ocean swallowing him inch-by-inch, seawater seeping into his clothes. His face was nowhere near the water and yet he was gasping frantically for air, his chest suffocating and sending jolts of pain to his entire body. 

He could hear her shouting his name in concern, could tell the panic in her voice, but how could he comfort her when he couldn’t even help himself?

The world was swirling in his head even when he could only perceive the darkness with his eyes. His stomach lurched as he coughed multiple times, throat burning in flames.

“Oh God, okay, you’re having a panic attack,” she sounded breathy, afraid, as she clutched her hands around his shoulders. “Breathe with me. Haechannie, focus, I need you to breathe.”

He had a hand on his chest while his other one was sinking deep in the sand. The memory of the accident—how it ruined everything he had planned for her, for himself, and the future they were about to face together—and knowing how useless he had become, to simply reduce himself into nothing but a burden who couldn’t even pass through a door without help, made him feel like his world was ending.

She pulled him into an embrace, sinking his face into the crook of her neck—a habit he once grew fond of—and whispered his name over and over again until it sounded like a prayer, steadying his heartbeat little by little with every second passing by. She only hugged him even tighter when he managed to calm his breathing. “You’re okay,” she exhaled in relief, “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

He brought his hand to the back of her head, feeling her strands under his fingers and finally noticing how short it was. “You should let me go,” he whispered, voice quivering.

Whether he was talking about her embrace or letting him out of her life, she didn’t care. The answer was the same for both. “No.”

“I’m fine now.”

“Well, I’m not. I want to stay like this.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his sweater. “Let me stay like this.”

He kept still but he no longer answered her hug, letting his arms fell loose on the side of his body. “Why did you wear the ring?”

“Because I want to.” 

It soothed him a little that she answered with those words and not “Because it’s something you wanted to give me and I know how much you want me to wear it.”

He noticed her body shivering as their knees were still buried in the sand, engulfed in seawater. “We should move. It’s getting colder.”

She eventually nodded, helping him up to his feet and went back to their car, immediately turning the heater on before she carried him to the back seat where they settled close next to each other. 

“Are you cold?” She asked, her voice quivering as she took her half-drenched coat off. “Guess it wasn’t a smart idea going back to the beach in autumn, huh?” He didn’t answer, too busy maintaining his composure so he wouldn’t freak out again. “Your clothes are soaked, we should get you changed. I brought some spare with me. Oh, and a blanket too.”

She was doing enough talking for both of them to fill the silence so Donghyuck kept his lips pressed tightly shut and followed her order, lifting his hands so she could pull his sweater over his head. She unbuttoned his shirt, blushing a little when his chest and stomach came into view, reminding her of the times where they spent their days raking nails down each other’s skin, exchanging wanton moans between wet kisses.

When he was left only in his jeans, she unzipped her dress, the clothing falling off her shoulders before she slipped it off her body entirely. Grabbing a blanket from the trunk, she scooted over to his place, wrapping the fabric around both of their bodies. She took his hand in hers, rubbing his cold one with hers over and over until he stopped shivering. “You really are sensitive to cold,” she mumbled to herself, “Warm enough?”

“You should’ve just thrown it away.”

She abruptly stopped moving, hands freezing as they were holding him mid-air. “What?”

“The ring,” he murmured, sliding his hand away from hers and bringing it down to his lap. “It doesn’t have any meaning now, so…”

She took her time to reply, begging herself to stay calm even when the pain was tearing her apart. Her tone was expressively hurt when she finally spoke, “You don’t want to marry me anymore?”

He could feel his jaw tightening. “Do you still want to marry me?”

“Yes, just as much as I did on the day you proposed to me for the first time. If not more.”

She answered him fast and firm, without a trace of  hesitation or doubts. But the fear that his thoughts screamed at him echoed louder in his head, reducing her promise to sound nothing more than a whisper being carried by the wind. To him, she seemed like she was about to cry, and perhaps she was, but not because she had doubts about marrying him. She was heartbroken because he appeared like he was forcing her to do something she disgusts, when marrying him had been her wish all along.

If he could see her, he would’ve seen the hurtful look that painted her face. She became mute, averting her focus to her hands that laid frozen on her lap. “Haechannie,” she eventually called, “When I think of you, what do you think comes into my mind?”

A liability. A deadweight. Someone you should abandon to make your life bearable. But he stayed as soundless as the night.

“Do you think I’m doing all of this because I’m forced to do it?” Her voice was soft, but he could sense a hidden rage between her words. “Because I’m obliged to take care of you as your girlfriend—your fiancee?”

“It’s not that, it’s—” He spluttered, turning to look at her although his eyes could only see the darkness. “I just wasn’t sure it’s still the future you want us to have.“ He hesitated, his voice became quiet. “And I’m not sure whether you still want me in this condition—”

“Why are you saying that?” Her voice grew frantic. “That’s really—That’s not—“ She buried her face in her hands, her chest tightening. “I want you—of course, I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Somehow, her affection felt like a stabbing pain from all the self-loathe that bubbled in his chest. “But I’m not the same now.”

“Doesn’t mean that I’ll stop loving—God, Haechannie, why can’t you see that we—”

“That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? I can’t see!” His voice was resonating loudly, colored with dismay and agony, muting the sound of waves crashing behind them. “I’m fucking blind! I don’t know what kind of face you wear around me these days. I can’t tell whether you’re lying or not when you say these words—”

“I will never lie to you—”

“Yes, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m afraid!” He broke apart, voice filled with quivers as it nearly reduced into short gasps. “I’m afraid of having you look at me like I’m a liability. I’m tired of trying to convince myself that I can be some kind of help to you when I can’t even button my fucking shirt properly. I want to marry you—God, I want to marry you so bad—but what do I have to offer? I can’t function like a normal person, I’ve lost my job, I’m going insane, and I can’t see a damn thing!”

The second he stopped speaking, only the sound of their surroundings could be heard, along with their ragged breathing. Donghyuck brought his face to the side, hiding half of his face behind his shaky fingers, inhaling a few times to control his breathing but failing on each try. 

Her eyes began to water as well but she erased the tears before they could stroll down her face. “I’m not sure if you know this already but,” she said, forcing herself to smile between hot tears. “I know how you’d prepared everything that day. I was shocked when my mother told me that you’d asked for their permission to marry me. I didn’t know you were so serious about this. I was so happy, but even then, I wasn’t as happy as the day you finally woke up, five days after the accident. I was just so relieved that I could see you alive and breathing again—to hold you in my arms, to hear your voice saying my name. I know how devastating this feels to you, losing your vision so suddenly like this, and I know how insensitive I will sound to you but let me just say this.” 

She reached out to him, cupping his cheek with one hand so he could turn his face around. His eyes were tightly shut, but his eyelashes were wet as they rested against his cheeks.  “I don’t care that you’re blind,” she said, rubbing her thumb gently along his cheekbone. “And I don’t care if you can’t walk without hitting walls, or if you can’t make your own coffee or wear your own clothes—what I care about is that we’re both here, together, alive and well, and there is nothing in the world that could change my mind.” When he was about to turn away again, to be swallowed by his emotions, she held his face with both hands, forcing him to bare his soul in front of her eyes. “I’d rather have you in this state or worse, rather than losing you entirely, Haechannie. I need you just as much, if not more. So, if you could just trust me, please.”

Donghyuck laid his palm against the back of her hand. “You’re better off without me, Noona. And it’s not just because of how I am now. Bad things do happen when you ignore the signs and deny your soulmate—you should’ve been with Mark—”

“I don’t care about soulmates.” She was frustrated, he could tell, by the way he was so adamant about this. “Isn’t that what you said to me too back then?”

“I know, but seeing how this happened to me, I—”

“Haechannie,” she called, gripping his hand tightly until his knuckles turned white. “What happened to you is an accident. It has nothing to do with soulmates or fate—people get into accidents, these things happen—”

“Yes, I get that, but what if it’s not? I don’t care if anything happens to me, but I can’t—” He took a sharp intake of breath. “I can’t afford anything happening to you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Then do you want to spend your days alone instead of being with me?” Her tone was inscrutable, almost impersonal to his ears. “Be honest.”

Donghyuck bit his lip. “It doesn’t matter what I want—“

“Stop listening to your own thoughts. Listen to mine. Listen to what I’m saying.” Her temple was pressed against his, her breath fanning against his lips. “I need you, Hyuck. And if you’re too afraid to be with me, just like how I used to in the past, then let me fight for this. Let me fight for us the way you used to.” Her lips were so close to him that he could almost feel every syllable with his own. “And before you regret everything as much as I did about us, accept me.”

And just like a twig cracking under pressure, Donghyuck snapped.

He rushed to close the gap between them, his lips meeting another pair in a searing kiss and she gasped against his mouth, body tumbling backward to the seat with him pressing hotly against her. He finally let himself go, finally caved into his desires, finally devoted himself back to her like how he did in the past.

He was rushing everything, hands desperately clawing against every part of her skin that he could reach, his kiss frenzied. But all of that was a mere distraction so she wouldn’t be able to hear him whimpering against her mouth, lips quivering as he tried to contain his sobs. 

“I love you,” he hastily said, holding her face with one hand as he kissed her fervently. “I’m sorry for hurting you over and over again—” The way he smashed his lips against hers was both bruising and comforting. “I just—I want you to be happy,” he groaned at the back of his throat when she tugged his lower lip between her teeth, “With or without me, I don’t care, as long as you’re happy, I—”

“With you,” she immediately confirmed, yanking against the strands of his hair as she peppered kisses down the column of his neck. “I’m only happy when I’m with you, Haechannie, so—” And she melded their lips together again, tongues sliding against one another, drowning in passion.

It was a mystery to her when Donghyuck said he wasn’t the same. He still felt like flames, burning her skin with his every touch, igniting sparks of fire in her heart with whispers of her name. But even if he was transforming into an entirely different person, she knew she would still dedicate herself to him either way.

There’s no life without you.

What started as a rush of a moment gradually turned into something slow where they began to savor each touch with more affection and less uncontrollable lust. As he needed her guidance, she switched their positions, letting Donghyuck sat with his spine pressed against the seat, the skin on his back sticking uncomfortably against the leather. 

She noticed how he flinched more under her fingertips, sensitive to even a small graze of skin meeting skin. “Are you okay?” She asked, settling on his lap, straps of her bra falling off her shoulders.

He nodded anxiously, tilting his face so she could take the sign and kiss him again and she did, but her touch was paper-thin. “You seem nervous,” she commented, caressing his cheek in concern as he circled his arms around her waist.

“I am,” he admitted, cheeks turning rosy. “I’m going crazy because I can’t see you. I’m afraid that I’d do something wrong and make you feel—”

“Then I’ll let you know,” she assured him, thumb tracing his lower lip. “I’ll say everything if that’s what you want to know, so stop thinking too much.” She leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead before she brushed the tip of her nose against his. “And just… feel me more.”

Donghyuck let her take his hand and exhaled softly when she pressed it against her cheek, shaky fingertips began to trace her jawline, the shape of her lips, her chin, her neck. His eyes were closed but his eyebrows were furrowed deep in concentration, and she would’ve smiled at the sight if his touches weren’t scorching on her skin, enveloping her with sensations she had been longing for months.

His other senses were heightened, noticing her scent better, listening to every gasp, every moan of his name, feeling her veins, her small scars from her childhood days—everything.

“So beautiful,” he praised under his breath but she caught it, sending goosebumps all over her body. “A-are you okay?” He asked, noticing how she fidgeted and shifted her weight. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s just—“ She bit her lip when his fingers ran along the valley of her breasts, stopping when he reached her bra. “It’s been a while since we last—” a moan escaped her lips when he slipped his thumb behind the fabric, calloused skin meeting her sensitive nub. “Haechannie…”

Donghyuck gulped, his ears turning scarlet. Not being able to see the whole thing yet hearing the sounds she made really drove him to the brink of his sanity. “God, I wish I could see you,” he nearly whimpered. “I want to see your face.”

“Do you— ” She shuddered, as he brought his lips to trace every line he made with his fingertips before. “Do you still see me in your dreams?”

He nodded once, cupping her breast and sighing in content when it fit his palm perfectly.

She flinched, pressing her hips down to meet him more, urging him to move even closer. “Present ones?”

“N-not these days,” he moaned against her neck at the needed friction. “I see your past memories more often.”

She had to stop him and push him away for a moment because she couldn’t concentrate with his lips shyly sucking bruises on her sensitive parts. “Then let’s make as many memories as we can,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Maybe you can’t see me now, but you’ll see me in your dreams. Maybe then you’ll realize just how happy I am these days, because of you.”

He parted his lips in realization. He was too consumed by his depressing thoughts that he never tried to look through a new perspective. Even when he had lost his vision, she still managed to paint a spectrum of colors in his mind, in one way or another. As long as he’s with her, his life would never be monochromatic.

So this time, he could truly smile.

“Then…” He brought his hand down, whispering against her ear, “I can see you when we’re doing this too?” He suddenly slipped behind the fabric of her underwear, sliding his finger along her folds and she almost leaped out to her feet, yelping in surprise.

“Haechannie!” Her face was flushed, even going down to her neck and for the first time in what felt like forever, Donghyuck laughed, so airy and so him, making her eyes widen when she realized just how much she’d missed seeing him like this. “Ah, you’re really just—“ but she never finished, already moving her hips against him again, lips meeting in a heated kiss as it became a necessity for both of them to fulfill.

“Marry me,” he said, breathless and desperate as he kissed her shoulder, almost sinking his nails on the sides of her hips from how tight he was holding her. “Please marry me. I want—I need you to be my wife.”

Her eyes were unfocused, just like his were. Hooking her fingers around his silver necklace, she tugged him closer before she mouthed against the mole on his neck, making him moan her name.

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.” She giggled, grabbing him by the chin in preparation for another kiss. “Idiot.”

***

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In the Weeds

Ransom + ‘reader likes to garden and neighbor likes to watch’ as requested by @siren-kitten-his​

Finally got this done and it’s just smut, y’all, dark and dirty smut.

Warnings: noncon, sabotage, Ransom being his asshole self. As usual, your consumption is your responsibility. If you read these warnings and proceed, that’s your decision and any asks on the matter will be summarily defeated. If you can read 2000 words, you can read a warning.

Anyways, enjoy this little drabbling and have a great day, boo bears.

For weeks you’d been coming to the large house hidden away behind the winding driveway, trees carefully lined its borders. Weeks and you had yet to met its owner. On your first day, instructions had been left in a letter beside a bottle of water. The list was typed out and terse. A roster of duties.

Every Sunday you drove up the carefully laid mosaic drive and lugged your bag with you, returning to your beat-up truck only to fetch the electric trimmers. Weeds, pruning, hedges, flowers… It was your typical work, the only difference was your still anonymous and unseen employer.

The same water bottle sat on the front step, the same list. You didn’t need to read it at this point. You began your work, your jeans soon filthy with soil and grass stains as you made your way around the exterior of the house. Then there were the bushes along the perimeter. That always took much longer.

You opted for a break before you went about the last half of the list. You sat on the step and drank from the glass bottle. You replaced the attached cork and stood, stretching as the sun reached its peak above you.

“The sunflowers are starting to droop,” The voice scared you and you spun in surprise to face the man who stood on the other side of the screen door. You hadn’t even heard it open. “My mother chose them, you see? I find them tacky. They stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh,” You blinked. He watched you dully as you set down the glass bottle. “I could… re-home them. As long as I can dig out the roots.”

“Burn ‘em for all I care,” He scoffed. His blue eyes looked you up and down. “You’re a lot more diligent than the last gardener.”

“Thank… you,” You said awkwardly. 

He leaned his elbow against the door frame as he peered through the screen. His dark blond hair was combed back neatly, his broad shoulders stretched the cotton henley. He looked like any trust funder you’d met. “I should get back to work.”

“Mmhmm,” He nodded and disappeared.

You turned slowly and grabbed your bag of tools. You wanted to look back but didn’t as you crossed to the hedges along the walkway. You knelt and began your careful pruning. You inched down the bushes, snip, snip, snip. The sun beat down as you reached the end and stood.

“She stole,” You winced as you were once more frightened by the man. “Can’t help but wonder why considering how much I’m paying to have leaves cut.”

“I’m sorry she did that,” You squinted as the sun seared your eyes. “Um…”

“Ransom Drysdale,” He introduced himself. “I have your card. I know your name.”

“Well, I was just about to do the back. I just need to… um, get there.” You bent and tucked your shears into your bag and lifted it.

“Looks good, so far,” He said as he followed you from the other side of the hedge. “I can get you some more water.”

“I’m almost done,” You assured him. “But thank you.”

“Alright,” He stopped and you carried on. 

You felt him watched you as you disappeared around the back of the house. As you set up, you fought to focus on the work. The rose bushes were always the most obstinate. You took out your pruners and set to detaching the dying buds and stray branches.

As you moved from the white petals to the reds, you sensed something. You glanced over. The man, Ransom, was sat in one of the lawn chairs on the patio outside the tall glass doors. He was far but not so far away that you couldn’t tell he watched you. Well, if his last gardener had sticky fingers, how could you blame him?

You finished up and looked around one last time. You buckled up your large bag and slid the folded paper out of the side pocket, running down the list just to make sure. As you stood, bag slung over your shoulder, you found that your employer had gone as swiftly as he’d appeared.

You hauled it back around the house. The water bottle was gone. You went to your truck and dumped your bag in the bed. You climbed in the front and turned the engine. It kicked up but as you shifted into reverse, then puttered and died. You tried again. Odd. You’d just had it in for an oil change and they said it was in good shape.

You got out and walked around the pick-up. You checked out every inch then opened the hood. You didn’t really know what you were looking for. A shadow came up behind you and two large hands settled on the truck’s nose, a pair of thick arms blocking you in.

“Problem?” Ransom’s warm breath tickled your scalp. You went rigid, unsure of what to do. You didn’t know what to do.

 “No.” You said. “Probably just overheated.”

You pushed against his arm but he didn’t move. You grabbed the other which proved just as immovable. You turned around in the tight space between him and the truck.

“What are you doing?”

“Just having a look,” He said coolly. “You think it’s the battery?”

“I don’t know.” You tried to sidestep him again but he still wouldn’t move. “Let me go.”

“You know, at first, I watched you because I was bored. Then it became almost a hobby. Something to look forward to.” He leaned in and you could smell his cologne. “Then I thought about you. After. And you just kept popping up in my head.”

“I don’t know you.” You said firmly. “Get away from me so I can call a tow.”

“It’ll take them at least an hour to get out here.” He said. “What are you supposed to do while you wait?”

“Stop.” You grabbed his arm and pushed. He chuckled at your pathetic attempt to move him. “What do you want?”

“I’m sure you can guess.” 

He reached up and grabbed the lip of the hood. His other hand went to your throat as he backed up just a little and drew you with him. He closed the hood with a bang and you flinched. You grasped his wrist and twisted. He barely seemed to notice as his fingers tightened. 

He leaned in and his chiseled features turned malicious. He grabbed your shoulder and spun you to face the truck. He pushed you against the hood and you caught yourself on the hot metal. He crushed you with his body and his hot breath glossed over your head.

“I lied.” He nuzzled your head. “The last gardener quit. He hated the commute.”

“Get off.” You tried to elbow him and he grabbed the back of your head. He slammed it down onto the truck and held you there. “Ow, stop!”

“And on top of finding a new gardener, the bitch I called a girlfriend decided she needed to follow her dreams or whatever shallow shit those spoiled princesses believe these days.” He growled and pushed his crotch into your ass. “And then you show up. Sweet little flower girl. Hard worker… and for what? A beat up Ford and dirt under your nails.”

“Let me go!”

“You know I pay well to have the flowers watered, how much do you think I’d pay for… personal services?”

“You’re disgusting.” You hissed.

“Well,” He laughed. “I guess I don’t have to pay.”

He pulled on the back of your jeans as you wriggled against the hood, the metal seared your cheek. His arm snaked around you as he picked your fly open and pushed his hand down the front of your panties. You gasped as he kicked your feet apart and force his fingers between your legs.

“You like to get dirty, flower girl?” He muttered in your ear. “Hmm.” He rubbed his fingers along your folds. “I think that’s my answer.”

You closed your eyes. You were wet. Sweat, mostly, from the day in the sun, but more. Adrenaline, fear… He shoved a finger inside you and you squeaked. Your feet slipped on the stone work below.

“Please… stop,” You begged and he pushed another finger in.

“Weird how you don’t sound like you mean it,” He drew his fingers in and out as he pressed the heel of his hand to your clit. “How it feels…” He paused as you trembled. “Like you want it.”

“Ransom, Ransom…” You said his name. “Please. This isn’t--”

He filled you to his knuckles and you whimpered.

“Shhh,” He breathed. “This is a respectable neighbourhood… not that anyone can hear you.”

He slid his fingers out of you and left a slick trail along your pelvis as he pulled back. He ripped down your jeans from behind. His hand moved to your neck and he squeezed painfully. He wrenched your panties down and pinched your bare ass. You whined and kicked helplessly.

You pushed on the hood, trying to force him off. You only ended up with your ass pressed against him.

“Oh, I like that,” He stepped back and slapped your ass. “You really think you can win.”

“Please--”

He slapped you again. You swallowed your protests and he shifted behind you. The smooth whisper of a zipper followed and had you tensed against the truck. Your sweaty hands slipped over the metal.

He prodded you with his tip as he stepped closer. He bent his knees against your legs. He guided his dick along your cunt, poking around until he found your entrance. You inhaled sharply as he inched inside. Your walls clenched around him as he sank into. You were taken off your feet as he rammed into you entirely. You cried out and slapped the hood.

“Ow, stop, stop.” You exclaimed.

His hand left your neck as he grabbed your hips instead. He slammed you into the truck as he thrust into you harshly. You lifted your head as your back arched. Your toes fought to find traction on the ground as you whimpered and reached to try to pull yourself away from him. He easily rocked you back into him as he rutted into you.

Your nerves buzzed as he fucked you harder, the hem of his shirt brushed against your ass each time. You panted as the heat gathered along your spine and stormed through your core. You were so close and the thought repulsed you. Your disgust quickly flitted away as his grunts permeated the air around you.

Your eyes rolled back and you dropped your head back to the hood. You smothered your moans in your arm but your body betrayed you with a violent spasm. You came and he barely seemed to notice as he sped up. 

He bent over you and pushed your legs together. Your walls grew even snugger around him and he groaned. He swore as he twitched and pulled out of you suddenly. He tugged on your jeans as he climaxed in a series of primal snarls. He released you and his shoes scraped against the stonework. He sighed over the metallic zip and you found your feet below you.

You turned, slowly. You looked down at your jeans, rolled below your thighs. Your panties were shiny with his cum as you stared at them dumbly. Your legs shook as your stomach turned.

“Pull those up, flower girl,” Ransom sneered. “It’s not professional to walk around with your ass out.”

You lifted your head and blindly grasped the waist of your jeans. You pulled them up and the wet fabric pressed against your cunt. You buttoned your fly as you watched him reach into his pocket. He pulled out a metal part and winked.

“Pretty sure I can just screw this back into place.” He smirked. “Next Sunday, same time.” He passed you lifted the hood. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

I Gotta Tell Her

Pairing: Fuckboy!Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Words: 2000+

Summary: Ransom tries to make the Reader jelous, but it doesn’t work. But it kinda works in his favor. 

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, soft dom/sub vibes), smoking cigarettes, girl fights

a/n: SMUT!!! 18+!!!! NO MINORS!!! So this is a continuation of Can’t Get You Off My Mind. This is the last part. It was only two parts because I have officially ran out of ideas. So please check out my request prompts and request fics. Please!!!

Part 1

As time went on, she kept ignoring Ransom’s texts, even the apology texts. She was done, no matter how many times she wanted to answer she didn’t. She buried herself in her work, trying to forget him and it worked for a bit. Until one day the texts stopped, and the Instagram posts started. Ransom found himself a new girl. It was photos of him and her on his yacht, in front of the Beemer, up in the mountains, everywhere.

She was jealous of course but why. She left him. He was an asshole but sometimes she would get the soft side of Ransom, and that was the side she loved. She knew though as long as she ignored him, he’ll come crawling back to her. She just had to wait him out. 

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After a few weeks, Ransom realized that she wouldn’t answer his texts. So he decided to be petty and get a new girl. He stopped texting and started posting photos of him and his new girl, Haley. She was the daughter of one of Linda’s blue blood friends. Linda had been trying to get Ransom to date Haley, but he always said no. One; because he didn’t want to be a part of his mother’s tricks, and two; he was seeing someone. 

Even though he was sleeping with Haley, his mind couldn’t help but drift to her. He missed her, not that he’d ever admit it. He only started dating Haley to make her jealous. When he posted the first photo of him and Haley, he expected a bunch of texts and calls from her but after a week nothing. So he left it alone, for almost a day. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, every time he checked his phone he wanted to see a text from her. Telling him to come over to her flat, but that text never came. 

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Four months passed, and the next time the two see each other is at Richard’s birthday party. It was held at the Thromby’s estate. Ransom brought Haley as his plus one, knowing that she would be there. He pulled the Beemer up and saw her white Mustang parked in front of the sidewalk. He parked as Haley finished her obnoxious rant about how her skirt doesn’t match his sweater.

He internally rolled his eyes then got out of the car. He walked over to the other side and opened Haley’s door, she stepped out and linked arms with him. She looked up at the house as they walked up. 

“Oh, Ransom. I forgot how lovely this house is.” Haley gushed, in her high pitch voice and Ransom faked a smile and nodded. 

They walked in and immediately Ransom’s eyes landed on the one woman that had been avoiding him. She was wearing the same dress she wore when she left him. Her hair was long and she had dyed the ends a bright color and it was curled and it flowed over her shoulder. She turned around and spotted Ransom, she gave him a small smile and a wave, before turning around and walking to the bar. He was going to follow her when Linda and Richard walked up. 

“Hello, Ransom. Hello, Haley. I’m so glad you could come.” Linda smiled, and Ransom turned his attention to his mother. 

“Oh, yeah. Happy Birthday, Dad.” Ransom said, and Linda hugged him then Haley. Richard and Ransom shook hands and he hugged Haley. His parents walked away and Haley dragged Ransom to the bar. 

“Hey, Ran. Isn’t that Y/n?” Haley asked, pointing to the woman Ransom was avoiding. She was pouring herself a glass of red wine. Haley walked up to her despite Ransom’s protests. “Hi, Y/n,” Haley greeted, as she approached her. She turned around and looked between Haley and Ransom. 

“Oh, hello, Haley. Ransom.” She nodded and took a sip of her wine. She and Haley kissed each other on the cheek, and she shook hands with Ransom. “It’s so good to see you two.” She smiled. 

“It’s good to see you too,” Haley said.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me.” She said and walked away from them. She walked out to the balcony, leaned on the railing, and looked out at the stars. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her clutch and lit one. She took a puff when she heard the glass doors clicked shut, she knew it was Ransom. Who else would it be? She blew out the smoke into the clear air. “I was wondering if you were going to follow me.” She stated, slightly looking over her shoulder at him. 

“Yeah, and why is that?” Ransom asked as she took another puff of her cigarette. 

“Because I knew you would come crawling back.” She smirked, blowing the smoke out her nose. Ransom rolled his eyes and took her cigarette and took a puff. 

“You’re such a bitch.” He scoffed, she took the cigarette back and turned around. She leaned her back against the railing. 

“Oh, but you love it.” She smiled and winked as she took another drag.

“You do know smoking is bad for you.” He said, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Well, if I die young. I wanna go out with a bang.” She whispered, and took another puff, before bringing Ransom’s face down to her’s. She connected their lips and she kissed him. She blew the smoke into his mouth, he pulled back to quickly blow out the smoke, before kissing her again. She tangled her fingers into his hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist. They pulled back and a satisfied smirk stayed on both of their faces. He pulled her body against his.

“How about we sneak up to the guest room?” He growled and leaned down to kiss her neck but she placed a finger on his lips. 

“You have to break up with Haley before you can get your dick wet.” She said, taking a step back and putting out her cigarette. 

“Why can’t I just ghost her, then fuck you in the bathroom?” He questioned, placing his hands on her ass. She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. 

“I mean it, Hugh.” She said, knowing that if she used his first name he’ll listen to her. 

“Fine,” Ransom sighed, and he walked past her to the doors.

“And don’t be a dick about it.” She ordered as he opened the door. He rolled his eyes and walked into the house. She followed him in, wanting to see this go down. What? She was a sucker for drama. She watched from the bar as Ransom met up with Haley. She watched as Haley’s face morphed from happiness to sadness, and finally anger. She snickered into her wine as Haley slapped Ransom across the face, but that amusement turned to confusion as Haley stormed over to her. Haley came up to her and smacked her across the face. 

“You filthy whore!” Haley exclaimed. 

“What the hell?!” She yelled, setting her wine glass on the bar. 

“You are the reason Ransom dumped me! Just because he’s in love with you!” Haley screamed, and she looks at Haley confused. “You are only using Ransom for his money and the occasional fuck!” Haley screeched, and that was when she lost it. Haley lunged at her grabbing a first full of her hair and pulling her down. She brought her fist back and punched Haley square in the nose. Haley slammed her mouth into the bar, but she flipped Haley over her shoulder. Haley grabbed her dress straps and yanked her down on the floor as well. The clear-cut sound of fabric ripping sounds through the house. She stands up and her dress had been ripped down the front, and her breasts have been fully on display. Haley stood up and smiled thinking that she won, but Haley was sadly mistaken. She grabbed Haley by the back of her head and slammed it into the wooden bar. Haley fell to the floor with a broken nose. 

“I win, you bitch.” She spat and covered her chest with her arms. She walked out of the house and towards her Mustang. She heard Ransom calling her name as she walked. She ignored him and got in her car and slammed the door shut. He knocked on her window she looked over at him and rolled down her window. “What do you want, Ransom?”

“I uh… heard what Haley… told you.” He said, and she sighed and opened the car door. She stepped out to face him, he handed her his jacket so she could cover up. 

“Was it true? Are you in love with me?” She asked, and took a deep intake of breath and avoided her eyes. She took his chin between her fingers so he’ll face her. “Hugh, tell me.” She whispered, and he pulled his face away from her hand.

“Fine! Yes, I’m in love with you!” He exclaimed, and she smirked and cupped his face. 

“I was hoping for that answer.” She smiled, and pulled his face to her’s. She kissed him passionately, he slipped his hands into his coat that is covering her. They pulled back and he looked her in the eyes. 

“You’re such a bitch.” He said, and she pushed him back playfully. 

“Asshole.” She smirked, and pulled the back door of her Mustang open. She slid in and he followed, he closed the door behind him and laid over her. She shoved him on his back and crawled on top of him. “Oh, baby. You didn’t think you’d get to top tonight did you?” She asked cockily, and pulled his coat off of her. 

“I was kinda hoping that you’d take control. I’ve missed it.” He growled, as she kissed down his jaw. She sucked a bruise under his ear. 

“Good.” She purred in his ear, and she pulled his sweater up. She kissed his neck and growled when she smelled Haley’s perfume on her claim. “I can still smell her cheap perfume.” She snarled, and nipped against his collarbone. 

“Then let’s change that.” He said, and flipped them over. He pulled the rest of her ripped dress off so she was left in her lace panties. He licked and nipped at her breasts leaving small hickeys on her chest. He gripped her panties with his hand and ripped them off. He quickly stripped out of his clothes and laid over her and kissed her passionately. He kissed down her body and down to her core, but she pulled him up. 

“As much as I want you to make me cum on your tongue. I want you to fuck me.” She purred, and he smirked and lined his cock to her soaking entrance. He teased his cock up and down her folds. She growled low in her throat and flipped them over and sunk down on his cock. 

“Ah, fuck, Y/n!” He yelled, as her warmth engulfed him. She moaned and rotated her hip as a experimental thrust. He groaned and rutted up into her. He flipped them over so he can watch her face better, as he fucked into her. He pulled out till just the tip was in her then slammed into her. She cried out as her eyes rolled into the back of her. He started fucking into her slow and passionately. He entwined their fingers and held her hands over head. Their foreheads connected and their eyes staring into each other’s. The heat from their bodies fogging the windows up. Their ragged breaths and moans mixing as their highs built. She was first to reach her orgasm, she cried out his name and arched her back. Her walls tightened and pulsed around his length, triggering his high. He buried his face in her neck as he yelled her name. His cum coating her inner walls, he slumped on her as they regained their breathing. He pulled up and captured her lips in a passionate kiss. They pulled back but their foreheads connecting. 

“I love you, you asshole.” She whispered, and he chuckled. 

“I love you too, you bitch.” He said, and kissed her again. The couple knew that they wouldn’t want to let go of each other. He finally got to tell her.

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~Taglist~ (if your username is crossed out it means I could not tag you. Please check your privacy settings)

@randomuser0917

[softboywriting]

3AM | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: A rainstorm in the middle of the night is the perfect time to start confessing feelings and thoughts that have been bottled up for over a year. At least to Nathan it is. [Post Film - Nathan Lives] [Mentions of Alcoholism] [Pregnancy - Mentioned] [Soft!Nathan] [Mention of Injury - Film Canon] [Fluff with Angst] [F!reader/Nathan] [Established Relationship]

Word Count: 1.8k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Nathan doesn't sleep on his own anymore unless it's raining, not without help. Drinking, some over the counter non prescription sleeping medication, physical exhaustion. He will do anything to make himself sleep, except see a doctor. Nathan doesn't like doctors, he thinks most are liars and cheats who just want to scam people out of their money. You have no idea where he got the theories he has but he won't see medical professionals unless he absolutely cannot handle the situation himself. He is a genius but maybe too in his head for his own good.

You're not sure why this all started, but you can pinpoint when it started. A year ago, a year and three months ago after his last failed AI. Failed isn't the right word. They aren't failures, they're incredible works of art and science but not what he wants so in his eyes, failures. Ava was his best work to date and he even brought in an outside civilian to try her out with someone other than himself. He never lets you in with the AI. Says he is protecting you. Things with Ava escalated, got heated and Nathan got seriously hurt. After she was detained, Nathan was forced to shut the breaker down to Ava's room so she couldn't power back up after her battery ran down and he could safely disassemble her after he healed. After that he became closed off, more so than usual. The drinking got worse and the sleeplessness started. It has put a strain on your relationship that sometimes it feels like it only affects you.

So when you wake up in the middle of the night and go to the kitchen for a bottle of water and see Nathan passed out on the couch you think he's drunk again. A topic of many arguments and one you don't want to breach at three in the morning. So you tiptoe quietly past him to your destination. It's then that you see the rain pelting the glass walls of the house. Wind whipping around the trees and making a muffled howling sound. You wish Nathan would come to bed, your shared bed, but he won't if he's been hitting the bottle because he knows you hate it. Maybe you can get him to move off the couch if he's just asleep because of the rain.

"What's that noise?" He groans and you stop by the doorway to the inner workings of the house, bottle of water in hand. "Kitten? That you?"

"Yes, I was getting water. Do you need something?"

"Noise?" He asks insistently.

You cross the room and he lifts his arm from his eyes. "It's a storm. Pretty bad one if I were to guess."

"Oh."

"Mmhmm. Do you want to go sit on the enclosed deck? I know you like to watch the rain."

Nathan sits up and fixes his crooked glasses. "What time is it?"

"Three A.M."

"Fuck." He pushes up off the couch and goes to the window leaning against it with his forearms up on the glass, eyes fixated on something out in the dark. "I must have passed out."

"Yeah, it's raining." You walk up behind him and lay a hand between his shoulder blades. "You always sleep when it's raining."

Nathan glances back at you. "I do?"

"Yes." You chuckle. "You don't know?"

"I sleep without the rain too, that's ridiculous."

"No, you get black out drunk and pass out or your body physically shuts down because you go too long without rest." There is a hint of venom in your words that you don't intend but it's a touchy subject. You miss him in your bed. You miss him in general. Since Ava things haven't been the same and you're getting tired of it.

Nathan doesn't say anything. He just stares out at the darkness. You hate his silence. It's almost worse than when he's talking to you like you're a child, which he rarely does now since you've discussed how that doesn't fly with you. Silence is his new way of saying he is right about everything.

"Nate," you start and he pushes off the glass, walking away to the kitchen. "Nathan, where are you going?"

"Deck."

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

The moment you're seated together on the wooden bench in the enclosed deck, he decides to speak. It's not loud but it makes your heart rate spike when he begins. You're not sure why. Maybe you can feel something coming.

"I've been thinking."

"You're always thinking."

"No," he looks over and you can tell by the way his eyes are softened that he's serious and he wants you to listen and not talk back right now. "I want to stop drinking."

You lay your hand on his thigh and he covers it with his own. You've never known him to have this serious of a conversation with you. Not even when he said I love you the first time. Nothing has felt this important. "Why?"

"For you." He leans his head on your shoulder and you rub your cheek against his stubbly hair. "I know you don't like it and I can see it's putting a strain on our relationship."

"I definitely wouldn't mind it. I do miss you."

"I'm right here, every day."

"You know that isn't what I mean."

"I know." He murmurs. You don't think you've ever heard him speak so softly outside of sleepy cuddling, let alone hear him agree with you so quickly. This is scaring you. It makes you think something is wrong.

You rub your hand over his cheek, fingers flexing in his beard. "Is something going on? Did something happen to bring this all about?"

"Do you think I'd be a good dad?"

You pause, thrown for a loop at such a left field question. "A good dad? Nathan...I don't know."

"You can say no."

"That's not my answer." You look out at the rain. You don't know what he would be like as a dad. Having children changes people. As he currently is, no, Nathan would not be a good dad. He's too stubborn, bossy, impatient and absent. He has too much going on in the lab to focus on raising a human being. "It's complicated."

"Simplify it."

"I don't know how you are with children. I've never seen that side of you. But that doesn't matter. How a person is with someone else's kids versus how they act when it's their own is different. It's not a black and white answer."

"Do you want children?"

You sigh and look at him. He looks distant, zoned out. If you didn't know better you'd think he was drunk or stoned. "Maybe. It's not something I think about a lot. Do you? It seems you're thinking about it quite a bit more than me."

"I thought about it today. I thought about a lot of things today, and yesterday. What day is it? Nevermind it doesn't matter."

"What have you been thinking about? Other than children obviously."

"Like how I've never loved someone, or anything more than I love you. I didn't even think myself capable of love until I thought I was going to die after Ava's attack and my first thought was not that I was scared of death, but that you would be alone and you would have to see me die."

"Nathan, honey..." You slide your hand across his stomach where, beneath the soft cotton shirt, lies a very large scar. You'll never forget that night. It was a nightmare come to life.

A cool wetness comes across your arm, and you think it is the rain at first. Somehow leaking through the roof. But then you realize it's Nathan. He's crying for the first time since you met him, since you fell in love with him. He is crying silently.

There are no words to be said as you gather his head to your chest and hold him tight. He's been holding on to this for a long time. It wasn't just yesterday he was thinking about it. It's been a year and three months. You imagine he has been tormenting himself every day with the thought of leaving you alone, of you coping with his death. If only it didn't take so long for him to come clean.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, clinging to your back. "I won't leave you."

"I won't leave you either."

"I'm not making AI anymore. Not the conscious kind. Ava was too much, I played God and I realize I shouldn't have."

This is astounding. Nathan never apologizes, never admits fault or denies his works. You don't know who this is. This is not your Nathan. "Is there something more you want to tell me?"

"Yeah."

Your stomach aches, and a cold shiver tears it's way through your body. You have no idea what he is going to say. The worst is that he's dying, you think. "Out with it then. You're not one to dilly dally with words."

"Marry me."

"What?"

Nathan slides off the bench and stands in front of you. He doesn't kneel. He would never kneel. "Marry me." He puts his hand out for you. It's not so much a question as it is a command. How very Nathan. If he were any other person you would tell them off for this kind of harsh proposal.

"I thought you didn't believe in marriage."

"I didn't believe in love either but here I am."

You stand up and he takes your hands, rubbing his thumbs over the tops. "You want to marry me and have kids? Who are you?"

"I'm Nathan." He leans in and presses his forehead to yours. "I'm the Nathan that you broke down emotionally piece by piece for the last two years and this is what's left."

"A softie?"

"I wouldn't say I'm soft. I'm more...attuned to my emotional responses."

You reach up and hold his face in your hands, head still pressed to his. "I think I love this Nathan more. Is that harsh?"

"No." He nudges forward, bumping your nose and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "But don't expect me to be any softer in bed."

"I would never."

"Good. So you accept?"

"Accept?"

"My proposal."

You laugh softly under your breath. "That was a proposal? It didn't sound like a question, but rather a command."

Nathan smiles, that troublesome glint in his eye. "Semantics. So will you?"

You roll your eyes and smile. "Yes. I'll marry you Nathan."

"Good." He pulls you in, hips flush to his, pressing his face to your neck. He kisses along your throat, leaving wet licks across your jaw. "Now I can put a baby in you," he murmurs against your ear.

You smack him in the back and he chuckles.

"Come on." He wraps his arms around you and hauls you up against his chest. "I've done some research. I know all the best positions to get you nice and full."

"Nathan!"

"Oh shut up." He walks you back toward the kitchen, biting on your shoulder. "You love it dirty."

"Oh my God!"

"Yes?"

"I hate you."

"Love you too."

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

end

Thank you! Please Comment and reblog if you read and or enjoyed -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

[imagine-it-to-be-true]

Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 2

Hey guys! So, originally, this story was supposed to be a One-shot. But because of the overwhelming amount of requests I’ve received (thank you so much sweeties, by the way), I’ve decided to make it into a three parter. This is part 2, and the first part can be found on my blog. I’m not sure when I get around to writing part 3 as uni starts back up today, but I’ll try my best not to keep you in suspense for too long. This part is more centred around chaos than romance. Nothing belongs to me (including the GIF) Also, warnings: violence, blood, death.

Andromeda’s POV

The sensations were weird. First, I had been in a lot of pain around my stomach region. I could hardly breathe, let alone express my pain to the handsome-yet-creepy, blonde stranger taking care of me. Though I’m sure he knew. I mean, even I knew I was dying, and he was helpless to save me, so I didn’t bother speaking. I could see the concern in his eyes and hear his sweet whisperings as he stroked my cheeks and wiped away my tears. But these little comforts were not enough to stop the hurt. Then, when I saw him holding a huge syringe, it sent me into panic mode. I never liked needles, not to mention ones which were about to inject unfamiliar liquids into me. But he reassured me it would help, which calmed me down. Not like I could defend myself in that moment anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt me more. It turned out he was right. After a few minutes, I noticed the pain slowly going away. Maybe it wasn’t the liquid, but the fast-approaching release of death, I wasn’t sure. My cries began to slow, and I could feel more pleasant sensations, such as the pale man stroking my hand with his thumb, gently massaging circles into it. Then, he asked,

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?”

Gasping for air, I attempted to speak,

“Andromeda,” came my whispered reply. With my half-opened eyes, I was able to see his perfect lips draw up in a smile. Focusing on his features, I didn’t even realize that my pain was entirely gone, and I was feeling rather loopy. I watched the man bend down closer to me, brushing my hair back and running his ice-cold knuckles down the side of my neck. Suddenly I felt a sense of vulnerability. I felt his cool breath hitting my ear as he whispered,

“Do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.” I was confused and fear began to resurface. I had gotten away from one creep, only to be taken by another. This man scared me to my core. But before I could dwell on my thoughts, I saw him quickly lean down towards my neck, as if he was about to kiss me. That was not what happened.

Indeed, I momentarily felt his cool lips touch the sensitive skin of my neck. But then a sharp pain erupted. Whatever it was that he injected into me was definitely helping. I was aching again, though differently this time. It was a dull, electrifying, fiery sensation, which immediately spread from my neck to my brain, and all the way down to the tips of my toes. My body was on fire, but it was not as intense. If one were to be scratched over and over and over again, pain would increase. This was what I was going through. It was continuous and that was making it worse. An hour had passed, then two, then I lost count. I couldn’t see anything anymore, my vision clouded. Yet I could still hear him. He never seemed to leave. Others would come and go. Time would pass and I would feel needles in my arms. I assume he kept injecting me with whatever it was, which managed my pain; probably morphine. I learned his name was Caius from others who had come in and spoken to him. Caius. What an unusual name. But it fit him.

He had injected so much morphine into me that the dull burning sensation eventually stopped. That, or perhaps I adjusted to it. I could not tell how much time had passed, but by now, it had been a while, for sure. I had given up. If it were not for his constant voice, and feeling of his icy hands touching my own, I would have believed I passed on. But eventually, my vision slowly began to return. I hadn’t felt injections in hours, and no pain returned, which was strange.

The entire time I lay there, presumably dying, I thought of my life. Who would miss me? I had no parents. Both died in a car crash when I was 12. I was in the back seat and miraculously survived. Given no time to adjust to the tragedy, I was immediately placed in a foster home in New Haven, where I experienced endless amounts of bullying. But as with all foster children, my stay was temporary. For the next five years, I bounced from one home to the next. This made me reserved, quiet, and untrusting. I was socially awkward and had very few friends. My main comforts came from the company of animals. Truthfully, I got used to this solitary existence, finding that I expressed myself better through storytelling than the spoken word. In fact, my unfortunate childhood did not impact my standing at school. I was always a good student, and this landed me a fully paid scholarship to NYU where I completed a double degree in journalism and history. The lack of family and friends allowed me to dedicate all my time to my studies and work, which was conducting research for my professor. Then, after graduating, I decided to make a drastic change and start fresh with a move to Europe. For the last two years, I had spent my time travelling several countries and writing articles on historical artifacts, buildings, and churches. I sold my stories to networks as a freelance historical journalist, living alone and moving often from place to place. In fact, Volterra was my last stop in Europe before I planned to relocate to Egypt and focus on Pharaonic history there. Not many of Volterra’s tourists knew about the building I had been photographing, which was off the main street and down an alleyway. It was not glamorous, but historic, which drove me to it. That is where I was and what I was doing when I was suddenly grabbed and dragged into a dark alleyway.

My life had been flashing before my eyes over and over again. I wanted to live. To do better. To be better. I was sick of being alone. So, when my vision began returning, I was filled with motivation to live. Really live. Finally, I could focus my eyes. I stared up at what appeared to be a bed canopy. It was velvet, and dark red in color. To my right, I could sense the smell of burning candles. It was so prominent that it made my nose burn. My hands were balled into fists, grasping the cotton sheets and I could see that I ripped holes in them. How much pain was I in that I ripped a bedsheet with my bare hands? I then noticed something strange. I was not breathing. Since when was I not breathing? This frightened me immensely, and I bolted into an upright sitting position. As I did, the bed violently shook. The canopy swayed as if it would collapse at any second. Did I do this? I’m a weak little girl who couldn’t even fight off a drunk man in an alleyway, how was I doing all this? I heard a sound to my left and immediately snapped my head towards the source. It was a young woman – girl more like it – that I did not recognize. She had strange red eyes, much like my rescuer. But she frightened me more than him. There was a certain evil surrounding her, I could sense it. How, I did not know. All I knew was that she did not wish me well.

“Hello, Andromeda.” She spoke coolly.

I looked at her, suspicion and confusion painted over my face.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Master Caius told me.”

‘Master?’ that sounded strange. Not something a girl would call a man. What was this, a sex trafficking operation? Before I could speak, she continued.

“He has been by your side. He will return any minute now. He went out hunting for you.” She spoke like an information-giving robot: just spewing facts, unmoving, her expression unchanging.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Hunting… that’s not necessary. I- I don’t eat meat.” Her expression finally changed. Her smirk transformed into a creepy smile, and she let out a laugh.

“Believe me, dear girl. It is not exactly meat he will be returning with.” She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Two guards opened the bedroom door for her and shut it as she left. So, they have my room guarded. I guess they aren’t going to let me leave.

I was not in a hurry; I needed to see Caius. Thank him. And ask him how he was able to fix me. Was I remembering correctly that he bit me?! What a strange thing to do. I looked down on my stomach, which was completely injury-free. Then, I reached my hand to the back of my neck, trying to feel any bitemarks there. Nothing. What the hell? I did not understand. I had a lot of questions and needed answers, the most pressing of which was why my throat was on fire. I would have asked the girl, but something in me yelled to keep my distance from her; that she was dangerous. Slowly, I stood up from the bed, noticing that the white dress I had on when I was shot was no longer on me. Instead, I wore a soft, white nightgown, with lace on the collar. It seemed like a typical garment from Tudor England, or something. It was unlike anything I had seen in any mall or shop. Come to think of it, the entire room had a historic, gothic feel to it. The décor resembled a royal palace.

My feet hit the marble floor and I began walking around the room, making my way to the bookshelf. There, a massive assortment of books awaited. However, they were not the typical books one would find in a normal home. These were all historic and ancient. I picked up a copy of the Iliad. Looking at the bindings, I could tell the book was old. More interestingly, it was still written in Homeric Greek – not a language many would be able to read. Whoever this belongs to was most definitely smart.

Suddenly, I felt the burning in my throat worsen. The sensation intensified to the point where I was nearly panicking. Ready to run for the doors and ask the guards for help, I heard footsteps approaching.

The door swung open, and the man… Caius walked in. No longer dying, I could properly admire his features. He looked perfect, truly. Not a single flaw on his face or skin. His nearly white, blonde hair carefully combed back behind his ears. He moved towards where I was sat in an armchair and knelt in front of me. Immediately, I was filled with a calmness. It was like I was home. I cannot describe it completely, but it was as if all problems were erased, and I was safe. This was the second time I managed to judge a person based on feelings, all within the last few minutes. First with the young woman from earlier, and now Caius. Before he could speak, the feeling was gone, and replaced once again with unease and danger, as I watched the young woman reappear, dragging a man by his wrist. Behind her, the guards entered the room and stood on either side of the man. I could feel that he was not dangerous, as the fear was practically radiating off him. The woman stepped behind him and gave him a push towards me.

“Dinner,” she stated coldly. I looked from her to the frightened man, to Caius. I could see annoyance on his face, as he turned to her and spoke.

“Must you, Jane? Do you not know of patience?”

“Forgive me, Master Caius. You were not one to show patience often, and I do learn from you.” She stated simply.

When Caius turned to me, I was grasping my throat, which was burning almost unbearably. “What is happening?!” I choked out.

“I know this will not make sense to you right now, and I will explain everything, I promise. But the only thing that will stop the ache is if you drink blood. You need to drink this man’s blood.” Caius whispered to me, out of earshot of the poor man.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes, face in complete and utter shock.

“WHAT?! What did you just say?!” I exclaimed, not believing what I heard.

He sighed and leaned in once again, whispering. “In order to save your life from your injuries, I was forced to turn you into a vampire. You need blood, and you need it now. Trust me.” He tried again.

“I WILL NOT! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” Hastily standing, I pushed him away. My intention was to give him a normal, hard push so that he gets the message. But nothing prepared me for what happened. When I pushed him, he went flying across the room and hitting a marble column, which shattered on impact. Immediately, the room was filled with noise and dust as the column went crashing down around him. I pushed myself into the corner of the room and watched in terror. That impact would have killed an elephant. Yet Caius, simply rose, brushing dust off his blazer and pants. The evil woman – Jane as he called her – appeared emotionless as she turned her attention from Caius to me.

“Fine. More for us then,” she said. What followed, was simply too much for me to handle.

First, I heard Caius yelling, “Jane, NO!” In one swift motion, she tore the frightened man’s throat with her teeth. Blood gushed out from the wound, spilling all over the white marble floor. I screamed in terror. But what was even more terrifying than the poor man’s death, was the smell of his blood. It was driving me crazy. It was like nothing I had ever experienced it. I craved it. Needed it. And was so close to taking it all for myself. But with any remaining strength I had left, I stopped myself. This was not me. I was a vegetarian because I cared for the well-being of animals. There was not a thing in the world which would force me to do anything to harm another living soul. So, I curled up in a ball in my corner and rocked back and forth, trying to focus my senses on anything other than the delicious smell of blood.

“I will deal with you later. Take him and leave, now!” I heard Caius’ voice. “You are not to come here again; you are not to see her! Now go!”

“Yes, Master Caius.” I heard her disgusting, venomous voice once again as she left. The doors closed and the room was filled with silence.

I momentarily thought Caius left too, but then I felt the sensation of safety return to me.

“How did I do that?” I ask with a shaking voice.

“You are a new vampire. For the first few weeks, you will be stronger than the rest of us. This will pass, and you will adjust.” He said gently.

I continued hugging my knees and rocking. Caius continued.

“This is not how a newborn should experience the first moments. But Andromeda…” he hesitated, “You need to feed. If you do not, it will only get worse. Your awareness will seize to function, and you will eventually kill more than you would have otherwise.”

With no response from me, Caius reached for my hands, placing his own over them. This woke a rage inside of me. I grasped his wrists and pushed him backwards. His back hit the wall, not as hard this time. I began speaking.

“You did this to me. You made me this… this… monster. This is on you. You should have let me die. Now, because of your selfish need for heroism, I will murder countless others.”

We both rose to our feet. He gently approached me again, saying my name, but I held my hand up to block him. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you.”

With that, I pushed him towards the direction of the door. He paused,

“Andromeda-”

“GET OUT!” I picked up a glass vase and threw it in his direction, and he finally left. I sat down on the cold marble tiles, pressing my back against the wall, and screamed in agony.

[dendrodorididae]

Ok I’m trying my hand at fan fiction so

This is a Kaedehara Kazuha x his dead friend (Tomo) fic. TW for sh, suicide, angst, horny but not explicitly nsfw

-

-

Kazuha glanced at the sky above the ship. They had entered the sea surrounding Inazuma, and the vicious storm above began to soften. The traveler had insisted on going to his homeland, the place to which Kazuha never thought he’d return. As the ship moved closer to the islands, the man felt his nerves swell like the perilous waves below.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Beidou had said.

“It’ll be fine. It’s a quick stop, no ones gonna see you.” Despite the reassuring words, Kazuha couldn’t help but worry. Perhaps it was because he was a wanted fugitive? The man knew that this was part of it, but there was another reason. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The water below surged with electricity. The gentle hum of the energy was surprisingly calming. Kazuha leaned over the side of the ship as he listened. Eyes closing, a thought crossed the man’s mind. The tranquil nature of the water was similar to that of Tomo’s vision. Kazuha’s eyes quickly opened, and he was suddenly aware of the weight of the vision in his pocket. The gentle hum and warmth were gone, reminding him yet again of his friend’s demise.

The man also became aware of the dull pain in his hand. It was quite bothersome, but Kazuha found it despairing that the pain would fade. The burn was left by Tomo’s vision dying, and it was the last reminder of his friend being alive. It was the last reminder of the masterless vision being full of life. The more the wound healed, the more he realized that Tomo was gone.

“What are you so down about, Kazuha?” Beidou questioned. Kazuha turned to look at the woman, startled. He hadn’t realized that his face reflected his emotions. He quickly corrected his frown, and hoped that the falling rain masked the tears running down his cheeks.

“The fact that I’ll likely never be welcomed in my homeland again.” The man replied, lying through his teeth. He felt bad for being untruthful, but he knew that speaking his mind at that moment would make him break down. Beidou looked at him with a skeptical frown.

“Alright, kid, I won’t pry, but it can’t be healthy to keep shit bottled up like that.” Beidou replied. At that response, Kazuha knew that Beidou knew he was lying, which made him feel even worse about it. Noticing his guilty expression, Beidou grinned and gently ruffled the smaller man’s hair.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about lying, sometimes it the only way to keep your composure, y’know?” She said with concern in her tone. Kazuha looked up at the brunette and smiled, genuinely this time.

“Thank you, Beidou,” he spoke. Beidou grinned and walked away, and Kazuha redirected his gaze to the water. It was regular water this time, blue and quiet. He sighed and rested his head in his arms.

Not too long later, his eyes fluttered open, only to be met by the glaring sun. He quickly jumped to his feet. They were very close to Inazuma, close enough that he risked being seen.

“Oi, Kazuha!” Beidou called from the captains cabin. “I think it’s time you hid, we’re getting close!” Kazuha nodded, and quickly headed downstairs into Beidou’s small wine cellar. He despised the smell of alcohol, but ultimately decided that anywhere was a better hiding place than the bilge (the bilge is a cavity in the bottom of a boat filled with rancid water). The man crawled into the empty cupboard that Beidou had prepared for him, and gently closed the door. Luckily for Kazuha, the scent of the cedar wood walls overthrew that of the alcohol.

He relaxed as much as he could in the cramped space. His knee pressed uncomfortably against his injured hand, making the wound sting.

“Shit..” he mumbled. As bad as the pain was, Kazuha knew that there wasn’t enough room to readjust his position. He glanced over to his burnt hand. The darkness of the cupboard masked it from view, but he felt the bandage tightly wrapped around his skin. It had been almost a month since the incident, and Kazuha knew that Beidou would soon grow curious as to why the burn hadn’t healed. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to explain to her. Not that the burns were self inflicted, not why he didn’t want the wound to heal, and definitely not how much he enjoyed holding a torch to his hand, watching the skin char and blister, and… he pushed the thought out of his mind. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but it felt so right. The more he did it, the more he knew that wasn’t really to just keep the wound open, but instead for the euphoric pain.

The ship suddenly halted, the force slamming Kazuha against the wall. He grunted at his knee slammed into his hand. Despite the throbbing pain making him grimace, he quickly calmed himself, and fixed his position as best as he could. He silently wished that his ‘hobby’ didn’t have such painful side effects.

Kazuha waited what felt like hours. The walls of the cupboard seemed to dig into his skin, and his limbs were sore from being idle for so long. Joy flooded his mind as he felt the boat begin to move, but the feeling was short lived. After all, he still had to wait until he left Inazuma’s waters.

Boredom must have gotten to him, because Kazuha’s mind began to wander. And of all things, he began to think about Tomo. Kazuha didn’t let himself do this often, as it often led to a spiral, but he simply didn’t care enough to stop himself this time. Luckily, he wasn’t thinking about his friend’s death, but rather how he made him feel. Whenever speaking with Tomo, Kazuha couldn’t help but notice how his friend’s lips moved, how his eyes scrunched up in the corners when he was happy, how his gray hair flew in the wind. He couldn’t help but think about what those lips would feel like against his. He knew that it was wrong to have these thoughts about another man, but he just couldn’t help it. He wanted Tomo in a way that he shouldn’t.

Kazuha often pushed away his fantasies about his friend, but today, he decided to let himself sink in thought. He thought about his friend’s hand gripping his back, the other running through his hair. He imagined his own hands cupping Tomo’s face, all as there lips pressed together. He imagined them occasionally pulling apart to take a breath, but the kiss would deepen each time they rejoined. He imagined his cheeks flushing, but that part wasn’t so imaginary. He imagined their tongues sliding against each other. He imagined Tomo’s hot breath against his face. He imagined Tomo pushing him down and laying on top of him. He imagined Tomo’s hand sliding to remove his shirt, before sliding even lower-

“Kazuha, you can come out of hiding now!” Beidou called as she opened the cupboard doors. Kazuha looked at her, his face an embarrassing shade of red.

“You’re pretty red, are you ok?” Beidou questioned. Kazuha tumbled out of the cupboard.

“Ye-yeah… I guess this cup-cupboard is just pretty hot,” He stuttered, growing redder by the second. Beidou chuckled.

“So, you’ve got a crush, huh?” She turned and started towards the stairs.

“Ah, young love,” she teased, despite only being a few years older.

“She must be a pretty hot bitch to get you all red like that,” Beidou walked out onto the deck, and Kazuha put his face in his hands. He wanted to correct her so badly, but he knew that Beidou would abandon him. No one could know that he liked men, they would hate him. His thoughts were interrupted by a meow. A meow? There weren’t any cats on the ship. He turned towards the sound and saw a small white cat. His eyes grew in shock. It was Tomo’s cat.

Kazuha crawled towards the feline. Was it really Tomo’s? His suspicions were confirmed when he saw its collar. It was the friendship bracelet that he had made his friend many years ago. What was it doing here? He also noticed a piece of paper, folded into the cat’s collar. He grabbed it and undid the folds, and realized it was a letter. A letter from Tomo.

Dear Kazuha,

I hope that this letter finds you as soon as possible. As you know, I have challenged the Raiden Shogun to a duel. I have always wanted to experience divine punishment, and me dying was no mistake. I wish I could’ve told you in person, but even now I can’t do it. The truth is, I don’t like women in a romantic way. I have feelings about men that I shouldn’t. I have feelings about you that I shouldn’t.

My family found out about these feelings, though. They said that they never wanted to see me again. Now that I have no place to call home, no family, and likely no vision soon, I have decided that suicide is my best option. I know that I could never win against the Raiden Shogun, and it is the perfect opportunity for me.

Kazuha, I want you to know that it’s not your fault. You are the person that has kept me going this long, but I just can’t do it anymore. What I truly want is a happy future with you, but I know that will never happen. My last request is that you tell the others about my sexuality. Tell them I’m sorry for resorting to death.

Also, I’m sorry to you. I’ve burdened you with my death, my feelings, and an errand. I know that you probably hate me by now, but you had to know. Please, remember that I love you. I love you from the bottom of my heart, and it hurts me to hurt you. I wish I could give you just one kiss before I die, I really do, but I guess I’m just a coward.

Thank you and goodbye, -Tomo

Kazuha couldn’t believe his eyes. His vision blurred as fat tears rolled down his face and landed on the paper. His hands trembled, and he let out a sob. He raised his hands to his face as he began crying loudly.

“Tomo..” he whimpered. He grabbed the paper from his lap and hugged it tight. Kazuha was crying so hard that he didn’t even notice Beidou enter the cellar, not until she rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, are you ok?” She questioned, worry in her tone.

“You can tell me things, you know,” she said. She sounded so genuine, that Kazuha considered telling her everything. And that’s just what he did. He slowly outstretched his arm, and offered Beidou the letter. The brunette accepted, and began reading. Her eyes widened as she got further down the page. She gently placed the paper on the floor, and pulled Kazuha into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Kazuha hugged back, and sobbed into her shoulder. They remained like that for a while, before Kazuha looked into her eye.

“Could I… tell you everything?” He asked. Beidou met his gaze and nodded. Kazuha took a breath and began to speak.

“I- I love Tomo too. I always have,” he started. Beidou’s face lit up with realization.

“Ohhh,” she said, as if she was putting a puzzle together. She must have remembered her input about Kazuha’s crush from before, because her face flushed with embarrassment.

“OHH… she said.

“Sorry, sometimes I forget that not everyone likes women.” She chuckled sheepishly. Kazuha looked up at her with bewilderment.

“Y-you too?” He said. Beidou nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much everyone on board is some flavor of queer,” she spoke. Kazuha’ face lit up, and more tears welled up in his eyes.

“Is that everything you wanted to tell me?” Beidou questioned. Kazuha shook his head.

“You know the burn on my hand?” He started. Beidou looked down at said hand and nodded.

“It healed a while ago. I… The ones there now are self inflicted, and I can’t stop doing it.” Kazuha admitted. His words sped up in the end, as if he was trying to spit them out as fast as possible. Guilt swelled in his stomach, before he noticed Beidou looking at him with the most loving expression.

“That’s ok, kid,” she comforted. She pulled off one of her gloves to reveal old, whitened scars that littered her forearm.

“I’ve been through the same shit, I can help you as much as you need.”

Kazuha melted at the sheer kindness. He leaned back into the embrace and began crying one again. Beidou patted his back, before asking another question.

“Oh yeah, what’s with the cat?”