#maybe angst potentional who knows

[happi-dreams]

Very happy that all of you guys think my eepy lil things are indeed eepy :D

[siribaes]

ANGEL OF MINE (Sequel to Who’s Better Than Me?)

Rio x blackfem!reader (OC - Angel)

“After a plateau in their relationship, Rio sets out to make things right—”

PARING: Exes to Lovers / Past High School School Sweethearts

SUGGESTED TUNES 💿: We Need Resolution by Aaliyah, Best Thing by Usher, Take Away by Missy Elliott & Ginuwine, Think Of You by Amerie, Fallen by Mya, Ella Me Levanto by Daddy Yankee

CONTENTS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, ANGST, Some fluff, professing of love, cursing, pinv, r*ugh s*x, cre*m p*e, or*l (fem receiving), Semi Redeemed Rio, Rio being a bedroom bully, with a dash of pettiness again lol, slight use of Spanish, a potential pregnancy, etc. (NOT PROOFREAD/UNEDITED)

AUTHORS NOTE: Genuinely I did not think about writing another part, but some ideas popped up in my head and so here we are lol! this part is kinda long but hope y’all enjoy regardless 💖 GIF CREDIT: by me :)

“How I'm supposed to be to you if you keep squirmin'? Be still,"

Angel couldn’t fully register Rio’s instructions over the pounding of her heart. She shivered, squirming in her spot on the bed. Rio lowered his head, placing small kisses on Angel’s stomach. The softness and warmth of his lips spurred her on even more, Angel began to pull away from Rio's touch.

“Don’t move,” Rio ordered, his large hands held her in place, one of them pressed down on Angel's stomach, "You gonna be good and listen, hm?"

“Yes! I’ll be g-good,” Angel whimpered.

Rio smiled down at her, keeping one hand on her stomach, while the other reached for his hardened shaft. He aligned himself with her dripping core, plunging the tip into her wetness, eliciting a soft moan from Angel. He repeated the movement a few times over slowly easing more of him into her. Angel’s whines grew more desperate with each shallow stroke.

With one last stroke, Rio bottomed out, fully, planting his hands firmly at Angel’s waist.

“Fuck, Angel. So fuckin’ tight,”

Angel’s hands snake up Rio’s back, pulling him towards her, as he began rocking into her.

“Angel,”

“Yes, baby?”

“Angel,”

“Hm?”

“Angel!”

With two snaps from her friend, Benny, Angel was pulled out of her reverie and back into reality.

“You good?” Benny asked as he waved his fork in the air.

“She’s fine,” Keke chuckled, “She’s just having a flashback, of Riooo,”

Angel rolled her eyes as she took a sip from her drink. She leaned back into her seat, looking at the passerbyers. It was a beautiful day, the sun shined brightly, casting down warm rays. After being stuck in the office in the all morning, the change in scenery was much needed.

“Have you talked to him?” Benny mused. He twirled pasta around his fork, before eating a large forkful.

“…No,” Angel sighed.

“Seriously?” Keke asked, eyes wide with shock. “I thought y’all hit it off, literally, after the reunion,”

“We did! And the sex was amazing, but—”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, y'all. So much time has passed, and he's changed so much since we were in high school, I feel like he's not the same boy I once knew,”

"I mean duh, Angel," Keke shrugged, "are any of us who we were 20 years ago?"

"She's right, Angel," Benny added, "None of us are the same as we were back then. It's impossible, babe. It sounds like you more scared of what he does not who is,"

Angel leaned back into her chair; arms folded across her chest. Maybe Benny was right. There was never a moment that passed in the day that she didn't want to be wrapped in Rio's arms. To just be with him. Yet, every time Angel wanted to reach out something stopped her. Everything was different about Rio and seeing him at the reunion was a bit jarring. From his clothes to the way he walked, even that damn eagle tattoo itched on his neck. The way he practically had all of their former classmates fawning over him, laughing at all of his jokes. There was a dangerous charm that Rio possessed. Sure, Angel was used to Rio's boy-ish charms after being on the receiving end of it, but this was something entirely different. It was potent, calculated, and completely irresistible. That was developed from experience, an experience that made Angel think twice.

"By all means, I'm not excusing Rio's, nefarious activities," Benny continued, "I just think you should at least talk to the man. The man, you've been in love with most of your life,"

"And from that glow you've been sporting," Keke added, she paused to a sip from her drink, slurping for dramatic affect. Benny and Angel chuckled, "I know that dick was good. So, take a chance! You'll never know what could happen between you too,"

Angel nodded. For the rest of the day, she pondered Benny and Keke's advice. She had to take a chance, she had to try.

----

It wasn't until 10 PM, when Angel pulled to her home. Arms chalked full of groceries, she wanted to stock up on food and other snacks for her much needed staycation. Angel trudged up the stairs, to her humble bungalow, she fumbled with the straps of the shopping bags and her work purse, trying grab her keys. She quickly opened the door, once inside she locked the door behind her and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Angel didn't bother to turn the light on in the kitchen. Her mind was preoccupied with putting the groceries away so she could take a shower and finally relax. So much that she didn't notice a smoldering, Rio leaned against the refrigerator. He watched her as she unloaded the groceries, not wanting to disturb her just yet. He wanted to admire the way her slacks hugged her curves, just a tad bit longer.

With a grocery bag in hand, Angel turned around, immediately meeting Rio's eyes. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

“Fuck!”

Angel quickly crouched down, grabbing the spilled groceries on the floor. Rio crossed the room in quick strides, bending down to help. A quietness fell over them as they loaded the items into the reusable bag.

“…What are you doing here? How did you get here? You know what don't answer that," Angel sputtered. She sat the bag on her breakfast table. She folded her arms over her chest, “No call, no text. I mean, what the hell Rio?”

His expression was indecipherable as Rio peered at her. His eyes continued to trace over her, as if he was trying to commit her features to memory, as if he really needed to for that matter. Rio tipped his head to the side and scratched the light stubble on his chin.

Angel mentally kicked herself, only Rio could look that dangerously good in minimal lighting. She averted her eyes, looking at the calendar tacked on her fridge, before looking back at Rio.

He shrugged. “I could say the same. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You avoidin’ me?”

Angel scoffed. “First off, I’m not avoiding you. Second, who breaks into someone’s home after not seeing for a couple of weeks—”

“—A month,”

“However, long it was. If you wanted to talk, this isn’t the way to go about it,”

Rio nodded slowly, poking his bottom lip in that ever so subtle way, as he mused over Angel’s words.

“If I called, would you have answered?”

Angel opened her mouth to respond but quickly closed it. Truth was, if Rio did call, she wouldn’t have picked up. Not because Angel didn’t want to, it was complicated. The night that they shared was magical, more amazing than anything Angel could ever dream of, but when the sun rose the next morning and reality set in. They were too different, Angel lived a normal life, she loved her job, her friends, her family, even the “Tinkerbell” car she drove. Her life was routine, with a few moments of spontaneity (hooking up with Rio was one of them). Rio’s life she assumed, was nothing but spontaneity, having to always keep one eye open, always looking over one’s shoulder. Adding Rio into the equation was too much. It was easier when they were younger, it was simpler time. Their love came with no extra baggage, it was pure.

Now, things are much different, Rio was different. He’s a crime boss for pete’s sake, and Angel knew that he didn’t want the same things, as she did. Last time she checked, living the life of a criminal didn’t allow for marriage and kids, not in the way Angel wanted anyway.

“Rio,” Angel began, the dropped her arms, and twiddled with her fingers, “you…we, we are just different,”

A deep sigh escaped Rio. When Angel finally met Rio’s gaze she could see the cracks in his resolve. His jaw was tight, and usual brown eyes carried a hardness in them. Rio ran a hand across her features, rolling his shoulders while doing so.

“You breakin’ my heart, Angelita,” Rio took a few steps forward, now standing only a few away from Angel. He easily towered over her small frame, “what’s so different about me?”

“Y-you’ve changed, I’ve changed,”

“So?”

“So?! This is serious, Rio, are lives are completely different, you don’t want the same things as me,”

“Bullshit. I need real, Angel. Why are you pullin’ away from me?”

“You’re a fucking criminal, Rio!”

A huge wave of embarrassment and guilt washed over her, she quickly buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t bear to look at Rio after saying what she said. How could she react like that? Regardless of her aversion to what Rio does, he deserved more respect than the outburst she just had. This was the man she’s been in love with since she fifteen, he deserved better.

Angel felt Rio gently wrap his hands around hers, and pulled them away from her face. He then tilted Angel’s upwards to meet his gaze. Rio searched her eyes, seeing the guilt in them he softened.

“You scared of me, Angel?”

Angel froze. Her mind traveling back to the night they spent together, and the glimpse gun she saw as she left his place. Her mind drummed up all of the scenarios that could happen, flashes of him in an orange jumpsuit behind bars, and his name across the headstone in the graveyard. A future that she never wanted to see, but in a way already happened. A little into Angel's first semester of college, word got out Rio was going to prison, it broke her. She couldn't bear to see him like that or worse, 6 feet under.

So, to answer his question was she scared of Rio, no. Was she scared of what could happen to Rio, absolutely, Angel loved him too much just to be okay with could happen to him. Or what he could do to others.

"Hey, hey," Rio spoke, pulling her focus back to him, "there you go wonderin' again. Tell me, what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Angel sighed. “...I don’t like what you do,”

Rio dropped his hand away from Angel's chin. He nodded slowly, processing. A quietness fell over them, as they stared wordlessly at one another. Rio's eyes slowly trailed down towards Angel's chest. She felt the breath hitch in her throat, when he reached towards her. Gently, he lifted the necklace she wore. Rio held the angel pendant between his fingers, the pad of his thumb softly tracing over the figure's wings.

"You kept it," Rio spoke, his eyes combing over the figure with Angel could only interpret as fondness. Her heart fluttered. "You know, I put in mad work tryna get this. Cutting grass, washing cars, all that shit. I wanted you to feel good. I wanted you to know I loved you,"

"Rio..."

"Por siempre y para siempre, forever and always. That's what's engraved on the wings. Angel, you're my forever, you're my always. It's only been you,"

Angel felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. This is the most vulnerable she's seen Rio, ever. To hear him speak with such sincerity and conviction, Angel couldn't help her heart swell with love.

"My business is my business, and I can't change what I did and all the choices I've made. But being with you made me realize, mama that shit has an expiration date," Rio brought his hands to Angel's face, and cradled her soft cheeks, "I can't promise that I'll magically become a better man over night, but I want to try, for you will. 'Cause I don't wanna loose you mama, not again,"

Without a second thought Angel leans forward and kisses Rio. Their kiss was sweet, tongues moving in tandem as Angel snaked her arms around Rio, pulling him closer to her. Her fingers caress the top of Rio's head, soft touches rubbing at his scalp. Rio lets out a throaty groan, its vibrations straight to Angel's core. A flush of heat rushes through her entire body. She breaks the kiss.

"I wanna try, Christopher," Angel whispers. She nuzzles Rio's nose. He pulls away slightly, to see her face fully. A smile blooms across his face. He kisses her again.

"Yeah?" Rio's smile grows wider seeing the sincerity in Angel's face.

"Yes, baby," Angel nods, biting her lip.

A flicker of lust danced in Rio eyes. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, while his hands drifted towards Angel's bottom. Rio's large hands squeezed and palmed her ass. He landed a firm smack on her ass.

"Rio!"

He chuckled. "Go upstairs, and get on the bed, how I like," Rio mumbled against her cheek, before placing a soft kiss there.

Angel didn't waste any time, she raced upstairs to her bedroom, completely forgetting about her groceries in the kitchen. She kicked off her heels, stripping off her slacks and dress shirt. Angel sat on her bed, legs spread out for him, in only her bra and panties. Coincidently, in his favorite color, green.

Minutes seemed to drawl into hours as Angel waited. Her heart rattled against her chest, as Angel's mind raced at the possibilities of what Rio was going to do to her. Another a minute or so passed when Angel heard Rio's footsteps coming up the stairs.

He appeared in doorway with two bottles of water in hand. He smoothly entered the room, eyes glued to Angel, he settled on a spot in front of Angel's vanity. Rio sat one of the water bottles down on the table, while he opened the other, taking a quick sip. His were so heated, so blazed as they roamed Angel's body. It felt like invisible hands were rubbing and caressing her all over.

"You look good, mama. All spread out for me. Shit, lingerie in my favorite color too..."

"All for you, baby," Angel cooed.

Rio's lips tipped into small smile. He took another swig of water. He sat the bottle down, putting the cap back on.

"I'm not gonna lie, you hurt my feelings, when you went ghost on me..."

"Rio, baby, I'm sorry–"

"Sshhh," Rio hushed Angel with a finger to his lips, "All is forgiven, but you got make it up to me. You gonna make it up to me, darlin'?"

Angel nodded.

"Play with that pussy for me."

Angel slowly peeled out of her panties, making a show out of it, she made sure that Rio got a view of her ass. She flung them to the side, returning her previous position. Widening her legs, Angel's fingers found themselves at her core, swiping at the wetness, she began to rub taut circles on her clit.

"Fuck!" Angel whined.

"Damn..." Rio voice trailed, eyes zeroing in Angel's core. He hummed in satisfaction as fingers began to unbutton his flannel. "You, look so fuckin' good. You close?"

"Yesssss, I'm so close! I need you soooo bad," Angel moaned as her fingers continued to rub tight circles on her clit.

"I got you, just keep going. I wanna see my pretty girl cum for me,"

Angel felt the familiar knot in her belly as her orgasm began to build. Her wetness pooled out of her the more her fingers worked her core. She felt her pussy flutter when Rio peeled out his t-shirt, revealing his svelte frame covered in intricate tattoos. Seeing his rich skin practically covered ink, tipped her over the edge.

"Ooooh, shit, I'm cummin',"

"Mhm, let it out for me, mama," Rio egged her on.

Angel shook as her orgasm coursed through her, wetting up her sheets. She laid down on the bed, closing her eyes as she rode out the aftershocks, her skin tingling with pleasure. Quick taps on her thighs, brought her back, she opened her eyes to Rio looming over her.

"On all fours, darlin',"

Angel obliged. She turned and faced her faced her headboard. She adjusted herself, making sure her the arch in her back was damn near perfect. Rio's belt and zipper clinked and clanked as he undressed himself. His hands palmed her ass, the callused pads of his fingers felt good against her skin. Angel mewled loudly, when she felt Rio's soft tongue lick down her slit.

"Christopher!"

"You taste good. Sweet as fuck," Rio groaned. "You ready for me?"

"Yes, baby. Please don't play with it," Angel turned her head to look at him, biting down her lip. She gazed into his stormy eyes, clouded thick with lust. With one hand, Rio's fingers trailed down Angel's spine, pausing for second. Then landed another firm smack on her Angel's ass. "Baby! Be nice,"

"Nah," Rio stated firmly, he deepened Angel's arch. He adjusted himself, inching his dick closer to Angel's entrance, "You still got some makin' up to do,"

With no warning, Rio plunged into Angel, bottoming out completely. Angel's toes curled, at his fullness and the stretch that only he could give her. He circled himself inside her, pulling himself out, then plunging back in. Rio tightened the grip on Angel's hips as began to rock into her. She gushed and clenched around his member, nails clawing at the sheets below them.

"Goddamn," Rio hissed, "I feel you tightin' around me. You close already?"

"Oh my god! Yes, you fuckin' me so good,"

"Yeaaaah, that's right me, only me. Nobody else, right mama?"

"N-nobody else, baby, shit! I love you so much, Christopher,"

Angel felt Rio's hips stutter at her confession. It only served as more motivation for Rio, spurring him on, he pistoned into Angel faster and harder. He reached downwards, grabbing a handful of her coils, yanking her upwards.

"Say it again," He rasped in her ear.

"I-I-I love you, shit,"

"Again,"

"I love you, I love you, I love you, Rio I'm cumming," Angel cried out.

Rio held Angel close, fucking her through her orgasm. Angel shuddered, as she felt her essence drip down her thighs, as Rio continued to thrust into her wildly, kissing and nibbling at her ear lobe. He slowed rhythm of his hips, letting Angel's hair go, placing small kisses down her neck and shoulders.

"You did so good for me," Rio breathed out. He softly patted at Angel's plush thighs, as he slowly pulled out. "Face me,"

Angel shifted around, laying on her back she spread her legs wide. Rio situated himself between Angel's legs. He stroked himself a few times, biting his lip at the small squelching noises he made. In one swift motion, Rio plunged himself back in, fully engulfing himself in Angel's wet pussy.

"Fuckkkkkk," Rio growled. Angel whined in response. At this angle, Rio was hitting her spongy spot way deeper than before, causing waves of pleasure to flood her entire body. "Pussy so fuckin', shit, nena,"

Both her heart and her pussy fluttered, seeing the blissed out look on his gorgeous features. Rio was always so controlled and reserved most of them, so to see him like this, guttural, borderline animalistic, Angel loved it. She began to feel him throb inside of her, he was close.

"Mhmm, I feel you, baby. I want you to cum inside me," Angel cooed as she cradled the back of Rio neck.

"Yeah? You want me cummin', inside you. Careful, now. I might fuck around and give you a baby forreal,"

Angel cupped Rio's face, kissing him deeply. She pulled away, nodding her head in a wordless confirmation. Rio's eyes softened, at the realization. He bucked his hips, in deep, desperate strokes.

"Shit! Angelita, you gonna look so good, belly fully, with our baby, fuck. I love you, Angel," He grunted, as his resolve was wearing down by the second. The midst of his brutal thrust, Angel felt another orgasm hurdle towards the surface. Her walls spasmed around Rio's dick, screaming out as she came. "Just like that, fuck, eres mio, todo mio, baby, shit,"

A few strokes were all it took to send Rio over the edge. He buried himself in Angel's neck as his blasted his cum inside of her. Rio groans were muffled against Angel's skin. He held her closed as he shook from the pleasure, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum inside of her. Angel wrapped her legs around him, she didn't want to miss a single drop.

A calmness fell over them, as the breathed in tandem, hearts following the same rhythm. Rio lifted his head up, resting his chin on Angel's chest. Warms hands rubbed soft circles against her skin. He gazed at her, nothing but love and stardust in them.

"You're gonna be a good mom," He mumbled.

Angel smiled softly, she rubbed at his shoulders. "And you're gonna be a good dad. I love you, Christopher,"

"I love you too, mama. Por siempre y para siempre."

[wearywinchester]

Restless

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a nightmare of that days hunt plagues you over and over, it’s next to impossible to hide your distress from the older Winchester.

Warnings: angst, nightmares, blood, injury, swearing, fluff, kissing

Again. Again for what felt like the fiftieth time in the last half our did you wake up. Realistically, more time has passed than a mere thirty minutes but it didn’t matter, not when you woke up short of breath, the sound of your gasp in contrast to the silence of the room having added to your already persistent fear.

Your heart was racing a mile a minute as your whole body jerked, moving to prop yourself up on your elbows as the shirt you wore clung to your back from the same sheen of sweat that sat in your face. The breeze from the open window helped, it cooled you, but the heat still flooded in your cheeks temporarily from the burst of adrenaline you felt upon waking from another nightmare.

Maybe another wasn’t the right word, not quite, because that’d imply that the narrative changes every time and it doesn’t. It’s the same scenario, the same script, the same turn of events. It’s all the same and it comes to haunt you each and every time you close your eyes.

The bed was empty, the room was empty—it was just you and the gusts of wind drawing your eyes to the window in half fear that that damn monster was going to come in and grab you.

It was irrational, you were almost one hundred percent sure, because that thing was dead and gone but your mind refused to believe it to be true. That much was sure as you looked at the window, at the curtains pushing towards you from the breeze blowing in. As you looked at the trees beyond the window that were swaying just like the ones back at the place that was haunting you every time you closed your eyes for more than a second or two.

You sat there, unsure of yourself until you finally were. You pushed back the covers and pressed your bare feet to the cold hardwood floor, padding over to the window and shutting it, shutting out the potent threat you thought may have been lurking right on the other side.

Your heart rate picked up again, not that it ever really settled, but it wasn’t until you’d gotten up that you really realized how affected you were. You were standing there on wobbly legs as you shook the slightest bit, hands shaking to mirror it. Your lip wasn’t that far behind as the tears continued to press and burn behind your eyes. You were so tired, frustrated even and you couldn’t bring yourself to get an ounce of restful sleep. You knew you wouldn’t be able to.

The urge for a distraction became to great when you found yourself just standing there in the middle of that room, running your hands over your face in hopes of a refresher but finding yourself brushing over the cut on it from earlier today. You were quick to recoil, those tears trying desperately to make an appearance. But you wouldn’t let them.

You left the room empty behind you as you followed the glow of light coming from downstairs, the old floor creaking beneath your feet. Bobby was out with Rufus and Sam was doing who knows what research at this hour because that was Sam. But that’s not who you were looking for, you were looking for a green eyed hunter who’s whereabouts were something you had a good idea of.

He knew it was you, of course he did, he knew the pattern of your footfalls. He could pick it up distinctly even in a room full of a thousand different sets of them. Not only that, but he knew you were distressed, he knew there was something bothering you ever since that hunt was wrapped up and finished with. It wasn’t just that ever so slight frown, or the way you drug your feet from more than just fatigue. It wasn’t any of that that gave it away.

It was the fact that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye. You were quiet as ever, that pretty smile of yours never reaching your lips, hardly even mustering a fake one just to humor him. You weren’t yourself and he noticed before you did.

You tried to be quiet, light on your feet as you walked, hearing the tap of his boot on the floor before you rounded the corner to the little kitchen Bobby had.

He was sitting at the table by the wall, papers scattered amongst the old and scratched wood surface, his laptop propped open with the next article on another case on it.

You didn’t even want to think about another hunt, mainly because you couldn’t, not when you were so beyond stuck on this one without an option to sway your mind to think about something else. You were stuck there, stuck in a loop that terrified you each and every time you thought about that stupid monster and the way it taunted you. You were frozen in that moment and every time you tried to think of something else it pulled you right back to it.

“Y/n?”

You blinked, looking at green eyes when he spoke your name and saw the way his brows were knit together.

“What are you doin’ up?” He asks, curiosity in his tone with a hint of something you couldn’t place.

He knew.

You stood there for a moment, scrambling for the reason that wasn’t untrue, you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the full truth of why you’d wandered down there in search of the older Winchester. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him how safe he made you feel, at least couldn’t in that moment. But you couldn’t stand there all quiet and timid forever, that wasn’t like you.

“Just checking in on you, see what you’re doing,” you shrugged, voice quieter and you looked him in the eyes for the first time since early that afternoon.

He hums quietly after a moment passes, a moment of looking at you carefully, a nod following it as he bites the inside of his cheek softly. He didn’t believe it, not even for a second did he believe it. Yes, you might very well have been checking on him, but he knew that wasn’t it. He knew that wasn’t the only reason, the only thing that had you wandering down there in search of him. He knew you far better than to believe that’d been the sole purpose of why you were standing a mere few feet away from him in the middle of the night when you’d been tired the whole ride back there.

For a minute you thought your answer was solid, fool proof, for a good minute you thought you’d made a steady reason but you knew better. You knew he’d see right through you and it had you shifting on your feet. It had you growing more timid the more he looked at you with that look that spoke a thousand words.

You cleared your throat. “I uh, I should get—”

“You’re bleeding,” Dean interjects, the crease between his brows deepening.

“What?”

The cut on your cheek, that one from the hunt that you rubbed your hands over in your daze upon first waking up. That’s what he was talking about.

“Y/n, look at me,” he says.

You let out a huff, frustration from lack of quality sleep after having been plagued with the same recurring nightmare and the green eyed hunter standing in front of you having brought it out all the more. So you huff, you huff and turn to look at him for the briefest of seconds just to say you did for his sake before you turn away again.

“There, it’s nothing,” you say, a little too defensive for your own good.

“Bathroom. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Dean, I said it’s nothing,” you argue softly, but this insistence was very much there in your voice.

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart,” he says, he gaze just as unrelenting as yours as you stare at him with narrowed eyes in an attempt to show your displeasure as best you can.

He wasn’t swayed.

That huff of yours comes back, sounding once more in the older Winchester’s direction as you spun on your heel and you could’ve sworn you heard his chuckle behind you, that one he always does when he gets the most stubborn hunter there is to listen to him for just once. Stubborn second only to him.

You stomp back upstairs, quietly at that, seeing as there’s at least two people in Bobby’s house that are able to sleep soundly, and somehow Sam and Bobby always manage to be the ones who are.

You reach the landing, the old hardwood floor creaking under your feet as you round the railing and walk the few steps to the small bathroom on the right. You switched the light on and hopped up on the counter, legs dangling as you exhale a softer sigh, not quite a huff but the same intention sitting behind it as you purse your lips.

It wasn’t very long before you heard those boots thud against those same stairs, creaking along that same pattern and sure enough it’d been five minutes just as he said he’d be. Five minutes before Freckles appeared in the doorway with that look on his face that you hated, you hated it but you knew you loved it all the same.

“Surprised you listened. Thought I’d have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you here myself,” he says, his humor in his words.

“Don’t push it, Winchester,” you say, hearing his chuckle once more.

You watched as he ducked down, opening the old wooden door of the cabinet under the bathroom sink you sat near on the counter. Watched as he swiped that familiar old first aid kit from its rightful spot and set it down next to you.

You were quiet as you watch him open it, dragging his finger along the compartments until he found what he was looking for. You were quiet as you sat there feeling small, because you may have been giving him attitude, your usual playful banter. You may have been flashing him a pretty smile that truly was reserved just for him, but deep down that fear still sat heavy within you. Heavy as you sat before the one that’d give you the shirt off his back and protect you from anything even if it’d meant he’d go down swinging.

You knew that, you knew you were the safest you could possibly be so long as he was around. And you’ve got Sam, you’ve got Bobby, but you’ve got Dean. You knew it but the way that hunt plagued you the second you closed your eyes for more than a few moments, it had your stomach twisting with that fear that maybe, just maybe that monster would come back to get you. That maybe it wasn’t brought to its very last breath by an angry Winchester.

The worry settled down deep within you, worry that Dean never stopped noticing as he kept his eye on you ever since it’d happened. You might not have noticed, but he knows you far better than you’d ever think, and he could tell something was off with a simple half glance, but there’s not a chance he’d let his gaze linger for that short of time. That was impossible.

“Sweetheart, I can’t clean you up if you refuse to look at me,” he says, lighthearted yet concerned all the same.

“Am not,” you say, quiet and almost pitiful.

He knew.

He sighs, soft and borderline frustrated with your stubbornness as he looks at you with pursed lips. He meets your gaze until you watch his eyes flit over to your cheek, his brows creasing together a little deeper.

The crimson color was smudged on your cheek from where you’d swiped it away with the back of your hand in a haphazard attempt to wipe it away and act as if it wasn’t a big deal. Truthfully it wasn’t, not really. It was a scratch and you’ve had far worse, but that didn’t matter to Dean. What mattered was that you even got hurt in the first place.

“Dammit, Y/n,” he says quietly.

“Oh, stop it,” you grumble.

He looks at you with a less than pleased expression, though it was still soft with concern.

His hand is calloused and warm as he brings it up to settle gently on your other cheek, palm cradling your face as his thumb presses to your chin to keep you from turning away from him.

“Hold still,” he says, that familiar concentration on his face as he grabs a peroxide soaked stack of gauze.

“It’s not like you’re giving me stitches, Dean,” you say, moving only slightly just to be redirected by a soft nudge of Dean’s hand.

“Yeah, well, I’ve given you a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever cared to,” he says, “and don’t argue it because you know that’s true.”

Your shoulders slump a bit as you sigh, leaning into his palm a little. He notices, he notices the action right away even if you won’t admit your resignation to comfort or the fact that you’re letting him clean you up. It’s something you always fight him on, something you’re so stubborn in trying to do yourself because weakness is something you don’t like showcasing, and that’s something he knows very well.

You’re quiet for a little bit after that, wincing only slightly when he grazes over the cut along your cheek, the antiseptic stinging enough to make your cheeks flush warm.

You could feel his gaze on you, something you couldn’t meet for more than a brief second or two before you averted your own, feeling the way his thumb brushed along your chin by the hand that remained settled on your cheek. It was a simple act of comfort, gentle and small, sweet in contrast to the gruffness he portrayed for himself.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, not really. You’ve had far worse injuries that you’ve been on the receiving end of on hunts much worse than this one, so the amount of time he’s been taking on it simply proved that he was fussing over you far more than he needed to. If you’d have brought it to his attention he’d have denied it with a grumble or two and pursed lips. Maybe even an eye roll. But you knew just how much this bothered him, even if it didn’t bother you.

What bothered you was the repetitive nightmare that plagued your mind every single time you settled down for even just a minute of sleep. What bothered you was the way it made you tremble and startle from said sleep, only to met with the quiet night of the reality you were in. What bothered you was the way you continued to shake with a pounding heart as you lay awake until you’re tired enough, too tired to keep your eyes open.

He watched you like a hawk, looking for any sign of pain you fought so hard to hide. Watching for any bit of weakness you were determined to keep at bay. The look in your eyes, something on your mind he couldn’t quite figure out, but he knew it was more than just that cut on your cheek. The way your lip jutted out ever so slightly, the smallest of quivers making it tremble under the pressure of whatever was distressing you.

He found himself letting his gaze linger on you, antiseptic soaked gauze still brushing over your skin as his other hand remained cradling your face. It lingered and you didn’t even notice, not the way green eyes took in your every movement, no matter how small. Not the way his brows stayed furrowed in the utmost of concern as he analyzed every single bit of your expressions for even just the smallest hint of what’s bothering you. He knew better than to think you’d tell him if he asked.

All you could think about was the way that hunt had been haunting you, tormenting you, replaying in your mind of how much that damn monster would’ve put you six feet under in a heartbeat had it held you captive for just a minute longer. You were scared out of your mind, heart nearly bursting with fear when you’d found yourself to be quite alone, all by yourself in the middle of the woods with no idea how to even get yourself out of the restraints you found yourself in.

It was horrifying, terrifying, something that had you not so quick to jump on the next hunt Sam will surely stumble across the next morning. You didn’t scare too easily, used to the frights the world of being a hunter will throw at you. You were stronger than that, more fearless, but you couldn’t stop the way it ate away at you and you couldn’t help but let yourself be scared this time.

It made your mind swim with scenario’s that haven’t even happened, with over dramatic what if’s for the next hunt and the one after, and every single one after that until you finally do meet your fate who knows how far into the future. It had you spiraling into this, that, and the next thing until—

“Y/n, hey.”

You heard the concern in his tone, eyed flickering to his to see the way his gaze matched his words. You looked at him, looked with furrowed brows, a softer expression than his own. You felt that sting on your cheek again, now that you were brought back to reality and away from your thoughts.

“Hm?”

Your hum was simple and soft, sounding as though you didn’t just space how for an amount of time you weren’t even sure of at this point and you didn’t really want to know. All you do know is that you’re beyond distracted and a very concerned Dean is giving you those eyes that let you know he’s caught onto the fact that you’re not as fine as you say you are. But that doesn’t mean you won’t try and convince him anyway.

“You with me, sweetheart?” He asks, soft as his words hold a certain caring that was reserved for you.

They were paired with the brush of his fingers along your hairline, delicate and gentle as the run through your hair and down the side of your face until his hand cradles your cheek once more.

He waits for the words that sit on the tip of your tongue, waiting to see if you’d tell him the truth or tell him some half-assed lie that he’d never once believe. He knew it’d be the latter because that’s how you are and there’s no denying it. You’d rather let yourself suffer than look the slightest bit weak and he thinks it’s an absolute load of crap, even if he was the very same way. But he didn’t care about himself, he cared about you, and that was the difference.

“With you,” you say halfheartedly, soft as your tiredness began to coat your words.

But you were distracted, so tired yet so restless all the same and your brief moment of spacing out had given way to that very fact. It didn’t help your cause with the older Winchester and you could kick yourself for letting it show.

You nuzzle into his hand some despite it, the gentle affection something that you seek a little bit more than the desire to keep your distress at bay.

“Y/n.”

The single use of your name was firm and all knowing, something that draws a deep exhale from you and a deeper crease in his brows from him.

“Would you quit looking at me like that?” You say, tilting your head away from his hand and pursing your lips.

“Would you quit acting like there’s nothing wrong?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as your brows knit together all the more tightly, watching the way his gaze is relentless as he stares at you. He knew you weren’t yourself, and he knew it was more than just being sleepy, he knew you like the back of his hand. You’re his sweetheart after all, you can’t pull a fast one on him.

“De,” you say, soft and on the cusp of breaking your facade. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You knew better than to think he’d believe that. It was foolish to think he’d take that answer as any bit of being serious.

A short huff blows past his lips as the second round of lies you’d so boldly told him, one’s that don’t even remotely sound real because he knows better. He always knows better because he’s Dean Winchester and he’s known absolutely everything about you down to the very reason you so much as scrunch your nose. You do it when you’re trying not to cry, and when you’re lying.

So he exhales that huff, tossing the dirtied gauze in the small plastic trash can beside the bathroom counter. You knew what that meant, that heavy breath of exasperation and frustration woven around the simple action. When it was paired with that look he’s giving you, the one with the creased brows just ever so slightly, and the pursed lips as he looks at you with all the concern in the world yet anger all the same. Not with you, but your stubbornness.

“Y/n,” he says, stern but still soft.

“Dean,” you say, effectively quieting him. There was a few passing moments if quiet after that, of him giving you that look and you giving one right back. “‘S late, I’m gonna head to bed.”

You see the way his jaw clenched, tense as he looks down momentarily, attention pulled back to you when you hopped off the counter. He softens a bit when you lean up and kiss his cheek, softens just enough to let you pass by him to slip out the door. He always calms down when you do that even though he really shouldn’t because he knows you, he knows you’re not yourself right now.

But you left him to mope angrily in the bathroom as he cleaned up the small mess he made, tucking the first aid kit back where it belongs while you make your way back to that small bedroom sleepily.

You were tired, beyond tired after the day you had, after the night you had and it was only the beginning of it. You’ve got hours left to deal with more torment the second you close your eyes and you can only hope that it won’t be so bad the next time you do. You can only hope it’ll be a fraction more restful than the last few bouts otherwise you may just breakdown completely. You’d already gone and scratched that wound open on your face from your thrashing.

The moment you saw that bed again, disheveled and slept in just as you’d left it, it brought on a yawn. It made your eyes water, eyelids growing heavier now that the lighting of the bathroom wasn’t there to keep them open. It looked inviting, so inviting, especially with the cold of the hardwood seeping into your bare feet. It looked warm and everything you’d been longing for the moment that exhaustion kicked in on the drive back.

It looked like everything you wanted it to be, but it was bittersweet. You knew what waited for you once you gave into the desire for comfort, you knew how distraught you may be. You knew you’d be met with an unhappy Winchester the moment the lies he already knew were spoken were proven at the sight of your distress. You knew it, yet you craved the feeling of crawling back into that perfectly worn bed under those blankets, tucked away in that shirt of Dean’s.

You almost had to refrain from having an argument with yourself on whether or not you should cave and climb in or if you should wait it out, wait till you can’t stay awake anymore.

You caved.

You sat up with a jolt, whole body jerking as you propped yourself up on your elbows for the millionth time that night. You went about your routine, eyes scanning the room for the possibility of a threat waiting for your gaze before pouncing. They scanned and scanned until the tears kept you from doing so adequately, spilling down heated cheeks. Your heart had been pounding so damn hard again, slamming against your chest as if to break free.

When those watery eyes glanced at the clock it’d only been a half an hour, a small stretch of time that felt like your whole entire life wrapped around each minute. It almost felt agonizing.

Dean hadn’t come to bed quite yet. Dean. That feeling crept up on you, the one that’d been there ever since that hunt went south. You pushed it off, stuffed it down the way you always do. Because that denial of yours has you convinced that you don’t need comfort, that you’re too strong for that. You’re not weak, perhaps not the strongest person out there, but damn were you ever stubborn. Always when you didn’t need to be.

But it seems as though your body didn’t give you a fighting chance, not as you got out of that bed shaking like a damn leaf in a Kansas thunderstorm. You felt wobbly, unstable but you stifled it as you walked towards that familiar wooden door, twisting the old brass knob and swinging it open carefully. Careful as if there was some stupid supernatural monster that could hear every noise you made like it was in that house with you.

But the hall was empty. Sam’s door was closed, Bobby’s the same. Just a dimly lit hall from the nightlight plugged into the wall streaming in. It was empty until it wasn’t. It was empty though you didn’t get very far, not as that set of foot falls make their way up those creaky stairs. You knew who they belonged to, you knew the sound of those boots anywhere.

You stopped in your tracks in the hopes that maybe he wouldn’t see you, something proving to be beyond ridiculous the moment his gaze lifts to yours. You see that look on his face, the way his body language changes. He tenses up, stiffens in the way he gets when he senses any need to be protective of you. He tenses yet he’s so soft all the same.

You’re hoping he doesn’t see the way you swallow thickly, hoping that the less than poor lighting works in your favor because you can feel how wet your eyelashes still are. You don’t even have the nerve to even attempt to sniffle either, surely that would give everything away, not that you had much working in your favor.

“Everything okay?” He asks, that tone behind his words more than evident that he knew the real answer.

You shifted on your feet slightly, attempting to stand a little taller to save at least a little bit of your facade. “Just getting a drink.”

Your voice was soft, more fragile than you’d like it to be as that tremble in your body fights to make its way into your throat and shake your words. Doesn’t matter how good of a liar you were, nothing would ever get past him. He might lead you to believe it’d been working for a little while, just to leave you have your pride in times like this because that’s the only time you ever lied, but just like times like this, he’d never fully let it go because he always wanted to resolve whatever was going on.

He stepped closer to you, close enough to have you tensing up over the fact that it was very easy for him to see just how bothered you were in that moment. But your brows furrow, knit together as he peers around you for a reason you can’t pinpoint.

“I see that glass of water I left there for you doesn’t even have a lick out of it,” he says, looking down at you with raised eyebrows. He watches your expression change, even if you try and hide it. “Funny, ain’t it?”

You swallow once more, pursing your lips. “I didn’t know it was there.”

You did.

He chuckles then, humorless as he shakes his head before his gaze returns to you. “You’re lyin’ like a cheap rug right now, you know that?”

“No I’m not!”

You quiet down before you wake anyone, exhaling a frustrated breath as you stare up at him with a narrowed stare.

He looks a you, gets a good long look and you can’t even begin to figure out what he’s thinking, just that your stomach twists under his gaze because there’s no way he’s not seeing the smeared tears that glisten under the softer that soft lighting. There’s no way he can’t see the sheen of sweat that lays over your skin. There’s no way he doesn’t see how unsteady you are.

You’re almost to wrapped up in your thoughts to notice the way he’s lifted his hand, finger tips brushing lightly over the side of your neck. You didn’t understand why at first, couldn’t comprehend it. But it only took a few moments to realize.

“Your heart is pounding, Y/n. Don’t even try and tell me it didn’t happen again.”

“Dean, it’s—”

“It’s not nothing. You’ve been off the whole ride home and you were off when I patched you up thirty minutes ago. I know you better than to believe whatever you’re trying to fool me with,” he says, a quiet anger in the softness of his voice as his hand finally drops to his side.

You stand there, your own anger simmering away and trying it’s best to burn hot. Angry at the way he can figure you out, angry at the way he’s insistent on making sure you’re okay when that stubborn pride is screaming for you to stand your ground and act like nothing is wrong even when it’s the last thing you need to do. Angry because you’re so tired that it frustrates you, that everything frustrates you.

You’re so tired. So much so that that stubborn wall begins to crumble, steady crushed by the desire to be comforted and safe. Nearly demolished with every second that passes as your lip wobbles under the pressure of it you.

For the millionth time that night, you caved.

“I can’t sleep,” you whisper softly, weakly. “I can’t sleep and I can’t take it.”

His expression softens when you finally give it up, finally let that guard break away as you press your face into his chest, hiding the tears that ran hot down your cheeks. It was a quick bout of them, only a few falling before you wiped them away. Just as quick as your moment of vulnerability. He could tell by the way you tensed again, and the way you turned on your heel with a huff and walked back to the bedroom just a couple feet from where you both stood.

That wall you built up was still crumbled to pieces but a little bit still remained. But Dean followed behind you, those dimples by the corners of his mouth reappearing. This is the one habit of yours that he hated. It’s one he’s gotten well practiced over the years himself, but it’s the last thing he’d ever want you to do.

He’s quiet as he tugs on the rolled up sleeves of his flannel, watching as you sit down on the bed looking miserable as ever. You looked half asleep as you leaned against the headboard, tucked away against yourself as the breeze flowing through the nearby window blows your hair gently.

He shrugs his flannel off, slinging it over the back of the chair at the desk nearby. He pulls at the laces of his boots next, kicking them off near impatiently as he fumbles with his belt buckle. It’s only a few moments time before he’s stepping out of his jeans, tugging the blankets back.

You’re fighting the urge to doze off, something that briefly becomes just a little bit easier when he tugs you down further on the mattress in a gentle motion, promptly pulling you to tuck yourself against him. It’s an opportunity you take full advantage of as you press into him, the silent action of comfort something you needed more than anything and he knew that for hours. He knew it and he was relieved you’d gone and let him protect you.

He always would, whether you protest it or not, but it’s easier when you’re not letting that stubbornness get the better of you.

You push and tangle your legs with his, weaving into him to get as close as possible as if he’s this shield that’ll keep you safe from anything in this world. He would and he will. He wouldn’t want to do anything else.

His arm his wrapped around you as you all but melt into him and his embrace, his other hand smoothing over your head, fingers combing through the tangles in your hair. He was careful as his fingertips work through knots, varying in size and he can tell you’d been tossing and turning just from that alone. He’s careful as his fingers brush along the freshly taken care of wound on your cheek.

Dean Winchester is the gruffest, toughest man you know, rough around the edges and one hell of a threat to any monster and run of the mill douchebag that crosses his path. He’s rough, but the gentlest you’d ever known as he lays there wrapped up with you in a bed that’s borderline too small for two.

You feel the softness of the kisses that are pressed to your forehead, to your nose when you tip your head back some. His comfort is the only thing that makes anything any easier, his company is the only one that ever matters. He was solid ground amongst a sea of panic and worry, he was steady and always there. That green eyed, freckled hunter was the sweetest man you’d ever known despite the temper he’s got on him, but you wouldn’t want him any other way.

You could feel that frustration subside the more time that passed, those tears not so pressing behind your tired eyes. You were exhausted, drained. That trembling feeling in your body, that rattled feeling, it was still there, a reminder of how your night has been. The affects that wreaked havoc on your body still hit you like a ton of bricks. But you were safe now, safe from the threat of more terror because there’s something about Dean Winchester that makes everything feel okay.

Even if he finds it impossible to think anything remotely highly of himself, doesn’t know of any good quality he possesses. You see all the good in him so he doesn’t have to, you know he never will.

“Sweetheart?” He says, soft as ever as the nickname his spoken against your forehead.

You hum softly, too tired to do much else as a cool gust of air sweeps over you from that window. It’s all you could muster as you lay there wrapped up with him.

“Get some sleep, won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, “okay?”

You nod, you nod until you decide the action isn’t quite enough of an answer for him. You lift your head as much as your energy would allow, pressing your lips on his in a soft kiss.

“Okay.”

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20

[http-paprika]

BLUE / simon riley

my very, very late submission for @glitterypirateduck simon "ghost" riley challenge. this was heavily inspired by the new billie eilish song of the same title because I thought it fit him so well. i used the prompts "face touching", "the heat goes out and it's freezing", and "a confession is made"

simon ghost riley x female reader / 1106 words / contains angst, alcohol, and smoking

WITH every patron that hurried into the bar, cold and snow blew in with them—leaving those even in the darkest corners of the bar chilled and draining down more liquor. The drink spilled through her veins, warm and potent as she waited another hour, shrunk away in the shadows with her cost pulled tight. Simon wasn't coming, she knew better than to keep waiting for him. 

 Finishing her glass of whiskey, she lets it sting her throat the same way the tears in her eyes did. With remorse, she sets the glass down and rises from her chair. Through the crowded bar of happy couples and friends, someone's celebrating a birthday, another girl is sobbing in the corner with her friends trying their best to comfort her. The whole room pulses with life, feelings, love, and hate and she can't seem to find herself amongst the crush of emotions. Dull, apathetic, and removed as she slinks out of the door and into the blue moon night. 

 Winter still holds a fierce grip over Manchester, spilling white flurries in the air as she walks down the quiet streets with a cigarette to warm her from the cold. If he were there, they'd be sharing the smoke and she'd be warmed by the blushed haze that always befell her when their hands brushed exchanging the cigarette. 

 Her hand fumbles with her phone, the bright, blue light warning her of how late it was. But even with the early shift she had in the morning, she loiters along her route imagining he’ll be waiting by her flat like Simon would sometimes do. Giving her the delusion that he cared enough to come looking for her, even if he couldn't be bothered to grab drinks with her. 

 Despite all logic telling her not to bother with a call, she finds the number that she's left a hundred voicemails for. Sounding desperate and pathetic with every call as she tries to convince him into calling her back. 

 “Hi, Simon. It's me… again. I'm just calling to check in, I haven't heard from you in a week and I just want to make sure you're alright. Okay, I'm going to go, I'm at my flat. Call me, please.” The sound of the voicemail being replayed causes her to cringe, maybe he'd never hear it like he never hears the rest. Maybe he's got a new number, that was the type of thing someone as shifty as Simon would do. But she can't find reason in his sudden absence, no foreseen notice of a deployment or mission. No text to tell her he'd be unavailable. Nothing. 

 When she rounds the gate into her apartment complex, she can see in the low light of the second-floor walk, the lone figure waiting in front of her door even though he had the keys. Burly hands shoved into the worn pockets of his jacket with head tilted down as she climbed the stairs to join him. 

 She didn't need to see Simon’s face to know that he was thinking. Always thinking about the past he refused to tell her about. One that she could only dream up, trying to picture what had happened to turn him into the man he was. The man who she desperately tried to get over, but couldn't move on from. 

“I waited for you. It's the third Wednesday of the month, or did you just forget?” She asks, stubbing out the cigarette on the melt railing. The frame creaks as her fist tightens around it in frustration. “Simon?” 

 “Was busy with work, forgot to call.” He shrugs, pushing his hood back and shaking out his dark blond curls. A rough, wartorn face that she'd memorized like the back of her hand. It was so enticing to her, mesmerizing with his pale lashes and dark haunted eyes. The type of man that kept her safe at the bar and kept her up at night in stress. 

 “You're always busy.” She holds back a scoff, knowing arguing never got anywhere with Simon. He'd go silent with every accusation she'd throw, leaving her intimidated and guilty for yelling. Even if she knew he deserved it. 

 “It can't be helped. Times are tough.” Simon responds, his eyes trailing over her as she moves to unlock the flat. Fumbling with the lock like she did with the phone until his hand reached out and steadied her grasp. He leads her into the apartment like it was his own, with an empty place on the coat rack for his jacket, and a spot next to all of her shoes for his boots. An indent left throughout her home for whenever he'd find it in him to return.

 “Would you like a drink?” She asks, still feeling the need to play hostess as if he were a stranger visiting for the first time. At the edge of her seat waiting expectantly for a response and reaction. 

 “Sure.” He shrugs, pulling off the cloth mask as she shuffles into the small kitchen. Tiny enough that when he joins her there's tension as she tries not to bump into him. Pretending like she wasn't up the night before craving the warmth he gave, the firm touch of his hands, when her space heater died. 

 “I am sorry, love. I'll be there next time, I promise.” Simon apologizes, watching as avoids his presence like the plague. She chewed the inside of her cheek, knowing that she'd accept this apology like she'd done before. Knowing full well he never changed, and she’d never ask him to. 

 He reached out, sensing her indifference, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hands. That touch always turned her into mush, clay for him to mold to his will and whims. She knew it was pathetic how easily she swayed for him, knew that her friends always criticized her for being so weak-willed. But how could she possibly say no to him when he always came back, even if it was days late? Wasn’t she better off with him than trying to find someone else to love, wasn’t the heartache worth it? 

“You could do so much better than me, sweet girl. Sometimes I wish you would.” Simon confesses, his voice low and full of regrets. He turns his head down towards her, wrapping her close in his arms, taking the glass of water out of her hand, and setting it down. 

Her mouth opens to speak, but no words form when she realizes she’s just as guilty as him. She’d never change, he’d never change. Together, they’d stay unmoving, frozen in the longest, blue winter.

[jaystardust]

‎ ☆ 🖇️ 𖥻 ˚.ᵎ UNVEIL

Pairing: Park Jay x reader

Genre: bad boy, strangers to lovers, angst, blackmailing, suggestive, kind of Gossip Girl universe themed, apparition of Yeonjun (txt)

Warnings: blackmailing, making out, angst, betrayal (tell me if I forget something)

Summary: Enigma, Hybe High's anonymous gossip queen, finds her carefully crafted world threatened by the arrival of Park Jay, a rebellious kind of bad boy. a web of blackmail and stolen glances leads them down a thrilling path of forbidden desire, risking Enigma's online persona and a chance at real love.

Word count: 6.5K

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The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and Prada perfume mingled in the air, a potent signature of your mornings at Hybe High. You weren't royalty, but reputation was everything at this elite private school, and yours was meticulously crafted. 

You were Enigma, the mastermind behind the anonymous blog, Unveil. A digital oracle dispensing juicy gossip about the student body with a scathing wit that left its targets squirming. 

This year, however, the tea had gone cold. The usual suspects – the president's son's gambling problem, the head cheerleader's secret nose job – held no allure. You craved a real scandal, something to reignite the blog's fire and solidify your position as the school's unseen puppeteer.

Then came Park Jay, the new transfer student who arrived shrouded in a veil of mystery. He wasn't your typical Hybe High royalty. Clad in a worn leather jacket and ripped jeans, his indifference to the school's social hierarchy was as refreshing as it was infuriating.

However, digging up dirt on Jay proved impossible. He was a ghost, his past shrouded in mystery as thick as the expensive perfume that clung to you. Frustration gnawed at you, a familiar itch that Unveil usually scratched. But this time, it was different. This time, the frustration was laced with a strange fascination for the boy who didn't seem to care about the social games everyone else played.

One gloomy afternoon, as you hunched over your laptop in the library, a shadow fell over your screen. You looked up to find Jay, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Enigma, I presume?" His voice was a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. How? How did he know? You scrambled to mask your surprise, forcing a nonchalant shrug.

"And who might you be, Sherlock Holmes?" you retorted, trying to sound flippant.

"Just someone who appreciates a good secret," he said, his gaze unwavering. "And who wouldn't want to leverage it?"

The blood drained from your face. Leverage? This couldn't be happening. Your mind raced, desperately searching for an escape route. He leaned closer, his voice a husky whisper.

"How about you do a few little things for me, Enigma," he purred, "and I keep your little blog a secret?"

The world tilted on its axis. This wasn't how the game was supposed to be played. You were the puppet master, not the marionette. Yet, there you were, trapped in his gaze, the weight of your secret a suffocating burden.

"What kind of things?" you managed to croak.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Homework, errands, maybe even something a little… humiliating." His eyes glinted with a challenge, daring you to defy him.

You hated him. You hated the way he made your carefully constructed world crumble around you. But more than that, you hated the strange thrill that danced along your nerve endings. This was a game you didn't know the rules of, a game that was both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.

In the end, you agreed. You couldn't risk exposure. Unveil was your lifeblood, your shield, and the thought of losing it was unbearable.

The weight of Park Jay settled on your shoulders like a leaden cloak. You, Enigma, the queen of gossip on Unveil, were now a prisoner of your own creation.  The evidence he held was a leash that kept you tethered to his whims. You weren't a captive in the physical sense, but your freedom of speech, your very identity as Enigma, was held, hostage.

Becoming Jay's shadow began subtly. A whispered request for a double-shot espresso from the overpriced cafe across the street during your first-period break. A casual mention of "forgotten" notes in trigonometry class, with a knowing smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. You complied, your stomach churning with a mix of apprehension and a strange sense of obligation.

The whispers started then, too. Furtive glances followed you as you delivered the steaming coffee cup to Park Jay's table, a tableau that felt staged, and surreal.  "Y/n, errand girl for Park Jay?" the hallway echoed with unspoken questions. The indignity of it all fueled a simmering anger within you.

But the tasks escalated. One afternoon, you found yourself hunched over his desk during your lunch break, surrounded by textbooks and loose-leaf papers spilling like a chaotic waterfall. 

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting your workspace in a harsh spotlight. You were translating a French poem for his literature class, lines blurring before your eyes as the indignity of the situation gnawed at you. This wasn't just running errands anymore; it was academic servitude.

"This," you finally muttered, slamming the textbook shut with a force that sent papers scattering across the floor, "is getting ridiculous."

Jay, sprawled lazily in his chair, finally looked up.  A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a challenge that ignited a spark within you. "Is it?" he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher. "Or are you secretly enjoying the attention, Enigma?"

You straightened in your chair, glaring at him with defiance. "Attention?" you scoffed, the word laced with venom. "I'd rather clean the toilets with a toothbrush than be seen cavorting with you in public."

His amusement morphed into a full-blown laugh, rich and intoxicating. The sound filled the room, washing over you like a wave, and for a moment, you forgot the anger simmering beneath the surface. He stopped abruptly, his gaze locking with yours, the laughter fading to a smoldering intensity. "Don't lie, Enigma," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "You find me fascinating."

The heat that rose to your cheeks was a betrayal. You scoffed again, but this time, it lacked conviction. He was right, of course. Park Jay was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, a puzzle you couldn't resist solving. His disregard for the social hierarchy, and his rebellious streak – it was a stark contrast to the entitled drones who populated Hybe High. 

He was a constant thorn in your side, a danger that sparked a rebellious fire within you. You hated being under his thumb, yet there was an undeniable allure to the challenge he presented. Jay was a storm brewing beneath the surface, and you, once the master of information, were now caught in its eye.

--

Days bled into weeks, the initial awkward tension between you and Jay morphing into a strange, symbiotic dance. Resentment, once a simmering ember, cooled into a begrudging respect fueled by your growing realization that his intellect mirrored your own.

Witty remarks became heated debates that spilled over lunches, dissecting the intricacies of literature, or anything that threatened to break the charged silence simmering between you. 

Discussions that began in hushed tones over hastily consumed sandwiches would morph into stolen moments after school, the library your refuge from the watchful eyes and gossiping tongues of Hybe High.

One particularly dreary afternoon, rain lashed against the library windows, a relentless drumbeat mirroring the disquiet in your heart. You found yourselves huddled under the awning, a shared haven from the downpour.

The library lights cast a warm, honeyed glow on Jay's face, highlighting the sharp angles and the unexpected vulnerability that flickered in his eyes.

"You know," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a tremor through you, "blackmailing someone isn't exactly how I envisioned my first semester at Hybe High."

You snorted, a humorless sound escaping your lips. "Being someone's secret errand girl wasn't exactly on my top ten either."

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. "So, Enigma," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "is there anything you crave from me besides the assurance of keeping your little blog a secret?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. This wasn't part of the bargain. You hadn't signed up for emotional entanglements, for the way your heart would stutter a frantic rhythm in his presence, or the jolt that shot through you when his fingers brushed against yours while passing a textbook.

Yet, here you were, caught in the captivating pull of his gaze, a prisoner of your own traitorous emotions.

"I, uh…" you stammered, cheeks burning under the harsh glare of his scrutiny.  "What makes you think I want anything from you?"

His smile was a knowing one, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "The way your eyes linger on me a beat too long when you think I'm not looking. The way your cheeks bloom a charming shade of pink whenever I unleash a particularly witty remark."

He was right, of course. You had tried, oh how you had tried, to maintain the facade of the detached blogger, the anonymous voice of truth. But the walls you'd so meticulously constructed around your heart were crumbling under the relentless assault of his undeniable charm.

Suddenly, the air crackled with a tension that transcended words. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as his lips hovered tantalizingly close to yours. "Unless," his voice dipped to a husky whisper, "you'd prefer I ensure your secret's safety… in another way."

Before you could even register the audacity of his suggestion, his lips were on yours. The kiss was an electrifying collision, a tangle of pent-up emotions and unspoken desires. He tasted of rain and peppermint, a heady mix that sent a jolt through your system.  

Your initial resistance crumbled like sandcastles under a tidal wave, and you melted into his touch, a desperate need washing over you.

His hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, his touch igniting a fire deep within you. The kiss deepened, a desperate exploration that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a whirlwind of stolen breaths and tangled limbs, a moment of raw passion that felt forbidden and exhilarating all at once.

Just as abruptly as it started, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. His eyes held a dark intensity you hadn't seen before.

"This changes things, Enigma," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

"Changes what?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He stared at you for a long moment, a battle of emotions playing out in his gaze. A beat of silence followed, and then, with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine, he added, "See you tomorrow, Enigma. Don't forget – French poem, due first thing."

He turned and walked away, leaving you reeling in the wake of his touch. Your heart thumped against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You had just crossed a line, a line you never thought you'd even consider.

The guilt gnawed at you like a persistent pest. Here you were, the anonymous blogger who reveled in wielding information and controlling the narrative, now entangled with the boy who held your secret hostage. 

But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of something else bloomed – a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, this forced partnership could lead to something more. 

Something exhilarating, something terrifying, and something that felt like a story far more captivating than anything you'd ever written for Unveil. This wasn't just a stolen kiss under a library awning; it was a turning point, a page ripped from a yet-to-be-written chapter.

The following day, French class was a blur. You sat there, the poem forgotten on your desk, replaying the kiss over and over again in your mind. Each stolen glance from Jay across the room sent a jolt through you, a secret language only the two of you could understand. 

The power dynamic had shifted. The fear of exposure was still there, a cold serpent coiling in your gut, but it was overshadowed by a burgeoning sense of… possibility.

After class, you lingered by your locker, pretending to rummage through your bag. His voice, nonchalant yet laced with a hint of amusement, broke the silence. "Ready for round two, Enigma?"

You met his gaze, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Just call me Juliet, yearning for her forbidden Romeo."

He chuckled a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Careful, Enigma," he drawled, leaning closer so only you could hear. "This game we're playing could have unforeseen consequences."

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you. This wasn't just about blackmail anymore; it was about a secret shared, a line crossed, and the exhilarating uncertainty of what came next.

"Consequences?" you echoed, feigning innocence. "What consequences could there be, besides detention and disapproving stares?"

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a hint of something dangerous glinting in his eyes. 

"Let's just say, Enigma," he said, his voice a low murmur, "the consequences could be very interesting indeed."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you breathless and a little bit scared. But more than fear, you felt a surge of excitement, a sense of being swept up in a whirlwind of your creation. 

You, the anonymous blogger, were now a player in the game, and the lines between truth and deception, love and hate, were about to become beautifully blurred.

The story you were living was far more captivating than anything you could have ever written, and you couldn't wait to see where the next chapter took you and Park Jay.

--

The next few hours were a whirlwind of stolen glances, cryptic messages disguised as homework assignments and a constant battle within yourself.

You should have been furious, plotting elaborate revenge schemes against the infuriating boy who had manipulated you into his web. But as you watched him across the crowded hallways, a strange warmth bloomed in your chest, a flicker of affection that defied logic.

You were drawn to his sharp wit, his rebellious spirit – qualities that felt like a refreshing splash of color in the beige monotony of Hybe High. Yet, the memory of the stolen kiss lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the precariousness of your situation.

Then, it happened. On this exact same day you discovered that your secret wasn't so safe anymore.

Lunch break buzzed with the usual pre-weekend chatter as you sequestered yourself in a corner booth, laptop humming with the final touches of a particularly scathing post for Unveil. The target? A particularly arrogant senior named Yeonjun, whose inflated ego needed a good public deflation.

Just as you were about to unleash your literary vitriol, a shadow fell over your keyboard. Your blood ran cold. Park Jay stood beside you, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He didn't have to say a word. The look in his eyes, a mix of amusement and something you couldn't quite decipher, was a dead giveaway.

Panic clawed at your throat. You scrambled to shut down your laptop, fingers fumbling like a startled cat. But a gaggle of students, including the aforementioned Yeonjun, had already gathered around you, lured in by the commotion.

"What's going on here?" the senior demanded, his voice dripping with entitlement, his gaze flitting between you and the now-ex-blackmailer.

Jay's smile widened, devoid of any warmth. "Just enjoying a little private reading session, wouldn't you say, Enigma?" His voice echoed in the cafeteria, each syllable dripping with calculated malice.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The air crackled with shock and disbelief. You felt exposed, raw, like a butterfly pinned beneath a collector's gaze.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the cruel grin spreading across Yeonjun's face. You wanted to lash out, to scream at Jay for his betrayal, but the words wouldn't come. Shame and humiliation choked them back.

Yeonjun, his relief barely concealed beneath a mask of fury, snatched your laptop before you could react. He flipped it open, revealing the unfinished blog post – a glaring accusation aimed squarely at him. A cruel laugh erupted from his lips, echoing cruelly in the stunned silence.

"So, this is Enigma”, he sneered, brandishing the laptop like a trophy. "The anonymous coward who's been making a fool of everyone."

He turned his gaze back to you, eyes filled with malicious glee. "Well, Enigma," he said, his voice dripping with venom, "it looks like your reign of terror is over."

The whispers started as a low hum, growing into a cacophony of accusations and judgments. You felt like a hunted animal, cornered and exposed. The world you'd so meticulously built around yourself crumbled to dust.

Jay, however, remained strangely detached. He watched the spectacle unfold with a blank expression, a hint of something akin to amusement lurking in his eyes.

It was that amusement that stung the most, a final betrayal that ignited a spark of defiance within you. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "You said everything changes," you whispered, your voice surprisingly steady. "Seems like you were right."

Without another word, you snatched your bag and pushed past the crowd, the weight of everyone's stares heavy on your back. You fled the cafeteria, tears finally spilling down your cheeks, a mixture of anger, hurt, and a strange sense of liberation.

Jay's betrayal had shattered your carefully crafted facade, but it had also freed you from the prison you'd built around yourself. The journey ahead would be far from easy, facing the school's judgment as your true identity was revealed.

But as you walked away from the cafeteria, a newfound determination hardened your resolve.

You wouldn't let Park Jay, or anyone else, control your narrative anymore. You would weather this storm, pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation, and emerge stronger, a different person, perhaps, but a person nonetheless.

And who knew, maybe in the process, you'd even find a way to turn the tables on Jay. After all, the story was far from over.

--

As the days passed monstrously slowly, the fallout from the cafeteria incident was immense. You became the subject of relentless gossip, your once-admired anonymity a distant memory. 

Yeonjun, fueled by his newfound power, used your blog posts to turn the tables on his rivals, creating a wave of chaos within the school's social hierarchy. The whispers followed you like a swarm of angry bees, stinging at your ears and filling you with a bitter mix of shame and anger.

You mostly kept to yourself, seeking refuge in the library and the solace of fictional worlds. Yet, despite the isolation, you noticed a shift within yourself. You weren't consumed by self-pity or anger. Instead, a quiet strength bloomed within you. It was a resilience born of necessity, a determination to rise above the ashes of your shattered reputation.

One day, while browsing the library stacks, you stumbled upon Jay. He was sitting at a corner table, meticulously reading a book on philosophy. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a strange mix of anger and a lingering curiosity. He shouldn't be here, not after what he'd done. He should be basking in his victory, reveling in the chaos he'd unleashed.

He looked up as you approached, his expression unreadable. No trace of regret seemed to flicker in his eyes, only a cool indifference that ignited a fresh wave of anger within you.

"Shouldn't you be writing your next scathing article, Enigma?" he said, his voice devoid of warmth. The mockery in his tone cut like a knife, a reminder of the manipulative boy who had used you for his own gain.

"I'm done with that life," you said, your voice firm, laced with a newfound steel. "And with you." You met his gaze head-on, no longer the scared, cornered girl from the cafeteria.

"Oh?" An eyebrow shot up. "Then why are you here?" His voice held a hint of amusement, a cruel edge that grated on your nerves.

You hesitated for a moment, then squared your shoulders. "Because," you said, holding his gaze, "I want to understand why you did it." You needed to know, not out of forgiveness, but out of a desperate need for closure.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a cocky smile that did little to mask the tension building in his jaw. "Is this where we confess our undying love, stripped bare by the power of truth?"

You rolled your eyes, refusing to be drawn into his games. "Hardly. I just want an explanation. What was the point of all this?" The betrayal burned in your gut, a constant ache that demanded answers.

He sighed, a hint of weariness creeping into his voice. "Let's just say," he began, leaning back in his chair, "my situation at Hybe High is a bit more complicated than it appears." He didn't elaborate, but in his guarded eyes, you saw a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. 

Perhaps, there was more to his story, more to his motives, than you initially thought.

"Fine," you said after a beat of silence. "But don't expect my forgiveness just yet." You wouldn't let him manipulate you again, not without a fight.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite yourself. "Fair enough," he conceded. "But perhaps we can start with a truce? No more manipulations, no more secrets. Just… two people trying to navigate the wreckage of this whole mess."

A truce. The word hung in the air, a flimsy offering in the face of his betrayal. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, but trust wouldn't come easy, not after the way he'd thrown you under the bus. He'd used you, exposed you, and left you to pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "A truce?" you repeated, the word tasting like ash in your mouth. "You think after everything, a simple truce is enough? You get to walk away unscathed, while I face the consequences of your actions?"

"No," he countered, his voice firm. "I messed up. Big time. But I'm not the only one who can fix this." His words hung in the air, a plea for some kind of partnership, but the betrayal still stung too raw.

"Then fix it," you spat, your voice shaking with barely contained anger. "Fix the mess you created. Pick up the pieces of my reputation that you so carelessly shattered. Then, maybe, we can talk about a truce."

The challenge hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown at his feet. His face hardened, a flicker of frustration crossing his features

A tense silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of his betrayal and the defiance simmering in your eyes. Jay clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the worn armrest of the chair.

"You want me to fix it?" he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. "You want me to navigate the school's social minefield, clean up the mess you made stirring the pot anonymously?"

"Isn't that what you wanted all along?" you countered, your voice sharp. "To control the narrative, to use me as your puppet master? Well, now you can face the consequences of pulling the strings."

He scoffed, a sound devoid of humor. "Easy for you to say. You can walk away from this, disappear back into the shadows. But me? I can't just vanish."

The vulnerability in his voice, a stark contrast to his usual arrogance, gave you pause. Perhaps there was more to his story, a secret that held him captive at Hybe High. But the hurt and anger were still fresh, a wall you weren't ready to tear down just yet.

"Then figure it out," you said, your voice softening slightly. "That's the price you pay for playing with fire, Park Jay. You get burned." 

Turning away from him, you started to walk away, leaving him sitting at the table, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.

"Wait," he called out after you, his voice laced with desperation. You stopped, but didn't turn around.

"What?" you asked, your voice flat.

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "There's more to this," he confessed. "More to my situation than I can explain right now. But trust me, it's not what you think."

You considered his words, the weight of his secret hanging heavy in the air. Part of you wanted to believe him, a flicker of curiosity igniting within you. But the other part, the part that still ached from his betrayal, remained wary.

"Then prove it," you said finally, turning back to face him. "Show me that you're not just another manipulative player. Show me there's a way out of this mess, for both of us."

A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "But it won't be easy. It'll require… a different kind of partnership."

Intrigued despite yourself, you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. "A different kind of partnership?"

He leaned forward, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "One where we use your words, my information, and maybe a little bit of chaos to rewrite the narrative, together." 

The challenge in his voice was laced with a hint of something else, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to turn the tables on their betrayers, to reclaim your voice and expose the truth, all while forging an alliance as unexpected as it was thrilling.

"Alright, Park," you said, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into."

The truce might be off the table, but a new game had just begun. A game where revenge and redemption intertwined, and the lines between enemy and ally blurred. And as you locked eyes with Park Jay, a sense of anticipation buzzed in the air.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but one thing was certain: the story of Enigma was far from over.

--

Weeks bled into months, the dust of the exposé settling over Hybe High like a shroud. You weren't the untouchable gossip queen anymore, the fear and thrill of anonymous takedowns a distant memory. But a different kind of power simmered beneath the surface. 

People saw you, the face behind the Voice of the Unheard, and that honesty felt far more liberating than fleeting popularity. It was a power borne of vulnerability, a shared connection with the students who finally saw themselves reflected in your words.

Your relationship with Jay remained a complex puzzle, a Rubik's Cube of guarded glances and unspoken truths. The initial distrust still lingered a guarded tension that crackled between you whenever you brushed shoulders in the crowded hallways. Yet, beneath it, a hesitant camaraderie had begun to take root. 

Shared late nights fueled by brainstorming sessions revealed a surprising depth to him. You discovered a mutual love for the way words could paint vivid landscapes and ignite emotions, a passion for literature that transcended the walls of the stuffy library.

But most unexpectedly, you found a fierce passion for social justice burning just as brightly within him.

One afternoon, hunched over worn library texts researching the history of student activism, you found yourselves locked in a heated debate. The topic? The ethics of anonymity.

"People deserve the truth, unfiltered," you argued, your voice ringing with conviction, the memory of Yeonjun's smug face fueling your passion. "Anonymity shields those in power, leaving the vulnerable even more exposed."

"But at what cost?" Jay countered, his gaze sharp, challenging you to see the other side. "Sometimes, anonymity is the only shield for the vulnerable. It allows them to speak their truth without fear of reprisal."

His words struck a chord. Maybe Unveil wouldn't be a platform for petty gossip anymore. Maybe it could be a weapon wielded in the name of justice, a voice for those too afraid to speak, those silenced by fear or social hierarchy.

A slow smile played on your lips, a hint of a plan forming in your mind. "So, Park," you said, testing the waters, "partners in truth?"

He returned the smile, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, the playful glint that sometimes replaced the guarded facade. "Partners in truth it is, Enigma."

"But with one condition," you added, leaning closer, your voice a low murmur, the scent of old paper and forgotten knowledge filling the air.

He raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air.

"No more blackmail," you stated firmly, the sting of betrayal still a fresh memory. "This time, we fight together, on equal footing. Collaboration, not manipulation."

"Deal," he replied, a thrill coursing through you as your hands brushed for a fleeting moment. The spark of shared purpose ignited something deep within you, a sense of hope you hadn't dared to feel in a long time.

This new chapter, this partnership with Jay, felt exhilarating. It was a chance to rewrite the narrative, not just for yourselves, but for every unheard voice within Hybe High's walls.

The school, once a symbol of conformity and stifling authority, now held the potential for change.

The first salvo of the revamped Unveil targeted the archaic dress code, a system that blatantly favored students of wealth. Armed with interviews from disgruntled students who felt ostracized for not fitting the mold, and research on the psychological impact of such regulations, you crafted a compelling piece that ignited the student body.

The response was electric. Comments flooded the forum, sparking debates that reached the ears of the administration. Buoyed by this success, you and Jay tackled a series of issues – the exorbitant cost of textbooks that burdened families, the lack of mental health resources leaving students drowning in silent struggles, and the rampant cheating culture fostered by the relentless pressure to succeed.

Each meticulously researched and written piece ignited a firestorm of student activism, forcing the school to acknowledge and address the long-ignored problems. Through it all, your partnership with Jay deepened. 

The initial spark of curiosity had blossomed into a genuine friendship, one built on mutual respect, shared ideals, and a healthy dose of playful banter.

You discovered a side of him you hadn't expected – a fierce loyalty that extended beyond his carefully constructed persona, and a genuine desire to use his privilege to help those less fortunate, to dismantle the very system that had once benefited him.

Together, you were the Voice of the Unheard wielding the power of words to rewrite the narrative of Hybe High, one story at a time. The road ahead wouldn't be easy.

Powerful forces still held sway, determined to maintain the status quo. But for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. You weren't alone. You had him, and with him, the unwavering belief that change, however gradual, was possible.

–

One crisp autumn morning, as you sat huddled over your laptops in your usual library corner, a charged silence crackled between you. You glanced up from your screen, catching Jay's gaze linger on you a beat too long. A slow smile tugged at his lips, sending a familiar warmth fluttering through your chest.

"Being a partner in truth with Enigma isn't exactly how I envisioned spending my senior year," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. 

It wasn't just the words, but the way he said them, a hint of something deeper, something unspoken, lingering beneath the surface.

You mirrored his smile, a playful glint in your eyes that masked the tangled mess of emotions churning inside you. "And getting blackmailed by Park Jay wasn't exactly on my bucket list either," you countered, the memory of his betrayal still a fresh wound.

He chuckled a rich sound that sent a jolt through you. "But somehow," he continued, his eyes locking with yours, "it all worked out in the end… maybe."

The last word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Before you could decipher the meaning, the library door swung open with a bang, shattering the fragile peace.

Yeonjun stood there, a smug smirk plastered on his face, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

"There you two are!" he boomed, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "Skipping class again? Looks like someone's got a lot of explaining to do."

A surge of defiance coursed through you. "Actually," you said, your voice firm, "we're working on something rather important. Something that might actually benefit the school, unlike your… extracurricular activities."

Yeonjun's smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features. Jay leaned closer, his voice a dangerous murmur that sent chills down your spine. "And if I were you, Yeonjun," he said, "I wouldn't push your luck. We have a few stories about you that might be of interest to the student body."

The threat hung heavy in the air. Yeonjun's face flushed red, and he stammered a few incoherent words before retreating with a defeated slump. You watched him go, a sense of satisfaction washing over you. 

The tables had truly turned. Unveil wasn't just a blog anymore; it was a force for positive change, all thanks to your unlikely partnership with the boy who had once held your secret hostage.

As you turned back to your laptop, Jay raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "So," he said, a hint of something more flickering in his gaze, "ready to tackle the next injustice, y/n?"

You swallowed, the sudden shift in the atmosphere making your heart pound a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "Always, Jay," you managed, a secret thrill dancing in your chest. "Always."

The future stretched before you, an open book waiting to be written. But in that electric moment, the words on the screen seemed insignificant compared to the unspoken tension simmering between you and the boy who had become your unlikely ally.

The silence returned, thick and heavy with unspoken desires. Jay's gaze held yours, a storm brewing beneath the surface. You felt the warmth creep up your neck, a blush mirroring his. The air crackled with an energy you couldn't explain.

"Maybe Unveil isn't the only thing that needs a revamp," he murmured, his voice husky and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden stillness. He leaned closer, his breath warm on your cheek. The familiar scent of peppermint mingled with something new – a musk that sent shivers down your spine.

"There's something I've wanted to do ever since that stolen kiss in the library," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

You inhaled sharply, the memory of that electrifying moment flooding back. The defiance, the spark, the raw emotion – that stolen kiss had ignited a flicker within you that you hadn't dared to acknowledge.

He didn't wait for your answer. His hand cupped your face, his touch sending a jolt through you. The library, once a refuge, now felt charged with a dangerous tension. He tilted your head up, his eyes searching yours.

Despair battled desire in his gaze. "This might be crazy," he admitted, his voice a rough rumble, "but I can't keep pretending anymore."

His confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken longing. The dam within you broke. You closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss.

This was different from the one fueled by defiance and adrenaline. This kiss was desperate, raw, and filled with a yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. 

His lips were firm, and demanding, yet held a tenderness that surprised you. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the scent of his cologne a heady mix.

The world dissolved around you. There was only the frantic press of his body against yours, the frantic beat of your hearts, the intoxicating taste of him. You explored each other with a hungry urgency, the pent-up emotions of weeks finally finding release.

He pulled away abruptly, his breath ragged. His eyes were dark with desire, his gaze roaming your face like a famished man surveying a feast.

"We should stop," he muttered, his voice thick with restraint. "This isn't the time, not here."

You traced a finger across his lips, a silent plea mirroring the turmoil in your own heart. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "Not yet."

He surrendered to your unspoken request, pulling you closer once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, an exploration filled with tenderness.

His hands roamed your back, sending shivers down your spine. You melted into his touch, a delicious sense of surrender washing over you.

Just as you were about to get lost entirely, the library door creaked open again, shattering the spell. A young couple, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded, snuck in, searching for a quiet corner.

Jay cleared his throat, a sheepish grin on his face. "Looks like we have an audience."

You blushed furiously, burying your face in your hands. Despite the interruption, the tension remained an unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air.

"We should probably get back to work," you mumbled, gathering your scattered laptop and papers.

Jay helped you up, his hand lingering on yours a moment too long. A silent promise flickered in his eyes. The rest of the afternoon flew by in a blur. You barely registered the words on the screen, your mind replaying the kiss over and over again.

As you packed your bag to leave, he approached you. "So," he said, his voice a low rumble, "about that revamped Unveil…"

You met his gaze, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Thinking of a more… hands-on approach to exposing injustice?"

He winked, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Maybe. But perhaps there are other kinds of stories we could write together as well. Ones that don't involve the student body."

Your heart skipped a beat. The thrill of the forbidden, the intensity of his touch – it was intoxicating, and you knew the risks. But the memory of his kiss, the vulnerability in his eyes, whispered a different story.

"Maybe we can," you whispered, the thrill of the unknown dancing in your chest. "Maybe we can write a story no one will see coming, not even us."

You walked out of the library together, not just partners in truth, but partners in a different kind of adventure, one fueled by desire and the promise of something new, something exhilarating, something that felt like the start of a story even more exciting than the one you were writing for Unveil. 

The crisp autumn air felt electric as you walked side-by-side, the weight of unspoken desires and a shared secret creating a bond as powerful as any exposé.

The road ahead was uncertain, filled with potential consequences, but you weren't facing it alone. And with him, the exhilarating certainty that the most captivating story of all was just beginning.

A/N: hope that you liked it! i really like to associate enhypen members with that kind of Gossip Girl universe. should i do it for future work for other members? don’t hesitate to give me some feedback 🌷

[moonlight-prose]

HURT

➝ 01. THE CURSE OF THE FOLD

a/n: apocalyptic stories are probably one of my favorite genres to write, because angst is my bread and butter. so here i am writing the angsiest fucking story ever. i've plotted it entirely and worked on it while waiting for the show to drop to finally post this. so hopefully you enjoy. (this takes place about ten years before the last of us.)

summary: you were alone; watched everyone you love die or you killed them yourself. and you thought it would remain that way forever...till him.

word count: 6k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not sexually explicit but still 18+ (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK BUT BE AWARE), gore, violence, tw blood, angst, death, assault, one bed trope, gratuitous prose about the apocalypse setting, probably ooc writing for joel, more angst. please let me know if i missed anything.

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You were going to die. That was no longer a concept that you found to be impossible in your early stages of life. No, you knew you would die sooner rather than later. You knew that survival was a thing to strive for and death had become something to welcome. When the world turns to shit, leaving humanity on their own to fight against monsters, death didn’t seem so scary in the long run.

It became peaceful—an end that you found to be the better option. You’d rather die by the hands of humans or your own than become one of those things. Turning wasn’t the way you’d go. It was brutal and horrific; left more heartache behind than the desired numbing sensation you hoped came with death. No, you refused to become something that was no longer deemed a human, but was now viewed as a monster. 

This was a promise you made to yourself ten years ago and even now as you stared down the barrel of a gun, you knew you made the right choice. Death would be swift—an end to your life that you found satisfaction in—rather than something you feared every fucking day.

You’d stopped on your journey in an attempt to find a safe situation for the night. One that wouldn’t leave you running in the morning; for a brief moment you figured this town would do the trick. You could hide out until the sun came up and finally find a few peaceful hours of sleep. There was no one around for miles (at least you assumed as much) and what few infected were around you could handle yourself. You weren’t the best with a gun, but you could protect yourself when your life was on the line.

If only you had kept going, then maybe you wouldn’t be in this fucked situation.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the air, the potent bitterness of blood mixed with it—creating a lethal combination. You ran out of bullets two dead bodies ago—reaching for the fallen weapon by your side when three more men came out of the darkness. Their faces were covered by dirty worn-in bandanas with only their eyes showing, illuminated by the dim lights of the moon, but it was in their eyes that you saw the truth. They were hollow. Just like the other three men who thought they could come after you. Their souls disappeared a long time ago, only to leave the remnant of a human shell that was forced to do things in order to survive.

This particular sight wasn't unusual to you in the slightest.

You’d seen the best of people become tainted, broken. After all, you were one of them. The consequences of this fucking virus reached you as well; tearing the life you built up to pieces. Leaving you to watch the ashes of what came before float in the air. 

You were the veteran of a war without end. A survivor of the life that only wished to see you gone and buried. The longer you looked at them—the man you figured to be the leader stepping forward—the more you understood why humans did what they did.

They were an idiotic group of people that let things fester; that would watch the world burn ten times over before helping those around them.

He gripped your hair, yanking it until your hoarse scream of pain echoed in the night air. The barrel of the gun was shoved beneath your chin, his dark eyes watching in glee as you struggled. He loved to feel the rush of power, watching as people grew helpless to his actions. You understood that just from looking at him. Yet another pathetic man that believed he could take what he wanted from someone traveling alone. So you stopped fighting. You froze in his hold, fixing him with a smile so sweet he could have sworn it was made of sugar cane.

“You’re afraid to die,” you said softly, wincing when his hold tightened.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spit, his voice was deep yet ingrained with the hesitation of a man who didn’t like that you touched so close to the truth.

You knew this game. A sick and twisted version of a power play in order to believe that they held the upper hand in this situation. When in fact that remained far from the truth. Though you held no weapon, no more chances of survival—you had something they didn't. You didn't fear what came next. It was a better deal than this shit one right here.

Your heart slowed to a steady beat; the welcoming hope re-entering your heart with each baited breath you took. When would he finally pull the trigger? When would you finally have peace? When would the pain—the torture—finally cease? You hoped the lingering questions all came with the same answer. Soon.

"Go ahead," you prompted, going so far as to tilt your chin in his direction—feeling the press of the gun's barrel dig deeper into your skin.

His finger hovered over the trigger, before—much to your dismay—he pulled it away. "You're feisty." You heard the jeering laughter of his friends in the background. "How about we just bring you with us?"

Your stomach dropped. A new unlocked fear sending a chill down your spine. There was always something worse than being turned into a monster, always something far more horrific than not dying by your own hands. It was being trapped in a cage with no lock and no key to get you out.

Fighting against his hold, you tried to grab the gun on the ground, but he yanked you back—the disgusting scent of his breath washing over your face. "Looks like I found what you're afraid of."

"Fuck you,” you spit in his face, struggling against his hold. You refused to be taken, to be treated like an animal put up for slaughter.

He merely laughed, his hold on you tightening with each twist of your body. Dropping your weight, you waited for him to jeer at his friends before slamming the heel of your boot into his foot. As expected, his arms fell away from your body, a howl of pain splintering through the night air. It was enough for you though. He may look tough, but he didn’t seem to be able to handle pain so easily. Yanking yourself free, you felt a cold chill wash over your body as the adrenaline spiked in your body—telling you to keep going. To fight until you were finally free.

Three against one wasn’t entirely in your favor, but you held one thing close to your heart—a belief that would keep you going till your last breath. If there was nothing else to fight for—no one else—then you would fight for yourself. For the past you that used to be desperate for a life, for meaning and purpose. Those two words didn’t mean jackshit anymore in this fucked up world, but to you it meant everything.

Grabbing the metal pipe that looked like it was torn off of a plumbing system, you put what little skill you had in your swing. Really it extended to one softball game in highschool, where you ended up with a ball to the face and a measly participation trophy. You barely had time to even swing the bat before chaos ensued. But it was enough for you.

Lining up your hit you swung.

The pipe hit with a sickening crack against his face, a splatter of red falling to the floor as he fell to one knee. You were pretty sure that you loosened a tooth in his rotten mouth and had half a mind to tear the rest out with your bare hands. His buddies began to advance, their makeshift weapons being pulled from their sides as they spit curses your way. The words of your father echoed in your mind as you took another swing, hitting against one’s side, jamming your elbow into his throat when he curled in on himself.

If you find yourself in a fight, you never let them take you out first.

“Piece of shit,” you snarled, your already bloody and raw fist slamming against the side of his face.

“Grab her arms dumbass!”

Ducking under their outstretched arms, you fumbled with the small screwdriver you found on a trek through one of the houses. With a huffed out breath, you jabbed it into the third guy's armpit, grinning at his cries of agony. He fell to his knees, trying very carefully to take it out without killing himself. Giving you enough to run outside.

The cold air was sharp in your lungs, the anxiety of the situation now rushing through your veins and causing your heart to beat erratically. But you were free.

“You fucking bitch!” The main man roared, his boots thumping harshly against the cracked cement.

Sprinting, you tried to keep a quick pace down the empty street, but the fear of running into anything overlapped the fear of dealing with an already injured man. So, like an idiot you stopped. He was limping, a gash stretching across his cheek and turning his pale skin red. A feral anger flashed in his eyes like an animal hunting its prey; coming in for the final kill. You knew he could practically taste your blood on his tongue.

Your chest heaved, the breath leaving you faster than you could keep it in your lungs, but you wouldn’t go quietly. That was a death you would not accept. No, he’d take you down fighting until you eventually dragged him down to hell right alongside you. If you couldn’t survive, you’d leave behind something to remember. Your hands curled into fists, teeth baring as you watched him approach slowly. The energy in your body was beginning to wane, exhaustion seeping in, but you kept your stance.

Forever choosing to be stubborn.

You never expected the loud bang of a shotgun to go off behind you. The man fell back, his head hitting the sidewalk with another crack—turning the asphalt a darker shade of black. Fear shot down your spine, the realization that you couldn’t fight against someone with a gun while you stood with nothing. You remained still, frozen and watching in horror as the man who nearly ended your life was wiped from this planet entirely. In a way you were relieved, but the knowledge that someone else was walking up to you quickly dampened that feeling instantly.

“You okay?”

The man’s voice was deep, gruff, with a southern drawl you’d heard once before in college. You couldn’t respond—your heart still lodged in your throat. If you were in the right state of mind, you’d say your body was going into shock. His boots stopped a foot away from you, calling your attention as he stood, the shotgun still gripped tightly in his hands. 

For a brief moment you allowed your eyes to trail up his figure. Taking in the dirty brown leather jacket that looked like it’d seen better days, jeans with a sewn up hole in the knee, and a black t-shirt. You barely skimmed his face, drinking in his slightly graying dark hair and scruff before he was asking you another question.

“Did he hurt you?” His eyes were focused on the blood that stained your once clean shirt.

“It’s not mine,” you said softly, the panic now wearing off—relinquishing its hold over your body.

He nodded, his brown eyes fixing back on yours. “Are there more?”

“Not anymore,” you replied, staring at the house in the distance.

Oblivious to the slight hint of surprise in his eyes, you felt him step closer. To which you responded by stepping back, keeping the distance as much as possible. You didn’t need to fight another man tonight, who’s weapons far outweighed your own fighting capability. But then he raised his hands as if in surrender. He held his ground, waiting for you to come back to the present, before trying once more to take a small step in your direction.

This time…you let him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

How could you be so sure that his words were the truth? There was a small voice in the back of your head that told you to keep running. Run until you had no choice but to stop. Till you were finally safe from the dangers of this world. Yet you knew that danger was everywhere, plaguing the very ground you walked on and this man…had just saved your life.

Rarely did you find people who wished to help you. Who were simply there as a stroke of luck in your seemingly endless string of awful situations. Once you used to run with people, be a part of a group that watched your back as intently as you watched theirs. But pain and grief seemed to follow you like a ghost. Haunting every turn you made on this never ending journey.

Voicing your thoughts, you fought back against the urge to flee. “You just shot a man and you’re telling me you won’t hurt me?”

“A man who was trying to kill you.”

He had you there.

“What’s your name?” you asked, quickly glancing in the distance—wary that something would come from the darkness.

“Joel.”

You met his brown eyes again. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged, turning away from your scrutinizing gaze. You made his skin itch with just that single look, but he could recognize the underlying fear that flared every now and then in your eyes. A look he once wore when all this shit started. Joel didn’t get scared very often anymore, having seen his fair share of horrors. But seeing you stand there helpless, yet ready to die fighting tooth and nail, made his heart lurch in a way it hadn’t in sometime.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He hiked his bag up higher on his shoulder, catching the way the fading sunlight began to dip below the houses. Casting the both of you in darkness. “Why were you running?”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms against your chest. “Usually when people try to kill me I run.”

Thankfully he didn’t question what was the motive behind their intentions. Already understanding most of it. Once again he glanced at the sky, knowing that if you didn’t find shelter soon you’d be knee deep in shit. He didn’t want that to be how either of you ended. So, he turned away from you, gesturing for you to follow him. If you were smart you’d do it without question, but Joel had a feeling you were stubborn down to your core.

“Where are you going?” you called out, confirming his suspicions with only a few words.

He nearly chuckled. “Finding shelter for the night.”

Catching up, you fell into step beside him. “You won’t kill me right?”

That time he chuckled; the sound striking you in your heart unexpectedly. “You sure are untrustworthy aren’t you?”

“Yeah well…” You fiddled with the strap on your nearly torn backpack. “I haven’t trusted anyone in a while.”

Neither had he.

He didn’t say it outloud though. Joel already knew what came upon those that dared to open themselves up in the midst of anguish. He’d been on the receiving end of that pain and chose to close himself off to it. It would help him more in the long run, than letting the feeling dig its way into his heart. Gnawing away at his insides like a meal.

What he was doing now…keeping you close when in fact you may very well kill him, wasn’t like him. He had half a mind to keep going—leave you here to fend for yourself. But then his eyes met yours, and there was that look. That pain he knew too well. Back when he thought he was going to die without a way to save himself.

He saw himself in you and maybe that’s why he allowed you to traipse along beside him.

You didn’t take kindly to people very often. Preferring to go it alone after what happened with the people you once knew, and this was no different. Staying with him for one night before parting ways would mean nothing to you in the long run. Just another stranger you passed by in the hopes of finding somewhere safe to land. You hoped that this town would be it; that you wouldn’t have to go anywhere for a long time. But the blood on your shirt continued to prove you wrong.

“There’s a two story house about a block away with a fence going around the property.”

He nodded, changing directions and heading towards the old brown building that had seen better days. The windows were broken, the front yard overgrown with weeds, and you weren’t sure if the door worked. It would have to do for the night. You couldn’t risk staying out in the open. Not when those men had found you so easily as they were passing through.

The scent of pine filled your nose as you stepped towards the black gate covered in dead vines. A large tree stood in the center of the yard—beautiful amidst the destruction caused by the world falling to pieces. You wondered what it used to look like—who lived here—before you pushed open the gate. The loud creak echoing in the night air, sent chills down your spine. Perhaps the ghosts of the owners still resided here. Wandering the halls of their former home in the hopes of finding some serenity in the chaos.

Or perhaps…they were infected.

That thought alone nearly made you back away from the property, but Joel walked right in. He seemed to hold no qualms about the building or its past. To him it was just a place to stay until he had to move right along to the next one. He held no permanency in this world—not anymore—and it had been a long time since he hoped for some.

Staying somewhere permanent always ended in death. Or at least that’s what he believed.

“You never answered my question,” you said, following him slowly up the path and to the front porch that was caved in at one spot.

The door opened with a similar haunting creak, similar to the gate; filling your senses with a musty scent of old furniture and molding wood. He crossed the threshold without another word, his hand still gripping the shotgun’s strap on his shoulder. If you were smart, you’d part ways with him right here. You would find a different house to stay in for the night before leaving this place behind when the sun rose. Yet the lingering feeling from earlier still remained in your chest.

If he wanted to kill you, he wouldn’t have saved you.

“Looks old,” you noted, staring at the furniture in what once was a put together living room. Now the couches were torn up, most likely by animals, and the floorboards had water damage to them.

A ripped painting hung above the mantle on the fireplace, small pieces of the original owners coming through strokes of a brush. You caught a glimpse of a girl with red hair and blue eyes. A woman with the exact same features on the other side. A tear went through the middle, severing the young boy and man. Turning the painting into something else entirely.

The sound of his footsteps bounced off the wooden walls as he came downstairs again. Catching you staring at the painting with an intensity in your eyes that he’d never seen before. For a moment he left you alone. Gave you this time to linger in the space of what once was—what would never be again. He used to be torn up about things like this, but eventually he learned that the past would never change, and the future was nothing but a continuous fight for survival.

Eventually he cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. “There’s a bedroom upstairs still in pretty good shape.”

You nodded, moving away towards the stairs. “What are the chances of this house still having running water?”

“Slim.”

Something about that response made you smile. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but you took it for what it was.

The bedroom still looked relatively normal, despite the torn comforter and water stained ceilings. The musty smell still remained—the copper scent from blood on your shirt not helping. You wondered if you’d get lucky and find clothes in the closet. Or at least a shirt that could act as a replacement. You made sure to make a mental note to check for that later.

“You can uh—you can take the bed.”

Once again your lips twisted up into somewhat of a grin. “Thank you,” you replied softly, glancing his way briefly.

You’d remember him for his kindness. 

That was evident in your mind as you moved towards the bathroom. In all your years of surviving, you’d never taken so quickly to a person. For some unknown reason it felt like you’d known each other for some time—already acting like you’d been on the same journey together. When in fact he would leave tomorrow (as would you) and you’d be lucky if you came across each other again.

Maybe in another life, you mused.

Sure enough, no water came from the sink. You sighed, dropping your head forward as an ache began to spread through your forehead. What you wouldn’t give for an aspirin right about now. Shit, what you wouldn’t give for a stiff drink and a good night’s sleep. They were luxuries you hadn’t partaken in since the world was normal. When you were younger and life still had a bright hue of color about it.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face before exiting back to the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his bag on the ground by his feet and shotgun across his lap. The single sight made you think about a sculpture you’d seen in a class you’d taken before the world fell apart. Of a man sitting in the hand of god, his body curling in on itself—the weight of the world crushing him down.

Even now in the horror that became this world, life imitated art.

“Any water?” he asked, breaking your focus.

“Huh?” You glanced at the sink behind you. “Oh…no it’s dry.”

He nodded. “I’ll take the blanket.”

Standing, he winced slightly before gathering what remained of the blanket at the bottom of the bed. Just the sight caused your heart to twist. You damned yourself, wishing that you could be like everyone else. Able to watch someone else suffer on the sidelines while you protected yourself. Except you couldn’t. Not when you were taught your entire life to care for those in need; to share what you could with others.

“You already said you weren’t going to kill me,” you began, saying it with a slight smile. “So I don’t see why you should take the floor.”

For a brief moment his whole body stiffened, causing you to wonder if you’d stepped over a line. A boundary that he didn’t want to cross with strangers he just met.

“Why?” he asked, turning to face you with an unreadable expression on his face.

You shrugged. “The bed’s too big for me.”

It was partially true. The mattress looked like it would swallow you whole if you let it, but you knew the truth. And something told you he knew as well. He saved your life—this was the least you could do in return. A thank you without actually saying the words. An act of kindness that left a lingering warmth in his chest he hadn’t felt since before the outbreak.

He hesitated, staring at the soft plush bed that would no doubt give his back some relief for the night. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you said without a semblance of doubt in your voice.

Trusting someone this much may wind up to be a mistake on your part, but you pushed that thought aside for the moment. He would most likely be gone before you woke up. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. Sitting on the opposite side of the bed, you allowed your fingers to dig into what remained of the sheets. They were yellowed with age, stained by time, but still soft enough to nearly startle you.

You felt the bed dip on the other side when he sat down.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

He sighed, the sound deep and ragged. “Not someone to give up easily are you?”

Once again your lips curved into a slight grin. “Nope.”

“I’m heading to Boston. Happened to be passing through on my way here.”

A sensation akin to fear streaked down your spine so quickly, you barely had any time to react. The name sent chills through your whole body. Boston. A city you hadn’t heard about since you left it. You could remember the day vividly; could practically taste the difference in the air as you exited your dorm room. You hadn’t known it then, but your entire world would shift in only a few hours.

You were barely nineteen at the time of the outbreak. Still a kid starting your second year of college with nothing ahead of you but time. Until the campus fell into chaos. You could still remember the screams; the agony of people losing the ones they cared about, to something worse than death.

“You know…” The memories still replayed in your mind on an endless loop. Like a movie with no end. “I went to school in Boston.”

That small detail seemed to catch his attention, because he angled his body slightly to see you better. “You did?”

You nodded, doing your best to breathe evenly in order to stave off the anxiety filling your body. “I was majoring in art history. I wanted to work in a museum one day.”

“Yeah?” He watched you turn slowly, the tension in your muscles dropping slightly the more you told him. “Which one?”

“The Met was my dream job before…”

He sighed, expression shifting to one of understanding. There were plans he had for himself, goals for his life for his family, but now that he could see the bleakness of what his future held, he’d given up the simple act of dreaming. What was there to dream about anyways? But he could see it in you. The hope that remained just beneath the surface of your sorrowful gaze. You were too young when it happened, too young to lose your life that quickly.

“I’ve been there.”

The grief faded slightly, a light returning to your face. “Really?”

He nodded, shifting until he was sitting with his leg extended on the mattress, back pressed to the headboard. “Back when I was in high school, we took a trip up there.”

Mimicking him, you felt the relief in your spine as you finally moved to a comfortable position. “What did you think?”

“Well I’m no expert in art, but I liked it.”

If you weren’t careful you would wind up falling asleep in the middle of speaking. But you fought against the exhaustion that seeped into your bones. Adamant on remaining awake, just to talk to him for a bit longer. His brown eyes watched you settle into a laying down position, your hands clasped together against your stomach. The blood on your shirt had dried to a deep brown color—until you could hardly tell it was there anymore.

“No one has to be an expert in art to appreciate its beauty,” you said softly, staring at the light brown stain in the ceiling that formed rings. It reminded you of what the inside of trees looked like. “I think all you have to do is see it and that’s enough.”

Joel settled in beside you, his back practically screaming in joy at having such a plush bed beneath him.

“Take the portrait downstairs,” you continued, unaware that he had turned his head to watch you. “Anyone can tell it used to be a well painted piece of art, but now it’s torn, severing the image of the family entirely. I think it’s poetic.”

He hummed, catching your attention and causing you to turn your head until your nose practically brushed his. “Poetic huh?”

“It reminds me of my past,” you whispered, taking in the soft lines that were beginning to form on his face. “Tells you a lot about what might have happened here.”

Joel didn’t respond, letting your words settle in his mind. Oblivious to the way they sunk into his heart as well, breaking down a small minuscule piece of the walls he’d placed there. The sound of the crickets outside rang through the open windows, filling the silent spaces between the two of you. He wondered what came before this for you—what would come after this.

“Do you have a place to go after this?” he asked, seeing your eyes grow heavy.

You shook your head. “I haven’t had a place to go in a long time.”

A part of your mind wanted to tell him that you did in fact have somewhere to go, but you couldn’t get the words out. You found that you liked his company; that you didn’t mind who he was as a person. Even though you knew nothing but his name and his path. Except to you…that was enough.

“I hear there’s a quarantine zone down in Boston.” He couldn’t get the question out, letting its implication hang in the air between you in the hopes that you’d understand. Thankfully, you did.

The breath caught in your lungs as you considered it. Returning to the place where it all began for you. The place where your future was meant to start. Just like the painting, you found it poetic in the most gruesome way. But something sour built in your chest. A feeling that told you to stay here; that if you left you’d find your way to even more destruction.

You chose to ignore it in the end.

“Okay,” you breathed, attempting a half-hearted sleepy smile before your eyes fell shut against your own will.

When you woke up, you’d deal with what this meant and how it would work, but you refused to let sleep elude you this time. Whether or not he fell asleep slipped past your mind—your body giving up after hours of strain. The ache would begin in the morning; pain you were familiar with and even welcomed. However for that moment, you were free of it; of the grief that was burrowed so deep in your heart you were afraid it’d never leave.

Unbound from the horrors that awaited you in the early hours of dawn.

You heard the birds first, chirping in the pine tree as they let the rest of the world know that the early morning hours of the day had finally arrived. You felt his arm around your waist, second. Sometime in the night you’d gone from lying side by side, barely touching shoulders, to him pressed firmly against your back. His breath hit the back of your neck, warm and accompanied with the odd snore here and there. It sent shivers down your spine.

Though you both wore several layers of clothing to stay warm during the night, you could still feel the heat of his palm seeping into your stomach. He was still asleep and while you might have agreed to go with him last night, you knew that it was better to leave and go it alone. After all, that’s what you’d been doing.

Holding your breath so as not to make any more noise, you began to shift away from him. Unfortunately for you, his grip on you was a bit too tight for you to remove. You didn’t want to disturb him. What with everything that happened last night. The fear was still a bitter taste on your tongue—reminding you that you could have died last night. That you had him to thank for why you were here in the first place.

Suddenly leaving didn’t sound like the better option anymore.

“You move a lot,” he grumbled. Your heart stopped in your chest for a brief moment.

“I–I’m sorry.” The words caught in your throat when he shifted, something pressing briefly to your lower back before he turned away. He grunted when he sat up, the sound shooting right through you. “We better get a move on.”

He still wanted you to go.

Sitting, you felt the fear begin to dissipate somewhat. “Oh…right,” you said, choosing to do what he did. Ignore that what you felt against your back was in fact what you thought.

The choice might prove better in the long run as you two traveled together. You’d been there before and in the end, it got messier than you wanted. Staying simple—alone but together—would be the easiest option. It would save you from dealing with another loss if something were to happen to him, and you hoped he felt the exact same way. Torment, heartache, they were all things you carried with you at the end of the day. A side effect of the fucking sickness that plagued the earth.

A disease that could never be reversed.

“Do you know how to get to Boston from here?” you asked, reaching for your bag.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” he replied, stopping in front of you, a black piece of clothing in his hands. “Here.”

You must have looked confused, taking what you figured out to be a shirt. A man’s shirt if you looked close enough. “Where did you find this?”

 “Went digging through the drawers in the other room.” He turned away, heading out the door before you could give him a real response.

Except you couldn’t find the right words to actually say to him. He was a man of few words. You could tell that right off the bat. Yet his actions seemed to speak volumes, telling you all the things you imagined he’d say. Or maybe…you were on the precipice of losing your mind due to constant stress and pressure. You remember watching movies about the apocalypse and insanity always played a part—the end usually resulting in death.

You figured believing the latter was far better than assuming something about a man you just met last night. While he said he wasn’t here to kill you, the uncertainty in your veins still stuck to the instinct that told you trust had to be earned.

Heading downstairs, you found him in the exact position you were in yesterday. Standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the portrait. He met your gaze when you entered, the shotgun back where it was yesterday, bag still in place.

“Ready?” he asked, watching you adjust your bag and fix your jacket in place. The black t-shirt now underneath it. You left the ruined one in the sink.

“Ready,” you confirmed, following him outside and into the sunlight.

You wondered if there would be others after you and him inside the house; if people were looking for a safe place to stay for the night. Would they see the painting and think of its origin like you had? Or would this just be another place. A hollow building with no life anymore—a corpse that stood against the destruction around it. You smiled bitterly at that thought, knowing that if you were a building…you would be that. A walking ghost amidst nature’s final painting.

Joel walked beside you, his stroll measured and assured. He knew where he was going with each step—unafraid of what he’d find in the distance. So, you fell into step with him, your eyes focused on the horizon as you both walked along the empty street. Leaving the house behind.

[navstuffs]

Creep

Pairing: Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: "You are so fucking special. I wish I was special"'; because sometimes love isn't enough.

Warning Tags: MAJOR ANGST!!!, italics represent the past, suicide attempt!!, alcoholism, mention of a suicide note, hurt/no comfort, OPEN ENDING (you chose your own), depression, anxiety, reader needs love, LEON NEEDS LOVE!, leon self depreciates a lot.

Author's Notes: hiii! i had this idea in my head for a while, and the request helped it! this fic is heavily based on creep by radiohead and black by pearl jam and, i hope with all my soul i did justice. i hope you enjoy your reading!

taglist - @nexysworld | my leon's masterlist

As repetitive as one could say, Leon Kennedy is at the bar again. He sits by his usual stool closer to the corner, away from everyone; the one stool bartenders are used to seeing him mostly every Tuesday, Thursday, and sometimes Friday. He orders his regular: a cup of their most potent whiskey. Tonight on duty, Eric, an employee who likes to give special attention to pretty ladies, not rock bottom men like Leon who constantly seek comfort in the bottom of a cup.

Tonight things look different.

Leon looks more miserable than his usual self. An experienced bartender like Eric saw the signs since Leon got in: good bartenders are trained for that. It becomes more evident when Leon Kennedy places a ring before him as he savors his first cup. Eric didn't know Leon was married, not that he should be surprised. An attractive man like that wouldn't stay single for so long. Even if they looked like rock bottom.

"Problems in paradise?" Eric's curiosity speaks loud, or it could also be the fact no lady who looks remotely under thirty is at the bar right now.

Leon gives a sad smirk, the whiskey burning down his throat, bringing that sense of familiarity into his veins. Reaching the high he is searching for will take longer, especially tonight. Leon continues to spin the ring on his index finger as he answers, his eyes never lifting up. 

"Yeap."

-x-

Accepting a date with you was Leon's first mistake. He really should have said no that rainy afternoon but couldn't(or didn't want to) due to the hope in your eyes, the rain falling around you making it even more ethereal than ever. For more than he didn't want to admit, Leon somewhat had a crush since the first time you two met. You were a scientist, someone who worked in the same line of the field as him, studying and helping in combat against Bioterrorism. You weren't just any scientist, though. No, you had been studying a cure for the new L-Virus for almost your whole academic career, making that your Ph.D. You were the maximum authority in the area, and if there was anyone who could help with the next outbreak and save humanity, that one would be you.

Leon knew you were just too perfect for him, but he still chose to continue anyway.

He continued after your first kiss, somewhat timid on both sides in front of your doorstep. And by the fourth date, when you invited Leon in, he should have said "no" and should have ended before it could hurt, but he chose to continue anyway. It took three months for you to move in. It was Leon's idea since your work schedule, you could barely see each other, so this would be easier anyway. He also had a bigger house. Your personal touches soon infiltrated his house, warming up his heart even more (he wasn't alone anymore, and it scared him) like the pictures of you two together on various occasions hanging on the walls and numerous, numerous paper works of studies splattered across the house. You were messy, messier than him, but you could always find yourself in the middle of your mess and his, not by organizing but by always finding what was being searched for.

It was one of the main reasons he admired you so much. Maybe you could be the light that he wanted.

And for a while, you were. Seeing you add the Kennedy to your last name filled Leon's heart with love, pride, and certainty that you were his. No one else's. And the first few years, as everyone says, were pure honeymoon bliss. For Leon, at least. Not that they weren't for you, they were, but you started noticing the minor signs as soon as you moved in: Leon never even drank that much during your dinner dates or even every single night. There was no reason to worry that much, he never got highly drunk, as the other alcoholic member of your family.

It was always "It is just to relax" or "Don't worry, it is not every day." He never got violent with you or hurt you, so it should be fine. Right?

-x-

Eric's eyes are attracted to the glass sound of Leon slamming against the bar. The ring is still on the table, and Leon doesn't seem wasted yet, but he never really does. Eric brings the bottle, his trained eyes scanning Leon when Creep by Radiohead starts playing in the bar. Leon seems to snicker, playing with his cup as Eric stands before him.

"You getting close to your limit. Are you driving?"

"Why? Is that your business?" Leon's words are coming out slurred, but he keeps his focus on Eric. Eric lifts his eyebrows as if that was the obvious answer. "I never caused an accident all my years coming here. Do I look like I am about to do something stupid now?"

Eric seems to ponder momentarily before turning the liquid on his cup. This would be Leon Kennedy's last cup, he thinks. Eric turns to leave and attend to other guests, but he stops in his tracks, looking at Leon as he says, louder than the music.

"We never know when any of you are about to do something stupid."

Leon watches as Eric leaves, an undisguisable expression on his face, his lips in a thin line, without replying back. 

-x-

You could have blamed how intense your studies were for not noticing Leon's decline, but even someone with half a brain could have noticed at this point. The fact he tried to hide from you after he was hungover. Was it your fault for not realizing Leon drank so much or the choice to not see how much he did before marrying him? Or was it just your crazy schedule that didn't let you stay home to be a good partner? With all your study and knowledge, you didn't see your husband falling apart right in front of your eyes.

It didn't matter, anyway. Finding Leon in front of your house the Wednesday morning before you went to work, his passed-out form at the entrance told you everything you needed to know: Leon had once again not slept in bed.

"We have to talk," You texted him when you got to work. You were late that morning, having to help bring a semi-conscious inside the house and leave him in your bed. He never really answered your texts, not that you expected. He tried to avoid having any type of conversation about it, running away in any way he could find.

When you got home, he was sitting by the couch, at least clean, the beard growing. Leon was lucky, you thought as you sat in front of him, with his beard never growing too much with a few spiky hairs. His eyes never meet yours as you start speaking, explaining you were worried about him, that the amount of alcohol was just too much. You apologize for not realizing that before and Leon's lips do a "Tsk." It is not your responsibility, Leon knew it. He was responsible for his own actions and didn't need your apology. He actually didn't know exactly what he needed, except something to silence the big void inside him. It is not your purpose to be everything to him, and Leon acknowledges that now.

"We can find someone to help you, I am sure, Leon."

"I am fine." He wasn't. He knew. He knew you knew. You gulped, trying to touch his arm, but Leon flinched away, too sick with himself with the look you were giving him. Is it pity? Is it disgust? Love?

"You can't be serious." You whisper. Oh, it is disappointment, then.

"I am. I am fine, okay?" A lie "-you have no reason to worry about." Another lie "There is nothing to worry about." Liar, liar, liar!

You gulped, looking at your own hands, your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth, then closed it, biting your lips. You don't have to know, something rotten inside Leon voiced. You didn't have to know the nights he passed awake after you fell asleep, the thought he couldn't shut his head, the horrors, the pain, the fact his hand seemed to play with the handle of his gun when he was drinking, oh no, you did not deserve to know none of that. You had much more to worry about than with a depressed and useless bastard like him, like saving humanity.

You didn't give up, of course, after that conversation. You became much more attentive, realizing Leon skipped meals (idiot), Leon never slept through the nights (idiot IDIOT!), and Leon left you in the middle of the night to sit in the darkness to do only the universe knows what. Cry? Wish for something better? You started calling therapists, doctors, and anyone who could help and make appointments for Leon (he never went to any of those). You watched helplessly as your Leon deteriorated, the bag under his eyes worse and worse. Was he losing weight? You told him to get a vacation from the D.S.O, but who was going to protect the world? Fuck the world, you answer, fuck zombies, fuck viruses, you are my world!

No matter how further you tried to bring him out or how hard you tried to pull him up, Leon just fell further and further into the darkness. Leon, on the other hand, was just upset and angry he ever dragged you into this mess he was.

-x-

"I know someday you'll have a beautiful life

I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky, but why

Why, why can't it be, oh can't it be mine?"

Damn good old Pearl Jam, Leon thinks. The bar is almost empty at this point, another employee cleaning around the table. Eric gives one final look at the clock: five minutes to close. He sighs, walking toward Leon.

"We will be closing soon, Leon. Time for you to go."

Eric thinks he will argue against it, but Leon gets up, throwing a good amount of cash in the bar. Eric grabs it and asks, a little anxious, already expecting a loud no.

"Do you want me to call a cab?"

Leon doesn't answer, leaving the bar. He isn't driving, actually, no, that would make him arrive home faster. He doesn't care what happens to him until he gets there: maybe for a twisted game of destiny, he gets hit by a car, someone drunker than he is right now. Leon wishes it is him that gets killed, not some innocent bystander. For more drunk than Leon Kennedy is, the memories from earlier night never left his head. Your face never entirely leaves his mind, actually, even when he is highly inebriated: he is doomed no matter what he does, doomed to remember, sleep and dream about you, like a damn high schooler thinking about her crush.

-x-

"What is this?"

Your voice is shaky as you find Leon working on his motorcycle. Leon didn't look up as he asked back.

"What?"

"This, Leon!" Your voice sounded like you had been holding back tears. You sat for a good ten minutes, wondering how to confront Leon about this and if you have reached your limit.

He saw the paper and recognized his handwriting. Leon gets up, cleaning his hands as you shake in front of him, and Leon knew because he has known you for so long, you are holding back your tears, your lips quivering. You look exactly the picture of the six-year-old you. Your big eyes crying because your dad took your favorite teddy bear from you, your arms pleading for the toy back in your mom's arms. The same eyes, Leon realized. He wanted to feel nothing, but it is impossible when the topic is you, so he broke even more.

"Is this...is this what I think it is?"

"No. It is an apology letter. Much different."

"In case of leaving me? In case you are found dead?"

"Both."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. You turned away, but then you turned back, and Leon deep down knew this was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for since you said you said you loved him. This was it, and it was his fault, not yours, and he hoped you knew it.

"We can find you help. Please, Leon."

You were begging, like all the other times. Leon looked down at the note, the I'm sorry I love you written in shaky hand. He still remembered that night.

It had been a terrible night couple of months in the marriage. You were sleeping beside him, eyes closed, a peaceful expression. He could have woken up and asked for help, but he didn't want to worry you. The pressure in his chest was too much for him to bear, and he couldn't bear the pain that he knew so well (his oldest friend), which pierced his soul and irradiated all over his body, especially his heart. Leon couldn't breathe. He gave you one good look, trying to engrave your image on his head because that was the last thing he wanted to envision before he was done.

When he was far away from you, he grabbed his gun first but then the paper. You deserved that much, at least, he knew that. He wrote those words and sat down there in complete darkness, the gun heavy in his hands as he read it repeatedly. Leon Kennedy was no hero. He places the gun on the table, reading his "I am sorry I love you". Images of you sleeping, you moaning his name, whispering, screaming, laughing, mixing with the ones of you finding him the next morning, you screaming, terrified, holding his body, trying to bring him back to life. Leon gave one good deep breath and another, opening his eyes.

He puts the gun back into the drawer. Then he got up and decided to live another day, joining your sleeping form in bed.

He broke away from that memory, smiling in your direction, a sad smile that told you everything you needed to know. He saw your shoulder drop, and you rapidly turned around and started sobbing, muffling with your hand. Leon didn't need to watch you pack your stuff, didn't run to your shared bedroom, asking for you to stay. He had no right. He simply dressed and went to the bar.

Not because he didn't want to fight for you. Leon Kennedy just wasn't worth it for you. 

-x-

It is going home that Leon sheds his first tears. You haven't called him wondering where he is, messaged him, and it is better like that. Leon grabs his phone and types a message to see if you blocked him, but he doesn't send it. What right he had anyway? Leon continues walking home, one step after another.

It doesn't matter what he finds at home, Leon Kennedy is doomed anyway.

[wildglitch]

Spider-man x Batfam Prompt's

Ok so lately I have seen a lot of "Spidy goes to gotham and gets adopted fics" probably cause of Dark Matter by mysterycyclone cause like, duh, that fic is a goddamn masterpiece. But I feel like a lot of them are sort of the same thing with diffrent fonts ans it feels a bit saturated. Not all of them...but most of them.

Am I saying that there needs to be less of these fics? Hell no! Keep writing them please. I just feel like there could be more variety is all.

I suggest maybe try one of these ideas out

1: Peter going straight to the Batfam or other heros (dosent always have to be Batfam) and they try to work together on how to get him home, while slowly realizing "omg, your life is terrible! We want to help you, we do, but maybe we shouldnt and try to give you a better life here. Then its just a moral delema on what to do as they get to know the spider child.

2: maybe another Spider-man is the one that goes to Hotham like Andrew or Toby. Insted of being sent home at the end of NWH, they where accidentally sent to the DCU. Or maybe one of the Spider verse characters or a cartoon version of the character. Dosent always need to be Toms Spider-man.

3: on that same note. Please give more love to What If...Zombies Peter. You guys have no Idea the amount of angst and "haha, my world ended and im fine" potental there is. And you can have the other surviving member also be there as they look for eachother (characters that "survived* (no one survived that episode) are Peter, King T'challa, Scott Lang+cape, and Ig Bruce Baner/Hulk, and Bucky Barnes since we never saw them get turned or eaten) just think about Spidey and the Batfam investigating a lab or sometbing and all of a sudden they find floating head Scott in a crate. Everyone if scared shitless while Peter is crying tires of joy as he moves to hug the floating head. Think about that and tell me Im not on to something here.

4: Have the fic start our like halfway through. Maybe skip him getting to Gotham and have him be there for a few months already or something. This will help with adding more crack fics.

5: Maybe have the fic be that Peter is there for a while, he knows everyone, they know him, they might or might not know the identitys but they trust eachother. And Peter has been looking for a way home and he finally finds it! But... he accidentally brings some of the Batfam with him. So now its the Batfams turn to learn to live in the MCU with help of Spidy and they finally understand so much about him, how he lived, and vigilanties he knows (team red!) As they learn the history and pubilc opinion or Spider-man and the world.

6: Just a react to fic. Yk, those fics where they're stuffed in a room and forced to watch something? Yeah. Have the Dark Matter cast stuffed in a room and watch some MCU clips. It dosent even have to be some magic forth wall bull shit if you dont like that. In chapter 44, Peter and co. are said to be going back to the cave, and Peter still have is suit. Canonically, Karen records everything. Maybe Peter ends up so tired he dosent even want to try to explain everything. So he just hooks up Karen to the computer and and has her show them everything from the suits recordings to security cameras and news reports, to the memes and videos spiderman fans have made.

7: have the Justice League get involed cause "Hes to bright to be one of yours Bruce!" And have him be a honorary member of the league of have them put him on Young Justice. Peter gets adopted by Batfam? Yes. Peter becomeing Bffs with the Young Justice kids and actually forming normal relationships with kids his age? Also yes.

Do I have more? Probably but Im too lazy for it rn

If you for some reason use one of my ideas, pls tag me and maybe credit me for the original idea (but I mostly want to be able to find the fic if you do make it ( o_o) )

Who knows, I might just write some of these myself if I ever get the motivation lol

[breezybangtanbebe]

God Damn : Changkyun❤️‍🔥

A/N: (i wrote this like over a year ago and never edited it🙃) Changkyun x reader (1st person), toxic breakup, drinking, angst, raw sex, rough sex. Emotional and smutty...I apologize in advance. 🌚

6.6k words

"I'm really worried about him."

"He hasn't been himself since you left..."

"He's so lost without you..."

"He's not responding to any of us and we can't find him..."

"Please Mira.....you're the only one who knows him like us..maybe even better than us. He'll talk to you."

That last text from Kihyun was the hardest one to ignore because it was true.

I did know Changkyun better than his friends and that was one of the reasons why I left him in the first place.

I was done with him and this fucking city, already packed and in a hotel until the day of my flight came. This place held too many memories for me to remain here after our separation some months ago and the wounds were too fresh to risk the temptation to go back.

It hurts but I can't keep living like this.

Neither can he.

I knew I would find him here though.

He was such a creature of habit that it annoyed me that his friends wouldn't think to look here first.

It never fails.

He was always so easy to predict and sometimes I wish he'd prove me wrong.

Just once.

Maybe this is a setup.

Hmm...

The smoke was thick and blinding in the crowded basement and the bass shook the walls as I descended from the final step. The rain and thunder outside were drowned out immediately by the music and I have to squint my eyes to see through the haze as I stepped through it.

It was a typical Saturday night and the mutual acquaintance and owner of the house was hosting one of his usual boozed-up functions that I admittedly used to look forward to. But we all have to grow up sometime.

I moved through the swaying crowd of people too drunk and high to care about making way for the angry curly-headed brunette searching the crowd. All of them were lost in the rhythm of the music.

And whatever else they were on...

I hoped he would be among the many in the small sea of stoners. Make my life easy just once would you, Im Changkyun.

Fucking pain in my ass.

Eventually, I made my way to the furthest corner of the party which was illuminated by beaming red LEDs. Several booths lined the back wall where a single light bulb glowed above each table. All of them were littered with paraphernalia, hookahs, empty liquor bottles, and ashtrays filled to the brim with roaches (not the bugs) and cigarette butts. The stink of smoke was even more potent here since it was the source and it burned my eyes the closer I got.

That's when I saw him.

I know it was him immediately by the sway of his long unkept hair hanging in his face. His black leather jacket is draped behind him and the bulge of his tattooed bicep flexes beneath his loose white v-neck tee. He sat with his head down, his elbows resting on the table and his hands running through his hair.

He's alone. Thankfully. Or else this would have been thrice as awkward. It was at that moment that I questioned my intentions as I lingered a few feet away.

Why am I here?

I should just call one of his friends and tell them he's here.

Jooheon would be happy to pull up with Hosoek more than likely to take over.

Kihyun would march straight up to him and yank him up by his collar.

Minhyuk would most likely do something similar after cussing him out for worrying everyone.

Hyunwoo would sit and talk some sense into him, convince him to pull himself out of this ditch he'd buried himself in.

Hyungwon would drink with him for a little before convincing him to quit and go home.

They were his friends. They should be the ones to handle him in his ruins. Not me.

I should just call one of them.

I should walk away now.

I should...

I'm about to step back into the darkness of the dance floor but suddenly go stiff when Changkyun lifts his head and for the first time in what feels like forever I see his face.

He seems thinner, his jawline sharper than I remember, and there is a red smudge staining the corning of his bottom lip. That's when I noticed the redness on his knuckles.

The scrapes, bruises, and scars.

What had he done to himself after we went our separate ways? Drinking himself into a stooper aside. What demons had he been battling that I couldn't bear witnessing any longer?

Without thinking about it anymore, I approached him with a fast beating and heavy heart. I'm gonna get him out of here and be done.

For good.

I stand beside where he's seated and wait for him to notice me, hoping he isn't too far gone in the glass of what I presumed to be some form of cognac with no ice.

It only takes a few seconds for Changkyun to lift his head to look up at me with blank eyes. It's as if I was just some random girl blocking the light. But after a few seconds of exaggeratedly slow blinking, his expression changes from indifference to annoyance.

"Amira?" I catch on his lips. Changkyun looks me up and down, studying me in my jeans and coat before lazily locking eyes with me again.

"I'm here to take you home." I raise my voice and the look of irony on my ex's face gives me pause.

"Home...." He slurs with a tsk as he drags his eyes back down to the swirling liquor in his glass.

I furrow my brow at him but choose to dismiss the look of disgust on his face.

"Get up," I say with more urgency, not even bothering to raise my voice. Changkyun scoffs lightly before picking up the short-cut glass set before him on the table.

My face hardened as he ignored me to take a sip of the amber substance, his Adams Apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"I am home so.......Fuck off...." He mumbles, gesturing towards the glass as he sucks in another sip.

He was so stubborn when was drunk.

Definitely NOT going to miss that.

Losing my patience, I reach for the glass before he can take another sip and Changkyun's lightning reflexes seem well intact judging by how quickly he moved the cup from my reach. But in the process, he also underestimates the strength of his grip and the small glass shatters in his grasp.

Broken shards fall over the tabletop, spilling the alcohol all over its surface. No one around reacts to the scene though, leaving only me to witness the frustration in Changkyun's expression.

"God dammit..." I hear him huff and my eyes go wide at the steady stream of blood tricking from his palm. He doesn't seem to notice it though and is staggering to his feet like a drone. I already knew what he was after, a drink to replace that one and I wasn't having it.

"No," I say as I grabbed him by the wrist. Changkyun looks down at my hand then at me and scoffs.

"What are you doing?" He furrows his brow with an arrogant smirk.

"You can barely walk. No more drinking. Let's go." I yell over the music.

"Go home, Mira..."

"I'm not leaving here without you!"

"For fucks sake..."

Changkyun drunkenly scoffs at me again before snatching out of my grasp. I quickly grab his other and it turns into an obnoxious game of snatch and grab on the dance floor.

If I weren't so annoyed and pissed, I would be embarrassed at how childish we must have looked. Standing there playing tug of war with each other. Of course, I was no match for Changkyun's strength but I was sober. This meant my reaction time reflexes and persistence were bound to have him relenting to my will eventually.

It took some convincing and a bit of manhandling on my end to get Changkyun to leave the basement. Thankfully, there seems to be a break in the storm and I glance up at the sky with relief.

At least we wouldn't have to walk in the rain on top of me dragging this drunk ass.

My mood plummets once we reach the sidewalk. Because the moment we're outside and the humid air hits him, I flinch at how Changkyun suddenly moves out of my reach to double over a random trash can.

Ugh.

I rolled my eyes even harder as he wretched into the metal bin, resisting the urge to go to him. To rub his back and stroke his hair. To comfort him through the inevitable.

I don't though.

That wasn't my job anymore.

We stumble up the sidewalk for a few blocks until we reach his apartment building and I get him inside using the code I'd memorized from frequent use over the years. It was now pouring again and we were drenched by the time we stepped inside the building's lobby.

I get him inside and shiver at the chilling temperature from the doorway. As if being soaked to the bone with rainwater wasn't enough. It seemed as though just to vex me, my thoughtless drunk of an ex kept his heat off all day.

"Ugh..." I exhale again. Standing here cussing him in my mind wouldn't get us warm so with me supporting most of his weight, we enter.

A trail of wet shoes and outerwear lay abandoned by the front door and the hum of the heat filling the old vents of his apartment swirl around us as I sat in the living room.

I kept his lights dim and left the TV off as I listened to the rain pattering against the windows.

Changkyun snored softly in the spot I allowed him to plop down on the couch and he'd fallen asleep immediately, his hair and shirt still damp, leaving me on the armchair opposite of him.

There Amira. The job was done.

You can leave now.

Leave him and all of this torment behind you.

I said that to myself as I rose to my feet. Changkyun remained still and sleeping with his face mushed against the cushion, his wet hair fanned out over his head.

Why did he have to be so cute AND such a disaster all at once?

Lightning strikes, spooking me to sit back down on the indented sofa. Then another chill ran over my body despite the warming air, reminding me of the weather I'd be facing again once I stepped outside.

An Uber or cab would cost a bit.

And the metro station was too far to walk to in the rain.

Perhaps I should have thought this through, instead of allowing Kihyun's worrisome ass to convince me to do this.

"Dammit.." I sigh, ultimately deciding it would be best to stay put. Hopefully, Changkyun remained asleep by the time the storm let up enough for me to sneak out of there.

So I stayed, reluctantly, and leaned my head back against the cushion of the sofa.

Between the thunder, the buzzing hum of the heating system in his apartment, and the soft sound of Changkyun's muffled snoring, it wasn't long before my eyes began to roll back sleepily.

"Hey...."

I flinch and my eyes pop open to find Changkyun standing before me in the living room, shirtless with his wild mane sitting messily atop his head.

It looked as if he'd awakened some time ago and taken a shower since he's in different clothes and the clean scent of his shampooed hair is detectable from his proximity.

I gulp as my eyes travel down his body of their own volition but blink away any inappropriate ideas before they can form. I lift my gaze to find him staring at me with the same dark interest.

"You're still here..." he states calmly as I sit up in the seat and he regards me just as soft as his voice as I glance around the room with mild confusion.

It was still dark outside but the storm had eased up significantly.

Damn...

How long was I asleep?

His eyes seemed more sober than they were before he passed out and I looked up at him speculatively.

That's a relief.

"Um...yeah. Must have dozed off.." I mutter, grimacing as I shake the sleepiness away.

Changkyun makes a noise that could have either been a scoff or a snort of humor.

"Yeah. Me too.." he chuckles, but his smile doesn't touch his eyes as it trailed off.

I can't imagine the headache he must have right now.

At his pause, I take it upon myself to continue.

"I stuck around hoping that the storm would let up a bit and dry off. I wasn't trying to..."

"Naw it's cool. You don't have to explain...Shit, to be honest...I don't even remember how I got home. Glad you had something to do with that and not some random..." he chuckles shamelessly and although I know he saying it in a joking manner, I know he is serious.

There's no telling how many women he's brought back here after getting shitfaced.

The thought makes my stomach turn.

"Yeah well...Since you're awake, I should probably get going..." I concede amid his nervous chuckling, preparing to stand and Changkyun immediately lifts his hands to stop me.

"What? No...I mean... it's still raining and it's late. People drive like dick heads over here when it's wet..." he says, his choice of words always colorful.

"It's fine...I didn't drive. I took the train." I said truthfully.

Changkyun frowns at my response.

"You took the train? What happened to your car?" He asks and I go tense.

Oh boy.

"I.......sold it," I answer him, tucking my lips between my teeth as I wait for him to digest the answer.

The two of us hadn't spoken in a while which meant I hadn't made him aware of me moving away, let alone me selling the car he'd spent countless hours working on for free.

Other than it being in my name and me being financially responsible for it, Changkyun put just as many miles and effort into it as if it were his.

"You sold your car..." he deadpans and I nod affirmatively.

Bravely.

Awkwardly.

"Yep. For a really good price to a guy I knew from uptown. I.... can't afford to take it with me so.."

"Oh right! Because you're moving out of the city." Changkyun interrupts me.

The sluggishness in his voice was no longer present, telling me he was for sure sober. But that same hint of disdain and disgust presented itself as he spoke. I open my mouth to respond but he cuts me off.

"Yeah....I know. Kinda saw it on Instagram. The whole "going away party" threads on your friend's stories gave me the clue. Sucks that I couldn't hear the news from you but...ya know." he shrugs sullenly.

I stand there quietly for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"Yeah." is all I can muster and Changkyun scoffs.

"Yeah.." he chuckles breathily, turning away from me as he runs a hand through his hair. I watched him begin to pace slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck and flaunting his bare upper body to the neon glow of the street lights just beyond his apartment window.

"I get it though. Of course you sold it. I mean...why not? You could always just get a replacement. Since that's your way of doing shit anyway. Commit to something, get it all fixed up, and just...walk away from it." He turns on his heel to throw in before turning his back to me again.

His statement stuns me and I'm left speechless as he continues away from me.

I watch his back and the shadows cast against his muscles from the dimness as he walks over to his array of liquor bottles lined up against the back wall of the kitchen counters. He reaches for a half-empty Hennesy, twisting the cap and tipping it back for a hefty sip that's swallowed down like water.

I furrow my brow at the way his shoulders sag in relief as he turns to me.

"You could have told me, you know? Thought we were better than that," he remarks stiffly before he lifts the bottle back to his lips, gazing over its body at me as he takes another sip.

His eyes are expectant and I just stare back, too tired to indulge him.

I sigh heavily and begin patting my pockets to make sure my phone and wallet are still there before spotting my keys on his coffee table.

"The only reason I'm here was because Kihyun reached out." I snatch them up and they jingle loudly as I step around the table. Changkyun frowns at the sound of his friend's name on my lips and narrows his eyes.

"Why the fuck would he hit you up?" he asks and I snort at the bitterness of his question.

"I asked myself the same thing. But he figured I was his last resort in getting in contact with you, seeing as how you've been avoiding everyone and missing work. Believe me, though, I'm starting to wish he hadn't..." I respond honestly breezing past Changkyun in the direction of his guest bathroom.

The only reason I'm able to move so comfortably around his apartment was that Id damn near made it my second home in the duration of our tumultuous relationship.

I wouldn't be surprised if I still had a toothbrush or a box of tampons here.

I flip the light switch, not at all surprised to find Changkyun following close behind and my disheveled reflection staring back at me in the mirror. My curls had dried only a little and my makeup was smudged a tad but not ruined.

"Right..because I'm not your problem anymore." He chuffs, taking another sip and I roll my eyes at his antics as I try to tend to my appearance. I run my fingers through my hair roughly before snatching a paper towel off the roll, dampening it before wiping just below my eyeline.

"You were never my problem Changkyun. The only one here with problems was you." I mutter distractedly, frowning at how difficult it was to wipe away my mascara. My response seems to amuse him and an ironic smirk crosses his face as he leans against the doorway.

"And I'm guessing that's why you left? Me and my problems? Just me though, right? Since you're so perfect..." he asks with a cheeky tone and I hiss irritably as I abruptly turn to face him.

"What choice did I have? What choice did you give me? All we do is fight. It's not healthy for either of us and I'm exhausted. YOU are exhausting. I never claimed to be perfect but you..." I go on and Changkyun nods cynically as I speak.

"Yeah...c'mon. Lay it on me. Tell me how horrible I am despite all the shit I've done for you...I'm the fucking worst right?" He chortles and I can't help but laugh.

"Like I haven't done shit for you! Don't act like that negates the fact that you can't change or that...I don't know...We just aren't compatible anymore. That we've grown apart..."

"I'm not changing for somebody who doesn't know what the fuck they want. Ok?" Changkyun cuts in, jutting his forefingers into his sternum emphatically.

"You're impossible to satisfy Mira! You want me to be someone that I'm not. At least not yet...You put pressure on me to do shit how you want and when I fall short, I'm the bad guy. I never cheated on you. Never put my hands on you..."

"Gee, thanks for the bare minimum of common decency Kyun. I appreciate it." I mumble amid his rambling...

"..when you suggested seeing a shrink, I was open to it.." he continues.

"But did you go?" I tack on and he rolls his eyes.

"That's not the point. You gotta give me time. This shit here? Talking about my feelings...this is new territory for me. You never cut me any slack. You just criticize and jet like you're doing now.."

"Because I'm tired of cutting you slack. I'm tired of waiting...I wanted us to evolve and be better together. I wanted us to live together officially and live healthier and get married and..." I trail off, the words clogging my throat as the heartbreak of feeling rejected by him swell.

For a while, we were fine.

But eventually, I wanted more than what he was willing to give. And he tried to appease me and distract me from the fact that our relationship had hit a plateau.

It took us having a pregnancy scare for me to really see how unprepared he was for us moving forward.

"...but you've made it explicitly clear that that's not what you want." I nearly choke on the sob threatening to break through.

We'd been through this too many times and rehashing it was the last thing I wanted. Changkyun blinked a few times as if he needed to gauge my demeanor before responding.

Then he looked away painfully, grimacing a bit as he rubbed at the back of his neck with a troubled sigh.

"I know...I'm just..not ready.." he mutters, his eyes now on the floor. His jaw tightened and shifted as he contemplated something and I remained in front of the bathroom sink patiently. 

The silence between us was deafening and the longer I gazed at him and his conflicted state, the stronger my urge to cry became.

I love this man.

So much that it hurts to even say it.

Changkyun lifts his head suddenly at the sound of me sniffling and I curse myself for letting a tear escape.

I turn my back to wipe it away with a shaky huff.

"I know. And I'm not waiting for you to be. I can't. I'm just done." I shake my head, avoiding the searing look in his eyes I knew he was giving me.

I sniffle again, scanning his bathroom for the tiny waste bin to discard the charcoal-streaked paper towel and Changkyun stands unmoved in the doorway as I brush past him.

Before I'm clear of him, I feel his hand gripping me by the wrist.

I pause, anticipating the inevitable. Another condescending remark to get a rise out of me, provoking me to engage in more back and forth. Feeding his selfish need to drain me until I was as empty as he felt.

But to my surprise, he says nothing.

At his silence, I turn to find him staring at our now intertwined fingers sadly.

His brow creased painfully and the muscles in his jaw tensed as he bit back the urge to cry, the urge that glistened in his hooded eyes.

"You can't be angry at me for not wanting what you want when you want it," he repeats and I roll my eyes, pulling my hand from his with little effort. He doesn't try to stop me from withdrawing despite us moving like magnets. He drags behind me to the living room mindlessly.

"I'm not doing this...." I mutter as I scan the room as if I'd forgotten something.

"You're here, so you are. We..are doing this." He grits, his tone making me turn on my heel to face him with the full intention to cuss and give him exactly what he wanted.

But the way he glares into me with broken eyes and his sullen shoulders, I'm rendered silent.

"We could have worked this out but instead you did what you always do when shit gets tough. Run away.." he closes the distance between us tentatively, his voice shaking as he spoke.

I shake my head at the conviction in his voice, knowing we were at an impasse.

"Right.." I chuckle before wiping my eyes one more time. I lift them to match his glare intensely.

"And you go and do what you always do when you can't take accountability for shit. Go and find solace at the bottom of a liquor bottle until you're painting the floor with it."

I know the words a daggers to him when he narrows his eyes.

"And you're such a saint." Changkyun tuts his brow arrogantly at me.

Yes. There was a time when getting black-out drunk and high was considered a good time. And those horrible habits were the reason Changkyun and I bonded. Mutual interests evolved as did our relationship and loving him made being under the influence less necessary.

"Well, it's a good thing we ended things right? Since we're so different..." I shrug and Changkyun scoffs, looking away with his tongue sticking through the skin of his cheek. When he looks back, it's with a look that always used to make my core tighten.

"I didn't end shit." he insists, narrowing his eyes at him darkly.

"I know."

"Exactly. So stop acting like I wronged you in all of this. Stop acting like I'm the one who broke your heart, Mira."

The tears were flowing freely by now and I neither had the will or strength to resist them anymore. Eyes rimmed red and shining, I let out a laugh that morphs into a muffled sob.

"I had to. Don't you understand? For the sake of my sanity, I had to walk away because I was not going to sit back and watch you destroy yourself. To watch us destroy each other. I loved you too much to continue this. I tried but I just couldn't. I had to be done."

"What if I'm not?"

"Kyun..."

"I don't wanna be done."

He stares at me blankly for a moment, his eyes reading the way I avoided his with a melancholy smirk.

Suddenly Im inhaling the malted mix of cognac and mint as he grabbed me at the back of my neck, pulling me forward so that he could rest his forehead against mine.

His eyes bore into mine, dark as obsidian and just as hard. The tip of his nose brushes mine and he tilts his head so his words are painted against my lips in an exalted exhale.

"And neither do you.." he mouths, our parted lips sharing a desperate breath for a moment before one of us gives in.

And it's him.

It's always him.

The darkness in his eyes was sinful when he pulled away and I'm ashamed to have been the one chasing his lips a little when he did.

His presence was more intoxicating than any liquor I ever consumed.

The way neon lights from beyond the window blinked against the side of his face, highlighting his chiseled features as he walked me back until I was pressed flat against the wall of his living room.

"Kyunnie?" I stammer as he pressed against me, pinning me to the concrete grey-painted wall, kneading my nape as he tipped his head back just enough to see my face.

His eyes danced with mine for a moment, both of us hesitating and searching for something in the other.

"You hate me, don't you?" He asks.

"I never said that..." I attempt to respond but he shakes his head.

"You never had to..." he cuts me off, his eyes falling to my lips. Without a shred of hesitation, he leans in and kisses me again.

Harder.

More fervently.

Hennessy and desperation lingered on his tongue but he didn't kiss me as if on a drunken impulse. He kissed me as if his life depended on it. Sloppy and frantic. Our teeth clashed at moments as our tongues fought and our voices melded into a melody of muffled moans.

What the hell was happening...

A few minutes ago I was ready to walk away from this part of my life. Ready to end this chapter and close the door on the man who knew better but wouldn't do or be better.

Toxic wasn't even the word.

His mouth parts from mine and he trails sloppy desperate pecks down from my lips to my neck.

My weakness.

The moment his lips grazed my skin, chills ran over my entire body, and Changkyun wasted no time in taking my flesh between his teeth. His hard body felt hot against mine and I wasn't sure if it was his heartbeat I felt through my clothes or my own. But what I did know was that I needed him.

In more than just a physical sense.

I needed him all over me.

On top of me.

Inside me.

His tongue swipes over the series of love bites he placed on my skin and I moan his name needingly. I feel him smile against me and chuckle softly before sucking a mark over my pulse.

He knew he had me the moment he sunk his teeth into my skin. Im putty in his hands and anything he desired was his as long as he was willing to fulfill mine.

Seconds later, we're falling back against his couch with me straddling his waist and him ripping my clothes off. It was not long before Im naked and gazing down at the length of Changkyun's dick standing up in his grasp.

He bites his lip, dragging his hooded gaze up my body as if he'd never seen it before.

Or as if he believed he'd never see it again.

He squeezed my hip with his other hand, encouraging me to grind my hips against him a few times before rising to my knees.

Wordlessly, he guides me down to sink into me slowly. A slow hiss blows between his teeth before his jaw goes slack and my eyes flutter shut in ecstasy at the slight sting.

It felt like forever since I'd had him inside me but it couldn't have been long enough for me to forget how he stretched me. I moan shamelessly with my head thrown back, my waist already whining against him and Changkyun reaches up to tangle his fingers with the hair at my nape.

He pulls me forward, forcing me to look at him as he buries himself as deep as I'll allow him.

"Fuck me baby...fuck me like you fucking hate me.." Changkyun demands, the growl in his deep raspy voice driving me wild with emotion and lust.

I obey immediately, placing my hands on the back of the couch for better support. I slowly roll my hips back and forth to find my rhythm, using my lower body strength to bounce on him. Every movement pushes him deeper and I soon lose myself completely in how good he felt.

Like he was made for me.

My moans soon drowned out the sound of our skin slapping together, the wetness and stimulation pushing me closer to climax.

It never took long for Changkyun to make me cum. He knew my body that well and at times I resented it. He was arrogant with the power he held and it's shown in the amusement written all over his face right now.

His brow is perked and his eyes are fixed on my face, relishing in the painfully pleasured expression of my impending orgasm as he bucked his hips to drive himself exactly where I needed him.

When my legs begin to shake, he smiles and fucks into me faster until a rush of release spurts out and around his dick. My warmth and wetness surrounded him like a waterfall, and he fought against the current effortlessly as I cried out.

"Oh my god.." I drawl out and Changkyun silences anything else I might have said by pulling me in by the neck to kiss him sloppily.

He hugs me against him, holding me in place as his hips continue to roll upwards and stroking me slowly as we kiss.

"I changed my mind..." I mutter against his lips and he hums questioningly.

"I do hate you..." I finish, his only response being a cruel chuckle that makes my walls clench around him.

"Fuck, Mira..." he whispers, taking my bottom lip between his teeth. I pull back slowly, allowing the flesh to stretch before he releases it with reluctance.

I attempt to untangle myself from him but his embrace only tightens with resistance.

Before I can question him, Changkyun grunts as he stands with his arms hooked beneath my legs. My eyes widen in surprise to find his hardened gaze fixated on where were still connected, biting his lip and bouncing my body against his dick.

This angle was even more torturous as it not forced him deeper, but the constant feel of me pounding against him had my clit throbbing from the friction. Not to mention the fact that he held me up and fucked me like this for a while, reminding me of how strong he was physically.

I almost feel like I can't breathe and my voice is hoarse from moaning. I most likely came again. Or a few times. I wouldn't be able to tell. I can barely see since tears still blurred my vision from before and I had no choice but to be at the mercy of my ex and his determination to prove a point.

Though, I had no idea or care of what it was.

"You hate me? Hmm...you hate me?" He grunted in time with his hard strokes, still holding me up in his arms.

I mumble his name endlessly and amidst a string of breathy moans.

I do hate him.

Hate him for ruining all men for me after this.

Hate him for always fucking me..making love to me..like his life depended on it.

Hate him for branding himself on my damaged soul so that every time I closed my eyes, my heart projected his face against the blank walls of my mind.

Hate him for giving me no choice other than to love him.

Fuck, I love him.

Changkyun pauses to step briskly with me still in his hold, nudging his already open bedroom door away for us to enter.

A chill ran over my skin as he stepped deeper into his room. The scent of his cologne and bed sheets trigger memories I fought to forget and I gasp when the softness of his them grace my back.

He doesn't waste another second.

He spreads me wide, keen eyes on where his dick still split me and a thick stream of saliva drips from his tongue and onto the point where we met.

As if it was needed.

I just think he got harder at the idea of stuffing me with as much of his DNA as he could.

And I hate to admit how hot it was.

"Kyun.." I sigh and his eyes snap up to my begging eyes as he sinks into me.

His hips rock my body higher on the mattress and his solid arms cage me against his chest as he fucked me.

Slowly.

Purposefully.

It wasn't hurried and frantic like before.

He curled into me and stroked my warm velvety walls with a gentleness I'd missed from him.

He savored me.

On his lips. On his tongue. In my sex.

Changkyun made love to me like a man stroking against a current, fighting his way to shore.

He fucked me as if it pained him not to.

I felt his lips kissing the shell of my ear as he whispered my name.

Over and over.

I can tell he's unraveling and that the moment is limited.

I held him against me, my nails scraping over his back as he rocked into me faster and harder, making me gasp.

I needed him.

Maybe not beyond this moment or these four walls.

But I needed him now in any way I could.

He'd barely pulled out in time before he spurts himself all over the face of my pussy, hiccuping my name against my throat as he came.

He strokes himself slowly, squeezing the final few drops of cum over my pink folds before pressing his dick back inside of me.

He's still rock hard and my slicked walls welcome him in with zero resistance.

I brace my hands against his hard biceps as he sank deeper inside of me to the hilt, the tip of him pressing as far as it would go. He flexes his hips and pushes himself impossibly deep.

So deep that I can feel our pulses throbbing between us.

So deep that it was as if he was yearning to touch a part of me that he never felt. A part of me that would be our saving grace and keep the withering connection between us alive.

But all I felt was pain.

Sweet.

Somber.

Sobering.

Pain.

"Changkyun...." I whimper beneath him and he eases back an inch with a heavy sigh as he lays his full weight over me.

He rests his face in the crook of my neck and I feel his warm touch caressing my face. His thumb swipes over the apple of my cheek, sweeping over the trail of tears that still flowed from my eyes.

For a while we just lay there, leveling our labored breaths and staring into the sepia tone of his darkened apartment bedroom. I feel myself drifting asleep until the deep vibrations of Changkyun's tired voice pull me back up.

"Hmm?" I rasp and he sniffs and swallows the hard lump of emotion in his throat, hugging our naked bodies tighter together.

"I don't blame you...for hating me." He says shakily, sniffling again. If it weren't for his grip on me and my fatigue, I would have pushed him away just enough for me to see his face.

I furrow my brow and contemplate what I could say to him in response. Just to ease the pain in his voice a touch because I did love him that much.

But...

"I hate me too..." he adds on, squeezing me again.

Changkyun turns his face so that that his nose brushes against my nape and his shuddering breath against my skin makes me shiver.

He cries there for a moment and the weakened tone of his light sobs pull me down into the abyss with him. I say nothing though. Knowing anything I could say would either sound patronizing or enabling.

Or a like a lie.

And I just couldn't do it anymore.

But God Dammit if it didn't hurt.

"I'm sorry." He whipsers after his silence sets a pause in his tears. The words sound painful for him to say and for some reason, my heart ached.

This changed nothing. He was still who he was and so was I. As much as we loved each other, it would never be enough.

"Me too. " Is all I can manage to say and I tangle my fingers in the sweat-damp hair at his nape, stroking his scalp with my fingertips soothingly as we both lay motionless.

Still connected in the only way we could be.

🥵

[cinnamoneve]

hi hi!! congratulations on your 100 followers! can i request a nanami fic with prompt no. 29 please?🤩

also, i love your works!! can't wait to read more of them!💗🌻

prompt #29 - "i'm beginning to think i imagined you all along"

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ "cornerstone" by arctic monkeys

part of my 100 follower event <3 masterlist | make a request !

ee thank you for the sweet words nonnie !!! sending you all my love :) this is my first nanami (and angst) piece so i hope i could do your boy justice (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ thank you for requesting!!!

nanami took the breakup harder than anyone expected.

his friends, family–even he was shocked at how unprepared he was. after you moved out, he searched for any kind of solace he could. no-contact was especially hard on him. all he wanted to do was call you up and mend your relationship in any way possible..

but it all became too much. the love died out, eventually, as it seemed to always do. you and nanami had a phase where you weren’t lovers, just two people living together, going about your days with no passion for what once was. there was stonewalling, periods of no communication, and extreme feelings that seemed to bottle up and pour out at the most unfortunate times.

it would be best if it was over. and it was a difficult decision for you to make. it was hard seeing him cry together with you, but it was for the best if you cut ties.

maybe you’d come back to each other. if you love something, you let it go, right? and if it’s meant to be, it comes back to you, right?

right?

evidently, he wasn’t good at letting go.

he wanted to be better at it. he understood. there was a gap in time where he let you be. savored the no-contact because he wanted to respect your wishes. and it all got to him worse than he thought it would. maybe he could stage an ‘accidental’ meet-cute, and the two of you could fall in love all over again. 

so he’d put on his best outfit, one he made sure you liked, and caked on the cologne he wore when you first started dating. scent is one of the most potent senses, he argued, that one whiff would carry you back to the best times.

the moon and all her stars laughed together, knowing that the scene before them has played out time and time again.

nanami occupied anywhere he could to try and find you again. in one bar, he could swear that there was someone who laughed just like you.

in his best attempts at being inconspicuous, he hovered around the bar area just to steal a glimpse at your twin. 

or what he thought was your twin. turns out, the person just laughed like you. and that’s all there was to it. a laugh that plagued his mind, at this point. a laugh that warmed him with only a thought; one that continued to ring in his ear even if he couldn’t remember the last time he heard it.

god, what he’d kill to bathe in that laugh one more time. to really soak it up knowing it’d be his last. he can’t believe some of the last words you exchanged were underneath the anger of an argument.

he’d grown tired too. work was especially bad, and by the time he’d gotten home he had run out of understanding. he was uncharacteristically quick to snap, easy to upset. eventually, you decided it’d be best to say nothing at all rather than risk it.

the relationship felt like a timebomb, just minutes from detonation. it finally seemed to give when it needed to.

there was more unsaid on his end. 

he traveled to the next bar. maybe you’d be here instead.

it was a place you and him frequented when life got to be a little too much. every so often, a date night was in order to reset it all and start over with a clean slate. he’d order your favorite drink, something stiff for himself, and an appetizer for the two of you to share over the hours you’d spend catching up.

it was a little check-in with one another. he hasn’t been here in months.

he was beginning to see you in everyone he came across. it was getting painful. all the faces and voices made his brain a little fuzzy. chalk it up to the alcohol, maybe to the lovesickness; nanami couldn’t tell.

the atmosphere was warm, but he felt anything but. the overwhelming smells of mixed drinks and various bar foods were starting to get to him. the music was a little bit too loud, glasses were clinking too much for his liking, and he could start to feel a headache forming just behind his eyes.

you’d have the remedy. you’d know how to make him feel better.

he didn’t have you to go home to though. to play up his illness a little bit too much, so you’d baby him and dote on him even if you knew he was exaggerating.

nanami kept up a hardened attitude, most of the time. with you, it felt like he could be soft and more open than he usually could be.

you were his blanket. and even if you didn’t know it, you still were; nanami hated himself for this. it was hard to be all alone again. everyone was starting to look like you.

they’d order your usual drink, say a word that you pronounced funny one time, wearing a color that you swore you looked bad in, even though you never did.

pieces of you were everywhere. in everyone. love is evident in every corner of this bar, because you exist and everyone has a little part of you in them. you’re the embodiment of it. it was hard to not be with you like this.

nanami thought he was losing it – no one could put a finger on where you’d been, if they’d seen you, or recall any details of what you’ve been up to since the break up, and it was slowly driving him insane. it seemed like the relationship, and you in general, were nothing more than a figment of his imagination. there wasn’t a trace of you anywhere. in the bar, in the world, in his apartment; just existing in the cavity of his very being.

so he left. he called a cab and waited anxiously for it to pull up. not usually an anxious man, nanami fiddled with the apartment keys in his coat pocket in an effort to look busy. shuffling in, he made light conversation while the driver followed the gps closely back to the cold apartment waiting for him. 

the window was cracked and the night air was electric with conversation and scents of the bustling streets at night. the air carried the smell of you into the cabin.

not your perfume or the soap you use, but the way the nape of your neck smelled when he delicately kissed your shoulders. it smelled like a sunday morning in bed, getting out of bed at the very last minute to get your day started. it was you, it was you, it was nothing but you.

the driver could’ve taken a left at the petrol station as a quick way to cut the ride in half. if he were a better man, nanami would’ve helped the driver out to get home and be with you quicker. but just for tonight, he’d sit in this cab a little bit longer with the window wide open.

all content © cinnamoneve 2023. do not repost, modify, steal, or copy without permission.

[blog-name-idk]

The Plot Twist | 05

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 5: "It's fine! South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Of three things you are absolutely certain. First, soulmates exist. Second, the universe – and you don't know how potent its power may be – runs on some sort of karmic imbalance. And third, you are unconditionally, and irrevocably, fucked.

It is raining.

In a rare, extremely odd fit of forethought, you actually have an umbrella in your bag. Normally, you would scoff at weather predictions and dare the clouds to do their worst. But today, you found yourself grabbing your umbrella before leaving for your commute, and the skies that have darkened into an ominous, storm-like gray after your work shift do not phase you at all.

Today, your undoing lies in a different kind of disaster preparedness.

Hard water pelts down almost as if it is herding you, and you hurry from the assault of the rippling sky to the awning of a closed coffee shop to grab your umbrella. Expletives spew from your lips as you dig through your messy bag. You're so focused that you barely register someone also taking refuge from the sudden storm – a man wearing a mask and a bucket hat, but is shivering through a wet, black long sleeved t-shirt that's sticking to what looks like a very toned body.

Not that that's the type of thing you typically notice or anything.

"Found you!" you screech excitedly as you pull out your umbrella and brandish it at the sky. The man beside you flinches, like you're about to attack him, and you give him a disdainful look.

"S-sorry," he mutters, the brim of his hat still hiding his eyes. "I thought you meant something else."

Something else? Is he on the run from the mob, or fleeing the national military? The incredibility of either prospect nearly makes you snicker, but whatever, you need to get home before the storm gets –

BOOM!

– worse.

The thunderclap makes both of you jump, and you wince at the realization that the rain is coming down even harder. Unforgiving sheets of water pour down, and you can barely see even a few feet past the awning. Maybe you can get an Uber instead…

You pull out your phone to see no bars. No data, no phone signal, nothing. The guy next to you is shivering even more violently now, and you internally sigh. You can't just ignore him, not when helplessness is wafting off him in tenebrous waves.

"Do you have a ride coming?" you ask reluctantly, wishing you had been raised to be more selfish. Your mother does whatever the hell she wants, why hasn't she taught you the same? Though, to be fair, she probably would have been able to get the rain to stop by glaring. Perhaps someday, in your final form, you'll be just as powerful.

The man wilts and shakes his head, and you’re alarmed when you hear a sniffle. Shit, you are not equipped to handle a crying man. You're not even equipped to handle your own emotions.

"I – I left rehearsal because I had a fight with my hyung," the guy begins to share, morosely wiping his face with a wet hand that only leaves more moisture behind. His voice quivers, and despite your misgivings, the piteous sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. "And now I'm lost. I only have my phone, and it’s useless right now."

You start to feel a little sympathy for someone who's clearly been having a bad day. You're about to offer to share your umbrella to the nearest train station when he finally looks straight at you, meeting your eyes for the first time.

The patch of skin behind your ear suddenly tingles and–

Oh.

Oh.

The rain falls, lightning cracks, and your stomach drops in time with the crash of thunder that follows. Yet you can barely hear it over the sudden pounding of your heartbeat.

"Do you… Could you… If it's not too much trouble, could I walk with you to the train station?" Jeon Jungkook pleads, large doe-eyes gazing brilliantly at you from half of an unmistakable face.

This… is why you felt like bringing an umbrella today? Because of the universe and its cosmic–fucking–intervention?

The man across you fidgets, growing self-conscious as he waits for your answer. For a few long seconds, all you can do is stare numbly at him.

Are you going to have to assume every man you run into these days is one of your soulmates? How is this even possible?

You reach your decision in less than a minute.

Dejectedly, you hold out your umbrella wordlessly to Jungkook, and his face lights up. His smile does something unspeakable to your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. His expression scrunches – cutely, to your dismay – in confusion when you just hand him the umbrella. You shove a few crumpled bills from your back pocket into his free hand, careful not to touch his skin, and he looks completely baffled.

"For the train fare," you manage to choke out, already backing away into the unforgiving rain. It's coming down so hard the pelting drops almost hurt, but this is infinitely preferable to whatever the fuck the alternative is.

"What…? No! You don't have to – I just wanted to share – "

"It's fine!" you call over your shoulder, already twenty meters away and sopping wet in the opposite way to what the universe was probably trying to contrive. "Just get home safe! I'm sure your hyung is worried!"

With that you're off, leaving a very confused and equally charmed idol behind. Jungkook stares after the strange, kind girl, wondering why it feels like you're running away.

Pondering, he scratches the tattoo behind his ear.

He’s just about to run after you, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he opens it in surprise to see a wall of text messages.

How odd. The signal bars are full now.

At the influx of messages from his hyungs, his argument with Jimin at the rehearsal studio floods back into his mind, and Jungkook sniffles again and dials the familiar number.

"What do you want?" answers a grumbling Jimin, filling Jungkook's chest with guilt.

"Hyung, I'm so sorry!" Jungkook cries, blubbering in earnest now, the familiar voice opening the floodgates until his tears almost match the tempest around him.

"Don't call me!" his hyung scolds, clearly still angry. And yet, he picked up the call when he could have just ignored him. Jungkook hears Jimin sigh, the sound static and long. "Fine. Where are you?"

"I don't know," Jungkook whimpers as another crack of lightning cleaves the air. Thunder follows soon after, and he hopes that you're okay, wherever you've gone.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?!” Jimin demands, suddenly all love, all worry. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

Ah… warmth. This is what his team has taught him: brotherhood, love, and family. To be angry, to piss each other off, but in the end be willing to drop everything to help one another.

Something the stranger had done despite having no need to.

"I don't know where I am," Jungkook replies, already feeling a little better. "But I'll take a taxi home. S-someone gave me some money."

"Come safely. I'll wait outside for you."

Before Jungkook can protest, Jimin hangs up. The maknae can't help but smile despite how stressful the day has been. Between his team members and the kindness of the girl from earlier, his chest feels warm and fuzzy, driving away the cold and the gloom of the gray skies and icy rain.

He just wishes he had gotten your name.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Fuck.

You wake with a head full of cotton and a nose more clogged than a toilet at an American WacDonald's. Feeling like death, you drag yourself out of bed to the bathroom, force yourself into a scalding hot shower that – for a blessed moment – clears your sinuses. You get ready for work, and by the time you're ready, you at least look put together, though inside you're already wishing you could crawl back under your covers.

Any other time, you might have taken a day off to not inflict your coworkers with your germs, but today is that stupid executive meeting and you can't afford to miss it.

You pop some cold medicine into your mouth, mask up, and get to work early, because despite your utter lack of care when it comes to your personal life, you are a demon in the office.

"[Y/n]!" calls Mijoo, one of your favorite administrative assistants. It's for that reason and that reason alone that you pull your head away from your screen to give her a smile she probably can't see through the cloth of your mask.

"Hey," you greet, clearing your throat and relieved you haven't hit the "uncontrollable cough" stage of your cold yet. "What's going on?"

"Soonyoung is freaking out about something again," she replies quietly, casting her eyes over to the corner office where your Senior Vice-President resides.

You're not sure if he ever actually leaves the building.

You sigh. This is a big project, one that is being presented to the company execs, and you really need everything to go perfectly. It's a good thing you got here early.

"When I finish here, I'll go talk to him," you say reluctantly, making Mijoo shoot you a smile of relief.

After you've confirmed that everything should as expected, you push off your desk, letting your chair roll backwards. Then you slip your feet back into your heels, stand, and give a lazy stretch of your limbs before heading to put out the fire, rolling your shoulders as you do so.

Through the glass surrounding the door, you can see your VP frowning at his computer screen, gray brows knit in some sort of frustration. You knock twice, and he looks up, still frowning. It vanishes as soon as he realizes it's you, and with a grin he beckons you inside.

"[Y/n]! Thank goodness," he said in a relieved voice, already angling his monitor so that you can see. "I can't get VLOOKUP to work!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you shouldn't, instead ambling over to help the dinosaur who is (hopefully) planning on retiring soon. Why is someone so high up even messing with spreadsheets, anyway? You barely have time to do any hands-on work at this point, and all you manage is your own team.

"It's tricky," you agree fondly, humoring him not because you have to, but because he kind of reminds you of your grandpa. "Here, let me help."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your next meeting also has an unusually high number of execs, and you frown as you recall the vague wording of the invite. You settle in a chair next to your work friend slash rival Jaesung, who looks just as confused as you feel.

"Any idea what this 'very important meeting' is about?" you whisper in his direction, and he shakes his head.

"No clue, but there are rumors that there's something big coming up," he whispers back. The two of you are unable to speculate any further, however, as your CEO appears. What the hell?

By the time the meeting ends, you are torn between laughing and crying hysterically. The execs have announced the planned launch of a top secret flagship product, one that the company is expecting massive returns on due to a collaboration with – because this is your life now – motherfucking BTS.

And then VP Soonyoung stands, looks at you and Jaesung proudly, and says that as two of his best people, you will be spearheading the marketing and sales efforts. He adds, with an elderly jovial laugh, “Both of you will even get the chance to meet them, so go get your autograph plaques ready!”

As if you needed to be disincentivized!

"You’re so lucky!" wails Mijoo as you sit in your cube, where you have been staring woodenly at your computer screen for over five minutes now. She thinks you're in joyful shock, and maybe, it definitely is shock. The electric chair kind.

It's bad enough that you had to spend an entire wonderful excruciating evening with Hoba – Hoseok – and he is now aware of your existence, even if he hasn't realized you're soulmates. But now this?

You mull over filing for your immediate resignation, which only adds to your headache. Eventually, you conclude that your time and compensation package from Samsong are just too good, too unbeatable, and… you’ve grown as a professional here. People respect you, value you for you, and you absolutely love working with your personally curated team.

The problem is the universe keeps testing your limits. Executive meetings? Easy. Flagship product development? Doable with the right people. But passionate, self-consuming cosmic schemes involving the world’s biggest boy band in the guise of soulmateship?

You’d rather get hit by a car.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The universe hates me.

That is your last thought as you hear the squeal of tires on pavement and the frantic honks of a car horn before you're suddenly staring up at the sky, pain flaring throughout your entire body.

A man gets out of the black Hyundai Palisade with tinted windows, and you suddenly wish that you had been truly run over with no hope of recovery. Of course it's Kim fucking Namjoon of BTS, and he's looking at you in a mixture of panic and concern that makes your heart flutter despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" he asks, to which part of your brain thinks, What a fucking idiot of course I'm not. The other half stupidly admires the broad set of his shoulders, the strange mixture of grace and clumsiness as he stumbles over to your battered body.

Wait.

You return to your senses, and begin to push yourself back up to your feet.

"Yep, totally fine!" you insist through gritted teeth, ignoring the way one of your legs is twisted awkwardly, and the flare of agony that permeates your body when you're able to bring yourself upright. "It was my fault anyway!"

It wasn't, but you're not going to stick around to let this play out.

You begin to limp away as fast as your contorted ankle allows, ignoring the flabbergasted expression on Namjoon's handsome face.

"I – can I at least pay for your medical bills?" he asks as he takes a tentative step after you. You hobble faster despite the burning pain in your legs.

"It's fine!" you call behind you, getting a regrettable glimpse of his beautiful, worried eyes. "South Korea has universal healthcare coverage!"

Unfortunately, you can only wobble so fast until the physically fit, able-bodied man catches up to you. By this point, your vision is fuzzing with strange dotted lights and your body doesn't feel quite real anymore. Namjoon's hand touches your shoulder, and you turn around to tell him off. Instead, you feel your legs buckle and strong arms catch you before everything goes black.

 ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"You keep appearing in unexpected places, and often." Jimin swallows, his heart beginning to race. "Your skin is always covered up. You don't eat or drink anything when I'm around."

He takes a deep breath, knowing you're just a step behind him.

"How old are you?"

You hesitate – just barely – before you reply.

"Twenty-five."

"... How long have you been twenty-five?"

"A few months."

A few months. A few months since he's moved into your apartment complex. A few months since the strange not-quite-ennui and melancholy has begun plaguing him. A few months since you have turned of age to manifest your soulmate connection.

"I know what you are."

He feels your body tense behind him, and a thrill runs down his spine. When you speak, he can feel your breath on his neck.

"Say it."

“Soulma–”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon looks anxiously at the nurse checking your vitals as you lay prone on the hospital bed, wishing he could do more to help.

"I think – I think she might have hit her head," he offers, for the tenth time, thinking about the way you had tried to run away on what the nurse is reasonably certain is a badly sprained ankle. The nurse gives him a tight smile, because one does not simply roll their eyes at the leader of Bangtan Sonyeondan, no matter how many times he's said the same thing.

"We'll check for it," the nurse promises, soothing the tall man. For the time being.

Namjoon chews on his lip as he gazes at you, wondering what your story is, what kind of past would drive you to such strange lengths.

For some reason, he itches to hold your hand, but that would be completely inappropriate from a total stranger. Especially when it could cause dating rumors if anyone gets a glimpse or a picture. His manager is already going to kill him for chasing down an injured girl in broad daylight.

His eyes keep getting drawn back to your face, peaceful in sleep and – dare he say it – quite pretty. Very pretty. Beautiful, even. And you had felt so soft and nice in his arms, warm and –

"Sir, please stay seated while I finish here," comes the nurse's tired voice, and Namjoon realizes he's gotten up and has an arm outstretched to stroke your cheek.

"Uh, sorry," he stutters, face burning as he sits back down. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he feel drawn to this very strange, very lovely girl?

A soft groan tears Namjoon out of his spiraling thoughts, and his gaze shoots to your form as your eyelids flutter open.

"Wha – " you ask blearily, waking up from the weirdest parody dream of the world’s best vampire movie ever. Shifting in your bed, pain contorts your face and you let out a hiss. "Ow!"

Namjoon rushes over, and your mouth drops open when you realize who he is. Before you can react, he's holding your hand in his, and he staggers as something in the universe fundamentally shifts. By your gasp, you're experiencing a similar sensation, and you yank your hand out of his grip before he can get his bearings.

"Your leg seems severely strained," the nurse explains, blissfully unaware of the way the world is tumbling around the both of you. "We'll need to do x-rays to make sure it’s not broken."

"I'll… get a wheelchair…" Namjoon says, in a daze, desperate to be of help even as his mind races to understand what is going on. He stumbles outside of the room, desperately hoping that a moment alone will help him get his thoughts in order and help him find the right questions to ask.

Apparently these are questions he won't receive answers to any time soon, because by the time he's back, the room is empty. The nurse follows after him, and looks around in confusion.

"Where'd she go?" the nurse asks, and Namjoon wishes he knew the answer. Who are you? Why are you so hellbent on getting away from him?

And why does holding your hand feel like home?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

That was too close. Too fucking close.

You pull yourself onto the bus by the railing, ignoring the driver's confused, concerned expression as he takes in your hospital gown and the way you're wincing in pain. You swipe your card, only vaguely aware that everyone behind you can see your rump through the poorly tied flaps of the gown.

It's fine. Your dignity is unimportant compared to the bulletproof boy scout you just dodged.

You drag yourself to a handicapped seat – if there's ever a time you can confidently sit in one, it's now – and fall into it, finding an angle for your leg that gives some sort of relief.

Despite the pain, it's the warm feeling in your hand you can't stop thinking about.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kim Namjoon is at a loss.

Despite searching the entire hospital, the mysterious girl was nowhere to be found, vanishing from the premises as if she were never there. Still, out of personal guilt and liability, Namjoon lingered, offering to settle the missing girl’s hospital expenses, but the charge nurse expertly dismissed his generosity once it became apparent that he did not know you at all. He couldn’t even give them your name, or any proof of relation, and the rest of the staff quickly became tight-lipped around him.

Even Kim Namjoon, the illustrious 148 IQ leader of BTS, can’t argue against health privacy laws.

Since leaving his phone number with the charge nurse – his final, desperate effort – Namjoon has been staring at his phone, waiting for any news about you… news that simply never comes.

That same evening, he walks into the band’s shared dormitory with aplomb.

Single-minded, he heads straight for the living room and picks up the remote control off of the coffee table.

The flatscreen TV goes dark, and Kim Taehyung complains, “Hyung, no! What gives!”

Jungkook cries in offense, shooting up from the sofa, “My vampire baseball scene!”

Namjoon deigns them both with a long-suffering look. “We need to talk, so call the team.”

His assertive voice, usually reserved for critical matters and scolding, makes Taehyung and Jungkook abandon their emotional support movie in favor of gathering the rest of the group.

One by one, the boys pile into the living room from separate parts of the apartment at Namjoon’s behest. Most of them are sporting rumpled clothes and bedheads, save for Jimin, who looked ready to leave for his own place.

Namjoon announces, “There’s something I want to discuss. A… possibility.” He clears his throat. “A girl.”

"That's what you interrupted our movie for?" Taehyung asks, indignant. "A crush?"

Hoseok lets out an immediate sigh of relief. “Is that it?” And then he pauses, scratching at his nape, “Well, me too, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes brighten. “No way, hyungs! Me too!”

When Jin, Jungkook, and Taehyung concede that they've also had a run-in with a very memorable girl recently, a new suspicion blooms in the back of Namjoon's mind.

Could they be talking about the same girl?

Though unlikely, he decides to ask, “Did any of you manage to get her name?”

Jin nods, seriously. “G0d$l@yeR_69.”

Namjoon shoots him another long-suffering look.

Hoseok stays silent, if only because his memories of you are one of the few non-idol centered things he still holds onto. Besides, his girl can’t possibly be their girl, too. The odds of that happening would be astronomical.

It's not so wrong to want to keep one aspect of his life to himself… right?

“Sorry, I… I didn’t get her name,” Jimin lies, for the same reason Hoseok keeps quiet. Besides, even if Jin is interested in you, Jimin's your neighbor! He should get first dibs! He's not going to give up your name so his handsome, charismatic hyung can find you and woo you before Jimin even has a chance to try.

"What's this important meeting about?" asks Min Yoongi, walking into the room with a mug of coffee in hand.

"A girl," Jungkook replies, somewhat dreamily, remembering the guardian angel that saved him that rainy day. Yoongi rolls his eyes and immediately turns around to leave despite Namjoon's protests. He has more important things to do than sit around gossiping, especially since he has a meeting with Samsong tomorrow about their new collaboration.

There's a hubbub behind him, a thump, and a curse from the ungainly leader as Namjoon's prized George Nakashima coffee table claims yet another victim. Yoongi's toe throbs, and he sighs.

"There's a first-aid kit in my room." He calls over his shoulder as he goes. "Knock yourselves out."

Far away, in a clinic near your apartment where your ankle is being put into a brace, you sneeze.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

[bradshawsbaby]

Si Vis Amari Ama

IV. Kissed by Fire

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Author’s Note: This chapter ended up being a beast to write! It’s very Hannix-centered, so that you can have a little bit more context and background regarding Carnifex and Phoenix’s relationship. But fear not, for there are hints of Gallus and Sabina as well, and we’ll be back to our main protagonists in the next chapter!

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit sexual content, slavery in the ancient world, gladiatorial training/combat, discussion of minor injuries, brief language, slight angst, idiots in love, alternating point of view.

She hadn’t meant to get tangled up with him. She really hadn’t. Yet here she was.

Phoenix prided herself on being a rational, intelligent, level-headed woman. Perhaps it was her Greek heritage, or maybe it was the fact that she had learned long ago that the less you said and the more you listened, the better off you would be in this world. Either way, in the years since she had been robbed of her freedom, she had learned to rely on no one but herself, save for a few trusted friends for whom she would gladly lay down her life. She didn’t expose herself to unnecessary dangers, and she didn’t enmesh herself in anything that would make life harder than it already was. She avoided complications at all costs.

Until him.

She hadn’t been able to stand him from the very first day he’d entered the ludus of Atticus Cornelius Juventus. A great champion, Dominus had called him while gloating about his latest acquisition during a dinner party. A mighty warrior. The only gladiator he had ever seen who could give even Gallus a run for his money.

Phoenix knew then who he was speaking of—Carnifex the Gaul. He was the opponent who had given Gallus the scar on his shoulder, the one whom her old friend detested so wholly and complained so bitterly about whenever they were pitted against one another.

She only had to know him for a day before she understood the sentiment.

Carnifex, the man so named because he had somehow managed to survive the hangman’s noose when his village in Gaul was put to Roman flames, was the smuggest man she had ever known. And that was saying something, considering she’d spent the better part of her life catering to the whims and fancies of some of the most spoiled men the Roman Empire had to offer. He was arrogant. Obnoxious. More in love with himself than Narcissus, and quick to throw all his fellow gladiators to the lions if it meant more fame and glory for himself.

He made her blood boil.

And what was worse? He knew it.

Almost from the moment they first met, Carnifex seemed to make it his personal mission to get under her skin as often as he possibly could. Whether it was winking at her from across the training grounds while she was working around the ludus, making disparaging comments about Gallus and the others when he knew she was within earshot, or smirking skeptically when she came to assist Titus with the gladiators’ medical needs, he seemed to know all the ways to make her grow hot with a rage so potent she almost thought it would choke her one day.

“Has he always been so unbearable?” Phoenix huffed in annoyance as she bandaged one of Gallus’ hands one day after a morning training session. Carnifex stood about twenty feet away from them, bragging to the younger, more inexperienced gladiators about his most recent victory.

“Always,” Gallus muttered darkly, frowning in the other gladiator’s direction for a moment before shifting his attention back to her. “Trust me, he hasn’t changed one bit since his arrival here. If anything, he’s only gotten worse. Keep your distance from him, as much as you can.”

Phoenix knew without having to ask what Gallus really meant when he shot her a pointed look. It was no secret among the household slaves that Carnifex was notorious for bedding the prettiest slave girls. And because he was a Pugio, one of Atticus’ champions, he got his pick of the litter. He never lacked for any willing volunteers either. She couldn’t count how many times she’d witnessed giggling, simpering girls tiptoe out of their slave quarters in the middle of the night, only to return a few hours later with hushed, breathless stories of what an incredible lover Carnifex the Gaul was. The others may have listened with bated breath, but Phoenix just covered her ears, shut her eyes, and tried to block them all out.

“After all these years, do you really think so little of me that you suppose I would fall into bed with a man like him?” Phoenix demanded, tying off Gallus’ bandage with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Gallus winced slightly, a chastened expression in his dark eyes as he looked at her. “No,” he replied firmly, and she knew he meant it. “It’s him I’m wary of, not you. I just don’t want him getting any ideas in his head where you’re concerned, thinking that he can—”

“He won’t,” she cut him off, glancing over her shoulder at where Carnifex stood, having moved on from regaling his captive audience with tales of his conquests in the arena to tales of his conquests in bed. She felt the distaste on the back of her tongue like sour milk as she turned back to Gallus. “Trust me, he suffers from no lack of female company in this household.”

Gallus didn’t look so certain, but he let the matter drop.

His rivalry with Carnifex, however, was not as easy to let go of. Even as the months wore on, the two of them couldn’t seem to let go of the deep-seated tension and competition that had marked their relationship for as long as they had known one another. Being members of the same ludus, they no longer competed against one another for the crowds, but within the training arena, it was another matter entirely. Phoenix watched each day as they brutally battered one another, two powerful men refusing to cede the upper hand.

On a few occasions, however, the battering went beyond mere combat training. Brawls weren’t uncommon among gladiators—they were basically an occupational hazard—but between Gallus and Carnifex, they had a tendency to turn ugly and to turn ugly fast.

Atticus greatly frowned upon disorder in his ludus, so whenever a fight broke out between two of his greatest champions, everyone else was quick to step in and stop it. Magnus, Pollux, Felix, Caius, even Titus, were always on call to tear the two of them apart when things got too vicious.

On a few occasions, when she’d been near at hand, even Phoenix had gotten involved. No matter what had happened, or who had done what to whom, she always gave Gallus her attention first.

“Sure, take his side, like you always do,” Carnifex spat one day, nursing what was sure to be a black eye.

She was startled by the heat in his voice. As much as he seemed to love tormenting her, his tone was always teasing and borderline playful. But today, it sounded like there was something akin to anger in it. Hands still resting on Gallus’ shoulders, she turned to look at him and didn’t fail to notice the way his jaw tightened when he looked back at her, his eyes flickering down to her hands and then flitting back up to her face. Something burned in those green eyes of his that she couldn’t quite name.

“Forget it,” he snapped, kicking aside his sword and shield as he pushed past the others and stormed back to his cell.

She cursed herself for not being able to get that encounter out of her head for days afterward. What had upset Carnifex so deeply? Why had he looked at her like that? And why did it seem that his eyes now followed her whenever she was around the ludus, especially when she was talking to Gallus?

He drove her mad. 

Truly. She must have been going mad. That was the only reason she could come up with to explain why such an infuriating, insufferable man as Carnifex the Gaul was taking up more and more space in her head. At night, when the other girls giggled about his smile, she couldn’t help but recall the way it had touched his eyes when he’d turned it on her after his training bout. When they whispered about his muscles, she couldn’t fail to remember the way the sun glistened off his slick skin as he trained, his muscles rippling as he hefted his sword and shield with an ease almost too great to be believed. And when they gossiped about his talents in bed, she burned with an ache that settled deep in the pit of her stomach, pooling between her thighs until she squeezed her eyes shut and forced her traitorous body to go to sleep.

This was Carnifex they were talking about. Cocky, selfish, arrogant Carnifex. She would not allow herself to become another one of his playthings.

Yet each time she was around him, she realized with horror, her defenses seemed to crumble more and more. One afternoon, while she was handing out water to the men, he even managed to coax a smile out of her.

“Look at that,” he whistled softly, taking a satisfied gulp of water. “I finally managed to make the Grecian goddess smile.”

She flushed at his words, mentally kicking herself for it all the while. “I am capable of it, you know,” she shot back, arching a dark eyebrow as she gazed up at him.

“Perhaps, but I’ve never seen it,” he returned evenly, his green eyes sparkling in the midday sun.

“Maybe that’s because you don’t do anything to make me smile,” she offered, rolling her shoulders back and standing up straighter.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath tickling her cheek as he whispered, “Until now.”

She couldn’t help it. She blushed. And he smiled.

Damn him.

He got under her skin and he knew it. He enjoyed it.

From that day on, the two of them danced around each other, sparring with words the same way he and Gallus sparred with swords. And though she would never admit it out loud, Phoenix enjoyed the challenge of matching wits with Carnifex. He kept her on her toes, always pushing back and eliciting her own competitive streak as she strove to outsmart him.

Whenever Pollux or Felix or Caius or Gallus shot them sideways glances, eyebrows raised or silent looks exchanged among them, she always scoffed and brushed it aside. There was absolutely nothing going on between her and Carnifex, and there never would be.

Or so she thought.

She hadn’t intended to be over at the ludus that afternoon, too busy helping to prepare the household for a banquet that Atticus and Aurelia would be hosting in a few days time, but Titus was currently tending to Atticus’ ailing mother and had asked her to look to any injuries the men sustained during their training bouts.

As she approached the small arena where Gallus and Carnifex were training, she could feel the tension pouring off them in waves. They were both sweating and grunting, looking the worse for wear but unwilling to yield or admit defeat.

“Give it up, Gallus,” Carnifex growled through gritted teeth, bringing his sword down sharply against Gallus’ shield. “One of these days, that good fortune of yours is going to run out.”

“Maybe so,” Gallus snarled in return, lunging at Carnifex and aiming his sword at his exposed side. The other man quickly parried, jumping back to avoid the disastrous blow. “But not today.”

Phoenix felt her heart squeeze inside her chest as she watched the two of them go at it, viciously swiping and pouncing at each other. She noticed, with a stab of fear, the way that Gallus was starting to slow down, his breathing growing more labored as he tired out.

Carnifex noticed it, too. Not failing to take this rare opportunity, he lunged forward and expertly knocked Gallus’ sword from his hand, kicking it across the sand so that he would be unable to retrieve it. Smirking, he held his own sword up and aimed it at Gallus’ throat.

Chest heaving, Gallus just stared down his opponent, his shield still strapped to his arm as he realized that there was no way out.

“And so Carnifex the Gaul bests the Barbarian from Britannia,” Carnifex crowed triumphantly, slowly edging closer. He threw his sword and shield down, as they always did at the end of their training matches. “Looks like Rome will get to cheer for another dead Briton.”

Phoenix froze at his words, a feeling of dread sinking into her bones as she looked over at Gallus. Her friend’s eyes darkened in an instant, and she knew that in his mind’s eye, he was seeing his mother and father, and all of his people who had been slaughtered at the hands of Rome. She watched as something inside him twisted and snapped, and then he was on Carnifex in an instant.

“You son of a bitch!” Gallus roared, lunging at the other man and knocking him to the ground with a loud crash, quickly gaining the attention of everyone else on the training grounds, who immediately came running.

Carnifex made an admirable effort to fend off the blows, but Gallus was in another place altogether as he punched and kicked at his rival, landing one harsh hit after another on the other man’s exposed chest and legs.

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking barbarian!” Carnifex thundered, trying to hit back. It was difficult for him to do so, however, considering Gallus had him pinned to the ground. “Get off me!”

“Gallus! Stop!” Pollux exclaimed, he and Caius rushing forward to try to put an end to the violence. Even with the both of them pulling at him, however, Gallus wouldn’t be stopped.

His eyes had clouded over, and Phoenix knew he was in that place, that place deep inside his mind where he retreated during his fights in the Colosseum, when every decision and every move he made meant the difference between life and death.

But this wasn’t a matter of life and death. At least, not for Gallus. But if someone didn’t do something, it might be a matter of life and death for Carnifex.

“Gallus!” Phoenix shouted over the din of the restless crowd of gladiators, pushing them out of the way as she ran towards the fray. “Gallus!” she screamed again, louder this time, crouching down on the ground behind Carnifex’s head, right in front of him. “Stop!”

The sound of her voice seemed to penetrate that dark place inside him because as he looked up at her, blinking slowly, his fists came to a halt. Gasping for air, he gazed down at a bruised and blooded Carnifex, swallowing when he realized the magnitude of what he had done.

Everyone was silent as Gallus rose on unsteady feet, breathing hard and staring at his bloody knuckles. Phoenix saw shame wash over her friend, and she felt a stab of empathy for him, but she continued to kneel beside Carnifex as Gallus looked from the other gladiators, to her, to the man lying on the ground at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly, turning away from all of them without another word as he stumbled towards his cell and slammed the door shut behind him.

“That damn savage,” Carnifex muttered angrily, slowly starting to sit up and wincing as he did so.

Instinctively, Phoenix reached out her hands to support his back, her eyes quickly scanning to assess for injuries, the way Titus had taught her.

Pollux, Caius, and Felix were quiet, even as the other gladiators began murmuring loudly among themselves, questioning aloud what had happened to set Gallus off so tremendously.

“Back to work!” Magnus shouted, corralling all of the less experienced men back to their training. “There’s nothing more for you to see here.”

“You’re hurt,” Phoenix muttered, running her hands over Carnifex’s tender and swollen flesh.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, tensing under her touch.

“You don’t know that,” Phoenix shot back sternly. “Gallus really did a number on you. I have to check you out and make sure you’re okay.”

Normally, she was sure he would have made some ridiculous comment in response to her words, but today, he just looked at her and frowned. “No,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Phoenix told him stubbornly. Two could play at this game. Turning to her friends, she said, “Felix, Caius, can you help me get him to his cell?”

As they stepped forward, however, Carnifex held up a hand and slowly rose to his feet on his own. “I’m not an invalid. I can get there myself.”

“If you see Titus, let him know what happened,” Phoenix called over her shoulder as she began walking with Carnifex, albeit a bit slowly, across the training grounds and towards his cell.

Once they were inside, Phoenix took charge. Tossing her dark braid over her shoulder, she closed the door behind them and ordered, “Sit,” pointing at his bed in the corner of the small room. She’d been in his cell countless times before, to serve him meals or tend to his wounds, but never by herself. She had never been more aware of that bed.

Carnifex frowned again, but did as she said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and spreading his large hands out on his thighs, trying not to think too much about the pain that was throbbing in his limbs.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him in a calm, cool voice, stepping closer to him and carefully examining the discolored marks that would soon be bruises all over his body. “And tell me the truth.”

Swallowing back the lie he’d been about to tell, Carnifex sighed quietly as his green eyes searched her face. “I’m in pain. Mostly in my shoulders and my side,” he admitted, although reluctantly. “I might say a lot of things about Gallus, but the man knows how to throw a proper punch,” he grimaced, wincing as Phoenix pressed down on a particularly tender spot on his chest.

“Sorry,” she murmured, trying to be more gentle as she prodded and poked at him. “You said your side? Here?” she asked, resting her hand on a spot midway down his body.

He shook his head, reaching up and placing his large, calloused hand over hers. “No. Here,” he clarified, taking her hand and moving it downwards, until it rested just above his hip.

Somehow the room, already quite small to begin with, seemed to grow much smaller as the air between them grew heavy.

Clearing her throat, Phoenix carefully ran her fingers over the spot he had indicated, feeling for any swollenness that would indicate an internal injury. Thankfully, she found none.

“Well, luck seems to be on your side,” she murmured, glancing up and realizing with a slight start that his face was much closer to hers than she had first thought. “No broken bones and no deep damage, from what I can tell, though I’ll make sure to let Titus know to check you out. You’ll just be sore and have some serious bruising, but nothing you’re not used to.”

He was quiet for a few moments, absorbing her words as he continued to stare at her. “Why are you helping me?” he finally questioned.

“What do you mean?” Phoenix asked, taken aback. “That’s what I do. It’s one of my jobs.”

“You know what I mean,” he said in a low voice, which made her lean in even closer to be able to hear him. “This isn’t an injury I sustained from training. It’s because of a stupid fight I got into with Gallus. And you always take Gallus’ side when we fight. So why are you here, and not with him?”

“Gallus will be fine,” Phoenix murmured. She didn’t want to point out the obvious, but he had fared much better in this fight than Carnifex had. “You were the one who bore the brunt of it.”

“Which was my fault, right? Because of what I said? I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, his green eyes boring into her brown ones.

Phoenix took a breath, trying to organize her jumbled thoughts. “What you said—it wasn’t kind, but Gallus shouldn’t have reacted the way he did. I know why he did, but he shouldn’t have. He could have really hurt you.”

“He would have, if you hadn’t stopped him,” Carnifex pointed out, his expression indecipherable. “He listens to you.”

“We’re friends,” Phoenix said, as if that explained everything. “But just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I can’t admit when he’s done something he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have hurt you like that. But you shouldn’t have said what you said either. Gallus has known more pain than you can imagine.”

“I have known pain, too,” he replied sharply, a trace of bitterness creeping into his tone that she had never heard before.

“I know,” she whispered. “As have I. As have we all. You and Gallus have far more in common than you know, if you would just put aside this petty rivalry.”

Carnifex just waved his hand and turned his face away from her, staring at the wall.

Sighing, Phoenix went to take a step back, but suddenly Carnifex’s head was whipping back around again, his eyes trained on her.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, looking oddly bereft at the thought.

Her mouth felt dry as she looked back at him. “Is there some reason I should stay?”

He didn’t say anything in response to that, just wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist and tugged her towards him until their chests were pressed flush together. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze flickered down to her lips. And then he kissed her. With one hand still wrapped around her wrist and the other cradling the back of her head, he kissed her with a hunger and an urgency that she could feel radiating through her body.

But before she could even process exactly what was happening, and what it was making her feel, he pulled back and released her, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have done that. I—”

She cut off his excuses as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her fingers raking through his hair, the hair that reminded her of the sandy beaches of home. It took only a second before she felt his arms snaking around her waist, holding her tightly as their mouths melded together, desperate for a taste of the other.

As the kiss deepened, he reached up and buried his fingers in her thick braid, tugging fiercely at it until her beautiful dark hair came loose, cascading down her back. She let out a soft moan at the feel of it, and that sound alone seemed to unlock something feral in them both.

Rising from his bed, Carnifex wrapped his arms more tightly around her small body, pressing her to his chest as the two of them stumbled backwards in a lust-fueled frenzy, grasping at each other as they fell back against the wall on the other side of the room. Another moan of pleasure slipped from Phoenix’s lips as she felt the rough stone against her back, Carnifex’s thick fingers buried in her hair as his kisses began trailing from her lips, across her jaw, and down her neck.

“Phoenix,” Carnifex gasped, peppering her skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses. “Oh, Phoenix,” he groaned, running his hands up and down her body as she gripped his hair and brought his lips crashing back down onto hers. “Been dying to taste you for so long,” he panted against her mouth, nipping at her chin as she angled her face upwards.

“And?” Phoenix murmured, her brain fuzzy with wanting as she trailed a hand down his naked chest. “Was it worth the wait?”

He chuckled despite himself, despite the circumstances. “Yes,” he nodded, lifting a hand to her face and brushing his thumb over her lips. “Most definitely yes. Need to taste more of you,” he moaned, latching onto her throat and sucking softly.

“More,” Phoenix echoed breathlessly, her eyes fluttering as her entire body pulsated with desire. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was crazy. She should leave before they crossed any more boundaries than they already had. But though the rational part of her knew that that was what would be best, she couldn’t force herself to do it. She couldn’t force herself to leave.

“More,” Carnifex whispered, his mouth covering hers as his hands slid up and began gently massaging her breasts through her thin tunic. He kneaded and caressed until her nipples hardened to sharp buds, standing out distinctly against the fabric that covered her. Pulling back just enough to look down and meet her eyes, he raised his eyebrows in silent question.

“Yes,” she moaned in reply, nodding her head slowly. “Yes.”

In an instant, his hands were on the knots at her shoulders, untying them with deft fingers, while she quickly discarded the cord around her waist. With just a gentle push, he sent her tunic pooling to the floor at her feet.

Naked and exposed, she stood before him and watched as he took the full measure of her. His eyes glowed with appreciation and she felt herself grow flushed under his scrutiny.

“You really are a goddess,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching up to cup her bare breasts in his hands. A shiver ran down her spine as he brushed his thumbs over her aching nipples. Eyes still on her, he lowered down slightly so that he could take one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the bud as he hummed softly.

Her breath hitched in pleasure and she reached up to rest one hand on the back of his head, her other bracing against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut as he continued to suckle gently, releasing her breast with a wet pop before moving to the other one. He repeated the process once more, eliciting soft mewls of arousal from her. She could feel herself growing slick with desire for him, a fire kindling deep inside her belly.

Grasping her hips in both hands, Carnifex slowly lowered down to his knees, kissing his way down her stomach and nipping lightly at her smooth skin. She hoped he couldn’t feel the way she trembled beneath his touch, the way her entire body quivered with delight at every kiss.

When she felt his hot breath between her legs, her hips bucked slightly and she let out a strangled gasp, immediately opening her eyes and looking downwards.

“Carnifex, what are you—?”

“Sh,” he murmured, pressing lazy kisses to the front of her thighs. “I wanted to taste you, remember?”

At any other time, she would have been mortified by the moan that escaped her lips at his words, but at that moment, she was too far gone to care. Reaching down and burying her fingers in his hair, she let out a short gasp of surprise when he lifted one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder, supporting her with a hand still on her waist.

“I’ve got you,” he winked, turning his head and smothering her inner thigh with slow, sensual kisses that already had her seeing stars. How would she possibly survive what else he had in store? Heart pounding inside her chest, she watched as his kisses began to trail inward, closer and closer to her center, to the place where her body was crying out with need for him.

When he finally reached the thatch of dark curls between her legs, he reached up with an almost breathless reverence and parted her with his fingers, prompting a small cry to fall from her lips. “Fuck, look at you,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as he slowly trailed a finger downwards. “Already so wet for me.”

“No games,” she gasped out, fighting the urge to press his face between her thighs. “Just….just…oh,” she moaned, her knees going weak when he began tracing the tip of his finger around the tiny bud at her center, the one that made it hard to think or move or breathe when he was touching it like that.

“Just what?” he asked, looking up at her with faux innocence as he pressed a kiss between her legs. “Hm?”

“Just keep doing that,” Phoenix sighed, her head falling backward against the wall. She reached up to run her hands over her breasts, overwhelmed by the sensations suddenly overtaking her body.

“Whatever you say,” he smirked, suddenly leaning forward and diving facefirst, his tongue tracing a trail up and down her soaked opening. Spurred on by her cries of pleasure, he wrapped his lips around her bud and sucked, feeling a surge of triumph when she began tugging on his hair and babbling out his name. Feeling that she was close, he gripped her thigh more tightly and teased her entrance with two fingers, coating them with her slick before slowly easing them inside her tight walls.

“Carnifex!” Phoenix practically screamed, biting down roughly on her lower lip to keep from being overheard. She felt so full, his large fingers stroking her walls as his tongue worked over the source of the most exquisite pleasure she had ever experienced. Unable to stop herself, she pressed her hand against the back of his head and began grinding herself against his face, chasing the high that he was giving her.

“That’s it. That’s my girl,” he praised her, lapping up her wetness like a starving man. “You’re so close, I can feel it. Just let go. Let go,” he encouraged her, squeezing her thigh and increasing the speed of his fingers.

“I—I—I’m—oh, oh, oh!” Phoenix gasped, the fire inside her belly building and building and building until it felt that surely she would be consumed by the flames. But she wasn’t. Instead, that burning sensation came to a feverish crescendo, and then suddenly there were white spots floating in her vision as her body rode out the waves of pleasure that crashed through her, making it impossible to catch her breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, do you know that?” Carnifex almost growled, rising and lifting her into his arms. She was glad for it, because she was suddenly certain she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own. He kissed her then, despite the fact that his mouth and chin were drenched with her nectar, and she found, surprisingly, that she wasn’t at all offended by the taste of herself on his lips.

He laid her down on his bed, and when she looked up at him, she could see his arousal clear as day in the front of the short tunic he wore wrapped around his waist. Sitting up on her knees, she crawled towards the edge of the bed and reached for his waistband, looking up into his eyes.

“Seems unfair that I should be the only one undressed here,” she told him, undoing his belt and pushing his tunic down to the floor, followed by the small cloth he wore for modesty while he was training.

He now stood before her, as naked as she was, and it was her turn to look him over with appreciation. She had known that he had a good body, of course, from watching him train and patching him up. And she’d heard from the girls in the slave quarters that his other assets were more than adequate as well. Apparently, for once, they hadn’t been exaggerating.

“Like what you see?” Carnifex asked with a small smirk, noting the way her eyes widened when she took in the size of his hardened length.

“Very much so,” Phoenix nodded, licking her lips as she felt her desire ratchet up once more. Not wanting to feed his already inflated ego too much, however, she quickly added, “But don’t let it go to your head, gladiator.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her smugly as he pressed her down onto his small bed, clearly designed with only one occupant in mind, and mounted her.

If her body wasn’t craving this forbidden pleasure so badly, she would have been more than happy to smack that self-satisfied look right off his face. But as it was, his lips landed on hers once more and she was able to concentrate on nothing beyond the feel of his bare skin pressed against hers.

Moaning softly into his mouth, she hooked one leg around his waist and buried her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers danced across her skin, tracing the contours of her body with a grip that was shockingly gentle, but which hinted at the power and strength that lay beneath the surface. She shivered at the thought of those rough hands, those hands that had ended the lives of so many nameless, faceless opponents, digging into her skin and marking her flesh—marking her as his.

His kisses were everything and nothing like she thought they would be, all at the same time. He kissed her with a bruising intensity, sucking and nipping at her lips as though he wanted her to know that she was his and his alone. Yet at the same time, his tongue was soothing and gentle, tracing the seam of her mouth with an almost painful tenderness. His kisses tasted sweeter than honey and finer than even the best wine their masters served at their fancy banquets.

If a girl wasn’t careful, she could get addicted to those kisses.

Groaning under his breath, Carnifex began muttering to himself as he ground his hips against her, his stiff, pulsing length burning her skin as it rubbed against her thigh. It took her a moment to become conscious of the fact that she didn’t understand the language he was speaking. It must have been the language of his people.

“What are you saying?” she asked, curious despite herself as their mingled pants and moans filled the air.

“Just how fucking crazy you make me,” he confessed, burying his face in the crook between her neck and her shoulder. As he began peppering her shoulder and collarbone with searing kisses, his hand slid down between their bodies, finding the apex of her pleasure once again and rubbing it slowly.

“I like it,” she whispered, running one hand over the planes of his handsome face, her back arching up off the bed as he stoked the fire inside her. “Your language.”

“The Romans find it savage,” he grunted, dipping a finger inside her while he nipped at her jaw.

“I’m not Roman,” she said firmly, spreading her legs wider beneath him and biting down on her lower lip as she felt that burning sensation filling her body all over again.

“No,” he replied, resting his forehead against hers, their noses bumping together as they stared into each other’s eyes. “You’re not.”

Wordlessly, Phoenix reached between their bodies and wrapped her hand around him, drawing a sharp hiss from deep inside his chest. She stroked him softly, feeling how rigid he was with need. Need for her. In that moment, he longed for her just as much as she longed for him. Something about that realization caused a chasm of yearning to open up inside her chest.

Still grasping him firmly in her hand, she drew him closer to her entrance and then released him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to kiss him once more. He hissed again, but this time it was in pain. Pulling back, she realized with a wince that she had pressed down on one of the tender spots from Gallus’ beating.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, heat rising to her cheeks. “Would you rather we didn’t—”

“Phoenix,” he cut her off, silencing her with a finger to her lips. “The gods themselves could not keep me from you right now.”

He smothered any further arguments she might have tried to make with a heated kiss, cradling her face in one hand as he lined himself up to her entrance with the other. For all their frenzied passion, he took his time about it, teasing her soaked folds with the tip of his length until she finally let out a small grunt of frustration.

“So impatient,” he smirked, slowly pushing himself into her, just an inch or so.

“Oh,” Phoenix moaned, fisting his roughspun blanket in her hands as he gripped her hips, watching himself sink further and further inside her, the both of them gasping at the sensation.

“Fuck,” he grunted once he was fully seated inside her, stilling his hips for a moment and just gazing down at her.

“Don’t stop now,” she told him in a breathless voice, reaching up to trail one hand down his chest and stomach. “Please.”

That little beg was all the encouragement he needed. Resting his hands on either side of her head, caging her within his grasp, he began to rock his hips against hers, her gasps and moans of ecstasy spurring him on until he was pistoning inside her, the sound of his naked body slapping against hers filling the small cell.

“Fuck, fuck, yes!” Phoenix cried out, her dark eyes screwing shut as she clung to him, her nails biting into the thickened flesh of his back, hardened from years of enduring the whip. “Yes, yes, yes, keep going!”

Grasping her jaw in one hand, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers, and told her, “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me. I want to see you when you fall apart for me.”

Her eyes flew open instantly at his words, her pupils blown wide with lust and desire as she gazed up at him, seeing the same feelings reflected in his green irises. She knew she must be close to falling over the edge once more, for she could feel that same all-consuming fire burning in her lower belly, causing her legs to tremble and her breathing to become more shallow.

“Carn—Carnifex,” she groaned, digging her nails into his shoulders while her hips continued to thrust upward, aligning herself with his unforgiving pace as he chased her to higher and higher heights of pleasures. Aphrodite herself would envy her, she was sure of it.

“I know, I know,” Carnifex panted, letting his body drop down on top of hers and pressing his face into her neck. “I can feel you. Oh, you’re so tight. Let go. I want to feel you let go,” he whispered, sucking at the pulse point just beneath her ear.

She was right on the edge, dancing dangerously close to the precipice of no return. Her skin burned with a white-hot fire that he had started inside her, a fire that only he could extinguish. Somewhere in the hazy back of her mind, she couldn’t believe she was here, couldn’t believe she was in the arms of this man who had been the bane of her existence since she first laid eyes on him. And yet, somehow being here also felt so right. Her body felt so alive, every part of her tingling with a newness and a vibrancy that she didn’t understand, but never wanted to let go of.

Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him down to her as she fell apart, her entire body quaking as the flames engulfed her, consuming every part of her until she felt like nothing more than ash and bone. She lay back in exhaustion, her chest heaving and sweat dripping down her body, not a single coherent thought in her head.

She only became aware that he had pulled out of her when she felt a strange emptiness between her legs, a soft, unconscious whimper escaping her lips at the loss.

“I’m here,” Carnifex told her, groaning as he pumped himself above her. “I’m right here.” Sweat poured down his chest, his skin flushed and hot to the touch as he reached his own finish, his seed spilling forth and landing on her stomach. Spent, he collapsed down beside her with a low grunt, struggling to catch his breath just as she had.

They lay side by side like that for several minutes, neither of them saying anything. As they slowly came down from their high, the magnitude of what had just transpired between them sunk in and the air in the room shifted.

Carnifex suddenly reached for her, opening his mouth to speak. “Phoenix, I—”

“I have to go,” Phoenix told him quickly, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of his bed. “They’ll be wondering where I’ve gone. Aurelia is probably looking for me.”

“Phoenix,” Carnifex said again, gripping her arm and sitting up beside her. “Please don’t just—”

“I have to,” she insisted, hurrying to grab a rag in the corner of the room and clean herself up. Without looking at him, she combed her fingers through her tangled locks and, fast as lightning, rebraided her hair, reaching for her discarded tunic and pulling it over her head. She’d gotten used to preparing herself quickly over the years, and within a couple minutes she already had her tunic knotted at the shoulders and the cord wrapped around her waist like before.

Stepping towards the door, she knew she should have walked through it without a backwards glance, but she couldn’t do it. Freezing in place, she turned and looked over shoulder, meeting his eye. He was still sitting on the edge of his bed, watching her. He hadn’t moved to clean himself up or get dressed. His eyes were simply fixed on her.

“We shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t say that,” he rasped, what looked to be pain flashing in his eyes. But maybe it was just a trick of the light. “Please don’t say that.”

“I have to go, Carnifex,” Phoenix murmured, regret coloring her voice. But what it was she was regretting, she couldn’t be sure. Was it falling into bed with him? Or was it the fact that she had caused that wounded expression on his face?

He didn’t say anything in response, just stared at her with those big green eyes until she finally turned away from him and slipped out of his cell, shutting the door firmly behind her.

If only she could shut the door on what had happened between them so easily.

But even as the thought entered her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. She would never be able to erase what had just happened, and the reality was, she didn’t want to.

She had never meant to get tangled up with him, but now she had.

And there was no going back.

He had never meant to fall in love with her. He really hadn’t. Yet here he was.

He should have known from the moment he first laid eyes on her that she would be trouble. She was the most infuriating, difficult, stubborn woman he had ever met. She was also the most beautiful, with those big brown eyes and that dark hair that reminded him of the wings of the ravens that used to nest in his village back in Gaul.

She didn’t like him. He could tell that right from the start. Those pretty eyes of hers always narrowed whenever he was around, her mouth, with those lips that he wanted to taste more than anything, puckered like she had just eaten something sour. She was always by Gallus’ side, so no doubt he had poisoned her against him.

And yet, despite the obvious disdain she felt for him, he constantly found himself caught in her orbit, like a moth drawn to a flame. She might not have offered him smiles or flirtatious giggles like the other slave girls in the household, but he found that the more she pushed him away, the more he desired to be by her side. She might have been infuriating and difficult and stubborn, but she was also witty and cunning and sharp. Every time she lashed him with her tongue, or put him in his place with her quick words, he found himself even more enamored with her.

He ached with need for her, particularly in the moments when she tended his broken body with those skilled, agile hands of hers. Of course the old medicus had chosen her to be his assistant in the ludus. There was no one more capable or intelligent.

There was no one he wanted more.

But she loathed him. She made that clear whenever she was in his presence. And so he chased his pleasure elsewhere, sought to satiate that ache that rested deep within his bones by bedding every simpering slave girl who batted her eyelashes in his direction. They adored him, praised him, coddled him, and begged to be his forever.

But they weren’t her.

Even he had enough shame left within him to feel disgusted with himself on the nights when he closed his eyes and pretended that the girl twisting and moaning beneath him was her. He’d turn his back when he was finished, disappointed when he opened his eyes to find it wasn’t her, and ashamed of himself for thinking it could ever be otherwise.

They never seemed to mind, the endless stream of women who came to his bed. To them, it was enough to have been bedded, even once, by Carnifex the Gaul. That was all he was to them. That was all he was to just about everybody.

He wanted to be more. He wanted to be more to her.

He hated himself for feeling the way that he did. Feelings like this, especially for a woman who couldn’t even stand the sight of him, were dangerous. Love made men weak, and he couldn’t afford to be weak, not when his very life depended on being the best of the best in the arena.

She was a distraction.

She was a stumbling block.

She was a thorn in his side.

She was everything he had ever wanted.

And just when he had been convinced that she was everything he would never have, somehow, by some miraculous intervention of the gods, she had ended up in his arms. In his bed. And for the first time, he didn’t have to close his eyes and pretend, imagining what her body would feel like or what her lips would taste like.

She was real.

She was there.

She was his.

At least, for that brief moment in time. But it wasn’t enough. No amount of time with her would ever be enough, not unless it was eternity.

She dodged him for days afterward, pointedly avoiding his gaze whenever she was working around the ludus, and conveniently finding ways to get around having to tend to his injuries after his training sessions.

It drove him mad.

She drove him mad.

Finally, just when he thought he couldn’t possibly stand it any longer, he managed to catch her while she was on her own, leaving the bathhouse after delivering fresh linens.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded, cutting straight to the chase as he snagged her around the waist and tugged her into a private alcove.

She looked startled, uneasy, her dark eyes shifting nervously back and forth, as if expecting some hidden figure to jump from the shadows. Not wanting to cause her such anxiety, he let go of her waist, but continued to stand in front of her, blocking her exit for the time being.

“I haven’t,” she lied, shifting back and forth as she blatantly refused to meet his eye. Even she couldn’t possibly believe the words that had just come out of her mouth.

“Phoenix,” Carnifex breathed out, leaning in closer, the tip of his nose bumping against hers as he angled his head downward. He knew the longing was evident in his voice, but he didn’t care.

“Carnifex, we shouldn’t,” she told him in a hushed voice, her breath catching in her throat as he reached up to cup her jaw, his rough thumb brushing against her skin.

“But we did,” he countered, his lips hovering above hers, waiting for her to push him away. When she didn’t, he closed the gap between them, slotting his mouth over hers and kissing her slowly, gently.

“This is foolish,” she rasped when they finally broke apart, her dark eyes turned upward to meet his gaze. “Someone could see.”

“So let them see,” he insisted, cradling her face in his hands and leaning in to kiss her again.

“No,” Phoenix shook her head in frustration, pushing him back. “No, it’s a terrible idea.”

“I want you,” he confessed, keeping a distance between them so as not to upset her further. What he felt for her went so much deeper than mere wanting, but he knew he couldn’t tell her that. Still, he had to try to make her understand. “And I know you want me, too.”

He counted it a victory that she didn’t deny his words outright.

“What does that matter?” she snapped, crossing her arms firmly over her chest and turning her head to look away from him.

“It matters,” he said firmly, taking one small step closer to her. “It matters because Rome has taken everything from us for her own pleasure. We deserve a little pleasure of our own, don’t you think?” he murmured, running one finger down her bare arm. He didn’t fail to notice the way it made her shiver, though she tried to mask it. Resting one hand on the wall behind her head, he ducked his head low and whispered against her ear, “I know I gave you pleasure.”

“What do you want from me, Carnifex?” Phoenix demanded, something catching in her voice as she tilted her head to look at him. It was the first time he had ever caught that look in her eye, that hint of sadness and brokenness that he had seen in the faces of so many others. He didn’t want to see it in her.

“I want you. Just you and nothing else,” he said simply, twisting a loose lock of her dark hair around his finger. “Whenever you’re able, come to me. Let’s find what pleasure we can, in whatever time the gods may grant us.”

“I won’t be your whore,” she told him sharply, recoiling from his touch. “I’m not your plaything that you can command to come and go.”

“Don’t you ever call yourself that,” he retorted, his voice just as sharp, his green eyes flashing. “You are not…I would never…” He took a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “You’re free to come and go as you wish, whenever it pleases you. I would not hold you to anything.”

Phoenix swallowed, gazing downward for a moment as she seemed to contemplate his proposition. After several beats of silence, she lifted her head and raised one dark eyebrow. “It would be for pleasure and nothing more?”

By the gods, how he wanted so much more with her. But how could he ever expect that, with the lives they led? So swallowing past the lump in his throat, he merely nodded. “For pleasure and nothing more.”

She was quiet again, but this time she kept her eyes on him as she cocked her head to the side, thinking. Finally, she spoke.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” he repeated, eyes widening slightly. He was shocked she had actually agreed.

“But don’t expect me to always be available at your beck and call, gladiator,” she insisted firmly, poking him in the chest. “It’ll be when I’m good and ready.”

Carnifex couldn’t help but smirk at her words, a satisfied expression slipping onto his face. “How about tonight?”

“We’ll see.”

But she did come to him that night. And for many more nights that week. And then the week after that. And the next one after that, until eventually months had passed.

“We can’t tell anyone about this,” she panted one night as she rode atop him, her nails digging into his chest as he lay with his hands behind his head and admired her beauty. “It’s safer that way. For everyone.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t mean from time to time he desperately wanted to shout from the rooftops that the most beautiful woman in all of the Roman Empire spent the majority of her evenings in his bed.

Especially when the others questioned him about the scratches on his back or the love bites on his chest.

“You need to keep it down at night, my friend,” Caius complained during one morning training session. He had the misfortune, as he often called it, of occupying the cell directly next to Carnifex’s. “Some of us actually try to get some sleep. Who was that girl you had in there last night anyway? The two of you could have woken the dead.”

Carnifex just smirked in response, though his eyes couldn’t help but slip towards Phoenix, who was hanging freshly washed tunics just a few feet away. He could tell from the ruddiness of her complexion that she had heard Caius loud and clear.

She made sure to keep her voice down that night, much to his amusement.

He loved each and every moment that she spent in his arms, but he hated what came afterwards. Even after months of their secret arrangement, she still refused to stay with him during the night, always grabbing her tunic and fleeing his cell as soon as the deed was done.

“Why won’t you stay with me?” he asked her one night, her body still pinned beneath his as he pressed lazy kisses to her neck and shoulder.

“You know I can’t,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “I can’t be caught in here with you, and it would be too suspicious if I spent the whole night away from the slave quarters.”

Damn her and her rational mind.

“Then stay with me just a little while,” he insisted, pecking the corner of her mouth. “Don’t run off as soon as it’s over.”

“Why?” she asked quietly, running her fingers through his hair absent-mindedly. He loved it when she did that.

Knowing he couldn’t give her an answer that wouldn’t scare her off and send her running for the hills, he simply shrugged, allowing that smug, overly confident mask to slip into place. “You help keep the bed warm.”

She seemed aggravated by his response, but he noticed that after that night, she wasn’t as quick to get up and go, sometimes lingering for up to an hour or more after they finished.

Tonight, she seemed more exhausted than usual, curling up against his chest and closing her eyes as he traced his fingers up and down her spine, enjoying the feel of her heart beating in tandem with his.

“You seem tired,” he voiced his observation out loud, glancing down at her and brushing some of her dark hair out of her face.

“I am,” she admitted, fighting back a yawn as she swirled her finger around his chest in lazy patterns. “Aurelia’s been working us like dogs lately. Except, I think she might actually treat dogs better than she treats us. Stupid bitch,” she muttered darkly, her hand stilling as her body tensed with resentment.

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging her gently until she looked up at him. His brow furrowed in concern, noting the dark circles under her eyes. He should have been paying more attention. How had he failed to notice them? He knew there was no love lost between Phoenix and their domina, but her voice held a particular trace of venom this evening. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing,” she deflected quickly, then let out a heavy sigh. “It’s just…she treats Sabina so badly. And it makes me so angry. She’s the last person on earth who deserves it, and I just want to be able to protect her.”

Carnifex hadn’t failed to notice how much you had come to mean to Phoenix since your arrival in the household a few months prior. He had never seen Phoenix interact with any of the other slave girls until you came along, and now you two seemed as close as sisters. And though he didn’t yet know you very well, from all the interactions he’d had with you thus far, he could at least say that he understood the impulse to look out for you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured sincerely, stroking her back with a comforting hand. “I know how much Sabina means to you, and how much you already can’t stand Aurelia to begin with,” he added with a grimace. Was there anybody in the household who could stand Aurelia? He doubted even Atticus could.

Phoenix sighed again, rubbing at her eyes and sitting up slowly. “Speaking of Sabina, I should get going before she starts to worry. I promised her I wouldn’t be gone long.”

“Where does she think you go at night?” he asked curiously, reluctant to let her go.

Though their tryst had started before you had even entered the household, and though you and Phoenix had become as thick as thieves since your arrival, she maintained that she didn’t want to burden you with the responsibility of knowing what was going on between her and the infamous Gallic gladiator.

“It’s better that no one knows, Carnifex,” she often told him, whenever he insinuated that their closest friends might be piecing things together. “That way they won’t have to be responsible for lying for us, if it comes to that. Besides, it’s just sex, right? Why does anyone need to know?”

He pretended that those words didn’t cut him to the core.

Sitting up in his bed, Phoenix twisted her dark hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and glanced down at him. “Sabina is a smart girl. She doesn’t ask too many questions. And she knows I help Hrodebert with the accounts sometimes. I just let her believe that’s where I’m going,” she explained. “But I know she worries about me, and that it’s hard for her to sleep until I get back, so I have to go.”

“Gallus cares for her,” Carnifex said suddenly. He wasn’t sure why he said it, to be honest. It wasn’t his business, and Gallus’ love life was none of his concern, but perhaps he hoped it would keep Phoenix in his arms just a few moments longer.

She stilled at his words, leaning back for a moment as he draped an arm around her shoulders. “What makes you say so?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she looked over at him.

“Is having eyes in my head not good enough?” he chuckled, running his hand up and down her bare side. “His eyes follow her everywhere she goes, at least whenever she’s in the ludus. Though I’m sure he wishes he could watch over her in the villa as well. He already made us promise that we’d ensure no harm comes to her.”

“He asked Hrodebert and I to do the same,” Phoenix nodded, recalling the worry that brimmed in her old friend’s eyes when he’d made the request. “I have to say, I’ve known Gallus a long time and I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s like she’s unlocked something inside him. He’s quite attached to her.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so concerned for another person before,” Carnifex agreed, though he frowned slightly as he looked at her. “Except maybe you.” His voice was edged with jealousy as he spoke the words aloud.

As if he hadn’t disliked Gallus, his old rival, enough when he’d first arrived at the ludus, he’d been even more frustrated to see the bond that he and Phoenix shared, a closeness that he could only dream of having with her.

“There’s nothing between me and Gallus,” she told him firmly, placing a hand on the center of his chest as she looked deeply into his eyes. “Nothing except the love borne between a brother and sister, between two people who have survived the worst together. We’ve known each other a long time and we look out for one another, Carnifex. That is all.”

When he didn’t respond, just shifted his gaze moodily, she leaned forward and pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips. When she finally pulled back, she couldn’t help but smirk a little bit. “And as you’ve already so astutely pointed out, he seems to have eyes for no one but Sabina.”

Just as Carnifex only had eyes for Phoenix.

She frequently teased him about how the other girls grumbled in their quarters at night, complaining that he no longer called for any of them the way he used to. It hung unspoken in the air between them, the implication that he now only sought her company in his bed, and what that meant.

“I have to go,” Phoenix whispered, kissing him one last time as she slipped out of his bed and reached for her tunic. “Get some sleep. Magnus has been working you all extra hard lately.”

“Be careful,” he murmured, climbing out of bed as well and wrapping his tunic around his waist as he walked her to the door of his cell. Touching her cheek lightly, he couldn’t resist the urge to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I will,” she promised softly, squeezing his hand once before she was gone.

She took a piece of his heart with her, every time she left.

Tiptoeing on quiet feet, Phoenix checked her surroundings to make sure no one was in sight before slipping across the training grounds, trusting the darkness of the night to shield her from anyone who might have been observing from a distance.

Once she was beyond the gate of the ludus and within the confines of the main villa, she breathed a little easier, knowing she would be able to come up with a simple enough excuse should anyone catch her out of the slave quarters.

What she hadn’t been expecting, however, was for Hrodebert to suddenly appear before her, candle in hand as he stepped out of the office where he did most of his accounting work.

Gasping, she slapped a hand over mouth, her heart jumping into her throat as she stopped short in the hallway.

“Phoenix?” Hrodebert asked in surprise, lifting up his candle to better see her face. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion and from his rapid blinks, she could tell they must have been aching from hours spent reviewing numbers and accounts. “What are you doing out here?” he questioned, raising his candle further and glancing over her shoulder.

“Oh, nothing, I just needed to return some things to the kitchen before I went to sleep,” she fibbed, biting down on her lower lip. It would have been easy to lie to a random slave or steward. It was much harder to do so to Hrodebert, who had been one of her closest friends for years now.

“At this hour?” he countered, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He glanced over her shoulder once more, then lowered his voice significantly. “You wouldn’t be coming from the direction of the ludus, would you?”

Her heart sank like a stone inside her chest as her eyes widened. “How did you—?”

“We’ve known each other a long time, Phoenix. I know you better than you might think,” Hrodebert said softly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But you need to be careful with him.”

Much to her surprise, Phoenix felt a surge of protectiveness course through her at her friend’s words. “He’s not as terrible as some people think he is, you know. He wouldn’t intentionally try to—”

“I’m not warning you about Carnifex,” Hrodebert interrupted, prompting another shocked look from her.

“I never said that it was—”

“You didn’t have to,” he told her, a small smile playing on his lips. “My eyesight might be poor, but I’m not completely blind, you know.”

She blushed deeply at his words, wondering if anyone else had figured out what she and Carnifex had been up to. “But if not Carnifex, who—?”

“Aurelia,” Hrodebert whispered in hushed tones, glancing over both his shoulders. “You know what she’ll do if she finds out he’s attached himself to you. You need to be very careful, Phoenix. Please.”

She could hear the worry in his voice, and it made her stomach drop.

“Don’t worry, Hrodebert. I’m always careful,” she assured him, reaching out to pat his arm. “Go get some sleep. I promise I’ll come help with the accounts tomorrow night.”

“Good night, Phoenix,” he nodded, heading in the opposite direction toward the male slave quarters.

A few moments later, when Phoenix finally laid back down beside you, thankful to find that you had already fallen asleep, she tried to shut her eyes and shake away the sense of foreboding that Hrodebert’s warning had cast upon her.

He was right, and she knew it. What Carnifex and her had, whatever it might be, was dangerous. She had known it from the start, and she had been foolish to allow herself to become complacent. She needed to talk to him, needed to let him know that her visits to his cell would have to become less frequent. They couldn’t run the risk of Aurelia finding out and ruining both their lives.

Months ago, Carnifex had told her that they should try to snatch moments of pleasure when they could, that they deserved it. But had she not been a prisoner of Rome long enough to know that that could never really be possible?

She and Carnifex stood no real chance at happiness, and she needed to accept that.

Fighting back the tears that suddenly threatened to engulf her, Phoenix wrapped her arms around you and fell into a fitful slumber, promising herself before sleep finally claimed her that she would do whatever she had to do to protect those she cared about most.

[happilychaengs]

love isn't enough

a/n: this is a repost bc i wanted to add more but you know me ‼️ writer's block and all that so it might just be kinda bad bc it's just been sitting in my drafts. also lmk if i missed a name bc i wrote this for sana originally

jihyo x gender neutral reader

angst

love is a fickle thing.

it's not the classic fairy tale sappiness nor is it the unbreakable bond people make it out to be in the movies. in reality, it's malleable. it's a sick and twisted thing, almost always used to hurt you. and maybe you don't notice it yet, but you will and when you do, it will tear your heart in two. it'll tear you piece by piece until all that's left is your cracked and broken psyche, afraid to love again. afraid to open up. afraid to be vulnerable.

and you know because that's what jihyo did to you.

it began with the promise of forever. with the stars by your side, and her hands interlocked with yours. they seemed to never let go, like she couldn't even imagine it. it was a distant, far-off thought that she couldn't possibly think of no matter what she did because then and only then, was she simply and truly in love with you.

you imagined it so when you stared in her eyes, the feelings she had for you so potent, you could almost see it bubble and rise up to the top. she kissed you then, and it was the only thing you could think of.

i'm only yours, she said and you believed it. because it was the truth but you should've known it wouldn't last. her love was already beginning to break. you weren't capable of keeping its shape.

her love began to twist, warping into whatever fit her narrative. the narrative of you and her. the narrative of why she was out for hours on end. the narrative of who the other girl was. just a friend, she would say.

but that's not to say she was the only one at fault because somewhere within you, you knew that whatever you felt was truly already broken. you just hadn't come to terms with it yet.

your love began distorting into the perfect mold for her. one that was so easily breakable and fixable again. one that jihyo could mold to her needs.

you love me, right? she would ask. and it's an attrocious word. love. it's a word that holds so much meaning over you and yet none at all when she leaves you alone in the night. she could've used that word with anyone else when she's laying in their bed, in their clothes, and whispering their name. and yet she can say she loves you the same.

it's disgusting and it's ironic.

you don't know why you didn't bring it up sooner when it was always an inch away, curdled up under the sheets, murmuring someone else's name. you don't know why you didn't bring it up sooner when her tone changed, that airy lightness replaced with a heavy guilt despite the continuous hurt she still brings you. you don't know why you didn't bring it up when your heart began to crack and she heard every bit fall to the ground.

you don't know why you stayed.

but maybe it was the way she promised you that fateful day that still holds something over you. forever. forever is a long time. time that you imagined jihyo would spend with you but she wouldn't. she couldn't. her love wouldn't allow it. it would rope her along, sweeping you up in the process.

what is your problem? do you not trust me? it's a mutter during the night sky, the darkness seeming to absorb any meaning those questions had. it's a pointless endeavor for her to even try ask but she relents, believing it would work. though the silence you give her serves as the reminder of mistakes she's made.

her love cracks like how yours did many times over.

you know. and there's only but an echo of guilt on her face and you realize it then, that maybe her promise really was always going to be empty. her hands glide across yours, grazing against your pale knuckles. did she ever love you after all? her shoulders relaxed, almost as if there was a weight off her shoulders.

and you didn't ever tell me. you never would've. the words are nothing shy of an accusation but there was nothing closer to the truth. maybe her love was all but an illusion. fabricated.

a tear falls, dribbling down your cheek as your heart begins to shatter.

maybe it was your love after all that was fickle.

[cocogrrrl]

it's a temporary peace

your boyfriend's out late, probably drinking, and you find yourself reflecting on the state of your relationship. what else is new about that, though?

stan marsh x gn!reader cw: angst, implied alcoholism, self-destructive thoughts, neglectful relationships wc: 614

“Hey, Kyle? Is Stan with you?”

It’s 1:37 AM. The rain is falling, and you’re all alone on your bed. It’s always like this. He’s always like this. Empty promises and meaningless kisses; that’s what you get when you’re with Stan.

“No… Sorry, YN.” You could hear the disappointment from his best friend’s side. He’s the one you always turn to whenever you found Stan to be difficult.

That’s not to say you don’t like him. It’s just that he can be a lot. He’s just a handful sometimes. He’s distant and secretive, but he’s also thoughtful and caring. The contrast between his two selves makes you wish it was easier to be with him, but it’s something you can’t control, of course. You have to learn how to love him whole.

“Oh, I see,” you sighed. “Thanks, Kyle.”

“I’ll try to check where he is, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“That’s alright. Thank you so much.” You already had false hopes up, building up to an answer you already knew so well.

“It’s no problem, YN.” Kyle hangs up, leaving you alone to your own thoughts.

Why do you put up with Stan anyway? Especially recently, he’s been nothing but trouble for you. He’d be out all night, and he’ll be back in the morning when you’ve already left for work. It feels like you’re waiting for someone that doesn’t even exist sometimes. 

Maybe you don’t exist to him as well. Whenever you two talked, which was few and far between, it’d be “How was work?” conversations. Nothing seemed like the life you wanted with him a year ago. At least he wasn’t cheating on you, right?

You can’t even confirm that, as well, though. Recently he’s been getting close to Wendy. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but you were worried. What if all his late nights out were to visit her? That’s not it. You’re just jealous. Who wouldn’t be? Wendy’s such an intelligent, pretty, and hard-working woman. No wonder everyone likes her.

Despite everything, you still like Stan. Do you love him? You weren’t sure at this point, but you did feel a lot more comfortable drowning in something exhausting like this than breaking up with him. Part of you wants to believe you haven’t broken up with him because he’d be devastated, but another part of you thinks he wouldn’t care.

I mean, if you did break up with him, not much would change. You’ll just be cooking for one person than cooking for two—cooking for you and another person you’re not so sure is real. You’ll have half the clothes you have now. You’ll pay twice the rent you do now. In the end, the affection you get now compared to if you broke up would be the same. 

You wondered what would make him pay attention to you. Tears don’t work. God knows you tried. What if you ended up in the hospital? Would he finally give you the attention you wanted, no, needed? You wanted to say yes, but your mind was cruel enough to believe no.

Soon enough, you found yourself slowly drifting from your current state of mind. It’s the only time you’re not worried sick about Stan and your relationship with him. It’s a temporary peace.

You’re in deep sleep, yet you hear faint, heavy footsteps approach the door. You feel guilt for every single thought you’ve ever conjured up, voluntary or not. The bed dips beside you, and the smell of alcohol is potent. As you feel his arms wrap around you, you find yourself snuggling up to him. This isn’t good for you, but it’s the only thing you know.

[nrdmssgs]

Darker matters (part 9. final)

Masterlist Previous part

Angst with fluff finally Pairing: Nikolai x Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova Summary: When coming home becomes the hardest part Warnings: Swearing AN: This is the end of the story. However, there will be an epilogue for those of you, who wants fluff.

Thanks: This chapter is my tribute to a few very important people. I know, nobody reads this part, but it's important for me. @pale-elysium thank for supporting me this much and telling me these beautiful words. @sofasoap and @homicidal-slvt thank you for gifting me Nikolai. @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot you actually inspired me for this story. @preciouslittlecreature I see you, I love you. @siilvan I owe you Niks last story. This is my attempt to hug each of you through the screen.

If there is anything that helped keeping soldiers away from an improvised interrogation room more efficiently than Sedmis blood-curdling shrieks, it is Ghost's figure towering next to the door. Chimeras, who are careless enough to pass him by, look away hastily and don't risk slowing down, even though everybody wants to know what exactly their commander is doing to her enemy. Maybe it is Ghosts mask, maybe it's the way he stood absolutely still, but something cold and inhuman drives everyone away from him and the room he guards.

When Zhar exits the room - she wipes a completely clean knife mechanically. She hears Ghosts voice, but can't make out what exactly he says, so she answers the first thing that comes to her mind, hoping that it would make sense.

“He's ok. Vocal fucker, but I made sure, he's surviving it.”

With each next step, the buzzing in her ears becomes more potent, and the light coming through open doors feels almost too bright. Olga still smiles, and hopes that it looks more or less convincing. When they step out of the main base building, she hides her eyes under the shadow of her hand and leans against the wall.

“Ok, Lieutenant, it's high time you go home - I'll take it from here.” Her throat is soaring, so the last words are being coughed out instead of spoken properly.

“Like that's going to happen,” mutters Ghost and commands Zhar to follow him, but she doesn't move.

“Go, Ghost. Please. I need a break. Getting embarrassingly old.” She tries to play it off, but Ghost turns back and reaches out to her side.

“You're bleeding out. Wait here, I'll get us a transport.”

Olga touches the area, where she felt his palm just a second ago, and winces - her gear is slowly soaking in blood. Her legs beg her to give up and sit, but she remains standing. Minutes drag painfully slow, but a mere thought of what would Price have thought, should Simon ever tell him about her current state, keeps Zhar on her two.

She doesn't bother asking, where is Ghost taking her - just lets her mind slip down the delirious slumber. He also prefers to remain silent, and Olga fights the urge to say out loud all the things her conscience is screaming deep inside her head.

“I`m sorry, you had to witness that.”

“I never wanted you to become a part of this mess.”

“I would never do that to you.”

“I would never harm Christine.*”

Zhar eats up every phrase, not letting them escape her lips, when suddenly Ghost does something almost unnoticeable, but loud enough to outvoice the raging swarm of her thoughts.

Music starts playing quietly and gently. Just as it used every time, when they ended up in the same car, back when she was in the TF. The Sergeants were usually sent to the back seats, so that they wouldn't fight for the power over the radio. Lieutenants slowly came back to normal to the sounds of their ‘lame elderly lullabies’ as Soap called almost everything they could catch on a classical radio station. It was soothing. Like in the good old days.

Olga watched indifferently as the landscape outside the window was changing. By the time Ghost parks the car near the hospital, she is barely awake. By this point there is only one desire left for her - to close her eyes and sleep so long, that the events of the last few weeks feel like one long dream. She almost gives in to the weariness, but medical personnel gathering around, helping her out of her gear and settling her on the operating table, keeps distracting her. 

Zhar doesn't recognize how much time passes before the bright light above her goes out and the buzzing of voices fades away. Could be a few minutes, could be hours as well.

The next time she opens her eyes - Olga finds herself on a hospital bed in a dark room. The only source of light is a soft light of a smartphone display lighting Simon's face, as he types something hastily.

“Tell her, I say ‘hi’.” Zhars voice is sleepy and wooly.

Ghost raises eyes on her and stands from his chair. 

“‘Her’? I'm writing Nik, you're ok.” Simon steps to the window and slides the curtains, letting warm sunlight in the room.

Zhar frowns: she became so used to the thought, that Nikolai is nowhere around, that for the whole day she thought of anything but him. Every smallest detail of the operation, alternative timings for every step of every her soldier, names, paths, numbers of supplies - her mind was flooded with so many things, that she almost forgot, what was it all for. Olga thought of how they usually orchestrate the reunion scenes in films: characters run into each other's arms, hug, cry, hold each other as if the world around just stops. She gave Nikolai nothing, not even a simple ‘hello’. No matter, how many Sedmis cries of pain still echoed in her mind - they were not loud enough for her to not remember his last words.

“...not a human anymore, not even a creature - this one is just a mold.”

Maybe he is right and there is nothing human left in her - only soulless numbers, plans, names swarming her head, making her body move, imitating a life. 

“Docs want to keep you till morning. But I know, you're sneaking out as soon as I leave you. So I suggested Nik to send someone here for you. Let's hope he doesn't trust all vital issues to a talking tablecloth, unlike somebody…” Ghost's voice drags her back to reality.

“Looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Olga chuckles, “Come on, I owe Sebastian big time.”

“That bandage, he tinkered, was holding just on his ego and your power of will, Commander.” Ghost puts the phone in his pocket. “Ok, show me your wallet.”

Surprised by a rather unexpected request, Zhar reaches out for the jacket, hanging next to the bed and doesn't even manage to squeak, when Ghost takes it and puts it in the same pocket, where his phone is. 

“Said, you are going to sneak out, never said, I'd let you rent a car and drive back home on your own in this state…” Simon claps his pocket and looks around.

“And what if I get hungry?”

“Want me to bring you a Happy Meal, soldier?” If Olga could bet money on how vide Ghosts smile under the mask was - she would bet on ‘a shit eating grin’.

“Lieutenant, with all due respect: go fuck yourself.”

“Glad, you're ok.” Ghost turns to the door. 

Zhar barely manages to throw him her last ‘thank you’ before he disappears, as swiftly and unexpectedly, as he came this morning to her comms station. 

***

She can't fall asleep on the way back: it's high time, all the sedatives and analgesics kick in, but something keeps her wide awake. At the first hours of the ride it just irritates her, but with every next fruitless attempt to relax and let herself rest, the anger grows stronger. It makes her miss her driver's questions and remarks, it speeds up her heart, it awakes some animalistic feeling - a fear.

It is not fueled by anything going on. The feeling just appears somewhere deep in her guts. By the time, they are approaching Nikolai's house in the darkness of the deep forest - it eats her alive. 

Zhar gives up and commands the driver, Nik sent to pick her up, to stop the car and let her walk the last kilometer.

“You're sure?” The driver hesitates, because he still remembers how persistent Nikolai was when he explained where exactly this woman should be delivered. 

“I know this road as a beggar knows his bag, darling.” Olga exits the car and steps out of the headlights.

Each next step towards Nikolais' house is harder than the last one. The most obvious reason for that is the fact that Olga walked this road a thousand times in her dreams, while Nik was captured. Each dream ended the same way: she entered a cold, abandoned house. Each little detail of its interior brought her nothing but pain and terror: the kitchen sink, where Nikolai once cleaned her hand, after she accidentally cut herself, the sofa, where he lulled her to sleep, the fireplace, he lit in the evenings so she could sit on the floor for hours, peering out of the panoramic windows. All these details felt orphaned, dead without him. Although she knows, these were just dreams - her mind slowly erases a phantom border between nightmares and reality.

By the time his house appears from behind the trees, Olga is sure she won't be able to force herself to just cross his threshold. And that is when she feels someone's gaze on her back. She stops on her tracks, freezes, a wave of shiver runs down her spine.

Suddenly, her mind goes blank: Zhar forgets everything besides two bright pictures. The first one is the heavy blizzard, a greyish snow cloud chasing her back in Russia many months ago, when she just started working for Nikolai. The other one is silver-blue eyes, cold as that blizzard, piercing right through her, and a knife pressed against her neck. 

“For fuck's sake,” she mutters and takes out the gun, stepping on a wooden patio in front of Niks house.

She turns back and points her gun at the deep darkness. As much as she doesn't want to admit it - she doesn't see her enemy, doesn't actually see anything in the middle of the night in the heart of the forest. 

Zhar takes a step backwards, then another and another one, until her back is pressed against the wall.

“You want him - you will have to go through me!” Her voice is weak, her hands are trembling. 

Olga slowly sinks to the ground, tears run down her cheeks, but she doesn't let herself get loud, sobbing as quietly as she can. She can't see a thing in a dense depth of forest, but she is certain that the man she once made a pact with, is now back to claim whatever she hasn't paid him. 

She doesn't notice a thin line of light running over the wooden floor and becoming thicker, doesn't hear Nikolais approaching steps - just keeps muttering ‘me, not him’ over and over, searching for the enemy.

The first moment he sees her, Nik feels relieved: there she is, finally close enough to reach out and touch her. But then he notices a gun in her hands, shiny traces on her cheekbones, and his heart shrinks. Throughout many years of service, both official and private, he saw the same things happening to others. The terror in their eyes, the inexplicable desire to keep fighting, although the battle unravels only in their heads. 

He tries to not think about all the times, when such soldiers were left alone and found too late, when he slowly descends on his knees next to her.

“I… I'm coming in soon, Nik. I just need a minute.” Olga whispers, not even looking at him.

“You see anyone there?” Nikolai leans closer, partly to be able to react fast enough, should things go south, partly because he missed everything about her and would give anything just to feel her proximity.

“Go back inside, Nikolai, please.” She sniffles and fights the shiver growing stronger and taking over her whole body.

“Nebo, posmotri na menya*. Nobody will dare to come here today. Not after you brought them hell.” Slowly, and very softly, he reaches for the gun in her hands and takes it away, trying not to make sudden movements. Although it's obvious, Zhar doesn't like what he is doing, she forces herself to sit still and not fight him. 

They remain silent for the next few long minutes, Niks forehead pressed against her temple, his warm breath tingling her face. If she wasn't obviously freezing, Nikolai could easily spend the whole night there: sitting close, breathing in her scent, watching the heartbeat pulsing on her neck. So he reaches out to take her in his arms.

“Let's go home, love.”

That's the second time, when something stings Nik painfully from the inside. When he picks her up - he feels how unnaturally, unhealthy lightweight she became. She doesn't answer him or react, when he carries her inside. It is only when he sits on the couch with her in his hands - Zhar snaps back to reality. Her gaze grows focused, she looks around, and her eyes freeze, meeting his - she grabs onto his shirt as if she's afraid of losing him then and there.

Olga tries to say something, anything, really, but fails. Her lips part, but no words escape. Instead, she inspects him: her fingertips slowly brush down Nikolais ribcage and pause over every bruise and stitch that wasn't there before.

“Just a scratch,” calms her down Nik every time, but her face only darkens, and he decides to change the topic.

“Khoroshaya moya*, you're too far away, still out there, at Sedmis base. What can I do to make you come back to me? How can I help?”

Zhar doesn't move, sitting perfectly still in his hands, as the tight knot in her chest slowly unravels with each beat of her heart. She looks somewhere through him, and when she finally answers - Nikolai feels as if all the oxygen was suddenly deflated out of his lungs.

“Cast me out, Nik.”

He would have felt better, had she hit him, or shouted and blown his house to bits. It takes Nik a lot of self-control to remain visibly calm.

“You… don't want to be in Chimera? Love, we will think of some-”

“No, you didn't get me. Cast me out. Banish me from your life. I can't do this on my own - need your help. Please, before it becomes too hard. You'll be better without me.”

Nikolai feels completely lost: somehow each clarification only confuses him more. He hears his own heart racing as he tries to muster the right answer.

“Before it becomes too hard? Let me tell you something. Share my perspective, so to say, ok?” He brings her head to rest on his chest and continues talking.

“For a long time I was ok with that little furious treasure not letting me anywhere near her. After all, we can't be everybody's favorite, yeah? So when Price called me and said ‘I need a fixer for her’ - I awaited not more than just a boring mission, where the most entertaining part would be staying alive under all her death glares.

“But she turned out to be ok - buried the hatchet for the sake of her Cap. We even made quite a team, it was fun to run around together, shaking off the tail, fighting back. But I forgot all the fun the very next moment after they set her on fire. She looked so helpless in my hands, as I tried to put it out. A once tough and strong soldier, lying before me as a lifeless puppet - my blood still runs cold every time I remember that view.

“Then she fought the pain. The medic, I found for her emergently, kept repeating, she needed general anesthesia, but we didn't have time to transport her to the hospital. I remember telling him, ‘this girl is a die-hard - she is going to make it’. And she did. Cried so loud, it must have hurt like hell, but she did it. I was proud, when it all was over, and I carried her to her bed - I felt euphoric, as if I was high. All because she made it through.

“Later that night, she got delirious and forgot for a few hours that she never spoke Russian to me. She was telling me the most beautiful words, I have ever heard. Said ‘Ne ostavlyai menya*’ and ‘ty mne nuzhen*’. Nothing special, maybe, but these words got stuck in my head so deep, I kept replaying them in her voice over and over for months. And then I decided, I was willing to risk it all just to hear more.

“The rest is history: the second operation, the success, her return to the base, our chats, occasional phonecalls, me showing her every smallest detail of my iron bird, her sharing little stories and memories… When I took her with me for a little vacation - I knew that I would either return from it as hers, or with a broken face. I couldn't believe my luck, when she let me into her life, not as just a friend. 

“Still remember our first night together, when she drifted to dreams in my hands and I just couldn't bring myself to sleep. That was when I asked myself, what was the exact moment, she really got me all to her mercy.”

All the time, Nikolai was talking, his hands kept stroking Olgas head and back, but now he stops doing that.

“It was long before that night, before our little escape, even before all these months of her healing. She got me on my knees a long time ago… Her ‘I need you’ mesmerized me, won me fully. It may have been too hard to deny her back then. But now? Nebo, now it's not too hard - it is impossible.”

Olga listens carefully to every word and even to the silence, following his story. It would be so easy if she could let herself just shut her mouth and call it a night. But if there is one person, she really owes a confession - it's Nikolai.

“I failed you.” 

She doesn't wait until he starts protesting and admits everything. She tells Nik, how lost and useless she felt on the first days after his capture, how she couldn't manage many conflicts boiling up in the Chimera, how she lost people, how she sacrificed her own home. Not long before the rescue mission she almost wished she could go alone, just to end everything at once - and Olga confesses even that. 

“... I did unspeakable things, Nik. I was ready to sacrifice the whole Chimera, I risked Ghosts life, I turned lives of an innocent woman and her child into a forever nightmare. And the worst part is that I would do this all again without a second thought, should it be for you. I'm not a soldier after that - just some sick twisted mind.”

Nikolai touches his lips to Zhars forehead and frowns - she's running hot, must be the fever after everything, she put her body through. 

“What did they do?...”

Olga doesn't understand, what exactly Nikolai means by that and starts recounting losses incurred by the Chimera, but he cuts her off with a more specific question.

“What did they do to my girl? My beautiful treasure, my sky and my heaven. Tormented, worn out, blinded by this shitshow.” His hands snake up her back, shoulders and neck, and lift her face, so that she can't escape his gaze.

“They did nothing.” She shakes her head and smiles ruefully. “There was no girl, sky or heaven from the very start - I was the shitshow, the problem itself. And when you were gone - I caused nothing but damage. I just needed time to realize that.”

Nikolai understands that this is not her speaking now - this is the enormous stress she's been living in since his capture, this is her fever, weariness after all. PTSD hits hard, especially, when it comes to those, who never unwind after the missions, never let out the steam. 

“You did this all to get me back. Crossed so many lines not for your egoistic interest, but for a living breathing human being, you care about. And you still weigh the morality of everything you`ve done.” He cradles her gently, fingers stroking her hair as he whispers. If he has to repeat it for a million times this night to fight her doubts off - Nik is ready to tell her again and again, that she did nothing wrong.

“I'm no better than Sedmi, or Makarov or any other fucked up mind - didn't even need much time to commit the same sins as them.”

Nik notices how her breathing becomes deeper, and her pulse slows down a little. He begins to speak very quietly so that she listens and calms down with his voice.

“I'll tell you a little story, put you to sleep and then in the morning you decide, if you want to stay here, ok?”

She nods, and Nikolai goes on.

“Many years before you joined Prices group, a soldier came to me with a question. I'm not sure if he was thinking about joining the Chimera, but nevertheless, he asked me what can I tell him about the specifics of working for… a private military company.

“I advised him to not step in that direction ever. Because that world is full of darker matters. Disgusting characters and deeds that you suddenly have to tolerate. But the worst part is that you yourself have to become a darker matter. You do things you never would have done before… Cross all the lines, even those, you specifically drew yourself earlier. At the end of the day you can't even say, you fought the evil - you are trapped with it.

“That guy already burned the candle at both ends - I'd hate seeing him gone because of the metamorphosis, one has to live through in our line of work. Not saying, he wasn't fit for work. I just wasn't sure, he had this personality, that would let him see the ugly truth in the mirror and still keep going.”

Olga chuckles to herself, but it doesn't go unnoticed.

“You don't believe me?”

“I do.” She relaxes, letting herself put a bit more weight on his chest. “I do, it's just funny how your words haven't scared that soldier altogether. He chose the right path, yet never turned away from his friends, who-”

“And what if you chose right too, luybimaya*?”

Zhar holds her breath. It's a sucker punch to call her like that, when she just asked him to let her go. Nikolai knows it, but he's ready to call her anything, to confess and give her anything to keep Olga by his side. And it works. Because the next thing Nik hears finally brings him peace, it brings her back in his life.

“I chose you, don't care if it's right or wrong. Ty mne nuzhen.”

I would never harm Christine. - Here Olga refers to Christine Riot Vega, the OC of @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot and Ghosts partner

Nebo, posmotri na menya. - Look at me, heaven

Khoroshaya moya. - My dear

Ne ostavlyai menya. - Dont leave me

ty mne nuzhen - I need you

luybimaya*- My love

[notjuststardust]

Hallucinating

Plot Twist: You aren't actually hallucinating. Scenario: Rengoku and reader were childhood friends but because of the dangers of being a demonslayer he stayed away from them until a shapeshifting demon came back and proved that safety is not a matter of him being present or not.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of panic attack, mentions of hallucinations, fluff toward the end

     “I am hallucinating.” I have said this three times. Three times in the past 60 seconds. My best friend was a demon slayer who as he rose up the ranks was forced to stay away. Two years. Maybe three. I tried to stop counting.

     I saw Senjuro at my door. I thought it was Senjuro until I realized Senjuro was not that tall. Not as buff. I am hidden in the pantry drunk on my own hope. Trying to drown myself in darkness so I can excrete this living hope delved so potent into my veins.

     This has happened before. I’ve seen him before but he wasn’t real. 

     It was a demon in disguise.

     I cannot bare the thought of being lied to again. I had never killed a demon but its flesh was easy to slice with my sword. The sword that Kyojuro had given me before he had become a Hashira. Kyojuro’s head flew clean off and I did it without hesitation. Killed the face of my beloved.

     There is an overwhelming boom. The scent of ash is in the air. It reminds me of the smell of the demon withering away. I want to wither away.

     “(Y/N)!” I shrink into myself. I feel as if I could rearrange my organs to fit into any space if it could just hide me from this. Stall this moment. Silence plagues my home like an inky fog. I cannot breathe. I will not. I burrow my head into my knees. A small creak fleshes the pantry door and a pause. “Little flame?” I freeze.

     The demon did not know to call me that. That was why I knew. How I figured. I tilt my head up just to peek. I will entertain my delusion for a fraction of a moment and it will be gone. His eyes are the color of the guts of honeycomb. His face is grown. Sharper than before yet around it there is a fervent halo. His hair is still the same. A mix of golden oranges and reds. I stare and stare until I realize 60 seconds have gone by.

     “You’re not real.” The words come out more like a question than a statement. Kyojuro tilts his head and a slow smile rises on his face.

     “I am as real as you are, sunflower.” His voice. I missed his voice. 

     “I chopped your head off.” I confess and he has grown inexplicably silent. His eyes study me.

     “Senjuro told me,” his throat bobs as if the words he meant to say are still stuck. “I admit I did not think my absence would cause such injury. I apologize for not being here to protect you.” His whispers come to me tenderly.

     “Just eat me already.” His throat swells at my murmurings.

     “That would be a waste of a beautiful woman,” he rolls back on the ball of his heels, sinking his butt to the ground. He crosses his legs and shuffles with something in his pocket. He has placed his body in front of the door so I cannot slam it in his face. “I brought you something.” I am looking at him from my peripheral now. I do not let him leave my sight. His hands pull out a jar of dried pink petals. I stare at it. 10 pink petals, rose petals. “I kept these for our wedding.” he continues, twisting the cap of the jar but before he can open it my hand grasps his forearm.

     “Where are those from?” The real Kyojuro would know the answer. His cheeks grow meekly warm.

     “They are from the bouquet I gave you that day I declared my love for you.” His face is so flushed, his eyes fighting the urge to look about I almost don’t believe it.

     “It’s really you!” The tears have begun to fall before I have my arms strung around his neck. His spare hand catches my waist, his face burrowed in the shoulder I almost knock him out with. I feel as if I have been torn apart and sewn back together all at the same time. Even as I pull him into me I tremble like a quaking earth. My body is fighting the desire to pull him into my own flesh so I can make him part of myself so I may never lose him. Never again.

     For the first time since I have seen him I am back in my own body. I believe my own mind.

     “I missed you too, (Y/N).” His lips are at my ears a heavy ache in his words.

     “Why are you allowed to come see me now but not earlier?” I pull back squaring over the inches of his face. His lips are parted. The rays of sunbeams in his eyes dim.

     “It was a matter of safety,” his voice drops an octave. “But I can see now you are just unsafe seeing me as you are in my absence.” I stare at him for a long moment.

     “That’s it?” His brow knit tight as if in offense.

     “My status made me a large target for those I loved. By no means was it an easy decision for me to not see you,” a feeling stirs in me that I cannot quite name. “I thought of you everyday.” Then I feel a sting. Tiny stings everywhere like glass has shattered beneath my flesh and if I move it grazes muscle sapping away any strength I may have left. 

     “Did you ever think to ask me?” I have a lot of nerve. It was Kyojuro’s choice to become a demonslayer. His choice to throw away his childhood but I cannot help but wonder why he thought to choose to abandon me in the process. 

     “No.” He is stern but soft. “I was not going to ask you something that you would have gotten yourself killed over.” I watch how he remains so still. A statue that’s breaking apart from the seams. He wants to move. He is bursting open from the inside if only to protect me.

     “I would have followed you into battle.” I say the words he leaves unexpressed and he nods. “You would have been so focused on keeping me safe that you’d never do anything.” I finish quickly.

     “No, you were never a stumbling block.” He doesn’t miss a beat, smoothing over my hair with his palm.

     “I know, Kyojuro.” He stops to examine the pantry doorway.

     “Pardon me if this is too personal,” I can see his breathing harbor as if my position in the pantry pains him. “Do you hide in your pantry often?” He peers at me, concern pulling at his cheeks.

     “No,” I take a deep breath. “I just didn’t want to have to chop your head off again. I wasn’t sure if I was going crazy or if I was about to die.” I stop talking and fixate on a hanging ivy across the room. Kyojuro breaks the silence.

     “I’m sorry for not being here.” He sounds broken.

     “Don’t,” it comes out rougher than I like but I do not correct it. “You were never responsible for my safety,” I fiddle with my fingers. “If the demon hadn’t looked like you I’m sure I wouldn’t be hiding in my pantry but it did and now I have a vivid memory of slicing your head off of the bone.” Visions come back of his head on the floor disintegrating into matter. I choke down my nausea flitting my eyes to his.

     “What did it feel like?” I gawk at him, mouth closed shaking my head.

     “Kyo, I can’t..,” he rests one of his hands on mine. “It felt like I was only cutting meat. The bone felt like.. chopping bamboo.” Tears tickle my eyelids. “It was far too easy for me to decide to just chop it off and it felt powerful to be able to do so with such ease.” I stop talking feeling like if I continue I’ll drive him away. I hadn’t questioned killing him that day.

     “Your memory, was the blood cool to the touch?” His voice is tender when he speaks, his eyes scouring me for any discomfort.

     “Cold.” Is all I say. Rengoku steals his hand back and stands up. 

     “Come,” he murmurs, bringing his wrist to his mouth. I follow him and watch him until he sinks a tooth into his flesh.

     “Kyojuro!” I screech taking his wrist from him. He just stares at the blood pooling out from the skin he just tore.

     “I don’t mean to scare you, firework,” I glare at him. “Does my blood make yours run cold?” 

     “No, I mean it makes it boil that you did that to yours-“ I stop when a little of it dribbles against my hand. The crimson liquid is a warm pool of sunshine. There is no cold to its substance. “It’s not cold.” My eyes snap back to meet his.

     “Killing a demon feels far different from killing a human. We are made up of different things,” he pulls out a towelette from his pocket and dabs the blood. “I do not want you to fear thinking that you know what it’s like to kill another human. I can assure you the feeling is much different.” It had never crossed my mind that Kyojuro had ever had to cross such a line, though riddled with callouses his fingers wove light. Never pain.

     “Are you sure?” He rests his palm on my head.

     “Yes, little flame,” he stops to look around. “I suppose we should talk somewhere more romantic.” My mouth goes agape and my cheeks aflush. 

     “There is nowhere in my home that is ‘romantic’.” I chuckle at his wording.

     “I think you doubt your homes romancing capabilities.” Kyojuro laughs and I stifle back one. His pinky finds mine and guides me to the back porch. He opens the door and the sun brims at the horizon. The sky is a canvas of orange paint dunked across its surface. The horizon eats up the honeysuckle bit by bit. The sun to be swallowed soon.

     “That doesn’t count.” I turn to Kyojuro who is already staring at me. He remains soundless, his eyes transfixed on my lips. I start counting. 10 seconds. He stares at me for ten seconds before he realizes what he’s doing and blinks back to meet my eyes.

     “I had forgotten how beautiful you are.” he breathes as if he’s about to strike his sword but he just looks to the sunset. “Can I be honest, little flame?” I nod, taking a side step closer to him. He notices and smiles a small smile. “I do not think I deserve this.” I stop and consider all of the options he could be talking about.

     “Please elaborate.” He silences, the tense of pondering set in his jaw at my request.

     “Your forgiveness.”His voice trembles. Telling him that he is not responsible for what happened will not work.

     “No one deserves anything if I’m being honest.” He watches me like he doesn’t know who I am. “Hasn’t everyone fallen short? None of us deserve to even live,” I shoot him a onesover and he looks far more assured. “So I can spare some forgiveness because I do not deserve yours either.” I lean into his shoulder and he grins.

     “I suppose you are right,” I look up at him and he begins to breathe again. Our noses are inches apart. I do not move. “I desire more than your company, little flame.” A nervous smile graces my lips. His eyes travel to my lips and back to my eyes so many times. He seems uncertain. “I know that you desire my company,” he murmurs against my lips. “But do you desire more?” His stare holds me steady when I nod. It is minuscule but with how close we are I know he sees it.

     One of his hands cup my cheek while the other braces against my neck. He smiles, breathing as if this goes wrong he will pass away. I stifle a nervous giggle bringing my hands to his neck. They are clumsy and unpracticed in kissing so I’m not sure where they are to go. I close my eyes and he gently eases me into the kiss. I tremble a bit at the warmth now pressed to my mouth. Passion is palpable in the two seconds he remains there but he restrains himself like the warrior he is. 

     “I’d like you to come live with me.” He says, forehead pressed to my own. I have both heard him and read his lips yet I can’t believe either sense. I shake my head to get it back on straight.

     “Is that allowed?” I quirk an eyebrow and he nods.

     “For family,” he has a serious expression. No grin is on his face. “I’d like you to become my wife.” I feel as if sparklers are being ignited within my bones. I restrain myself and assess him before I even think of a response. His right shoulder seems tense. His jaw is set tight. I cross my arms at him raising a brow and a smirk instinctually sets itself upon my face.

     “I’m only going to answer if you say the thing.” His eyes widen.

     “The thing?” He tilts his head.

     “The thing people say when they are asking someone to.. you know,” his eyes are unfocused as if they are in another place as if he has to search the most inner parts of his brain to understand. “Nevermind, it was a stupid re-“

     “(Y/N) (L/N) will you marry me?” He has somehow sunken into one knee in a seconds notice. He even has a ring made of gold. It is simple but gorgeous nonetheless. I cover my mouth because I’m unsure if laughs or cries will escape out of it next.

     “Yes!” A foreign giggle escapes me as Rengoku scoops me off the ground into the air.

     “Delightful little flame.” His voice becomes quieter the closer to the ground he brings me. I finally inhale.

     “Kyojuro, how are we going to get married? We are only 17.”