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moonchildstyles · 5 months

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First time sex with rosemary 🌿

wordcount: 9k

—————

Wiping her floured hands on her apron, (Y/N) brushed her hair out of her face with her wrist before reaching towards her back pocket for her vibrating phone. Her lips curled into a soft smile seeing Harry's name on her screen, his contact featuring a photo of him sleepy-eyed next to his kitten in her bed had her smile stretching wider. Taking a quick glance at the time, she was sure he'd just made it back to his apartment after finishing up at the grocery store.

Quickly, she peeled her gloves from her hands and peeked out into the storefront of the bakery. Just as she had left it a handful of minutes before, there weren't any patrons now that the morning rush had passed, leaving Sabrina tucked behind the desk with her book folded open.

"Hey, I'm going to take my fifteen really quick. Is that okay?" As soon as Sabrina gave her the go ahead with a wave of her hand with her eyes still stuck to her book, (Y/N) was answering the call with a tap of her thumb. "Harry?" she greeted, stepping out back of the bakery for a bit of privacy in the mid-morning air.

"Hi, peach," he murmured through the receiver, voice drooping and soft, "Is it alright that I called you? I know you're still working, so."

"Your timing was perfect, actually," she told him, knowing he was probably more worried than he was letting on for fear of having ruined her day, "Everything just cleared out from this morning, and I needed a break."

"Yeah? Long shift already?" he pressed, the sound of sheets shuffling on the other side with a petite meow chirping through.

"A little bit, yeah," she sighed, wishing she was wrapped up in warm sheets with Harry and Rosemary, "Just one of those Sunday morning shifts, you know. How was your night, though? Work was okay?"

"Yeah," he said, the syllable floating out on a long suffering sigh, "Theo and Brett were still annoying, but I think Fawn is going to cover one of my shifts this week."

(Y/N) immediately perked up at the new information. She'd been urging him to take some time off this past month; he didn't have to work himself to the bone anymore, not now that his issues from back home had been resolved. It was unhealthy, she'd told him more than once—he would make himself sick with more than just exhaustion if he wasn't careful.

"Really? What day?" she bubbled off, ready and willing to shift her own schedule around if he wanted.

"Thursday."

She could hear the smile in his voice as he uttered the words. He knew what reaction he was going to get.

"Are you serious?" she beamed, bouncing on the soles of her feet, "You have the whole weekend off then?"

"I do, yeah. So do you."

"Harry," she bleated, "I'm so excited! We haven't had any time together I feel like, and now we get a whole weekend! Thank you!"

"That's what I was thinking when I made my request; barely seen you this past week. 'S not fair."

"It's not," she affirmed, "You haven't even been able to sleep over since Friday. I'm not used to that."

"Me neither, peach," he murmured, his tone decidedly more somber than just a moment before though she understood where he was coming from.

Ever since their impromptu road trip, they tended to have as many sleepovers as their schedules would allow. Besides the comfort that came along with being at each other's side—especially in the case of Harry's frequent nightmares—, it was hard to forget how much they liked sharing a bed and sitting down for meals together.

"Did you want to do anything special?" she prompted, already racking her brain for anything that Harry would enjoy leaving the house for.

"I've got to go to the library at some point," he mused, another chirping meow sounding from the background prompting a huff of laughter to leave his lips, "But, other than that, I was hoping I could catch up on m'sleep."

"We can do that," (Y/N) decided, shifting her view of the days off to turn into cozy sheets and breakfasts in bed, "A weekend long sleepover. We'll make a thing of it."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, a smile audible in his tone—a vision that had (Y/N)'s chest warming. "How are we gonna do that?"

She hummed, sifting through her ideas before landing on a few to share, "Probably movies if we have the attention span for it—if not, we can read together or something. We can do face masks too—Ooh, or I'll get another of that hair mask you like. Let me think, but I have some ideas."

"'M sure y'do, peach," he murmured, his voice decidedly lower and slower than before, sleep vining around the edges of his words, "Whatever y'want, we'll do. I trust you."

"I'll make sure we make a thing of it, H," she told him, reluctant to say her next words but knowing he needed to get as much sleep as he could manage, "I've got to get back to the ovens, but I'll text you when I'm off."

"Yeah?" he mumbled, "Tell me when y'get home?"

"You've got it," she smiled, feeling the winter sun warm on her cheeks, "Goodnight, H."

"Goodnight, peach."

With that, (Y/N) ended the call. Hopefully, he would be able to sleep through the rest of her shift at least. He just needed to get through the next few days, then he'd have some time off to spend at her gingerbread house.

The thought had that soft curl on her lips feeling permanent. She would have to remind him how proud she was that he was taking a couple of days off, the time well-deserved.

Just like she said, she would make a thing of it, she only had to figure out what a thing for Harry looked like.

—————

With Rosemary wriggling in his arms, Harry nearly fumbled his keys to the ground while on (Y/N)'s stoop. She was a calm little thing nearly any other time of the day, but as soon as they were at (Y/N)'s door, Rosie couldn't settle.

Keeping his hold on her tight, he was able to finally stumble through the door before letting her spill out of his arms. Her feet pattered over the hardwood, beelining for the kitchen just as he knew she would. Harry could only shake his head as he kicked off his shoes by the door, setting them next to (Y/N)'s under the foyer table. He couldn't stay mad, though, especially not when he heard the familiar cooing of his peach filtering down the hall.

"Where's your daddy, Rosie?" (Y/N) crooned, voice a soft murmur through the house, "We've got to talk to him about how hungry you are when you come over. Is he not giving you enough treats?"

Following the sound of her voice, Harry's lips curled instinctively into a soft smile when he spotted (Y/N) crouched next to his kitten, fingers massaging through her fur. There was a part of him that wanted to peer out the small window above her sink, ensuring no one was watching in—a part of him that he forcefully tamped down in favor of reveling in the sight of his stitched family.

"You know I feed her," he drawled, leaning against the threshold of the entrance, "I don't know why she acts like this when we come over."

It was the way (Y/N)'s features seemingly bloomed when she looked up at him. Her hand absently continued petting Rosemary, but it was clear all of her attention was splashed upon him. It was when her eyes were on him with nothing but adoration that had Harry happily anchored to the moment, warm and comfortable in his skin. He hoped he was able to make her feel that way when he looked at her.

"Hey, H," she smiled, giving one last stroke to Rosie before she was standing to her feet and crossing the kitchen towards him, "I was going to ask you how work was, but you're on vacation."

"I am, aren't I?" he mused, collecting her into his arms.

(Y/N) looped her arms around his neck while he hugged her around her middle, face cradled into the crook of her neck. His eyes fell closed reflexively, his chest expanding as he pulled in a deep breath. The sugary scent of her skin filled his lungs, her hair tickling his nose.

"Are you excited?" she asked, trailing her fingers up and into his hair as she drew away.

Matching her eyes, her question drifted away in favor of tipping forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. A giggled out his name against his mouth, muttering something about answering her, though Harry didn't pay it any mind. He focused on the give of her lips under his, the seam parting when she eventually melted into him. Her hands in his hair was a warming tether, keeping him from drifting out of her pastel kitchen.

It was her that pulled away first, cutting off his indulgences earlier than he liked. He attempted to chase after her, craning his neck with puckered lips, though that only granted him a peal of her laughter fluttering between them.

"Not in front of Rosie, H," she teased, unwrapping from his arms to move towards the stove where a warm oven and bubbling pan had gone unnoticed before.

Harry stood back, watching as she stirred and tasted and adjusted, clicking on the light in her oven to take a peek inside. No matter how many times he'd offered to make dinner, take care of her meals—told her that he liked cooking, even—she had insisted that she wanted to take care of him, take one worry off of his plate. When she put it that way, he didn't feel like fighting with her.

"She's seen worse, peach," he countered, leaning over the peninsula counter with his forearms flat on the surface. He had a perfect view into the domestic dream that was his (Y/N), complete with a bow in her hair despite the mess of a bun on the top of her head.

A small laugh fell from her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him, "Maybe, but we shouldn't encourage it. Dinner's almost ready anyway, so we don't need to be distracted."

"Yeah? What'd y'make?" He could see just the edges of something creamy in the pot she was stirring.

"Sabrina's family is visiting, and her dad gave me this recipe for stuffed shells with all this cheese and, like, spinach and stuff. I thought we'd try it out." She gave him a beaming smile when she finished whatever she was stirring, taking it off of the burner with the timer on the oven ticking down to less than two minutes.

"That sounds really nice, love. Thank you. I've got dishes tonight."

"Harry." A small scold—as expected.

"(Y/N)," he responded in the same arguing tone as she, "You're letting me—and my cat—stay here all weekend, 'm not letting us leave a mess here for you too. 'S alright."

This was one of those things he didn't allow much room for argument on. It was one of those things—fear of feeling like a burden—that had come with the years on the run while attempting to ensure his impact was never felt. He was working on it, sure, but the least he could do for all of (Y/N)'s kindness was taking care of the dishes.

"Okay," she relented, eyes rounding out as she looked up at him, "Just not tonight, though. I have something special for you after dinner."

He did recall her saying something about making this weekend a thing for him, he just didn't really know what exactly that meant. "And, what's that?"

A sheepish look crossed her face, softening her features and lining her eyes. "It's kind of silly, but I got some fun bath things and, like, candles and stuff. I wanted to make everything a little special tonight since it's your first extra, real day off in a long time."

The longer she went on explaining herself, Harry could feel his own lips curling into a small smile. "Really?" he asked when she finally took a breath.

"Yeah," she started, dropping her eyes from his, "But, you don't have to use them or anything if you don't want to. I know it might not really be your thing, and all."

"Love," he crooned, the petname falling from his lips just for her to hear, "Thank you. That sounds really nice actually—don't remember the last time I took a bath like that. 'M always too worried about the water running cold."

(Y/N)'s expression brightened at his words. "I'm excited for you to see all the stuff I got for you, then. But only after dinner—and dessert."

"Dessert?"

"Of course dessert," (Y/N) smiled, moving back to the oven on the brink of beeping, "But that's a surprise."

It was the way she looked at him before she gave her attention to the oven and baking pasta, how bubbly she seemed over something as simple as a surprise sweet for him to have at the end of the meal. That was what had him all but melting into the countertop. She could have fed him garbage and left him to soak in an ice bath and he'd be just as happy—all he needed was for her to keep looking at him like that.

—————

"Are y'sure y'don't want me to do the dishes tonight?"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, pulling out of Harry's embrace to head towards the kitchen and the plates waiting by the sink. "Yes, I'm sure, H. I want you to relax this weekend, I don't mind doing a couple of plates."

"But—"

"No," (Y/N) cut him off, plugging the sink before beginning to fill the basin with soapy water, "As soon as I get this ready, we're going to my bathroom and I'm showing you all the stuff I got for you, and then you're going to not think about the kitchen again for the rest of the night."

"I'm not?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at her insistence. Sometimes it was fun to argue with her for no other reason than he liked to see her put her foot down with a smoke to her gaze.

He thought it was cute.

"Nope. Not even for a second." Amusement covered her own features by the time she cut the tap and turned to face him. "C'mon."

With that, she flitted out of the kitchen with socked feet padding over the flooring. She didn't have to look back to know Harry was following.

Tailing her through the house with his gaze carefully landing on the round of her hips as they swayed with her steps, she took him to her bathroom. There, on the counter, was a brown paper bag with a white painted logo on the front. A gifting ribbon had the handles tied together on top, a tag with his name dangling from the tendril.

In presentation, (Y/N) stood off to the side of the counter, a beaming smile on her face as she flourished her hands out. "Happy free weekend."

"What's this, hm?" he hummed, stepping over the tile with his gaze narrowed teasingly in her direction.

"Your bath stuff," she said, practically bouncing in her spot as he began reluctantly untying the bow. He wanted to keep it perfect—he couldn't remember the last time he received a gift, especially one like this.

Harry could feel his eyes on her as he began digging through the bag. Floating on top were two powdery spheres, striped in alternating colors with dried flowers stamped inside. He settled them gently on the counter, his hands coming away with remnants of the sweet smelling dust.

"They're bath bombs," (Y/N) piped up, "They're those things that dissolve in the water and make it colorful with all these nice skin things in them. The purple one is lavender and sage, and the blue one is lotus and jasmine."

Smiling at her explanation, he reached back inside the bag. A glass bottle filled with sweet smelling oil was his next find, the wax seal corking it closed having dripped its way down to the label. He could smell the warm, floral notes from here, even with the contents sealed away. Looking at the simple label wrapped around the thick of the bottle, he looked up at her with raised brows.

"Massage oil?"

It was the way she hesitated that had his lips stretching into a smile. "Its—I—It doesn't have to be used for that. It can just be a nice body oil if you want, but I... I mean if you want a massage, I could use that, so."

So far, this was his favorite gift from her reaction alone. He settled it with a clink next to the bath bombs. "I'll keep that in mind."

Next in line was a candle, standing tall in a cold glass voice in the bag. Pulling it out, the four wicks were sealed away with the help of the suctioned lid, showing off the marbling of the wax tucked inside. It was a swirling jade color, complete with lapping white streaks to emulate the gemstone. Under the just right light, he could see bursts of glitter suspended inside. The label boasted a vanilla sage scent, surely meant to match the sage bath bomb he'd picked up earlier.

"Peach," he smiled, looking at his gifts spread out on the counter for him, "These are so nice, than—"

"There's more," she bubbled, unable to contain herself this time, "At the bottom."

He raised a brow but dug inside like she suggested. At the bottom, his fingertips brushed something smooth and flat. Getting his fingers around it, Harry already had a good idea of what he was pulling out, a smile spreading over his features and denting his cheeks with dimples.

It was a book—one of his favorites from the library. One he had loved enough that he wished he had his own copy to keep him company—something he had told (Y/N). The cover was the black and white with splashes of red, the artwork glossier than what he had borrowed from the library. The spine was uncracked, kept in pristine condition—just the way he liked it.

"I know you've already read it, but I thought you might want to read a little again while you take your bath," (Y/N) mused at his side, her hands in a fumbling bundle before her.

"(Y/N)," Harry sighed, looking up from his new, personal edition, "This is all wonderful, really. Thank you, so much."

With his book still in hand, he collected her in his arms, tucking her against his chest. While he wasn't one hundred percent sure what all of the things he had received were, it was more than warming to think about her perusing a shop with him in mind, plucking things up with the intention of sharing them only with him.

"I know it's all kind of silly, but I'm happy you like it," she murmured into his shoulder, the curl of her smile felt against the cuff.

"'S not silly," he told her, drawing back just enough to get a look in her eyes, "I can't remember the last time anyone has done anything like this for me. I really like all of it, (Y/N). Thank you."

Tipping his chin, he pressed his lips to hers, hoping she felt his words as much as she heard them. He felt eased when her lips molded into a soft smile.

"I'm happy I could change that," she cemented, beginning to untangle himself from his hold, "I'll leave you to it, then. Take as long as you want, I'm just going to clean up and we'll go to bed—"

"You're not staying with me?"

How was he supposed to enjoy all of these trinkets and things without her there? What was the point of a sage candle and glittery bath bomb if she wasn't going to be indulging with him?

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks, one foot out of the bathroom. "Oh—um, no? I was going to go clean the kitchen and things, remember?"

"Yeah, but," he started, watching to reach out and keep her on the tiled floor with him, "can y'do that later?"

"Do you want me to?" was her simple response.

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

Her features were warm, taking a step back into the bathroom with him. "Then, I'll do it later."

It didn't take long for their clothing to be shed, lying in a lumpy file on the floor with the tub filled to the brim with steaming water. Harry had chosen the lavender bomb to be placed in the water, (Y/N) all too excited to show him the magic of the fizzy powder. She had urged him to sink in first, her gaze following the lines of his body before she had gone after him.

Harry wrapped his arms around her as she sunk into him, his chest to her back. The steaming water rippled around them, scenting the air with crisp lavender and warming sage. Every deep breath he took had the bunching in his muscles lessening and lessening until he was lax with (Y/N) in his hold. He could feel her every breath, the expanding of her chest that pressed back into him, the brush of her hair drifting through the surface of the water and tickling his skin, the careful way she had her hands laying atop his own where they were threaded over the soft of her stomach. It was easy for his eyes to shutter closed with his head tipping back against the rim of the tub.

It was almost enough to keep him from acknowledging the curve of her body pressed against his cock.

Now wasn't the time though, he starkly reminded himself, taking in a deep breath of the calming lavender. She had wanted to relax with him, not get felt up with a dick pressing against her ass.

"Do you like it?"

The sound of (Y/N)'s crooned words had him blinking his eyes open. He wasn't even hard yet, how could she know that he was already talking himself down?

"What?"

"The bath bomb," she laughed, oblivious, "You said you've never used one before, right?"

"Oh," he sounded, exhaling finally, "Yeah. 'S nice—it smells really nice. I could fall asleep in here.”

Twisting in his arms, (Y/N) shot him a beaming smile over her shoulder. "I have before—I don't recommend."

"Yeah?" he smiled, much more willing to focus on this anecdote than on the way the shifting of her body hit points on him he would have rather ignored for the time being.

"Oh yeah," she cemented, shaking her head, "I only woke up when I felt water going up my nose 'cause I started slipping."

Though she laughed off the remark, a frown settled on Harry's lips. "Y'almost drowned? (Y/N)..."

Her name came out as a scold, one that had her letting out another peal of laughter. "No, I didn't drown, H—"

"You almost did," he pointed out.

There were parts of him, traits that he gained during his years protecting his mother and sister, that were now woven into the fabric of his personality. Hearing (Y/N)'s story had that protective gene flaring up in him, urging him to hold her tighter, keep her at his side. He wouldn't let his mind wander to another version of events where she hadn't spasmed awake when the warm water touched her nose.

His limbs became a warming cradle around her form, caging her to him lest the bathtub somehow raise tsunami waves and try to pull them apart. He pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder, speaking against the skin, "I don't like that."

(Y/N) wiggled her hands underneath his, turning her palms up to match his own with her fingers threading between. "It's just a funny story, H. I'm fine—you know I don't take baths, like, ever, anyway."

His brows pinched into a furrow. Sure, maybe he did know that. "Still," he grumbled.

Harry's petulance only served to draw another breath of laughter from her chest.

She wriggled in his hold some, melting into him as she slid deeper into the water. The milky shaded water ripped around her, Harry keeping her close as she settled with her head resting against his shoulder.

"I'm fine, Harry," she cemented, peeking up at him with an adoring smile on her features, "But, you're cute for worrying."

Taking in a deep breath, he did nothing more than dropping another kiss to the cuff of her shoulder. He wasn't trying to be cute—he was protective. It was a part of his nature.

Shuttering his eyes, Harry indulged himself and allowed his kissing to continue down her shoulder, only stopping when the lapping line of the water halted him. With his fingers laced between hers, he pulled her arm out of the pastel bath. He dotted his lips down the line of her limb, nose skimming her skin in his wake and raising goosebumps. A plume of laughter left his peach, the sound enough to have his own smile taking place as he fought to smear his lips over her skin.

It wasn't until he was headed towards her wrist, landing on the soft underside of her arm that he slowed when he, through cracked eyes, spotted a slash that had made a home in her skin. It was small, though it looked only partially healed—still a warm red and slightly raised.

"What happened here?" he murmured, a pinch furrowing his brow.

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed dazedly, shuffling in his hold before spotting what had made him stop in the first place, "Oh, Rosie scratched me by accident."

It was something so minor, completely mundane and curable. The scratch wouldn't even scar, and yet Harry still felt his shoulders deflate. He would have to remind Rosemary to be gentle with her mother—she was entirely too special, no need to have claws out when being held by her.

He apologized for his cat with a small press of his lips to the cut.

Under the cover of the pastel water, (Y/N) untangled her hand from his that was still laid against her stomach. He was left to feel the give of her plush skin under the pads of his fingertips while she carded her own through his hair. Though he attempted to continue the dotted affection of his kiss over her skin, he didn't stand much of a chance as he reveled under her touch.

Maybe it was the brush of her nails against his scalp, or the slight give of her body under his hand, or just the fact that he could feel every line of her body against his own, but Harry felt his stomach tense then. It was minute and fleeting, but something he felt under the blocking muscles of his abdomen.

He attempted to keep a lid on whatever that feeling could lead to by taking a deep breath, but that only reminded him of (Y/N)'s skin right under his nose and the fact that she had been the one to run him this bath and that was why she was naked, and warm, and wet, and pressed right against him, and that was why his hands were on her and—

"H?"

Blinking his eyes open and drawing away from her, Harry looked up to match her wide eyes. "Hm?"

There was something teasing on her expression, lighthearted in her eyes with a small tug edging on the corner of her mouth. "Are you okay? You weren't breathing for a second."

"Oh," he sounded, mouth dry, "Sorry."

She shook her head, murmuring something about him being funny or cute or something, but, admittedly, Harry didn't have an ear to lend at that moment as (Y/N) started moving around him. Wriggling out of his hold, Harry stayed still in the water as she maneuvered around until she deposited herself in his lap. Her thighs were spread to cushion his hips, her bottom settled on the thick of his thighs while her chest was flush against his. Only trickles of the lavender water were able to make their way between her breasts and the curves of her body, leaving her shimmering with the scented oil on her skin and suddenly warmer than the steaming water.

Looking up at her, Harry took his time tracing the lines of her piled hair with the wet ends sticking to her skin, warm cheeks glowy and dewy, the soft light reflecting in her eyes from the candle she had lit and stationed behind their cuddled bodies. He felt breathless—reverent.

It was never far from his mind just how deeply (Y/N) had impacted him. Without her, he never would have been knocked out of the daze that was his life—the cycle of never-ending loneliness and purposeless decisions. She had changed him in ways he was scared of, the ways that he had avoided for years because it was easier to stay the same. He didn't enjoy thinking of who he would be without her, where he would be.

It was with that knowledge and the sight before him, that Harry wanted nothing more than to worship her and show her the purple that he had been given now that she was in his life. Religion wasn't anything that ever consoled him during his years on the run, but if the temples and altars had looked like her, the gods held her kind eyes and warming touch, he may have reconsidered.

"You can touch me, you know."

Dropping back to earth with a flutter of his eyes, he realized his hands were lax at his sides, careful to keep a distance from her skin. She had been the one to tie her arms around his neck, to keep their bodies close, while he had basked in the sight of her alone.

"Sorry," he murmured, placing his palms on the full curve of her thighs.

He skated them over her form, taking in the rounded edges of her body and warm skin. He'd touched her before, enough times to have mapped out every crook and groove, and yet, it still felt like the first time when he allowed him to feel. It would never get old knowing that he had someone like her that loved him enough to allow his hands to land on her.

"Don't be sorry," she murmured, ducking her head until she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I just don't want you to feel like you can't touch me—I'm yours, H, remember?"

There was that stirring again in his stomach, that tensing in his muscles that felt much deeper and lower than he would have liked during a relaxing cuddle with his girlfriend. It was just the reminder, that declaration that got to him just like it always did.

(It was a bit embarrassing, in Harry's opinion. Would it always be this easy to work him up? Would (Y/N) always be able to say a handful of words, let his hands wander to her hips, and then he would be done for?)

"You're mine," he sighed, sinking deeper into the water.

It was (Y/N)'s turn then to trail her lips over his skin, the pillows of her lips never fully lifting from his skin before she was planting another kiss. She went on with the tip of her nose smushing against the line of his jaw as she worked down to the column of his throat. He could feel himself growing harder and harder with every kiss, every brush of his hands over her body, until he was sure (Y/N) was well aware as well. Though she made it abundantly clear she didn't mind when she rocked her hips against his, his cock pressed against his stomach and the soft core between her thighs.

A shuddering exhale caved his chest.

"I'm yours," she crooned, the heat of her words fanning over his heated skin.

Her own arms wrapped around his neck began to drift, leaving only one tangled in the waves of his hair with the blunt of her nails tracing his scalp. Her touch skated down the length of his chest, her eyes settling into a daze as they followed the journey of her hand until it disappeared under the water. His abdomen jumped under her hand the lower she went until the heel of her palm grazed the plumped head of his cock.

He couldn't help the way he tossed his head back, leaning into the palm of her hand. His voice came out in a breath, "I want you so bad, peach, I'm so sorry."

(Y/N) drew away just enough to match his eyes, her wandering hand settling against the middle of his chest. "Why are you sorry?" she asked with amusement in her eyes, a soft smile on her lips as she shook her head, "You don't have to be sorry."

"Jus'" he started, focusing on the sight of her as opposed to the weight of her form and warmth of her skin against him, "I don't... Don't want to ruin tonight since you're already doing so much, and you're only trying to relax and 'm reacting like this and—"

She cut him off with her lips pressing against his, the edges of her mouth unable to fall in line with her kiss as she fought back a smile. "Do you think I don't want you, too, right now? If I didn't, I wouldn't be climbing all over you, H—or trying to get you to take me back to my room."

Shifting on his lap once more, (Y/N) emphasized her point with a small roll of her hips against him, her warmth grazing over his length.

His hands on her waist tensed, denting into her flesh with stern fingertips. Was she asking for what he hoped—what he'd been wanting but was too fearful to ask for in worry of pushing her?

His mouth felt dry as he took in her features, watching as something heated lingered in her irises. "A-Are y'sure?" he mumbled, unwilling to misread the conversation. (Y/N) loved taking care of him, he never wanted her to think he was intending to take advantage of that.

Carding her fingers through his hair, the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips to run along the seam. "I've really missed you, H. It's not always enough just to call you before I fall asleep, you know. It's not the same as actually having you."

A spark pinged in his chest at her words, the memories they dredged up. A couple of times over the last week with his busy schedule, they'd spent some extra time on the phone before (Y/N) fell asleep for the night and Harry worked through an especially long shift. He knew exactly what she meant: now that he knew what it was like to be touched by her, his own hand, his own fantasies paled so starkly in comparison it was almost embarrassing.

"I can take care of you, peach. 'M sorry I haven't been doing m'job, but I'll make it up to you," he crooned, tipping his head in hopes of pulling her in for a kiss, "Y'want m'mouth or m'fingers, love?"

It was only when she shook her head that he paused. That hand trapped between their bodies made a deliberate graze down his body until she skated her fingertips over his length, the ruddy head twitching over her touch. "I want you," she corrected, "Don't you want to fuck me?"

Maybe it was the fact she rarely cursed, or just how intensely she was meeting his eyes, or the feel of her grabbing his cock, but Harry could have blown it all right then. His throat felt thick as he attempted to swallow down the moan building in his chest. His eyes were hooded, a vignette forming around his view of her.

It would be so easy to sink inside her, split open her walls and make a home between them. All he needed was to shift his hips just right, and then he would be taking advantage of her spread legs and the slick around them. But, his worry of disappointing her—leaving her unsatisfied—held him back.

His mouth felt dry by the time he found his voice. "I—um—(Y/N)," he started, unsure of how exactly to divulge the information in him, "'S been a while since I've—..."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting her reaction to be, but he gladly took the small kiss she offered him, sealing his lips to hers. "How long?"

"Since before everything," he sighed, allowing himself to sink into her kiss and the brush of her mouth against his, "I don't want to... leave y'unsatisfied if 'm not... good."

That had her lips curling against his, a cluster of small kisses being pressed to the full of his lips before she pulled away. "It's going to be good before it's you, H. I'm not worried—I love you, remember?"

Was it normal for him to feel his cock pulse at her declaration? Or was he really that easy?

"I love you, too," he slurred before taking her mouth against his once more. It was messy and heavy, clumsy and unsure, but he didn't care. "I want to fuck you so bad, peach. Can I?"

All it took was a soft nod of her head before he had his arms lacing underneath the thick of her thighs with the water splashing around the tub. He held her tight, grip stern as he stood tall in the pastel water. (Y/N) let out a bubbling laugh, clinging to him with a gasp as if he would ever drop her.

With her pressed tightly to his chest, his cock was now fit snugly between the planes of his abdomen and the soft folds between her legs. Water sluiced down his form, a chill befalling his skin now that they'd left the steaming pool behind, though that had no effect on just how hard he was for his peach.

"We didn't have to right away," (Y/N) laughed, fingers denting the broad of his shoulders, "If you weren't done—"

"'M done," he cemented, dropping her onto the bounce of her mattress with only a small amount of guilt at getting so much water on her sheets. He'd change them for her later. "You're m'favorite way to relax, peach—don't need all the rest."

Laid on the center of her bed with her skin gleaming and warm, scented so sweetly from their bath, Harry had a new level of respect for his self-control. But, that was in the past now, left in the bathroom along with the droplets of water on the floor and the candle he would have to remember to blow out before they fell asleep.

Crawling on the mattress with his cock heavy between his legs, he fit his body between her spread legs, reveling in the plush of her thighs on either side of his hips. (Y/N) reached for him on instinct, looping her arms around his neck with the curls on the back of his neck dampening against her skin.

"Hi, you," she murmured, a bubbly smile on her lips as if she hadn't just asked him to fuck her a moment ago.

He could only shake his head, dropping a kiss to the bridge of her nose as he situated himself above him with his forearms stationed on either side of her head. "Hi, peach. What are you up to, hm?"

"Nothing much," she laughed, hitching a thigh over his lip in a languid move to thrust him forwards. "You?"

Harry's voice was stilted in his throat, feeling her slick folds give around his cock when his length split through. He could feel the minute pulsing of her clit against his base. "Jus' worried 'm not gonna last very long at all, nothing important," he attempted to joke, if only to feel of plume of her laughter fill the air.

Instead, he garnered a smearing of (Y/N)'s lips against his own, her affection tender and lingering. "Don't worry about that," she urged him, "I don't care—I just want you to feel good."

A furrow pinched his brow, his heart rattling when she rocked her hips underneath him as if it wasn't already hard enough to concentrate. "But, I want y'to feel good too, and—"

"I will as long as you do," she reiterated, amusement sparking in her blown pupils, "I don't care if you finish early, just finish in me, that's all I ask."

Harry couldn't contain the moan in his throat, the rumbling falling from his throat as he rested his forehead against hers with shuttered eyes. He could feel a bead of warm precum blurting from his tip, dripping to land on the soft of (Y/N)'s stomach with a pulse.

"You're going to kill me," he murmured, not sure if he was speaking for her to hear, "D-Do y'need me to do anything f—"

Cutting him off with a kiss, (Y/N) slipped her tongue between his lips only to offer a quick taste before she was pulling away once more. "You can feel how wet I am, right?"

As if he could forget with the way she was pressed against the underside of his cock, the ridge of his head tight between their stomachs. He answered with a small nod.

"Y-You're sure, then?" he murmured, attempting to tap into that self control he had back in the tub.

"I want you, H," she assured, nothing teasing or urgent in her voice, only sincerity, "As long as you're ready, I am, too. It's just me—you don't have to worry."

His only response came in the form of a small kiss and a declaration: "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too," she smiled into his kiss, a small roll of her hips turning his brain to mush.

His breathing was strained as he reached between their bodies, his fist wrapping around his shaft. Looking down, he watched as she spread her thighs that much wider as he swiped his cock between her folds. She was sticky and wet, clinging to the width of him as he split her open enough for his head to kiss her clit. He could see the jump of her muscles, the small whine that chirped from her lips, but he couldn't seem to stop himself—especially when a thread of her slick stuck to him, only bowing and breaking when he reached his cock towards his stomach, too far for the string to extend.

"Harry, please," she quietly pleaded with him.

The sound of her voice was just enough to knock him back into the universe. It was enough to remind him that this wasn't the main event, there was even more warmth and wetness to be explored.

Pressing the tip of his cock to her opening, he held himself steady as he pressed his hips forward. It was a tight squeeze, a feeling that took his breath away. As much as he wanted to catch (Y/N)'s expressions, see exactly what she looked like as he sunk inside her for the first time, he couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from the sight of his cock fitting inside her core. With every stretch of his length pushing through, less and less coherent thought filtered through his head.

Instead, all he could think about was the snug fit of her walls around him, the pulsing with every heartbeat, just how wet she was, the warmth that enveloped him and welcomed him deeper and deeper. By the time he bottomed out, his mouth had fallen into a gape and his arm propping him up was now shaky. His only anchor was the grip he moved to have on her hip, his palm slick and sticky from fisting his cock though he didn't have it in him to care.

He really, really hoped (Y/N) meant it when she said she wouldn't mind if he blew it fast; he doubted he had much longer left, and he'd only just sunk inside.

"Y'alright, peach?" he breathed, his words fanning across her skin when he finally looked up to reach her eyes.

Looking at him with hooded eyes, the pupils wide, (Y/N) gave him her confirmation in the form of a jerky nod. "I'm okay," she mumbled, "Are you?"

"'M good," he said, feeling drunk despite not a single drop of alcohol even being present in (Y/N)'s home, "'M so good, peach. 'M scared 'm too good."

"It's okay," she smiled at him, if only a bit dazed when she threaded her fingers through his damp curls, "Just do whatever makes you feel good—that's enough for me."

He wished he could have told her how much her affection meant to him, how he couldn't believe she loved him the way she did, how there was no one who had such an effect on him, but there was no way his tongue was going to follow any kind of command let alone any train of thought to actually form. Instead, he settled for a searing kiss against her already swollen lips.

Though he doubted he would have any chance at composure, he still attempted to catch his breath and his brain before he reared his hips back for the first time. Pulling out of her warm channel was enough to add some form of clarity to his mind, though it didn't last long before he pushed forward in a shallow thrust. Her walls welcomed him in once more, warm and snug with every ridge forming around him in a pulse. (Y/N)'s thighs tensed around his hips, a slight tremor to her muscles though she managed to let out a sigh of pleasure against his kiss.

"Fuck, peach," he murmured when he bottomed out once more, the crown of his length tapping her furthest walls.

A furrow had his brows pinched though his eyes remained closed, even when he couldn't manage to kiss her anymore, his lips simply resting against her own parted ones. He shared panted breaths with her, his forehead resting on her own with (Y/N)'s fingers curling in his hair.

Though the pace was slow, he was able to curate a rhythm that kept him from finishing right away. He didn't feel too far from the edge, but this was as good of a chance as he was going to get when she felt as good as she did.

"H-Harry," she whined, her voice breathy and airy, "You're so big."

His hips stuttered at her words, the previously shallow thrust he was working on turning into a harsh grind against her core. The jolt had another moan rumbling her chest with a curse falling from Harry's lips.

"Y'can't say that, peach," he murmured, unable to keep his pacing, "You're gonna make me cum and we've barely started."

Every stroke was indulgent, lingering when he wanted, harsh and deep when he changed his mind, anything and everything to his taste. His only chance was in moving his hand from her hip and shaky positioning it between his punishing hips and her forgiving core. At the apex of her folds, her clit pearled. Though his hand was shaky, he still managed to smear the pad of his thumb against the bud, feeling the budding pulse that matched the hammering of her heart.

Suddenly coming to light, (Y/N) managed to bring him in for a kiss. It was sloppy and clumsy, leaving their lips swollen and teeth glancing off one another, but there wasn't any room for perfection.

Harry needed her, that was all he knew. His stomach tightened with every thrust, his balls shining with her slick with every slap against her ass. (Y/N)'s thighs were warm and tight on either side of his pelvis, unwilling to let him venture too far before accepting him back inside.

"(Y/N)," he panted, shaking his head, "P-Peach, 'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, do—shit—don't be sorry, H. I want you to cum, okay? Cum in me, please."

How was he supposed to deny her? What kind of boyfriend would he be if he said no to such pretty words?

Keeping his thumb running circles around her swollen clit, Harry couldn't stop himself before harshly thrusting inside her and pausing when he felt the first spasm wrack through his abdomen. There was a bunch to his muscles he hadn't even realized until the thread keeping them together snapped.

Ropes of his cum spurted out, decorating and flooding her walls with every pulse. She grew impossibly wet around him, his thumb barely keeping track as he tried to tend to her clit even through the tremors. He ground his hips against hers, unwilling to draw away even an inch out of her warmth as he came.

The world slowly came back into focus as he pulled in puffs of air, (Y/N) delicately kissing his bottom lip. He felt so hot, sticky despite the bath he'd just soaked in.

Was sex always like this? He couldn't recall ever coming this hard, but had it been too long for him to remember? Or was this another (Y/N)-only thing? He could readily believe that highs like this only came from being in her arms.

"Still with me?" his peach murmured, a wanton edge to her voice that reminded him that there were much more important things than his own pleasure.

He nodded, finally reciprocating her kiss. "'M here, peach. I've got you."

Despite the oversensitivity beginning to leak into his system, he managed to grind into her just enough to match the swirling of his thumb against her clit. She gasped into his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue past her lips and sweep over her own. He got a taste of her pleasured moans, reveling in the feel until it seemingly became too much for her.

In a way he was now familiar with, (Y/N) let out a chirping moan, delicate and shaky into his mouth. That was the first sign before her fingers in his hair began to tug at the roots in a stinging pull, and toes curled. Her pussy clung to the shape of his cock, his cum overflowing around himself and dripping down to the bed under her ass as she gushed around him. His oversensitivity had him crying out a call of her name, her pulsing walls almost too hot to handle as she came around him.

He could have done this all night, Harry decided. He could have pet his fingers over her clit and pressed into her walls for hours if not for the fact that they were both beginning to see the less than favorable side of sensitivity.

"'M gonna pull out, okay?" he panted, blinking his eyes open to find his (Y/N)'s still shuttered. She answered in a quiet nod, her lips parted as she breathed.

Though it was a bit reluctant, he drew his hips back in a slow glide. His softening cock slipped out with a wet sound as (Y/N) unfurled her legs from around him. A small whine left her lips, but she didn't stop him, only clinging to him.

Settling in bed beside her, reaching for one of the pillows stationed at the head of the bed, Harry fixed it under their heads. (Y/N) instinctively rolled to face him, sharing the cushion with him. He gave her time as she came down, brushing his fingers through her hair and over the planes of her features until she managed to crack her eyes open.

"Hi, you," he smiled, repeating her small tease from earlier.

A plume of laughter fell from her lips, a slight smile forming on her kiss-swollen lips. "Hi. What are you up to?"

"Nothing. Jus' looking at you."

"Nothing important then, I see," she laughed, snuggling closer to him until Harry was collecting her into his arms with her head tucked into his neck.

"Very important, actually," he corrected, amusement draining from his tone, "Thank you, peach. Really."

"You don't have to thank me, H," she countered, "I obviously got my own benefits out of this, so don't think I just did this for you."

He knew she was trying to play with him, get him to loosen up, but he wasn't in the mood for that just yet. He was a touch too sentimental at the moment.

"You know what I mean," he murmured, planting a kiss to the top of her head, "I jus' love you, and... always means a lot when y'trust me, and let me be with you. Thank you."

"I love you, too, Harry," she reciprocated, her own arms giving him a pulsing hug, "It's easy to trust you, really. I wouldn't want to have these kinds of moments with anyone else—you're the best thing that ever happened to me, honey."

Though he knew they needed to change her bedding, and blow out the candle in the bathroom, get (Y/N) cleaned up, and mop up the bathroom, Harry couldn't find any good reason to extract himself from her arms.

There would never be a good enough reason that came above being with her like this.

—————

ahhhhh! thank u sm for reading and to whoever requested this! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own please send them in!! if you want to read more, you can check my patreon page:)

#anon #writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry imagine #harry smut #harry x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry au #harry styles au #fine line #harrys house #pleasing

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lovequartz · 7 months

Text

under wisteria blossoms

⊱ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x reader

⊱ genre: small town, acquaintances to lovers, fluff & angst

⊱ warnings: historical inaccuracy, self-image and self-esteem issues, period-typical views (marriage/women)

⊱ word count: 7900+

⊱ tonight, i’ll send the glow of a firefly to somewhere near your window

⊱ notes: happy and somewhat relived to be able to share this, i think like aoybb this is something that i worked really hard on and tried my best with <3

The boy's skin feels warm and clammy underneath Wonwoo’s fingers. He’s glad the family called him when they did, thankfully the young boy’s condition had been better than he’d anticipated. He hangs his stethoscope back into its place over his shoulders and turns to the boy’s grandfather.

“It’s a mild fever, he should be feeling better with a few doses of herbal tea and lots of rest,” Wonwoo pauses to pull the young boy’s shirt down and the sheet covering him, back up, “please don’t hesitate to call me if anything changes.”

Your father walks the doctor to the door and bids him farewell with a firm handshake as well as a pat on the shoulder. As soon as the door shuts you move to change the washcloth resting on your nephew’s head.

“You could’ve greeted him properly rather than peek at him from the hallway,” your father teases.

You shake your head as your hands busy themselves with wringing the washcloth. “He was so handsome,” you sigh, “I almost broke into a rash just staring at him.” You place the now cool fabric back into place across your nephew’s forehead, and press your moist hands against your cheeks in a futile effort to bring a chill to your warm face. Perhaps you’re the one with the fever now.

Your paths do not cross with the young and handsome doctor until sometime a week or two later. Your parents had insisted you bring him a small basket of persimmons on your morning delivery to thank him for Silas’s care, and your sister, Silas’s mother, had insisted that you bring your nephew with you.

So there you were, the pair of you, walking towards the town center to find Jeon Wonwoo’s office of practice.

Silas squeezes your hand to get your attention and you glance toward him to let him know you’re listening.

“Auntie,” he starts, “do you think I should become a doctor when I grow up?”

You almost giggle but hold it in lest he thinks you’re laughing at him. His mother would probably run the streets in excitement if she’d just heard her son’s query.

“Now why do I have a say in what you should be when you grow up? You can be whatever you want, I always tell you that.”

His lips form a small pout before he replies; “You’re my best friend, of course you have a say.”

Tears try to fill your eyes before you will them away with a shake of your head. “Well as your best friend I say that you should be whatever makes you happy.” You tell him and lean down to quickly press a kiss to his cheek. “Now let’s hurry to Mister Jeon’s office so he can get his persimmons and you can go to afternoon classes.”

The doctor’s office isn’t too hard to find, mostly due to the fact that there’s only one of them, and it’s fairly new to town.

As you and your nephew make your way to the entrance you notice the wisteria plants that span the awning. ‘They'll look lovely when they bloom in spring,’ you muse.

The bell above the door chimes as the two of you enter and the young man sitting behind what you assume to be the reception desk nods in greeting.

“Do you have an appointment?” He asks once you are closer to the desk.

“Actually, I’m here with a delivery," you say, shyly holding up the basket, "and payment for Dr. Jeon's house visit."

"Of course," he stands to receive the basket from you and sets it on the floor beside his chair. You watch him smooth down his dress shirt as he returns to his seat. The man then pulls open a drawer at his side and retrieves a medium sized journal, setting it in front of him and wetting his index finger to flip through its pages.

"May I know the date the visit took place? As well as the patient's last name and address?"

You provide him with the information and watch as he skims through the cursive written on the journal's pages.

As you converse with the man about payment you can't help but be thankful about how well behaved Silas is as you do. Although it might have been due to his fascination with the fish in a tank that sat in the waiting area, tucked next to some chairs and a table with a few newspapers, you're no less grateful.

The two of you leave the office shortly after, your nephew a bit disappointed in not seeing Dr. Jeon, the man who has become the current subject of his admiration.

"I'm sure we'll see him sometime soon," you say, trying to lift the boy's spirits, "it's a small town after all. Now, run along to class. Your mother will have my head if you're late again."

Silas bids you farewell with a hug and you watch him jog down the road towards the schoolhouse, his bag swinging behind him. Unbeknownst to you that the doctor you'd been speaking about was watching it all from not too far away.

Wonwoo is just shy of exhausted as he enters his practice. Removing his hat and tweed coat, holding onto them to hang them up in his office.

Seungkwan stands from his chair to greet him but before he can utter a word Wonwoo lets out an almost comical sigh.

"Please tell me I'm done with house visits for the day, I don't think I can handle another matriarch trying to convince me to marry their daughter."

"You'll be happy to note that all the patients left today are mostly general check-ups." Seungkwan replies with a look of amusement. "Oh and before I forget the daughter of the persimmon farm came by with a basket for you and also took care of their bill for the visit two weeks ago," he continues.

"I thought I caught a glimpse of her outside. Thank you, Seungkwan, I'll be in my office if you need me."

Wonwoo closes his office door behind him as he enters, hanging up his hat and jacket on the coat rack to his immediate left. The basket of persimmons sits in the middle of his desk, covered with a cloth that had to have been hand-sewn. It's cream colored with a bouquet of embroidered flowers in the corner, beautiful work. It's a shame he can't enjoy the sweet fruit that lies beneath, work comes first.

The bookstore's wood stairs creak as you ascend and in turn the bell hanging above the door chimes as you enter. Delight flashes across your face as you lock eyes with the girl who sits behind the counter. She returns your joy earnestly with a small smile and a wave of her hand.

"You seem to be awfully chipper this afternoon." Jisun notes as you lean against the counter.

"Maybe because I have it all to myself," You reply, with a smile.

"I thought you had deliveries to do today?" She asks, confused.

"Well, I did have one delivery today, to Dr. Jeon's office. My father said if I made that delivery and sent Silas off to classes I could take the afternoon off. I might have to do some this evening though."

At the mention of the doctor's name your friend gives you a coy look, which you ignore.

Jisun and you fall into easy conversation between the calm buzz of the bookstore and her helping whatever customer needs it. You move to sit beside her behind the counter, to free up space. She tells you all about the planning being done by her mother for her upcoming wedding. Her engagement to the eldest son of the town's pottering family, Kim Doyoung, happened sometime this past winter. Jisun was over the moon when he had asked for her hand; you remember her crush on him from your school days. He was set to take over the family business in two to three years due to his father's declining health.

"I'm thinking late summer or next autumn, because of the weather. My mother wants it to happen as early as possible, but Doyoung and I are okay with waiting a bit longer. His mother is fine with whatever I decide, she's truly wonderful."

"I'm sure everything will work out. I just can't wait to atten– your response is cut off by the bell above the door chiming to announce a customer, your and Jisun's eyes snapping to the door.

To your utter horror, Jeon Wonwoo enters the bookstore.

You duck behind the counter quickly, praying he hasn't seen you yet and clutching your headscarf so it obscures your face better.

Jisun gives you a confused look but you wordlessly plead for her to act normal, breathing a sigh of relief when she turns to greet the doctor.

"Welcome, Dr. Jeon! I wasn't expecting you today."

You're glad Jisun is a better actress than she seems.

Wonwoo returns her greeting and asks about the store. To which Jisun replies; "It's been fine, not too busy and not too slow."

"How's Doyoung's father? I understand he's been taking his medicine diligently, but I haven't got around to seeing him yet as I was in the office all afternoon."

She offers the doctor a smile, "He's doing much better, thankfully. We're all really grateful to you, Dr. Jeon."

"Please, call me Wonwoo, I prefer to be 'Dr. Jeon' during work hours."

Jisun smiles, "Of course."

Your squatting position soon becomes uncomfortable but you'd rather die than show yourself now, so you continue to listen to the two converse.

"And the wedding? I know you've been planning."

"Well, nothing is set in stone yet, but Doyoung and I are thinking perhaps late summer or even early autumn. Fret not, you and Seungkwan absolutely have a place on the guest list."

"Looking forward to it then. Sorry to take up so much time with small talk, your father has a medical textbook saved for me. I told him I would be by this morning but I was a bit too busy."

"I see, it's likely in his study then. I'll be just a minute!" She replies before turning around to the back of the bookstore, shooting you a wary glance before she disappears.

You hear Wonwoo hum quietly to himself as he waits, and you silently pray for Jisun to make haste. Your legs are burning, not only from the weight of your body but also mostly due to the weight of your deceit. No matter, you cannot possibly let Jeon Wonwoo see you.

"Here it is!" Jisun announces cheerfully as she returns, holding up the thick book with two hands and a sense of pride.

"Thank you, Jisun. How much do I owe?"

Jisun calculates the total along with a hefty discount sparing no room for argument, before wrapping the book up and handing it to the doctor.

"You take care now Wonwoo! I'm sure I'll see you soon." Jisun says as she bids him farewell.

You breathe a sigh of relief at the bell chiming, and the sound of the door closing. Grabbing onto the counter you hoist yourself back to standing much to the torment of your legs.

"What was that about?" Jisun asks with a confused look as you wince and massage your knees.

You open your mouth to respond but Jisun continues; "Don't you dare say 'nothing'."

"I don't want him to see me." You admit, looking at your feet.

"Why not?" She seems incredulous at your confession, "Is it because of your scar?"

Your hand instinctively reaches to touch the long scar that runs through your left eye and down your cheek. The scar that "marred" you, the one that made people look twice, the only thing that prevents you from finding love.

You sigh before giving Jisun a hollow smile, "I have to fetch Silas soon. I'll tell you more later."

And with that you wave to Jisun and make your exit.

The reminder of your scar brings awful memories back to the surface of your mind, and they are all you can think about as you walk to the schoolhouse.

Early Summer (Two Years Prior)

"Darling, is your sister ready? The Baes will be here any moment!"

Your sister hurriedly pulls the curlers from your hair, and runs a brush through them. "Give us forty seconds Mama!" She looks you over in the mirror before giving you a reassuring smile, rushing to pick up the discarded curlers.

"You look beautiful! Now go see Mama, quickly!"

You meet your mother in the kitchen and she gives you a once over before kissing your cheek. "My lovely girl."

Your mother instructs you on when to join them at the table after the Baes arrive and to bring the persimmons she's already cut with you. Figuring you still have time, you move to your sister's room where your nephew is playing.

"Hi Silas." You say softly as you find a seat next to the boy.

"Hi Auntie, what happened to your special meeting?" He asks with a tilt of his head.

"The special people aren't here yet so I came to say hi one more time." You reply, pushing his hair out of his face, it was getting so long.

You and your nephew chat for a bit more until the commotion from the front of the house draws away your attention; the Baes have arrived.

The Baes were a modest family, a mom, a dad and two children, one boy and one girl. They owned the town jewelers, and were surprisingly well known. Bae Giwoong, the head of the family, was skilled with his hands, creating beautiful pieces that complimented anyone. Paired with a wife that had vast knowledge on jewels and precious stones, they had done quite well for themselves.

Hyunsik, the son, had come in earnest with his family to potentially ask for your hand. You were quite nervous, but seeing as your sister had married almost four years prior and had Silas, it was only natural that you were thinking about marriage as well.

The meeting was dragging on. You had presented the persimmons just as your mother had instructed, before taking your seat at her side, across from Hyunsik who you offered a polite but reserved smile. He did not return it, only glancing at you briefly before returning his attention to the conversation between your father and his.

Soon, the chatter dwindled and the Baes announced their leave. Your father convinced Mr. Bae to have a cigar with him just outside the house before they departed. You busied yourself with clearing the table of the used forks and now empty cups of tea your mother had prepared.

After your tidying, you swiftly move through the house to the window at the front of it, intent on eavesdropping.

Peering out you see the son and father chatting amongst themselves, your father probably in his study to fetch the cigar he promised Mr. Bae. Leaning closer to the ledge you're able to hear the two as they converse.

"They're a good family, what do you think of her?" Mr. Bae asks.

"They seem to be," Hyunsik agrees, "She's adequate, I suppose. If only she didn't have that unsightly scar," he continues.

Your heart drops into your stomach at his words, as your hand unconsciously reaches to the scar.

His father mulls over his words with a hum before replying; "You'd have to keep her under lock and key, the poor girl's mangled."

The dread in your stomach hardens and you want nothing more than to stop hearing these harsh words, but you are frozen in place.

Hyunsik nods in agreement, "It's really a shame. I'd be able to overlook it if it were anywhere else, I just can't imagine waking up to that face every morning."

You feel the tears before you register that you're crying, and the sensation is enough to knock you back to consciousness. You stand hurriedly and make your way to your room before anyone can see you in this pathetic state.

You pretend. In the day you are just yourself, getting errands done and living day to day. You pretend to agree, when your mother tells you that Bae Hyunsik would not be asking for your hand due to the fact that he believes you two wouldn't be compatible. At night you are inconsolable, crying into your pillow until your tears eventually put you to sleep.

Silas senses a shift in your mood, but as a three year old he only does what he can. Seeking attention whenever you're sitting idle, laying his head on your lap while you stroke his hair. His little hands playing with your free one.

Eventually, you learn to move on. As does Hyunsik when he marries the eldest daughter of Lee's dairy farm.

His words, however, will stay with you forever.

Drawn out of your memories by the clanging of the schoolhouse bell you quicken your pace, keeping eyes out for your nephew. He appears within a few moments, his own eyes searching for you. You wave to him when he finally finds you.

"How were classes?" You ask as the boy bounds up to you, reaching to smooth his unruly hair.

"Good!” He chirps, before launching into detail about his afternoon. Keeping the two of you entertained as you follow the road home.

The days that follow glide by until eventually they all bleed into a week, a week since you’ve seen the young doctor. Your deliveries go as well as can be expected, though they have been slowing down, and your father is busy preparing the year’s saplings. Silas has gone off to visit his paternal grandparents who live a few towns away, your sister going along despite her relationship of apathy with her in-laws. She did say something about Henry’s younger brother finishing his woodworking apprenticeship so she was expected to be present.

You find yourself bored without your small friend but find time to chat with Jisun every now and again. Miraculously you haven’t run into Wonwoo at all, though you’ve caught glimpses from afar and he has not gotten any less handsome.

At dusk your mother finds you with a basket in her hands.

"Did I forget a delivery?" You question eyes falling to the vermillion fruit.

"No dear, your father is out with the trees still and it slipped my mind that I had promised Mrs. Lee these. You know her youngest just got engaged," She explains.

"Ah right I had forgotten. I'll take care of it," you reply, taking the basket from your mother's hands and pressing a reassuring kiss to her cheek.

The walk to the Lee home is not long, but it is closer to the town than to your own home. You greet the few townspeople you come across on the way, offering them small smiles and polite nods.

The greetings have you in a good mood so you have a little more pep in your step as you bound up the Lee family's porch, curling your fingers around the knocker when you make it to the door.

"Coming!" You hear a girlish voice say, followed by the sounds of the door unlocking.

With a slight tug of the door inwards you come face to face with Lee Daeun, the eldest Lee sister, one hand laid on the wood while the other cradles her very pregnant stomach. The polite smile on her face slips when her eyes flash with recognition.

"I had assumed your mother would be dropping by, not…..you."

You offer a shrug, "Mother sent me instead, sorry to disappoint." You reply jokingly, trying to ease the tension.

Daeun doesn't respond right away, choosing to study you for a few moments. The silence becomes awkward quickly so you try your best to remedy it.

"Congratulations to your sister, what a joyous occasion for her. And to yourself, I didn't know you were with child." You say with a warm smile, probably the most genuine thing the two of you had exchanged thus far.

You hold out the basket to her, which she takes sliding it up her arm so it rests in the crook of her elbow.

"Yes, well, our family is quite satisfied with her fiancé. He's the son of an artisan, and they live a few towns eastward." Both her hands now rest on her stomach, "As for this one, it's only been a few months. Hyunsik is over the moon, and Momma insists on keeping me inside for the time being, so I don't get out much." Daeun's eyes seize you once more before she continues; "And yourself? I know your family has been searching for suitors, any success?"

She may as well have doused you in cold water with the way her tone becomes icy.

"Unfortunately not. I'm not too worried though, I know finding a suitable bachelor can take some time and I'm nothing if not patient."

A scoff escapes her at your reply. "Worried? I feel you should be rather embarrassed. My youngest sister, a girl who we both watched play with mud when we were all children, is now engaged. Meanwhile you continue to age with no partner to call yours, as well as toting around your poor nephew pretending he's your own. I think it's time you face reality, nobody wants a scarred wife no matter how pretty she is."

You are stunned into silence, fists clenched and nails biting into the skin of your palms. Every cell in your body fighting the urge to cry at the venom Daeun had spat at you for seemingly no reason at all.

"Give your parents our family's thanks." Is the last thing she says before shutting the door in your face.

You stare at the door for a few moments, tears starting to blur your vision, before you turn and hurry away from the Lee's home.

Hot tears are blurring your vision as you head in the direction opposite your house. You want to find somewhere quiet to cry your eyes out before heading back to your residence and pretending everything is fine and dandy.

Reaching closer to town, you stumble across the fountain just behind the main street, tucked between a few trees. A veranda shielding it from the setting sun with vines of wisteria weaved through its wood. The flowers are nowhere in sight as their blooming season is still a ways off. You, however, are too busy crying to care much about wisteria.

Shakily you manage to sit at the fountain's edge before your body is wracked with your sobs. Fingers fumble to pull the knot of your scarf resting against your chin loose, and once the fabric comes free you bury your face in it, your tears never once stopping.

You don't know how long you sit there crying, removing your face from your tear stained head scarf every so often to breathe.

A soft voice is the thing that finally brings you back to reality, and there before you with worry etched into his wrinkled brow is Jeon Wonwoo.

Your mind blanks at the sight of him, and it feels as if someone has stuffed cotton in your ears as Wonwoo's lips move but you cannot hear a word he utters. His concerned frown deepens as he gets no response from you, leaning closer. It's as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you feel yourself falling backwards as if someone had grabbed onto the back of your dress and yanked.

Wonwoo cries in surprise as he watches you fall towards the water, arms reaching out to grab you. The sound kicks your brain into gear, it's too late to stop your descent but you throw your hands back to catch yourself. A loud splash echoes through the small area before you are engulfed in the sensation of cold water drenching your skin and clothes. Wonwoo as he lunged to grab you had also met with the fountain water, his hands and forearms submerged, and his body leaning over top of yours.

Silence buzzes between the two of you as the only thing you can do is stare at each other. It's only then do you truly realize the situation that you've found yourself in. Wonwoo's face is mere inches from your own and the only thing you can think is how much more handsome he looks up close. His strong jaw, sharp nose, and the flecks of honey that swim in the brown of his irises.

You notice him studying your own face, and as his eyes drift over to the left you remember why you were crying in the first place. Your hand snaps up to cover your scar and this is what seems to break the trance between you and the doctor. Wonwoo can feel the blood rushing to his ears as he scrambles back to his feet, bowing his head and offering apology after apology.

When you don't respond his eyes meet yours, and he notices you have not made any attempt to remove yourself from the fountain. Your green dress is bunched up over your knees, the fabric now dark due to the water, and your patterned head scarf still gripped in hand.

Wonwoo's face still feels like it has been set ablaze but he offers you both of his hands, "May I?"

You nod shakily before he leans over and your hands reach up to grasp his own. He pulls you firmly, but not yanking, and even lets one of your hands go to loop an arm around your waist for a more secure hold.

You notice how firm his body feels against yours and how much taller he is than you'd thought now that you're practically pressed together. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

Wonwoo slowly removes his arm from your waist and his hand from yours, taking half a step back to give you some (much needed) space.

"Are you alright? I feel awful about startling you, but I heard the crying and wanted to know if you were okay."

"I'm fine," you reply, voice small, "my apologies for getting you wet."

The doctor's lips twitch and you feel perhaps he wants to laugh at you. You wouldn't fault him, you are soaked to the bone, rivulets of water running down your legs beneath your dress.

"Water under the bridge."

You almost giggle at that, but duck your head down and compose yourself quickly.

Wonwoo continues; "Would you mind walking with me to my practice? I live right above it, and would feel better if I could get you into something dry before escorting you home. I know you live a bit out of town."

Before you can respond Wonwoo must have realized how he sounded.

"I know because you left me the persimmons and I treated the young boy, though I didn't see you there. I have seen you around town with him though, just briefly of course, completely coincidentally. I don't go out of my way to catch a glimpse of you here and there. I promise, I'm not a strange person." Wonwoo rambles in an attempt to clear the air, though you're not sure it needed clearing in the first place.

The space above Wonwoo’s office is quaint, what it lacks in size it makes up for in homey-ness. Books piled neatly from where they spill out of the bookshelf, a warm armchair nestled right beside it. A dining table with one chair, both a dark cherrywood, sits against the wall adjacent to the small kitchenette. There’s a small wood-burning stove that looks well loved. Everything in the space feels very Wonwoo to you.

Speaking of, you can hear him rustling through the drawers in the other room. He ushered you in despite your protests, not wanting to drip all over his home. Once inside he disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a towel clutched in his hand, and then layed it across the floor in front of you. “Since you feel so strongly about not getting my floor wet,” he’d said, before disappearing once more.

You fiddle with your fingers, still drenched to the bone, as your clothes drip drip drip onto the towel.

Finally, Wonwoo exits the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a bundle of clothes tucked safely in his other arm.

“I’m sure they won’t fit like a glove, but you’re likely grateful for dry clothes either way.” His tone is a bit teasing, and you can only nod in response with your ears feeling hot.

“The bathroom is just opposite of my room,” He says, passing over the clothes to your hands, “take your time. It’s just about dark so I’ll be sure to walk you home. You can call your parents, or husband, when you’re dressed. I have a phone.” He continues.

The ‘husband’ comment makes you bristle but you decide to clear the air with Wonwoo at a later time, desperately wanting to get out of this wet dress.

“Thank you,” you reply softly, and turn to scurry into the safety of the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly, not bothering with your undergarments. You’d rather have wet undergarments than be bare underneath clothes that don’t even belong to you, the thought flushes your whole body with heat.

Wonwoo directs you to the phone, it rests on a side table next to the armchair, and you dial your house phone with urgency, despite the slowness of the crank dial. The line rings for a few moments, and as you hear the other line click “Mother?” tumbles from your lips.

Your mother says your name with surprise, “Darling where are you? Are you still at the Lees’?”

“No, something happened on the way home. But I’m with Doctor Jeon, you know Doctor Jeon? He treated Silas when he had that god-awful fever. Well, he helped me out, so I’m fine. He insisted I call you before he accompanied me home, so I was just letting you know Momma.”

You listen to your mother talk for a bit more before you bid her goodbye, her voice ringing out a “Be safe on your way home!” before you set the receiver down.

“Thank you for letting me use your phone, and for the clothes,” you say to Wonwoo, who sits across the room from you in that dining table chair.

“Of course,” he replies, “now let's get you home.”

The small talk as the two of you walk the path to your family home is pleasant enough. You find that Wonwoo has somewhat of an eclectic sense of humor, and he’s quite witty despite the seriousness of his profession. In no time your home is visible, and you feel a tinge of disappointment at its sight.

“Well, I suppose this is where we part,” Wonwoo sighs as the two of you stand in front of the gate of your home.

“I suppose,” you echo.

A long pause ebbs between you both as you gaze at each other.

Suddenly you feel a jolt go through you as you have a realization. You’d forgotten your dress on the floor of his bathroom.

“My dress,” you say bashfully, “I left it in your bathroom.”

“That’s okay, I’ll get it washed for you. You can come by the office in the next few days, I’ll have it nice and clean.” He assures you with a soft smile.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Before you can turn to leave Wonwoo continues; “I haven’t seen your boy around, Silas was it? How’s he fairing these days?”

You offer the doctor a tight lipped smile, “His father took him to visit family a few towns over.” You think you have to clear this misunderstanding up before it's too late.

“Also, he’s not mine. Silas, I mean, he’s my sister’s son. I’m not married, I’ve never been.”

“I see,” Wonwoo replies, and you feel you may have offended him somehow at his tone but he continues; “That’s good then, I felt I may have been acting inappropriately towards you. Thinking you were married and all.”

“I didn’t think you were acting inappropriately at all.”

“That brings me relief. Then you won’t think me telling you how lovely I think you look would be inappropriate either? Considering you’re unmarried.”

You feel your ears are deceiving you, because surely Jeon Wonwoo didn’t just say he thinks you look lovely. But as you gaze at his face, a handsome smirk paints his lips, perhaps your ears work just fine.

It seems your mother has never had a more perfect sense of timing as she swings the front door open shouting your name.

You tear your gaze away from Wonwoo to call back to her; “I’m here! No need to shout.”

You hear her footsteps as she makes her way to the gate, shooting Wonwoo an apologetic glance. He offers a soft smile in response.

It isn’t long before you hear the rattling of the gate lock and your mother’s voice again “Honey, what are you doing loitering around outside…“ Her words trail off as she takes in Wonwoo standing across from you. Her gaze flits between the two of you, pausing at your state of dress; a linen shirt and black trousers that were a few sizes too big. Despite her obvious shock your mother paints on a lovely smile and bows her head in greeting to the doctor.

“Oh my, Doctor Jeon, I had forgotten you’d be accompanying her home! Thank you for helping my daughter out, you’re quite the gentleman.”

You shoot your mother an incredulous look, not wanting her to embarrass you further than you yourself already have. She ignores you, of course.

Wonwoo bows his head with a smile, “Not at all. It was my pleasure, your daughter has quite the interesting personality.”

“Doesn’t she? We have no idea where she gets it from, there’s no one like her in the family.”

You assume your mother is trying to rope Wonwoo into having something to eat by the glint in her eye so you jump in.

“I’m sure Wonwoo would like to head home, Momma. He has a bit of a walk back into town.”

“Do you?” She turns to him, “We’d hate to keep you.”

“I have some time,” Wonwoo assures her, “there’s no one waiting for me at home.”

You can’t help but feel betrayed by Wonwoo’s choice to indulge your mother.

“Really? Have you eaten? Let me pack some food for you to take!”

And before any of you can say anything, your mother has Wonwoo’s wrist in her grip gently leading him through the front gate and to your house.

You run a hand down your face before following.

Your mother leads Wonwoo through the house, through the living room, to have him sit on the ledge just outside the living room doors that open up to the garden.

“Now you wait right here,” your mother tells him, “I’ll have my daughter fetch you a drink while I pack up something for you!”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replies.

She eyes you meaningfully before grabbing your arm to drag you to the kitchen.

“There’s some cold yuzu tea in the fridge, take him a glass please.” She sets a medium sized cup onto a saucer, and you recognize it as a part of the china set your family typically uses for important guests. It’s white with some foliage painted on the side.

You follow your mother’s command as she busies herself with packing side dishes, reaching past her into the fridge where the pot of yuzu tea sits.

After pouring a cup you garnish it with a rosemary sprig you pluck from the plant sitting on the kitchen’s windowsill. You're careful not to spill as you make your way to where Wonwoo waits, your pace slow.

He gives you a kind smile as you set the cup and saucer in front of him, thanking you in a soft voice.

“Your mother made this?” He asks, after having a sip. The tea is quite refreshing, and it's probably one of the best yuzu teas he’s ever had.

You shake your head. “I made the pot this time, usually whoever finds it running low makes it, between me and her of course. My older sister can’t brew tea to save her life, she takes after father.”

“Well, it’s delicious. I suppose you’re quite the master when it comes to brewing tea.”

You shake your head again, bashfully. You feel small under Wonwoo's fond gaze, not sure what is the appropriate way to act when he's showing you such kindness. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, with Wonwoo sipping at his tea and you trying to discreetly study his face. You know you've thought this before but he really is quite handsome.

"The garden is beautiful, I don't think I've seen one built in the middle of a home like this before."

"My great-grandfather built this house," you reply, moving so your body is parallel with Wonwoo's, both of you facing the open space. "He traveled a bit with my great-grandmother and when they built this house they took inspiration from some of the homes they stayed in on their travels."

"I see." He replies, setting his now empty cup down, his knuckles brushing the side of your hand as he does so.

You pull your hand away, as if burned, and heat flushes your body.

Wonwoo doesn't comment on this thankfully but you think you see the edge of his lips twitch.

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Your mother's voice rings out. Walking to where you and Wonwoo sit with the containers of food wrapped up in an orange cloth. She sets it between you and Wonwoo as she kneels.

"I don't know what you like, so I added a bit of everything! I snuck in a couple of persimmons as well, we have more than enough."

"Thank you kindly," Wonwoo says sweetly, giving your mother a smile.

"It's no trouble dear! And don't worry about the containers, I'll have this one fetch them from you whenever." She says, motioning to you.

"Well, thank you again. I should be getting on my way now, I've overstayed my welcome it seems."

"Oh not at all!" Your mother pats his arm, "We're always happy to have you Doctor Jeon. My daughter will see you out, don't be a stranger now!"

Wonwoo gathers the cloth in his fist, and the cup and saucer in his free hand. You take the china, passing it to your mother before leading Wonwoo back towards the entrance of your home.

Soon you are in the exact same setting you were when you had arrived; you and Wonwoo standing across from each other at the gate.

"My apologies for my mother, she's the type to flit around even if you tell her to sit still."

"Not at all. She's quite the character, but I can tell she's also immensely kind. I now know where you get it from." The smile on Wonwoo's lips is teasing and you think about how nice it is to have someone compliment you.

After a few more short moments of small talk you urge the doctor to be on his way. The sun had already sunk low behind the horizon and the path back to town settled in darkness. You hurry to grab him a lantern, just to help him light his way home, as the roads would absolutely be dark until about halfway into town.

Wonwoo promises to make it home safely, and he watches you enter your house before turning and making his way to his own.

Later that night you lay awake, palm pressed to your racing heart, replaying the moment Wonwoo called you lovely over and over again in your mind.

The next few days are spent with you staying busy, too busy even to go see Wonwoo for your dress. Pruning the persimmon trees and overall maintenance of the farm are the allotted tasks that fall to you. The workload is a bit heavy due to your sister and her family’s absence.

You’ve taken to sleeping in Wonwoo’s linen shirt, his pants have been washed and folded, but perhaps selfishly, you can't bring yourself to part from his shirt. It smells like him, petrichor with a light musk and the hint of something floral. It's intoxicating and the scent lulls you to sleep better than any tea you’ve ever had.

Sadly, you aren’t meant to hold on to the young doctor’s clothes forever. You have your mother wash the shirt, and find a bag to put Wonwoo’s clean clothes in so they can be returned to him. You intend to slip out quickly, but when your mother catches wind of your plans she rushes off to grab a few persimmons to send with you.

“Please, he’ll be sick of persimmons at this rate,” you whine.

She ignores your concern, slipping the wrapped fruits into your hand. “Nonsense! Nobody can be sick of persimmons,” she argues.

Soon, you are on your way to the doctor’s office. Unfortunately, with the persimmons in tow. The walk to town is pleasant enough, and you get a sense of tranquility with nobody else on the path except for yourself and the occasional woodland creature that makes an appearance.

You made a point to doll yourself up just a bit, wanting to leave Wonwoo with a better impression of yourself than last time. You don’t have high hopes, but perhaps just a hope that Wonwoo holds any feelings other than cordiality towards you. Your dress today is a dusty pink, and you’d found your sister’s rouge and applied a smidge to your cheeks and lips.

The air is somewhat brisk, as it usually is in early fall, but the chill still makes you shiver slightly. Red and yellow tipped leaves sway in the crisp wind, it is undoubtedly autumn. Soon enough you are at the entrance of town, face burning with embarrassment as you catch a glance of the fountain, remembering the events that transpired there.

Your pace quickens.

As you come upon Wonwoo’s practice, you are surprised to see him waiting outside. Giving you a small smile and a wave when he notices you.

“Good Morning,” he greets you with a honeyed voice.

“Morning,” is your soft reply, “do you always mill about outside this early?”

This makes the doctor chuckle. “No, not usually. I saw you coming up the path from my window, so I figured it was only right that I came to greet you.”

“Oh,” you try to fight the heat blooming on your cheeks, “I have your clothes, freshly laundered. Mother thought it pertinent to slip in a few persimmons even though I told her you’re probably sick of them by now.”

The smile has not left his lips yet, and he reaches out to take the bag from your hand, fingers brushing against your own. “I could never be sick of persimmons,” he replies, “after all, everytime I have one I think of you.”

The heat rushes back tenfold, you are beyond flustered and you think Wonwoo notices because of the way his lips quirk up. You feel your brain has been fried at just those few words and you struggle to form a reply. Thankfully, Wonwoo takes pity on you, despite being the cause of your non-functioning state.

“Your dress is upstairs,” he tells you, “I didn’t want it to get wrinkled so I hung it up as best I could. If you’d like, we could go upstairs and retrieve it or I can always bring it down to you.”

“We can go upstairs,” your voice small as you reply, your heart fluttering shamelessly in your chest at the thought of being in Wonwoo’s cozy home once more.

The fluttering of your heart does not stop even as the two of you climb the steps.

You get a lovely sense of warmth when the two of you enter, and you look at the wood stove still kindling. Wonwoo guides you to sit in his armchair, disappearing to the area his kitchenette is. You watch him grab a resting teapot and pour whatever resides within it into a mug. The mug is then wordless placed in your hands, and you murmur a soft “thank you”.

“Apple blackberry tea,” he explains, “I thought you might need some warming up from the chill.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” you reply softly, “thank you.”

A small smile twitches at Wonwoo’s lips as he watches you cradle the mug and bring it to your lips to taste the tea. “Your dress is in the other room, give me a moment.”

You nod, taking another slow sip of the delicious tea. Both fruits pair surprisingly well, and it seems to be the perfect blend for a crisp autumn day.

Wonwoo returns, your dress folded meticulously and resting in his hands. Despite how well worn it is it looks almost brand new, testament to his care of it.

“Oh, you didn’t have to go to all the trouble!” You stand to take the dress from Wonwoo’s hand, fondness swimming in your chest.

The man just shakes his head, “It was no trouble. It's something that belongs to you so I wanted to make sure it returned to you in an adequate condition.”

You press the garment to your chest, your eyes meeting his. You try to think of what to say to convey your gratitude but nothing seems good enough.

It's almost as if Wonwoo turns bashful under your gaze as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t intend to keep you longer, I would accompany you back to your home but unfortunately I have a few patients to see this morning.”

You snap back to reality at this, “Oh! Don’t apologize please, you’ve done more than enough for me, Wonwoo. I can make my way home no problem. Thank you again, for everything.” You give him a nod, walking past him to the door. However, before you can turn the knob you feel a hand at the crook of your arm, pulling you gently to a halt.

Glancing behind yourself, you see that Wonwoo has stopped you. An emotion you can’t quite place swims within his eyes, and it just adds to your confusion.

“Wonwoo..?” You say slowly, when neither of you has spoken for a stretch of moments.

He uses his delicate grip on you to turn your body so you two face each other once more, and the hand on your arm raises slowly to hold your cheek. Suddenly, his thumb is rubbing against your scar gently. He whispers your name and you feel as if you’ve been caught in a trance, you can’t speak, move, or think. All you can do is breathe and feel Wonwoo’s touch.

His eyes trace the lines of your face, before they find yours. “From this moment onwards, I intend to court you. If you’ll have me.”

His words stun you, a moment of silence passing between the two of you before it is broken by your mouth, moving faster than your mind can. “Yes, I’ll have you. Of course I will,” You say breathily.

A smile tugs on Wonwoo’s lips and then he is leaning down to brush his lips over your scar, his hand falling from your cheek and finding your own.

⊱ notes: as always thank you for reading! it really was a pleasure to write this doctor wonu is very dear to me <3333

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #bee.pollen #fic.

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diremoone · 1 year

Text

layers | geto/gojo.

— short story

you’re their favorite kouhai, everyone at tokyo and kyoto knows this. they also know that if anyone or anything were to touch or harm you in any way, they would feel the wrath of the most powerful duo. and one day, someone is dumb and foolish enough to do exactly that.

note(s): this isn’t a full complete drabble with a complete ending, but it’s something I’ve enjoyed writing. flop or no flop, this was a fun piece to write :D But tbh I’m thinking about deleting it and redoing it, or adding more. or maybe a part two lmao??

****

Trees were nothing but a blur of green to your vision. The car was going fast, way too fast for you to make out anything but the simple colors blue and green.

You blinked several times, shaking your head to keep yourself from dozing off. You were tired, so very very tired from such a long and exhausting two days of being on a First Grade mission that turned out to be a bigger issue and much more than it was worth.

They should’ve sent backup with me…

You leaned your head against the back of the backseat. You closed your eyes for just a moment, then opened them again for just a few seconds. The process was rinse and repeat; the only way to keep yourself awake.

Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t… Just… don’t…

“Hang on, Miss [Last Name]!” frantically spoke the driver. He was probably looking in the rear view mirror, seeing you laying back on the seat with your eyes opening and closing. More so of the latter.

You heard the sound of a dial, then the voice of your driver hurriedly speaking into it. Problem was, you couldn’t understand a single word he was saying. It was all so… incoherent. Funny enough, it sounded like you were underwater.

Your head lolled to the side again, eyes half open with nothing but the same blur of green outside the window. Your hand was still over the wound, covering it with as much pressure as possible until you got to the school.

Unless you passed out first.

You could only imagine your upperclassmen holding this over your head as a joke for the rest of your life.

If you got to a medic in time, that is.

——————————

Everything had been fine. Just fine.

Great, in fact, he muses.

Him and Geto had been getting some ice cream to satisfy his sweet tooth, while Shoko complained that he was eating too much while munching away on her own ice cream like a damn hypocrite.

“What should we do now?” Shoko questioned.

“Might as well head back to the school,” Suguru suggested. “It is getting late and—”

“You’re no fun!!” Satoru complained. “Why are you so by the book?”

The black-haired male gives his childish friend a look of both amusement and exasperation. Of course Satoru was going to be like this. It was in his nature to be as anti-rules as possible. Especially if it meant pissing off the higher-ups.

“Alright, we’ll go—”

Shoko holds up a pointer finger to halt the conversation. “Aha, hold up guys. Sensei’s calling.”

“Maaaan! What now?” Satoru whines.

Just as the white-haired male goes to complain some more, he realizes Suguru’s expression changes. And that he’s not looking at him anymore — that he’s looking at Shoko now. So Satoru does the same, and now he sees his brunette friend’s face sheet white, eyes growing red like she’s about to start crying.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be there.”

She clicks the phone off and looks to Geto, the whites of her eyes beginning to become red.

“Shoko?”

“We need to get back to the school. [Name]-chan’s hurt.”

The two males freeze, eyes going wider than saucers. But that reaction doesn’t last but two seconds, and Suguru’s pulling out his fastest Cursed Spirit he’s got and finishing the rest of the route back to school on it with his friends.

He and Satoru turn to look at one another, and Suguru knew his heart was the only one beating wildly in nothing but terror.

The three of them watched as the car pulled up; they landed as soon as the driver got out of the car.

Satoru’s and Suguru’s breaths hitched the second they landed beside the car.

Anger. Rage. Was there even a word to describe how they felt?

The red of your blood became the red of their rage — the red being the only color that they could see.

“Shoko, can—”

Her hand is already placed on your left side, her Reverse Cursed Energy pumping through your body. But the damage was done.

Your head rolled to the back of the seat, right hand limp on your stomach and left hand open, hanging loosely over the edge of the seat. Blood covered your palms, all the way up the inside of your forearms and up to the crook of your elbow.

And how pale your skin was. Was anyone supposed to be that shade of skin color? Of course it wasn’t. They knew that already. You weren’t supposed to ever be this way. Their adorable kouhai that was just too sweet and too nice for the world they lived in was never supposed to end up like this: sickly pale, blood pouring from the wound in your stomach and knocking on death’s door.

Shoko finishes healing you after what seems like forever. In reality, it’s only just a few minutes. But in those few minutes, both Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru come to a full understanding of something: they realize that you mean a lot more to them than just being their cute little kouhai. They can’t imagine you living in a world without you in it. Every thought of you not being there didn’t settle with them. They hated it. They weren’t able to envision coming to school without you passing by them in the halls. Seeing a world where they visited your headstone was unacceptable.

So many thoughts, so much anger, all accumulated within a matter of minutes that drives a permanent mark into their hearts and minds: that a world without you in it is not worth living in, and they love you too much to see anything else bad happen to you.

Suddenly, Yaga Sensei appears before them. Shoko moves out of the way so he can grab you, haul you into his arms and carry you to the infirmary where they have painkillers and other medicine. Shoko follows him, but Satoru and Suguru remain behind.

“Suguru?”

“Hm?”

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“That we need to kill someone?”

“And that’s why you’re my best friend.”

———

Taglist: @vagabond-umlaut • @torusbabygoat

not the gojo x student reader you guys wanted ik ik but I wanted y’all to read this anyway so sue me 😭😭

#gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru geto x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader x gojo #gojo x reader x geto #jjk imagines #jjk drabble #jjk oneshot #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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aerynwrites · 1 year

Text

Late Nights

Gale Dekarios x GN!Reader

A/N: thank you @chaoticlicense for this request, it was so fun to write for this lovely Bookworm of a man and I can’t wait to do more for him soon! Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none

You wake to the faint light of the moon streaming through the window and the familiar feeling of cool sheets beside you, signifying the absence of your lover.

A sigh leaves your lips as you stretch, your hand reaching out to brush the empty spot next to you, joints popping as sleep slowly creeps away.

He’s probably in the library again, you think, used to Gale’s late night musings.

It truly is a chore trying to keep that man in bed sometimes, his mind always wandering and keeping him up at all odd hours of the night.

Missing the warmth of your other half, you begrudgingly slide out from the sheets, feet hitting the cold stone floor as you sit up.

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you stand, reaching out to tug a blanket from the end of the bed to wrap around your shoulders. The tower stays chilly, and with autumn creeping in day by day, the cool air is becoming a constant.

With the soft fabric providing you a little warmth, you make your way from the bedroom and down the stairs towards the library on the bottom floor.

Your feet pad quietly on the worn stone, the ends of the blanket whispering behind you until you finally reach your destination.

The door is cracked slightly, and you slip into the room near silently, eyes adjusting to the light. It’s dimly lit, candles and sconces being the only source of light down here..

“Sunlight will ruin even the most well-made tomes, best to keep them squandered away from her harsh rays.”

You smile at the memory of Gale's explanation when you had asked why such a beautiful room was in the basement of the tower.

Hundreds and hundreds of books fill the room, stacked neatly on various stone and wooden bookcases. So much knowledge in one room, and you’ve barely managed to graze the surface in your time living here.

You navigate the maze of shelves seamlessly, having some idea of where Gale just might be hiding away, smiling softly when you’re proven correct in your assumption.

There’s a small sitting area in the back corner of the library. Two chairs in front of a small table and various rugs and pillows strewn about the floor.

Gale sits in one of the worn leather chairs, a book held open in one hand as the other toys with the corner of the pages. You slow to a stop several feet behind him, taking a moment to take in the man who has captured your heart.

He flips the page after a second or two, a small hum of approval leaving him as he reaches over for a quill and ink sitting on the table, scribbling something in the margins of the book’s pages.

You can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips as you watch him in his element. Yet, despite enjoying wanting him from afar, sleep still tugs at your mind, and you take the last few steps until you are standing behind him.

Your hands fall to his shoulders, making him jump ever so slightly, head turning just as you lean down and place a kiss on his temple.

“What are you doing up, my love?” you ask, voice still thick with sleep. “It’s much too early to start work.”

Gale lets out another hum, leaning into you as your hands slide down his chest and you rest your chin on his shoulder.

“Knowledge knows no such thing as the constraints of time,” he says, and you can feel the way he smiles. “My mind often wanders even when it is most inconvenient. I feared if I stayed with you in the comfort of our bed my mind's machinations would sooner wake you up with my tossing and turning than let sleep claim me once more.”

Humming, you press another kiss to his cheek before directing your attention to the book he was reading, now laying open in his lap as he reaches up to take your hands in his own, placing delicate kisses to your knuckles.

“Well…has your studying quieted your mind at all or…” Your words trail off as you move to step around to the front of the chair, taking the book from his lap and setting it on the table before taking its place in his lap. “Do I need to assist in luring you back to bed?”

With the blanket still draped around you, you let your hands reach out to rest on his shoulders again before sliding up behind his neck, fingers toying with his soft hair.

Now that you can see his face, you see Gale smiling warmly up at you from your position perched on his lap. His eyes reflect the warm orange light of the candles and you’re not sure if it’s that or a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as his hands settle on your hips.

“With you? Here in my lap?” he chuckles, eyes crinkling in amusement. “I can assure you my mind is far from quiet. However…” His thumbs run soothingly over your hips. “I believe my late night musings have subsided for now, and I will admit I crave nothing more than to end the night in your arms. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

You can’t stop the giggle that slips past your lips as he raises his eyebrows suggestively, but you shake your head.

“As much as you know I love that, I’m still very tired,” you admit sheepishly. “I only woke up because I realized you weren’t next to me.”

Gale lets out a little ‘ tsk’ sound despite the smile still on his face. “Well, that just won’t do. Come, let me take my lover to bed - my studying can be saved until the morning,” he says, leaning in to place a quick kiss to your lips. “I’d much rather have you in my hands than a dusty old tome. You’re much warmer, and much prettier to look at.”

You roll your eyes as you move to stand, reaching out to take his hand as he does the same. You don’t reply to his words, instead moving to help him blow out the candles before taking his hand again and leading him up the stairs to your bedroom.

The journey is quick, and before you know it, Gale is taking the blanket from your shoulders and helping you into bed, slipping into the space behind you after toeing off his shoes.

You immediately sigh as his warmth surrounds you, his arm slipping around your waist as familiar lips brush your shoulder.

“Every time I return from a late night journey to the library, I always wonder what fool would leave the comfort of their lover's arms simply because their mind’s thoughts would not cease.”

You turn in his arms then, capturing his lips in a kiss before pulling away to nuzzle into his chest. “You’re not a fool, Gale, far from it. I just…worry about you sometimes, and I…even though I know you always return, I always miss you when you’re not by my side.” Your words are a mere murmur now, sleep pulling incessantly at your eyelids, threatening to pull you under any moment.

With a press of lips against the crown of your head, Gale pulls you closer. “Well, worry not, for I intend to spend the rest of this night here with you until the dawn demands our attention.”

You smile. “I love you, Gale.”

The wizard returns the gesture, tightening his arms around your waist.

“And I, you, my love.”

#Gale x reader #bg3 gale x reader #bg3 x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios #bg3

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pink-sparkly-witch · 1 year

Text

All She Wants, Part Two

Summary: Y/N decides to leave the bunker for good when Dean reiterates that he can never give her what she wants. Struggling to adjust without her, Dean turns to hormone suppressants, unable to stomach the thought of going through a rut with anyone else.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: Hormone Suppressants for @j3bingo

Warnings: omegaverse, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, angst, arguments, heats, ruts, language, Dean’s still a bit of an asshole.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: The response to the first part of this angsty, angsty fic has been overwhelming. Thank you to every single one of you who read and commented and reblogged. It means so much 🥹 Now, without further ado, I hope you love part two!

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy, or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

Being back in the bunker is suffocating, and you haven’t even been back twelve hours yet. The mild cramps in your stomach are now an annoying and constant discomfort, and being near Dean is only making it worse. Your body is so used to the green-eyed hunter that his scent has you craving him. If you don’t get out of here and find another alpha, you know you’ll cave and go to the man who keeps breaking your heart.

Digging into the depths of your meagre closet, you pull out one of the few dresses you have and get ready to have a night on the town. It’s nerve-wracking; you haven’t done this in a long time, but you need to kick old habits and rid yourself of your addiction to Dean. It’s no longer a healthy relationship—maybe it never had been—but your last time together opened your eyes and proved that he doesn’t see you as anything other than a fuck toy.

Walking through the hallways of the bunker, your heels click loudly on the cold, concrete floors as you head towards the library. You know at least one of the boys will be there, and you pray to Chuck it’s Sam. You’d skip this part entirely, given it’s none of their business, but as an unmated omega going to find someone to satisfy a heat, it’s probably best that someone knows your intentions.

As you turn the corner into the room, the scent of Dean’s agitation slaps you in the face. If you’re not careful and can’t control your emotions, it’ll end in a fight and a tumble in the sheets, and that’s really the last thing you need.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” Dean asks as soon as he sets eyes on you.

“Out,” you respond.

“You’re in heat, Omega,” Dean growls.

“I’m aware,” you can feel your body warm as his gaze on you intensifies.

“Do you think it’s wise to go out in your condition?” Dean questions, and you fight your biological instinct to shrink in on yourself and submit to him.

“I need to find an alpha who’ll help me through this, so yes, I do think it’s wise.”

“You have me, Y/N.” Dean’s tone softens, and the hurt that flashes in his eyes almost makes you run to him.

“No, I don’t. Not anymore.” You don’t wait for his response, walking out of the library and up the stairs because you’re so close to saying screw it and making him take you right there in the library.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” you call out and shut the bunker door behind you.

You know you won’t find what you’re looking for in the bar a few towns over, but at least you’ll find someone who can scratch your current itch and make you forget about Dean fucking Winchester.

At least for a few days.

DEAN’S POV

Dean feels his heart shatter as he watches Y/N walk out the door. This isn’t how he wanted things to go with her. He wanted to talk to her and apologise for his behaviour during his last rut. At least if he’d done that, there was a chance they could still have some kind of relationship.

What they had is gone. He knows that. He’s hurt her too much. If he’d dealt with things differently, they’d still have had the potential to at least be civil to one another, but his gut’s telling him that the opportunity for civility has gone.

He can’t blame himself entirely; she hasn’t let herself be alone with him since he’d realised how much of an asshole he’d been to her. Dean had expected her to come to him last night when the scent of her heat became stronger and carried through the bunker, but she’d remained shut in her bedroom. He isn’t even sure she’d eaten since yesterday morning.

“Hey,” Sam says as he sits beside his brother and hands him a beer. “I heard you and Y/N talking. You alright?”

“No, Sammy, I’m not. You know, it never once occurred to me that what Y/N and I had could end?”

“It doesn’t have to,” Sam says softly, noticing tears in Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah, it does. I can’t give her what she wants—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sam interrupts, and Dean’s heart pangs at the implication he’s being his usual stubborn ass alpha self.

“I can’t, Sam.” Dean didn’t usually show his vulnerabilities to Sam. He’s the pack leader and can’t afford to show weakness. The only person he’s ever shown vulnerability to is Y/N.

“Why?” Sam’s question is simple, but the weight of the answer is something Dean’s not sure he’s ready to admit out loud.

“It’s complicated,” Dean answers and takes a long swig of beer, drinking half the bottle in two swallows.

“Enlighten me, Dean, because from where I’m standing, it’s not complicated at all. You already have an emotional bond with her. You’ve been mating with her for what, six or seven years? Why is it so hard for you to claim her, have that deeper chemical bond, and make you both happy by having a couple of pups? It’d be nice to have some little ones running around here.”

“Because the second I claim her, she has a target on her back. She’ll become the hunted. Every monster on the continent will want to tear her apart to get to me. And that’s something I won’t survive.”

“So you do want to claim her?” Sam confirms, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Of course I do!” Dean’s voice booms across the library. “I love her. More than anything. I always have, but I would rather die than put her in danger because of me and who I am,” Dean can’t keep his turmoil to himself anymore. Now it’s out in the open with Sam, he can’t shut the hell up. “I have thought of every way possible to give her what she wants… for years. Give us what we want, but in every scenario, she ends up dead, and I end up alone.”

“Dean, if you keep going the way you have been, she’ll die, and you’ll be alone anyway. And if you let her walk out of here and into the arms of another alpha, you’ll still be alone.”

“I know that, Sam! But I’d rather spend the rest of my life alone and know she was safe and happy with another alpha and a few pups than put a target on her back by claiming her! What part of that don’t you understand?”

“You think Y/N would be happy with another alpha? You think she wanted to go out hunting for someone else to fuck her through her heat? You think she’s not wishing it was you? You think she doesn’t love you? Because she does, Dean! It’s clear to everyone!” Sam’s frustrations reach boiling point, and he no longer has the patience to hold back. “That curse she saved me from loosely translated to stealing what your brother has broken and making it yours. If she hadn’t got between me and that witch, and I’d been hit by that curse, I’d have claimed Y/N for myself because you’re too chicken shit to do it. You know what that means, right? That even the witch knew you were in some kind of relationship. Even just being associated with you in the way she is makes her a target. And she’s an even bigger one without a claim.”

“Then maybe it’s for the best that she’s out there trying to find someone to take care of her,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Sam’s exasperation.

“No, Dean! It means that, claimed or not, monsters know what Y/N is to you and you to her. It means she’s already a target, and you’ve been protecting her from the monsters for a long time. Claiming her and having pups with her isn’t going to change that.”

“Look, can we just drop this? Y/N is better off without me, okay? And nothing you say will change my mind. She deserves something good, and I’m not good.”

Pushing his chair back, Dean stands from the table and enters the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet and locks himself in his bedroom to lick his wounds.

It may not be the healthiest way to deal with things, but at least getting blind drunk on whiskey will stop the images of Y/N presenting for another alpha or taking another’s knot from playing like a video in his mind.

FIVE DAYS LATER

Y/N’S POV

“You’re alive, then,” Dean’s voice greets you as soon as you step into the bunker.

“I am,” you respond, warily making your way down the stairs. You’re on high alert, knowing this could turn volatile very quickly.

“You alright?” he asks next, his eyes scanning your body for signs of injury. His gaze lingers on your neck, and when he notices it remains unblemished, he releases a breath, and his shoulders relax slightly.

“I’m fine.” It feels like you cheated on Dean, and it makes you feel so sick you want to cry.

“Good. I’m glad you’re okay. I mean, you could’ve called. Let us know you were fine. It would’ve stopped Sam and me from worrying about you every second of the day. For all we knew, you were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“My phone’s GPS was still…” you pause and sigh, knowing you don’t need to explain anything to him. “Look, can we not do this, please?” You plead. It’s been a rough few days, and you just want to shower and sleep.

You stop next to him, waiting for him to let you pass and frown when he rears back with a snarl.

“Go shower, Omega. The stench of sex and Alpha makes me want to vomit,” Dean growls and walks away, leaving you standing at the entrance to the library, no longer able to keep the tears in.

The decision to leave is one of the hardest you’ve ever had to make. The bunker is your home, too. Still, you know you’re no longer welcome. Dean doesn’t want you, and you’ve hurt each other beyond repair. You could’ve tried to sort this mess out. You could’ve done that rather than look for a heat buddy, but had you not gone out, you’d have fallen straight back into bad habits and Dean’s bed. You had to break ties with him completely, and the only way to do that was to sleep with someone else, even if it broke both your hearts in the process.

Between the anxiety from you and Dean’s argument after the witch hunt and your heat, you’ve barely eaten for the past week. Before you leave for good, you head to the kitchen to grab something quickly, knowing it’s late enough that both Winchesters will be in their bedrooms, and you can eat and leave undetected.

“Sneaking out on us, huh? That’s mature,” Dean scoffs, and you jump, startled by his voice coming from somewhere in the dark kitchen.

“Any particular reason you’re sitting in the pitch black, Dean?” you ask, your hackles raised and ready to flee if needed.

“Answer my question first, then maybe I’ll answer yours.”

“Come on, Dean. We both know it’s not a good idea for me to stay here,” you reason.

“But this is your home,” Dean says, and where before you only heard contempt, you can now detect hurt.

“Not anymore.” You turn to leave, deciding to just forget about food so you can get the hell out of here.

“Please don’t walk away from me, Omega.”

“I told you I’m not your Omega, Dean. You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.”

“Y/N, please, sweetheart,” he begs, and you turn to face him, your anger rising.

“No, Dean. I can’t do this with you anymore. We can’t keep doing this same dance over and over again. I want more. I need—” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow down the emotion that wants to spill from you. “I need to be claimed. I need to have pups. It’s in my biology, Dean, and I can’t change that. And I can’t change the fact that if I don’t settle down soon, I’ll go feral and die.”

“And you’re gonna do that with the asshat from the bar?” Dean spits back at you.

“No! I want to do it with you, but you don’t want me!” The tears spring from your eyes, and once again, you will Chuck, or whatever fucking angel is standing in his stead, to give you the strength you need to finally leave. To break this toxic bond that’s been forged under false pretences for years.

“Y/N, I do want you. I just can’t give you what you need,” Dean pleads.

“You can,” you nod with a tearful smile. “Because even if it wasn’t in the traditional way, you gave me what I needed for years. You just don’t want to.”

“No, Omega, please.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

DEAN’S POV

Y/N has been gone for two months, and there hasn’t been a peep from her. If Sam has heard anything, he’s kept it quiet, and Dean hasn’t asked. She’s turned off the GPS on her phone and removed the tracker from her car, and anyone he’s asked in their network either hasn’t seen or heard from her or has just told him she’s fine.

He misses her laugh and her smile. He misses her comforting scent that would linger around the bunker. He misses her soft, warm body sliding into bed next to him when she’d had a nightmare or wanted to cuddle in those first few hours of her heat before her need for him changed to something more carnal.

Yet, never once did he reach out to her. She’d made it pretty clear they were done, and he’s accepted that. What he did to her was unforgivable. Still, he’s hurting, too and feels betrayed by what she did. He may not have the right, but it’s how he feels, and try as he might, he can’t change it.

As the telltale signs of his next rut make themselves known, Dean knows this will be the hardest challenge he’s faced since Y/N left, but if she could so easily toss him aside and find someone else to mate with, so could he.

Standing at the bar, Dean preens under the attention of several omegas surrounding him. It’s been a long time since he’s had so many women fawn over him, and he guesses that being with Y/N has kept them at bay all these years.

Looking towards the other end of the bar, he does a double-take. The woman has similar features to Y/N: same eye colour, same shaped face, and from what he can see, a similar figure. It’s not her, but Dean is on his feet and making his way over to her before he can think twice about it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean gives the woman his most charming smile and feels his confidence soar as she giggles and looks down briefly before raising her eyes and batting her lashes at him. “The name’s Dean.”

“Carly,” she responds shyly, and Dean smirks.

“Pretty name. It suits you, Omega. Can I buy you a drink?” he drawls, using his alpha tone.

“Sure, Alpha,” she smiles sweetly, batting her eyes at him once more, and Dean knows he’s found a rut partner for the next few days.

“So, what’s your poison?” Dean asks, grabbing the bartender’s attention.

“Appletini,” Carly says, and Dean fights a scoff at the girly concoction. Y/N would’ve ordered a whiskey or an Old Fashioned if the mood struck her, none of this fruity shit that makes you question whether there’s even any alcohol in it.

“Whiskey, neat, and an appletini for the lady,” Dean says to the bartender.

“So, Dean, what’s a handsome alpha like you doing in a place like this?” Carly asks.

Glancing at her kind eyes that remind him so much of Y/N’s, he finds himself spilling everything to her. He’s not sure why he finds it easier to talk to a stranger than his own brother or even Cas, but he does.

“Look,” Dean says after an hour of talking and a few more whiskeys. “I came here intending to find an omega to ride out my rut with, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he confesses. “I’m not even sure I could… physically… uh, you know.” he chuckles.

“I think that’s a wise decision, Dean,” Carly smiles kindly. “I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind to be mating with someone new. You haven’t fully accepted that your mate left you, and it could be dangerous for both of us if we leave here together.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s my mate. I never claimed her, so…” Dean shrugs, feeling a little bad for leading her on.

“Doesn’t matter, Dean. You bonded with her intimately, and I’m guessing you stayed faithful and only had her the entire time, right?”

“I only ever wanted her,” Dean nods and swallows another whiskey.

“So, you were together like a beta couple would be, right? Like dating but not married?” Carly replies with a knowing smile, and Dean has to admit he’s never looked at his relationship with Y/N in that way before.

“I suppose we were,” he responds with a nod to the bartender for another drink.

“Do you know where she is? Can you go to her?” Carly asks.

“No,” Dean sighs. “We have some mutual friends, but they are very quiet about her whereabouts. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. I hurt her. A lot. And I wish I’d handled things differently.”

“You’ll get there, Dean,” she smiles. “And if you don’t, try begging your friends to tell you where she is and grovel until she forgives you!” Carly chuckles and squeezes his hand. “It could be an easy fix if you can overcome your fears. It’s clear you love her, and if you can give into those feelings, you’ll work it out.”

Carly hops off the barstool and pulls her purse strap over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Dean. I hope you find your girl and make things right,” she cups his cheek and winks at him before walking away and leaving him alone.

Downing the whiskey in one, Dean throws some bills on the bar and heads to the Impala. If he’s going to see himself through his rut, he’d need a lot of provisions.

It took six days, three bottles of lube, and the help of various knotting toys for Dean to come through the other side of his rut. He can’t remember the last time one had been so brutal or unforgiving. However, now he’s out and can start taking the suppressants he got from the drugstore, so he doesn’t need to go through one again.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam asks, seeing Dean at the hob, frying bacon and eggs.

“Still feeling rough, but some food and fresh air should do me good. Please tell me you found a hunt while I was out.”

“Yeah, looks like there’s a ghoul loose in Stillwater, Oklahoma.”

“Alright, then. We’ll get everything together and leave in a couple of hours.”

“Dean, are you sure you’re up for this? You still look a little… off.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Just ready to get out of here. Been cooped up too long.”

For the next few months, that’s what they do; move from small town to small town, saving people and hunting things, and Dean? Well, he’s just peachy.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Dean always knew the suppressants would take some getting used to. They’re the drug store variety and weren’t for long-term use. Still, the nausea and headaches are getting worse and are now accompanied by bouts of fever and a loss of appetite.

He knows his age probably isn’t helping, and the fact he’s been rejected by his mate in a roundabout way, so rejection sickness has been on his mind the past few days as his symptoms got worse.

Sam’s said he’s easier to anger than usual too, and Dean’s starting to feel constantly on edge now. He can only hope whatever this is will end soon because this fucking sucks.

Swallowing down another pill, Dean throws the pill bottle into his duffle so that he and Sam can get home, put this vampire hunt behind them, and take some time off.

Although sceptical at first, he’s now grateful he’d agreed to take a break from hunting for a couple of weeks to recoup and relax. They hadn’t stopped hunting in close to twelve weeks, and he feels awful. A little time off might be just what he needs.

“Ready to go, Dean?” Sam asks, frowning when he notices the pill bottle at the top of his brother’s bag. The younger Winchester walks over and picks it up, huffing loudly. “This is what you’ve been taking? Over the counter suppressants?”

“Yeah, so?” Dean replies.

“Dean, these aren’t for long-term use. They’re supposed to only delay a rut for a couple of weeks, not for taking every day. Why didn’t you go to a doctor and get the right thing?”

“Oh, because we have that luxury, Sammy!” Dean snaps. “‘Do you have insurance? No. What’s your address? An underground fortress in the middle of fucking nowhere.’ Seriously, you don’t see anything wrong with that? And they say you’re the smart one!” Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

“We would’ve found a way, Dean. We always do. These are probably doing more harm than good. I think it’s why you’re feeling off, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“It can’t get any worse, Sammy! Y/N left me. Nothing will ever be worse than that!” Dean yells as he grabs his bag and stalks out of the motel room, and slams the door.

Dean is agitated. So much so that even he can’t deny it. And the more he tries not to be, the worse he gets. He knows it’s annoying Sam—it’s annoying him, too—but it’s not something he has any control over. Everything is going haywire; his skin itches, sweat drips down his back, and he just wants to pick fights. That’s why he had a go at the idiot at the gas station and the douchebag from the diner. He blames Sam for that one. He wanted to keep driving, but Sammy just had to stretch his freakishly long fucking legs now, didn’t he?

When Sam finally rejoins him in the car, Dean tries to avoid his baby brother’s puppy eyes. He knows he’s fucked up. He knows he should’ve found a way to get the real thing, but the fear of a doctor telling him he’s a lost cause, that because his mate left him would mean that suppressants can’t fix him stopped him. Besides, it can’t take the ache of Y/N’s departure away. It doesn’t change the fact that as an alpha, it was his duty to claim her.

“What am I in for, Sammy?” Dean finally asks, breaking his silence on his suppressant use. He’s not sure he wants to know, but he needs to keep what’s left of his pack safe. If this ends the way he dreads, he needs to put a plan in place.

“You’ll go into a rut that can only be satisfied by uhm… your mate,” Sam says, avoiding her name so it doesn't set the older alpha off again. “And because she’s not here, you’ll go feral,” Sam sighs.

“And when I go feral, I’ll be dangerous to any omega who isn’t Y/N,” Dean finishes what Sam doesn’t say.

“I think it’s already started. I can smell your rut pheromones, but they’re… off.” Sam said.

“Listen to me, Sammy. I’m going to the safe house in Montana. I’ll let nature take its course. You will leave me there and take the Impala so I can’t get out.” Dean begins, but Sam’s quick to intervene.

“Dean, no. I can track down Y/N. When she hears what’s happening, she’ll—”

“Laugh and tell you to tell me to go fuck myself! I made my bed, Sammy. I gotta lie in it.”

“You’re signing your own death warrant!”

“Then so be it!” Dean roars, but Sam won’t back down.

“I can’t let you do that when someone can help you!”

“She won’t come because she doesn’t want me, Sam!” Dean yells. “How many times do I have to say it? She left me because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. For all we know, another alpha has already claimed her.”

“I have to try, Dean! I can’t just let you die!” Sam is trying to stay calm, not wanting to upset his brother more.

“Yeah? Well, maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“It’s not, and you know it. I’ll lock you in that cabin and take the car with me to keep you safe, but I will find Y/N.”

“Fine. I can’t stop you,” Dean relents. “But when she tells you she’s done with me, you will leave me there, and whatever happens, happens. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sam agrees reluctantly.

Next Chapter>>

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567

#j3bingo #omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader #dean winchester x reader #a/b/o universe #a/b/o

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bunnywrites1414 · 1 year

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"Why did you invite me if you weren't gonna pay attention to me?"

Kinktober 2nd, 2023: What kind of jerk invites someone over and then sits on a computer game for 2 hours? Suna that's who.

Warnings: Vouyarism, reader shows off over VC.

"Why did you invite me if you weren't going to pay attention to me?" (Y/N) grumbles from her comfy spot on Suna's bed. "I'm gonna pay attention to you, we're on a winning streak, can't stop yet," He says not taking his eyes off of his setup "No not you, fuckin stupid" he yells into his mic, probably at Atsumu. He listens to her sigh, then his bed sheets rustle, and then a heavy thump next to him.

She watches his expression shift from one of concentration to a sneaky smirk. "Not gonna work princess," he says. More shuffling. He sees her walk up to his chair, pretty legs now bare of his sweat pants. She yanks gently on his sleeve and whines "Wanna sit with you" she says. "Just a second Angel" he murmurs. About 2 minutes later the 'Victory' screen appears across the screen and Suna pushes back away from his desk to lets (Y/N) slip into his lap. She straddles his hips and tucks her face into his neck. "Hi, pretty baby" he mumbles rubbing her back under her sweatshirt and running his hands along her bare thighs. She can hear Atsumu and Bokuto fake gag through the headphones and she giggles into his throat. "That was so cute." a voice she doesn't recognize. She plants little kisses down his jaw.

"Princess the camera's on" his voice is gentle. He can hear her eyes roll and the "course it is" she mumbles is enough to make him chuckle into her hair. "Wave to the boys" He murmurs and she turns to wave shyly at his webcam. She watches Kurro, Atusumu, Bokuto, and some other blonde wave back at her. "Who's 'at?" she asks Suna pointing to the unknown face. "His name is Kei, a friend of Bo and Kurro" he answers and Kei's face scrunches "They are NOT my friends, I tolerate them at best," she hears him complain through the headphones. There are complaining whines from Bokuto and Kurro.

"Flip around baby" Suna mumbles against her shoulder sliding away from the desk. She stands and inches herself back onto his lap, folding her legs up under herself. Suna's arms wrap around her waist and his fingers return to the keyboard and mouse. She watches the screen flip from the lobby to the entry skit and the 4 others focus on a different screen. Suna feels her shift back and lean against him. "Sit still Brat" that voice isn't Suna. Her eyes flick back to the screen with his friends and Kurro wears a telling smirk.

"You're not the boss 'a me Rooster boy" she snaps back at him glaring into the camera. Suna's hand cracks against her thigh and she cries out, folding herself in half. "ow Daddy" she whines into the space under his desk. "Behave yourself," his voice is calm and smooth. "Daddy's so mean to you huh sweet girl?" Atsumu purrs through the mic and Suna's signature smirk plasters his face. She slumps back and grumbles to herself arms hugging her waist. "Don't pout honey you did it to yourself" Suna says and her eyes narrow again.

The conversation switches to the game and stays that way for two or three more rounds. Their winning streak persists and (Y/N)'s mood sours. "Pup's gettin' real grumpy there Suna," Bokuto says smirking at the camera. "Told 'er I'd get off as soon as we lose" he returns to his friend and a series of condescending whines drift through the headphones "Poor thing" "He's so mean to you" "Sweet thing" The blush that spreads across her face is visible even on camera. "Boys you spoil her" Suna laughs and she pouts covering her face.

"No..." Kei's voice is almost sweet enough to be genuine "... she needs more attention, she's been squirming since she sat down. Just want Daddy to touch you huh sweets? Gettin' needy sittin' all by yourself?" Suna watches her eyes blow at being caught. "Wow Tsuki you read her almost as well as I do" Suna muses and there's a series of taunts flooding the VC again.

Suna flips the mic on his headset off, "Shift for me princess. Got a few more games in me, but you can get started without me, right baby?" Suna purrs it, he's showing off to his friends, "w-with the camera on?" she asks turning to look at him. "You like the attention, I know you do. I can turn it off if you want" Suna says and the smirk falls from his face, a check-in. "It's alright Daddy," she says and smiles a little. "Atta girl," his smirk returns "get to it." She watches the mute button disappear again and voices flood the headphones again.

(Y/N) shifts and settles herself over Suna's left thigh. The boys through the computer catch her slight movement and all eye shift to her. They watch her hips start to move and her face shifts from concentration to bliss. "is she...?" one of the boys trails off. "She is." Suna confirms as the game continues. (Y/N) starts to whimper and whine against her sleeve, she hears the victory tune start and then feels the eyes shift back to her. "Jesus she's a vision..." (Y/N) is far enough away she can't hear the boys anymore, but she can hear Suna talking back to them. "I know she is, You should hear her, my princess makes the prettiest noises. " she keens and whimpers at the praise. "Daddy, want them off" she whines pulling at the waistband of her panties. "Not yet Princess," his hands pull hers to rest on her back, one hand pinning them together, the other pulling off his headset and slipping it over her ears.

"Give 'em a show baby," Suna purrs against her shoulder sitting back and watching her move. The other end of the call is silent for a minute, (Y/N) lifts her eyes to look at the screen full of Suna's friends, she watches the screen full of lust-blown eyes and expecting smirks. "Go on pretty, you heard Daddy, give us a show" Bokuto's voice is lower than she's ever heard it, his face clear of the golden retriever-esqe man that she knows, and is full of a predatory attitude she's never seen from him. When her hips start to move a loud moan falls from her lips and her head falls forward so she doesn't see the series of shifts from the camera. Suna doesn't miss most of the boys reaching down to adjust their hardening cocks. He also doesn't miss Bokuto not reaching for himself, keeping his eyes on her, his head resting on his hands.

Her whimpers and whines sound like a symphony and Kurro, Kei, and Atsumu are all willing and happy concertgoers. But Bokuto is an art connoisseur, he's not just listening, he's feeling, analyzing every note, and trying to put himself in her shoes. "Gonna talk to her Kotarou? or keep starin'?" Suna's taunting him. Bo's face changes, from concentration to a wolfish grin. "Hear him puppy?" bo growls "he wants me to talk to you. Tell you how hard you make me and how pretty you sound when your feeling good." Bokuto sits back manspreading and bringing his hands to the desk. "I heard Bo" (Y/N) whines back at him before she whines at Suna's hands ghosting over her thighs. "You know how pretty you look? How hard you're makin' me? Makin' all the boys?"

Soft pleads of 'daddy' fall from her lips for about 5 seconds before the second crack to her thigh makes her hips come off his thigh and a screech rip from her throat. "I'm not the one talking to you Princess. It's rude not to answer people when they're talking to you." He growls against her throat. "I'm s-sorry Bo. T-thank you" (Y/N)'s voice is shaky. "You gettin' close pup? gonna cum all over Daddy for me?" Bo can see how far gone she is, subspace coating her face and words. "I-I" her hips stop "Can I?" she looks back at her boyfriend, eyes shining, "You're not cumming for me this time sweetie. Ask Kotarou." he's nicer this time. (Y/N)'s head turns back to Bo and her voice is dripping with honey "Please Bo? I'm so close, it feels so good, my tummy aches Bo please" Kotarou's head tips back, and a loud groan rolls off his tongue. "No not yet pretty, don't want this to be over just yet" Bokuto watches Suna's eyebrows rise in surprise "But B-Bo..." another slap to her thigh "don't whine at him" (Y/N) whimpers and tears brim in her eyes. "Oh baby" Kotarou again, "I know it's hard pretty but I think you can do it" Suna starts moving her hips again, keeping her pressed hard to the muscle of his thighs. The moans she lets out are feral. (Y/N)'s eyes fly to the screen to watch Bokuto. His hands don't move from the desk, his eyes stay steady on her.

For the first time since Kotarou took over, someone else speaks. "Your daddy's a lucky man" Atsumu's voice is rough and you can tell he's already finished from the cigarette poking out of his mouth. "Thank you 'tsumu" her voice is small and it makes Suna's cock jump behind her. "Keep talking 'tsumu, looks like Bo's about done" Kurro teased, but it spurs something in Kotarou. "You still right there Pup? Nice and close for me right?" he asks and leans forward, (Y/N)'s head nods frantically and the moans don't stop. "Beg me for it." her head shoots up and she looks at the camera and she starts, begging and whining for it, hips moving frantically on their own. "That's it puppy, get right on the edge for me"

"Please Kotarou, I can't hold it, please!" her voice is getting whiny and Suna watches when he decides to give it to her. "Give it to me Pup. Make a mess of Daddy's sweats for me" Bokuto doesn't blink when she listens, waves of pleasure forcing her spend out of her, she soaks Suna's thigh and her hips continue to twitch for another 45 seconds.

About 2 minutes after she finishes, another swat to her thigh brings the whole chat back to attention, Suna pulls her up to sit back against him. "What do you say when someone gives you something Princess." His voice is soft, it's a reminder, not a punishment. "Thank you Tarou" (Y/N)'s voice is soft and it makes the whole chat gush. "Now what do you say Kotaro?" Kurro teases again, and just like that Bokuto is back. "You're Welcome puppy."

#haikyuu smut #suna rintaro #suna smut #suna x reader #suna x reader smut

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oceanlipgloss · 4 months

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HAPPY MEAL

BEELZEBUB.

+ warnings: dark themes, erotic hues, strong language (added are 2 cups of low-carb fluff + 1 tbsp. of light, ‘diet’ angst)

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

At the time, it sort of didn’t feel lonely anymore, that atrociously endless thing. Existence.

Damn, though, the girl didn’t know how to handle a knife or spoon properly; she wouldn’t manage to prepare something edible even if to save her own ass. Then again, neither could he, probably.

Who cares if the stuff he makes tastes great? The ‘aftertaste’ of its repercussions is nothing short of unpleasant. Fucking blasphemous, actually—for each and every bite brings about a bountiful harvest of unwelcome side effects. Like a new medication manufactured to treat not even one ailment would do.

Did he perhaps spike everything? Just how many of them did he put in there exactly, the drugs?

Yet, absurd as her dealings with recipes were, he thought she was cute as fuck. She was so adorable and so corrupt. The perfect, most harmonious mixture.

Of course, as gluttony in the flesh and an insatiable patron of cuisine—with the foods, creatures and all—he ought to have found that inability of hers offensive, but it’s never too late to learn something new until it’s too late, isn’t it?

With her, that ‘what in “Hell” is a kitchen?’ mode had its charms. She was still young, too, and she satisfied him in other ways. Dreamy, dirty ways.

For once, however, the time they spent together was, well, normal.

Normal enough, that is.

He never did deny that he couldn’t keep his hands off of her even in the kitchen, did he? And he never did say that his hands didn’t go where they weren’t supposed to ‘just yet’ over and over and over and over again, right?

Whatever.

Old habits die hard.

They do, but he also soon remembered something: a little big wish he had put away in his hungry heart, then felt boiling over in his wandering brain every now and then.

He had always wished for a few hours of time. Being buried in a blanket of peace, painted with sunshine...that felt like it would be so nice.

Would she understand that when she had more fun, base things in mind?

Maybe he should once again put that wish away, postpone it to yet another other day. If old habits die hard, then how could birth traits themselves possibly melt off, or so much as sway?

Wasn’t he, after all, the king of gluttony?

He was voracious.

And before him was a pretty woman.

Together they were making a meal so unsatisfactory.

What’s the point of resisting these thoughts, fighting who he is, denying himself what he wants?

Fuck that.

Better just indulge, indulge, indulge, get so drunk on sin until it sloshes under his heated skin.

Everyone has their strong points; supposedly, it’s something known worldwide—like how between the sheets she drove him crazy, but in the kitchen she was merely a confused lady. Tragically clueless. Heartbreakingly unknowledgeable. Lost like a cat with no whiskers.

That is why she watched him do almost everything.

He liked how her glittering eyes were glued to him, like ants pressing needy kisses to a sugar cube.

He loved that she was thinking about sinful things—because of him, no less—so shamelessly.

Oily colours and powdery spices smeared his apron, but did she truly see them at all? No, she didn’t. And even if she did, would she have given a shit? No, she wouldn’t.

Because her eyes were on him.

He could have been stirring the soup and she would have been sucking in the hard contours of his bronze arm and the way his glistening muscles distorted those black tattoos.

In her freaky mind, musings about her tongue pressing against any part of his body were wildly spinning. How pretty the sparkle of her saliva on his body would be!

To her, the taste of his silky skin would bring her pleasure greater than that of an angel at thoughts of God and slaughter.

He was mouth-watering; all at once salt, acid and sugar.

Such was the truth—so much so that as he rummaged through the pantry, he almost heard her thinking, ‘kiss, lick, fuck.’

She was so dizzy with that vicious hunger chewing on her intestines and nibbling on her heart. She was so dizzy with it that thoughts of him nearly distracted her from a particular slice of mischief.

You see, he had in mind quite the...exotic ingredients. Said he wanted to see how they’d mix together and with food itself. Told her desire would ‘milk’ most of them out of her.

She thought it was awfully strange and disgustingly sexy, but why not do it another time? Wasn’t a lot of fun awaiting their tingling bodies after all this mess, anyway?

They both of them didn’t sit at the table for dinner. Why do that when they could eat straight from the scalding pot, their legs dangling down the cool counter?

His feet nearly touched the floor. She, on the other hand, was a much shorter, much smaller, much more breakable precious thing.

He was...happy.

It was sweet, having someone to eat with. Even if that wasn’t a big, proper meal.

She was an eccentric human who could only take so much, but he was rubbing off on her.

How else could one explain why the food merely filled a tiny hole in her stomach?

How else could one make sense of the way guts were aching for something else?

She was still starving.

He could taste it pouring out of her pores, the gluttony. It was hot, raging and uncontrollable. It was an irresistible, delicious kind of heat.

He was still happy.

Seasons change, and so do reasons.

He was so happy his stomach wouldn’t have been able to digest anything else for a while.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a lie.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what some cliché, half-assed romance novel would have said.

This is the dark world.

The truth is otherwise.

He is the devil king of gluttony.

He liked her company.

But how could a small pot licked clean with a certain special someone have ever made his appetite shut the fuck up for a minute or two?

Think again, will you?

+notes: sort of on the weirder, unappetising or slightly disgusting side, I suppose.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb #whb beelzebub #the story factory

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words-after-midnight · 2 months

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Weekend kiss tag 😘

Thank you for the tag, @fortunatetragedy! 🦥

Tagging (no pressure): @revenantlore, @cwritesfiction, @klywrites, @mrbexwrites, @saturnine-saturneight,

@davycoquette, @sableglass, @sentfromwolves, @winterandwords, @randomstupidchaos, @jev-urisk + open tag

Rules: From your story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from forehead kisses, familial pecks on the cheek, platonic kisses, to full-blown make-outs.

I AM HERE TO EMBARRASS MY BIRTHDAY BRAINFRUIT. 🎉 Here's the entire scene featuring Gabriel and Jeff's first kiss, shown in a flashback scene in Act I, Chapter 7, "Easy Target."

Some context: immediately prior to this flashback, in the previous (past timeline) chapter, Gabriel made a promise to the moon (yes, you read that right) that he would not get drunk in Jeff's company. Also, Catricia was his therapist at the time of these events. Evan is his current (present day) roommate. In the flashback, Gabriel is 17 (almost 18) and Jeff is 18. Gabriel is 21 in the present day at this point.

At night, I head back to my room, where, for whatever reason, I’m alone. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Evan all day. I can’t help but wonder if something happened – if he’s been brought back up to high security, if he’s been hurt, if he’s been spontaneously released, if he just said “fuck it” and flew the coop of his own accord. Maybe he’s dead. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he killed someone. Maybe his Thursday night group is running late. Maybe they found out he was plotting to kill you. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.

Crawling into bed, I lie under the plain white sheets, closing my eyes. But, as it happens, I can’t seem to fall asleep. My mind still runs from me, heart squeezed with the familiar, relentless, haunting grasp of grief. Dried from fatigue, my eyes stick to the ceiling fan as it single-mindedly spins to its death.

Thwack-thwack-thwack.

My mind is out on the balcony with Jeff on that warm summer’s night, three years ago now, watching his beer can plunge into the darkness of the backyard. Because I can’t think about the night I ran away from my dad’s without lingering on what happened afterward – about the twisted, beautiful mess I unwittingly dove into headfirst, and where I now tread water in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Of course, there are things about this situation I’ll carry to the grave. But that doesn’t mean they’ll ever let me drown in peace.

Jeff brought a six-pack of beer and a bowl of cinema popcorn with us to the basement. The popcorn was Daphne’s, but we both knew she wouldn’t notice one bag missing. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t. Jeff, being Jeff, probably didn’t give a shit. He could talk his way out of anything and he knew it, the bastard.

We sat on the couch. He switched on the TV and propped the bowl of popcorn and the beer on the coffee table in front of us, telling me I could feel free to take a beer or two if I wanted. “After the vodka, you mean?” I mused. “Are you trying to kill me?” He just laughed. It wasn’t hard to make him laugh, I’d noticed.

I took a sip of the vodka – just a sip, because my head was properly fuzzy now we were inside, and I was very conscious of what could happen if I drank much more. I told the moon I wouldn’t get drunk. If I broke my promise now, I’d be forced to remember it every time the night was clear and there were no clouds to prevent her from looking down upon me in abject judgment.

I capped the bottle, setting the vodka on the damn table, because I was the boss and it wasn’t. Jeff snatched it immediately, uncapping it and pouring out a decent volume into the glass I figured he originally brought for the beer, mouth full of popcorn. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said enthusiastically, which I barely understood due to the popcorn.

He turned on GTA and I sunk into the back of the couch, feeling a strange sort of peace, like floating on a cloud. He offered me the controller first, but I was in no state to be running people over with any kind of precision, so I said, “Nah, it’s cool, I’ll watch.”

I took the bowl of popcorn and grabbed a handful, then another. It felt like I was sinking further and further into the couch as the moments passed. I was just starting to think I may, in fact, have overdone it a bit with the vodka when Jeff reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in my lap.

“You know,” he said, once the mouthful was gone. He paused the game and glanced over at me, taking a swig from his too-tall vodka glass. “It’s cool if you want to stay here. I don’t mind having you around. Only thing is, if you do, you’re gonna have to do some work and stuff. Wouldn’t be fair to the others if not, you know.”

My heart practically skipped a beat. Oh my God, is he actually suggesting I can stay here? As in, live here? As in permanently? No fucking way. It must be the vodka. I must be hearing things. I just said, “Obviously.”

He was laughing. As I sat there trying to be cool – and, by the look on his face, evidently failing – he kind of turned to me, propped his arm along the back of the couch. His eyes tore into my soul again, and he looked like he’d just seen something extremely amusing (spoiler alert: it was me). He asked, “Dude, how drunk are you right now?”

Before I knew what’d hit me, I was kissing him. His mouth tasted like a combination of vodka and popcorn that had no business being so intoxicating. Moments – could have been seconds, could have been minutes, I was too buzzed to be sure – passed before I snapped out of it, one hand on his back and the other under his shirt, where his hip met the top of his boxers, and realized what I was fucking doing. I quickly broke away.

My forehead was in my hands. I could only hope they weren’t visibly shaking. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but to my surprise, he didn’t sound particularly bothered by this truly unfortunate turn of events. “It’s fine, dude, you’re wasted as fuck. Shit happens.”

Stomach lurching, heart pounding, not knowing what else to do, I got up and booked it toward the staircase. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

He laughed. He fucking laughed. “That’d be the half-pint of vodka.”

I stumbled upstairs and locked myself in the first-floor bathroom, sitting up against the door, willing my breathing to stabilize before I had either the world’s biggest panic attack, or an actual heart attack, or both. Oh my God, I fucked up. I’ve really fucked up now. I can never face the fucking moon again. He’s definitely not going to let me stay now. He’ll probably never speak to me again.

I curled up beside the toilet – no blanket, no pillow, just the cold tiles under me and nothing but my burning face and renewed tears for warmth. I imagined this is what hell must be like. I found myself wishing I’d had the foresight to bring the rest of the bottle with me, because now that I was alone in the bathroom and not with him, I could have been drinking myself into oblivion stress-free. I hadn’t brought it, though, obviously, so that wasn’t an option. Neither was cutting, because I had no knife on me, either, and you’d have genuinely had to drag my cold, dead body out of that bathroom. All I could do was shed hot, silent tears into the floor, mortified, wishing I could turn back time and decide not to come here in the first place.

The next morning, I remember – also very vividly – being jolted awake by loud, rambunctious singing somewhere nearby, which quickly reminded me of the terrible, horrible, really bad fact that I spent the night locked in the bathroom at Silverwood Manor, and that, therefore, what had happened the night before was in fact real, and not a terrible, horrible, really bad dream.

I remember thinking to myself, even then, Oh my God, I’m so fucked.

I still can’t quite believe I was able to fall asleep that night. Groggy, my head having felt better, I rose to a sitting position, trying to rub the stiffness out of my muscles – the ones I could reach, anyway. I’m not sure even Isabelle’s chiropractor could have fixed my neck at that point. Even my eyes felt stiff – or at least puffy.

Before I could resign myself to the grave I dug and to spending the rest of my miserable life in that bathroom, there was a firm knock on the door.

“Gabriel? You in there?”

Daphne. Shit. “Be out in a sec.” Great, my voice sounded like a cat being strangled. Cool. Awesome. The morning was off to a great start.

“Is everything okay? Jeff said he thinks you spent the night in there.”

No. I have to get out of this goddamned bathroom. Everything is very much not okay. Jesus fucking Christ. What else had Jeff told her?

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Sitting there on the polished tile, trembling like a wet kitten, I tried my best to gain some semblance of composure. I thought about mindfulness, and after a few excruciating moments, I forced myself up and toward the door. Maybe Catricia isn’t entirely full of shit after all, I thought to myself.

I unlocked the door, letting Daphne in. Her face fell upon seeing me. “Wow. You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Daphne.”

“No, I mean –”

My heart rate picked up – not that it had slowed down much at all since last night. What does she know? I tried my best to play it cool. “Yeah… I kind of, you know… got really drunk last night.”

Her face looked like how I imagine the moon’s would have, if the moon had been a person currently with me in that bathroom. But when she spoke, she just said, “Eh, happens to the best of us. Come on, Kyle made pancakes – you’ll feel better when you get some food in you.”

Oh, shit, I was thinking. The kitchen. Fuck. “You know, Daph –”

“Food first. You’ll thank me later.”

I followed her into the kitchen, dreadful as it is, wishing I had the power to dissociate on command. He was there, obviously. He’d now integrated some kind of interpretive dance into his musical spiel. Holding a newspaper over his head, he gestured and strutted unabashedly around the kitchen island, humming loudly. I sat down, carefully staring at the dotted white marble of the tabletop. Daphne went straight for the coffee maker.

“I dunno,” she said – likely in my general direction, seeing as there was no one but the three of us in the kitchen. Because of course there wasn’t. “He just got up and started singing. He’s still pissed off about his probation. Which, by the way, he wouldn’t have if he stopped punching people in the face at bars.”

A plate containing two thick pancakes was set in front of me. It was joined by black coffee and utensils moments later.

“Enjoy,” said Daphne. “Kyle’s a dick, but he makes the world’s best pancakes.”

Jeff, still humming cheerfully, circled the kitchen island like a vulture stalking its prey. He came up behind me, hand on my shoulder. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall out of my chair. “How ya feeling, kid?”

I want to dig a hole in the backyard, crawl into it, and die. “Been better.”

He chuckled. He was back at the front of the island now, and sat down facing me, swiping a chunk from one of my pancakes with his fingers. As my mouth opened in protest, he asked, “How’s the hangover on a scale from one to ten? I’m at about a three.”

He was acting like nothing happened. Maybe I should, too, I tell myself. “A good seven.”

“Fuck did you guys get up to last night?” asked Daphne, who, I could tell through my peripheral vision, was now sitting beside Jeff. I was staring at the pancakes. “I didn’t even know you stayed over. Sounds like I missed a rad party.”

Jeff responded while I was frantically trying to figure out what to say. “If by ‘rad party’ you mean playing GTA in the basement with beer and a bottle of vodka until two in the morning and Killjoy passing out cold in the bathroom, then yeah, you missed a rad party.”

He was acting so normal. I risked a glance up toward Daphne. If you don’t get it together, she’s going to figure out something’s wrong, my frantic mind shouted at me.

She smiled at me. “Pancakes are getting cold, dude.”

I ate the pancakes. Mechanically. I grabbed the dish of butter and the syrup already placed in the center of the island. I took a gulp of coffee and it burned going down. When I finally dared to look at him, his playful eyes met mine – just for a brief second, but still enough to feel like a hot spear in the center of my chest. Why did I decide not to hate him again? I was really regretting that at the moment. I am so fucking doomed. I’m so fucked it’s not even funny.

I had no idea. None at all.

#libaw #excerpt #snippet #writeblr #i think this is the first time i've posted a full scene 👀#anything to embarrass my darling on his birthday 🎈#enjoy!

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

“Favorite Face”

a Sarge & lil Mama scene (Elvis Presley fanfiction)

Rating PG13 a tickle fight with a few little angsty confessions, sorry

Circa: 1967

Giving this blurb business a try, hope y’all enjoy and I swear I’m gonna fill in the plot gaps soon 💋

“Do you know what my favorite of your faces is?”she offered.

“Well, no, no I-I-I’m not sure I do.”

“It’s this one,” Elaine murmured before explaining a little more in full, “it’s this, you turned on your side facing me with the sheets pulled up to your chin and your hands under your cheek and it’s how expectant and happy you look to be in bed with me. Like you just can’t wait to chat or tease or make love, like the best part of your day is beginning when you bound in here next to me every night.” she reached out and flicked a lock of mussed black hair off his forehead and he coulda been seventeen or fifty right now, all his years established in the soft, almost bashfully reverent face absorbing her words. “I should probably say my favorite face of yours is when you’re belting a high C on stage or when you first see one of our baby’s. Or maybe even something sultry, the way you look in a sex act but, but no,” she mused, “it's this one. Like we aren’t only children anymore, now that we’ve got each other.”

They’d had each other for over a decade now. He gripped the hand that was soothing back his hair and peppered kisses to her palm.

“I’d return the compliment but-“ Elvis turned his face further into the pillow at her expectant little expression, “but-but mine, i-it ain’t wholesome l-l-like that. Like yours. Not if I’m bein’ honest.”

“Well, ya must be honest.”

“I know!” his red face was nearly buried in the pillow by this point.

“Life is balance, Naughty, as you so often tell me.” she grinned. “Wouldn’t do if we were both wholesome. C’mon, tell me.”

“I can’t,” he moaned into his pillow, fully face first by now, “T-t-that w-w-were t-too sweet.”*

“You know this is just making me more curious.”

“I don’t care if you’re curiouser than ya ever been, I ain’t gonna.” He folded the pillow’s sides up around his ears for further privacy.

Elaine smiled and watched the back of his head, calculating that she’d probably fall asleep before he ran out of breath, the man didn’t seem to need to breathe like other folks -she would know.

“I’m gonna tickle it outta ya then.” he heard her warn him through the cotton covering his senses and before he could so much as brace she was straddling his back, her bare skin rubbing against his back and her horrid little talons wiggling into his arm pits.

“Goddamnit woman, I take it all back,” he yelled and he knew even then it was futile to try to buck her off, she had been married to him for ten years and he’d never managed it but he sure gave it another try this night, “there ain’t a wholesome bone in your body. A cruel, cruel woman, thas what you are.”

He resorted to dirty, tried, and true tricks to throw her off, tricks he had kept to himself from the locals at Billy Bob’s honky-tonk in Fort Worth where Elaine had won five rounds on the mechanical bull and near bankrupted the house in bets.

Elvis tickled her feet.

The angle wasn’t superb but it was all he had left, penned on his belly like this. He retaliated her treatment in kind, wiggling a fingertip in her arches and she shrieked and bucked and started to smack his shoulders which was strictly against the Geneva Code regarding tickling warfare but they’d had that talk before and Elaine remained as unorthodox as those Cuban rebels.

“Just tell your wife, come on now.” she urged, becoming terribly cruel when she left off his arm pits and leaned back, not to pry his hands off her feet as he first expected, but to tickle the crease of his thighs where he was most vulnerable.

“Not my ass!” he screamed like a terrified novitiate, finally pulling his face outta the pillow to heave in a gulp of air.

“Just tell me.” she cooed, the manicure he paid for causing terrible little tingles all along his thighs until he wanted to weep.

“You’re slickin’ my back up! You’re enjoyin’ my misery, ya damn pervert!” he remonstrated while doing his best to roll his back like a wild mustang and buck her off.

Elaine’s thighs remained made of steel.

Where was their pile of children in the bed when he needed them? Where was Jack and his vaguely alarming and decidedly frustrating mommy entitlement when Elvis could actually appreciate it?

“Come on, just tell me,” she rolled with every buck he gave her, not even breathless when he rose up on all fours like some pantomime of a piggy back and tried throwing her that way, “is it when you’ve glazed my hair?” She started to guess, and that was maybe, somehow worse.

“No.” He denied, and tried a few more moves he’d seen the Great Danes pull when the kids tried to get on their backs.

“When you’re in my mouth?” Elaine asked sweetly and now that he was out of the sheets she took full advantage of reaching beneath and tickling his belly.

“No, no, no!” he swore, both to her actions and her guesses.

Finally, all other tactics having failed, Elvis rolled them both and crushed her beneath his back on the bed, taking petty enjoyment in the rib creaking grunt she let out as his weight smashed her diaphragm.

“I feel like the mouse the elephant stepped on in the kids’ book.” Elaine wheezed in his ear and he wiggled to get comfier in the cradle of her thighs, backwards from the way this was usually done and thoroughly enjoyable.

Elvis was wondering why they didn’t cuddle like this more often when her legs wrapped back around his hips and interlocked over the vulnerable juncture of his thighs; suddenly he got the feelin’ he’d miscalculated.

He didn’t wait for one of those red hot nails to pinch his nipple, he grabbed it in route and bit it. “If ya must know,” he mumbled around the digit, irrationally glad that he was at least facing away from her for this, “i-i-it’s when, when ya lemme suck at ya, nurse off ya, you jus’ look so, I dunno so, so nurturin’ lookin’ down at me from up there an’ —I dunno, gets me hot. You know that.” he trailed off, admitting even to his wife that he enjoyed giving up his fiercely prized control, a momentous effort even after all these years.

It struck Elaine as a rather wholesome thing in itself, in the context of their little world. She was expecting something more -nasty, male, degrading, claiming. She knew he felt like he ought to have said one of those others, unnaturally stiff in her arms suddenly. He was about two seconds away from retracting it all or bolting to the fridge for a snack, she knew, so she leaned her head next to his, nuzzling his temple for a minute before sticking her tongue in his ear.

He shouted again and jolted in her arms. “God, enough tormentin’ me!” he growled, making no move to leave from his fleshy cradle.

“Does this mean ya miss it?” she dared softly, far, far more risky a thing to say than any confession made tonight.

It had been awhile, years in fact, since she’d last had any milk. Saying it was God’s Will didn’t make it hurt less.

“Yes.” the rumble of his voice vibrated her front after a heavy pause. “Terribly, actually.” he offered his own courage to the conversation.

“It’s an act of faith, isn’t it? To still want something after it went so wrong last time?”

“Yeah.” he agreed so softly she only heard it because his head was on her shoulder, “A-and we wouldn’t be, be replacin’- wouldn’t be- ya know- replacin’…Joe.” he never could manage her name without a quiver.

“No, no it wouldn’t be that.” Elaine thought on it, almost five years of painful silence on the subject finally broken by a tickle fight, “This was us before her. Wasn’t it? Is it wrong to think that way? If I don’t I’ll go nuts, E, I will.” she started to cry anyway and his hand raised up and stroked her cheek with strange accuracy for a man facing away from her. “I don’t wanna replace her -I just don’t wanna lose that part of us either!” she tried to explain and he hummed gently with her in understanding, “I feel like I’m atrophying without a baby in me.”

“I’ll be your baby.” he teased, but it was only to lighten her mood, not to rush her through it.

Elaine wrapped her limbs around the lanky length of him, softer this year than he’d ever been, and rocked him back and forth sideways, like his own personal hammock, the warmth of him soothing her like the grounding touch of God. “Ya know, this ain’t the way they’re made, takes a different sorta swayin’ for what we want.” he murmured drowsily even as he felt her heartbeat skip then pound beneath his shoulder at his words.

“Really?” Elaine whispered, her nose stuffy from crying.

“Yeah.” he cleared his own throat, “Yeah, but maybe tonight we’ll just play, hmm? Gotta make sure us two babies are alright ‘fore we make another, ain’t that right?”

There was a rural sorta wisdom to that and she pressed kisses into his sweaty hair in acknowledgment of his promise and his admittance of fragility. Their efforts of play fighting had covered him in a sheen of exertion and now laying in her arms it cooled tacky and famillair against her own, his musk potent and heady in her nostrils.

“Yeah, that’s right, we gotta take care of each other.” she agreed, and went back to swaying them both.

💋💋💋

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sarge and lil mama #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis x elaine #elvisaaronpresley #elvis the pelvis #army elvis #elvis on tour #elvis smut #elvis fans #elvis 2022

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moaihybitoyoidaics · 1 year

Text

Ghastly. (Jurdan)

Okslay, so I published this on my wattpad bare time ago. It was originally published in chapters so I've put little stars where that was in the story. TW SMUT

Word count: 8014

Vivi slouched against my bedroom door and scoffed, I didn't bother to turn around, I would only get chastised yet again. The room was riddled with dirty cups and plates, the curtains hadn't been opened in days and it had started to smell. I probably smelled a bit too. "I know you're used to people waiting on you, you're highness," she said sarcastically. "But that shit won't fly around here for much longer." "Leave me to die, Vee." I mumbled, tucked away under my unwashed covers. "I have nothing to live for anyway." "You're right. You're absolutely right. You should kill yourself right now and be done with it." I looked up from under my cocoon, to see her face was more jovial than sinister. "Or you can shower, get dressed and come out with me and Heather." "Out where?" "Clubbing." "Should I hang myself or jump off the roof?" I burrowed back down into my duvet. Vivi knocked her hand against the door frame before disappearing out of my room. In the months since my exile, most days had been like this and I didn't see it improving. I found myself obsessing over what I would do to Cardan should I ever come to be in his presence again, I hated him and would never forgive him for subjecting me to the torture of the mortal world. And yet I still found myself musing over his wicked lips and all too clever hands, his kisses that bewitched me like faerie fruit. But still I thought of nothing more than my knife against his throat tied to that chair in the Court of Shadows. I turned over, tugging my duvet with me. There was a clattering of porcelain and metal against the floor. I sat up quickly to see what had made the noise, plates encrusted with hardened food had shattered against the carpeted floor, followed by silverware that had fallen and bounced across the room. Vivi was right, it was time to sort myself out. I pried myself away from the duvet and stood in front of my mirror. Ghastly. A two day old spaghetti hoop stain, matted hair and breath that could knock Maddoc on his back. I was undoubtedly a mess. I began by brushing my teeth, the mint stung my tongue, and then I dragged a brush through the tangled bird's nest on my head. I looked at myself in the mirror again, still not much better. So I showered, shaved my legs and changed my clothes. They were all minor changes but still, I felt marginally better for making them. Next came the challenge of tidying my room, it wasn't something I was particularly eager to begin but nonetheless I embarked on my mission. I began with the food encrusted plates, scrubby at them with everything Vivi held in her kitchen, before hoovering and changing my bed sheets.

When I had finished my self-prescribed chores, I called for my sister; knowing that as a faerie she could not lie about my accomplishments. I braced myself for the fanfare, as I guarded my door. When she approached, I dramatically unveiled my almost clean room. I anticipated her reaction as she inspected the space.

"Open a window." She said, hardly glancing at me. "It still stinks."

"Oh," I sighed, a little defeated.

"It's better than it was though." She turned herself to face me. "Do you feel any better?"

"I suppose. So, where are you guys going tonight?"

Vivi explained that they had planned to go bar hopping across town and hit a couple of clubs if they had time. "It's not exactly attending Court at the palace, but it's better than letting you wallow in your own self pity any longer."

I laughed hollowly, she was right. I needed to get out of the apartment soon or I would go crazy. "If I had anything to wear maybe I would go with you, but I look like the Queen of Mirth right now. Maybe I'll come with you next time."

"My God, could you be any more obvious? You can raid me and Heather's wardrobe." Vivi laughed, playfully nudging my arm. "Sort your face out, I know you have makeup."

That was true. I did have some makeup, however the method of which to use it eluded me. Never quite blended or bright enough, lines never straight, just splotchy clumps of black and beige. In Faerie I had Tatterfell to help me to ready myself, but here in the mortal world, I had to rely on my own clumsy hands. I looked back to Vivienne. "What time are we leaving?"

***

With my eyes smeared with shimmering black eyeshadow and my lips painted a similar shade, I wriggled into a crimson, latex minidress, raided from Vivi's extensive closet. I tried to recreate the horn-like braids that Tatterfell so skilfully created in my hair, however one ended up a little lopsided. Finally, I stuffed my feet into a pair of black, platform boots. For the first time since arriving back in the mortal world, I looked in the mirror and liked who I saw. I may not be the High Queen of Elfhame, but by god I was majestic. I strode out into our communal space, enveloped by a new sense of power. Vivi and Heather cheered for me, both standing up to embrace me. "You look incredible." Vivi grinned, at last telling me a truth I wanted to hear. "I know."

***

After glamouring a bouncer, Vivi lead us into a dimly lit bar. The walls were lined with what looked like red LED lights and varying graffiti style artworks. There was a bar on the back wall, proceeded by a sticky looking dance floor. Heather, who was apparently a regular, marched over to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. She handed me a tiny, triangular glass filled with a pinkish beverage. I sniffed it and recoiled, feeling the alcohol in the backs of my eyes.

"Christ, Heather! What's in this?" I laughed a little.

"I don't know, but they taste good." Fair enough, I thought sipping the drink. She was right. Vivi grabbed Heather's free hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. The DJ was playing something grungy, like our dad used to listen to. The song sounded familiar, like something from a distant, faded memory or a dream. Perhaps he'd played it for us on a long forgotten road trip. I watched them twist and twirl together with the music and smiled, Vivi had found a home in the mortal world, something I could only hope to accomplish. I swayed as they danced. It had none of the extravagance of the High Court revels, but at least they were happy here. I took a long sip of my drink and decided to join them, they welcomed me into their space as my clumsy feet tried to keep up with them. Heather grabbed my hand and spun me around.

I thought of the way Cardan had danced with me at Prince Dain's disastrous coronation, the way his fingers had grazed against my waist and his eyes, black as night, had looked down on me in sickening contempt. The way he loved hating me and hated loving me, my cruel husband. I pulled away from Heather.

"Where's the bathroom?" I shouted over the music. Vivi pointed past the bar, I nodded and started to walk away.

I tried to push through a rowdy crowd of middle aged men, but gave up and went around them. The room seemed to get smaller, maybe I wasn't ready for this. Maybe I was still too angry. And then, a few feet away from me I saw two midnight eyes. Panic seeped into my blood, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe but my breath hitched in the back of my throat. I reopened my eyes and they were gone, I was so certain I had seen them. I rushed towards the bathroom, my heart hammering against my chest. I leaned over the basin and splashed some icy water against my face, sending mascara streaming down my cheeks. Surely it hadn't been him, surely I had hallucinated it. Cardan could not be here, Cardan couldn't know where I was. I must have seen what I wanted to see, there was nothing more to it. I took a deep breath and stepped away from the sink. Cardan wasn't there.

I left the bathroom hesitantly. Despite assuring myself that I had hallucinated, I kept my eyes peeled. I saw Heather and Vivi propped up against the bar, nursing a blue drink. Heather was astounded when she squeezed a lemon into the drink, turning it magenta.

"It's like magic!" She giggle. Vivi and I shared a look between ourselves. "You were gone for ages, Jude! You good?"

"Yeah... I just needed a moment." I lied. I leaned against the bar and rested my head in my hands. I made eye contact with the bar tender and smiled, pointing at Heather's drink. "Can I have whatever this is?"

***

My head tingled as I drunkenly swayed to a what I assumed was an old rock ballad. The room had filled out even more, leaving little room to negotiate the dance floor. I tried my hardest to put the image of Cardan out of my mind, but it came to the forefront of my thoughts every now and then. I took a long swig from the bottle of beer I was holding and turned to look for my sister. Vivi and Heather had disappeared into the sea of people crowding the bar. I pushed my way to the side of the dance floor, hoping that distancing myself from the hoard would reveal them. To my disappointment, however, they were no where to be seen.

I turned away from the dance floor to face the seating area, plush velvet couches and red tinted lights. There, across the room, slouching back against the far wall were two inky black eyes stared right at me. His dark hair was slicked back from his face and his eyes were rimmed with kohl. He wore a sheer black shirt and what looked like black jeans. I saw his coiled tail twitch as he looked at me. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, my attire was not at all what I would usually be seen in.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was halfway across the floor. His head cocked to one side and he smirked as he began to approach me. I felt Cardan's breath on my cheek as he leaned in to me.

"My darling, Jude." He whispered. I felt my fingers curl into a fist and I took a slight step back. My arm launched through the air, my fist colliding with his jaw.

"Fuck you." I spat. I felt my arms get pinned against my sides as someone much taller and heavier than me seized me. The bouncer. I was dragged from where I stood, away from Cardan's smug grin.

"I wish you would." He called after me, wiping a speck of blood from his wicked mouth. He watched as I was tossed out of the bar, a feeling that was reminiscent of one I had felt just a few months before upon my exile.

***

Vivi and Heather came tumbling out of the bar, shouting atop of each other. Through their mumbling and bumbling I managed to pick out only snippets of what they were actually saying.

"You just punched a guy!" Heather said, panic in her voice.

"That wasn't who I think it was... was it?" Vivi's feline eyes bored into me, chilling me to my core. I nodded, curtly and turned away from her.

"Who was it?" Heather asked, her words slurring slightly.

I looked back to Vivi who looked back at me, with a panicked gaze at her inability to lie. "Ex boyfriend." I responded, unable to looked her straight on. Vivi's look of relief spurred me on. "You know, the one who dumped me before I started crashing with you guys?"

Heather nodded slowly before kneeling down and unbuckling her shoes. "He probably deserved it then." She laughed and took both of her shoes off. "Shall we go somewhere else? I'm still in the party mood."

I thought about it for a moment, sobering up in the cool night air. "Fuck it. Why not?" Heather celebrated and stood back up.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Jude? I mean, aren't you kind of angry?" Vivi asked. She was absolutely right, I was furious with Cardan for showing up in my world but I refused to allow him to ruin my night any more than he already had.

"I want to go and get drunk and dance and forget about all of this. You were right earlier, Vivi. I need this night out."

"Well can you at least try not to deck anyone else, please?"

"I'll do my best."

We set off from the bar and headed further into the town centre. Clusters of girls in tight dresses and boys not dressed nearly well enough for the occasion sauntered through the cobbled streets, the air was filled with drunken laughter and flirting. The latter made me sick to my stomach. As I walked I felt my latex dress dampening from the heat of the evening, sticking to my back and legs. I began to realise that Vivi and Heather we far more intoxicated than I was, which I assumed would be a problem later in the night. Heather tripped on some invisible force, sending her careening into a conveniently placed Vivi. I turned to her, sending her a disapproving look. Since I had moved in with Heather and Vivi, I had noticed that my sister would sometimes glamour Heather into tripping or dropping things which Vivi would conveniently catch. Although I could no longer be glamoured, I did remember the feeling. I didn't approve of my sisters manipulations, and it seemed that being a mortal wooed by the Fae had only downsides in my experience. Vivi glanced back at me and shrugged, in her opinion she was doing nothing wrong; she was merely using her power to further her relationship with Heather. Regardless of what she thought, it was manipulation. She had power and Heather did not.

***

The line outside the next club was disastrously long. I believed the sun would have risen before we made it inside. Heather looked at her girlfriend, with pining eyes. "But baby, you can get us in anywhere! You said we were always on the list!" Of course, Heather thought this, Vivi had obviously been glamouring half of the mortal world just to stay in Heather's good books. As much as I hated it, I wanted Vivi to get us into the club, the evening had turned cool and I wasn't used to wearing so little this late in the day. The hypocrisy was not lost on me.

Vivi sighed in faux relent. "I guess I'll see what I can do, just for you." Heather gleamed as we followed her up to the front of the queue. As Vivienne spoke to the bouncer, her voice was thick with glamour, "I think you'll find us on the list." She purred. The bouncer, poor man, became distant. His eyes glazed and he smiled. "Of course you are. Welcome." He pulled a smooth, velvet rope aside and ushered us into the building. As soon as we entered my ears we destroyed. The thudding base reverberated in my chest and a fog machine choked my lungs. It was rammed with bodies, moving and grinding against each other; I tried to force my way into a less densely packed area but was thrown to the dance floor. My thoughts harkened back to the High Court, a mortal would be entranced by the Faerie music and dance until their heart gave up. My tongue was dry and I couldn't see Heather or Vivi anywhere. Panic set in, this wasn't what I had intended when agreeing to the night out. Again I tried to push my way out but was knocked to the floor, I curled up my fingers trying to avoid them being trampled and pulled my knees to my chest. No one seemed to notice that I had fallen. No one cared. A foot came down on mine, hard, and I yelped out in pain. My cry was swallowed up by the cheering and the bass. Through my balled up fist I rubbed to top of my bitten off finger, seeking comfort in the most rudimental way. I was yanked up to my feet and dragged through the crowd. In my shock I fought back, pulled against the bejeweled hand. Bejewelled? No... no surely not- I looked up to the person dragging me. And pulled harder. His dark eyes scolded me as he turned to face me. He pulled me towards him, making me collide with his chest. He placed his hand on my chin and forced me to look up at him. "You're weak."

***

I guzzled down a bottle of water, trying to regain control of my breathing. Cardan sat next to me, staring ahead dismissively. His finger ran around the edge of a plastic cup, something I had often seen him do in deep thought at the palace, although I was used to seeing him do this with fine glassware. Vivi and Heather were still in the club, but Cardan had dragged me over to a quiet dive bar a couple of streets away. My head swam with questions, although I was grateful to him for getting me out of that situation, I was furious at him for showing up unannounced. Why was he even here?

The jukebox played a whiney jazz song on what sounded like a scratched record, occasionally jumping and hissing like a startled cat.

"I didn't need your help." I said, more aggressively than I had intended. Cardan continued to stare ahead as if ignorant to the fact that I had spoken. "I'm serious, I was fine. I was about to get up."

Cardan laughed, sourly. "Oh yeah? Is that right?" He caught the eye of the bartender and held up two fingers. The barkeep approached us.

"Does she have ID?" He asked Cardan.

"You can ask her yourself." I started.

"You can serve her." Cardan's voice was heavy with glamour, seductive and rough. The barkeep nodded and brought us two rusty brown drinks. I took a sip and recoiled, having grown used to Heather's sweet and fruity beverages. This lingered in the back of my throat, clawing and hot. Cardan laughed. "You never were a good drinker."

"You've always been too good." I retorted. He finally turned to face me, his dark eyes gazing into my chestnut brown ones.

"You're ghastly. You know that?" He grinned.

"God I hate you." I was the first to turn away.

"I love it when you say that." I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, boiling my blood.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I snapped. "Don't give me that 'I'm the King' horseshit, because I put you there. How dare you show up here! I'm moving on, I have a life here!" Most of that last bit were obvious lies. I hadn't moved on, not even a little bit. And I clearly didn't have a life in the mortal world.

Cardan took a moment to consider what I had said, chewing on his drink as he did. "I have visited you. Many nights, I have watched you. Some life you're living here. Living in that box, in your own squalor, tossing a turning at night, dreaming of me no doubt. Some life without me."

"You cast me out! I had nothing!" I spat.

"You had your supposed hate for me keeping you warm, my darling Jude." He smirked, his curly hair flopping into his eyes. "And it seems you had one hell of a punch to keep you safe. But I ask you this, why didn't you try to return? Why didn't you come home to me?"

He placed his hand on my thigh, too close to the hem of my dress, and slowly started moving it up. I plastered my face with a smear of disgust and whacked with hand away.

"Excuse me, I must use the facilities." I said, already regretting it.

"So human, my sweet villain."

*** After staring at my seething reflection in a cracked bathroom mirror, I returned to my seat at the bar. Cardan had obviously been nursing his drink in my presence and my absence had encouraged him to enjoy it at a quicker pace. It seemed that he had helped himself to some of mine as well. I slid in next to him and looked intently at his features, wondering what his eyes, ears and tail looked like to the people he glamoured. Did he make his eyes appear brown, blue or green? Did he keep some kind of point to his ears? It was something I never had time to consider before.

"Would you stop looking at me?" Cardan asked, startling me out of my daze.

"Sorry."

"No you aren't. You've missed me."

"Missed you? Please. I've hardly thought of you." I lied. "Cardan, tell me. What are you doing here?"

"I've come to bring you home. Back to Elfhame, to the palace with me. You're miserable here and you belong to- with me." The bartender called for last orders. "I could make him let us stay, you know?"

"Leave him alone. He's already been glamoured once tonight, it's not fair." I sighed.

"Where was that compassion when you killed my brother?"

"Cardan I-" I was taken aback by this. Cardan had not shown any real disturbance at the time of his brothers demise. Of course I could blame that on the effects of the poison but I thought he hated Balekin.

"Perhaps I should take you home?" He said, almost sadly.

"No!" I said, before I had considered what that would mean. "Maybe you could ask him for one more drink?"

Cardan's devilish eyes met mine as he smirked. He beckoned the barkeep over and told him in that sweet and sour voice that we would be staying until we felt like leaving, setting our night in motion.

***

"See, I knew you were missing me." I laughed, slopping some of my drink across the bar. Everybody else had been asked to leave, but Cardan had glamoured the bartender to allow us to stay and to continue bringing us drinks.

"I've missed having someone tell me what to do." He grinned and looked away. "It's not been easy without you, having to make all these choices by myself. I'd rather have my senechal -"

"-Your Queen." I interjected.

"Yes of course, I'd rather have my Queen beside me." He took a long sip of his drink.

I sighed and followed suit. "Well, whose fault is that?"

"Mine, as so many things were when we were together." He moved his hand back to my leg. "Remember that time behind the throne room?"

I swatted at his hand again but he persisted. "The only time, Cardan. That was the only time that happened." I tired to conceal it, but a nervous shiver ran through my body. "And I would very much like to forget it. It was... embarrassing."

He shook his head and looked at me, deep and intently. "For you, maybe." His fingers traced little spirals against my goose-bumped flesh. "For me it was an entirely different story."

"Tell me your version then." I pressed.

"I was furious. At you mostly. To suggest I seduce Nicassia? She wasn't the one I wanted, Jude." I felt my cheeks flush. "I yearned to feel you beneath me. I wanted to feel your mortal skin on mine. I think you wanted it too, I remember the way you moved against me. I was born into magic, my dear Jude, I always thought I knew what it felt like but... something about you in that moment... I hadn't really felt it until then."

The knowledge that he could only speak the truth chilled me to my core. I tried to find tricks and riddles in his words but every time I came up short. My breath caught in the back of my throat and I tried to pull away but his grip on me wouldn't allow it. "You're drunk, Cardan."

"And yet I feel sober as a monk. That feeling it lingers. Every time I touch you, I am scorned to know that Locke touched you first, that I ever laid my hands on you in malice. I have wanted you since I have known you and although I have dealt with those feelings poorly in the past, it is you I want. Only you. So yes, I have missed you." This time, Cardan pushed himself away from the bar, offering out his hand. "I beg you ignore me. I have felt so much for you since you have been gone. I have longed for you Jude. I have longed for you and I will long for you until you return to our home."

My body twitched with anticipation, awaiting his next move. His vulnerability was startling and I wanted nothing more than for him to kiss me. Or kill me. The sensation was often tricky to pin down when it was brought about by Cardan. I felt myself move towards him, leaning in for the release of his lips on mine, but found that he did not meet them. "What's wrong?" I breathed.

"I do not desire your pity. I do not wish to be kissed under the duress of my broken heart. I want you to want me too." I finally took his hand and he pulled me away from the chair. He placed his free hand on my waist and swayed slowly with me.

"Last time you held me like this, you said you hated me." I rested my head against his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his immortal heart.

"Maybe I thought I did. But I know better than that now."

***

We swayed like that together for a while, Cardan's hand occasionally finding it's way to stroke my hair. My heart swam with so many unanswered questions, feelings I had left untouched for as long as I could. He rested his head against mine and breathed softly against my braided horns, at last he let go.

"Do you suppose we should relieve our man from his duties?" He asked, nodding towards the bartender. "I think he has served us long enough." I nodded and he left me to remove the glamour. I imagined that next time the man played the lottery, his numbers would come up or he would have a habit for finding money in the street.

When Cardan approached me again, he had a certain spring in his step and a devilish gleam in his eyes. "What is it?" I asked nervously.

"Your sister is clubbing?" He said.

"Yes..."

"What say you, we do the same? I should like to try it before I return to Elfhame."

I pondered this for a moment, would anything in the mortal world live up to what High King Cardan was used to? Well... I suppose I did.

***

It seemed as though I had abandoned my moral compass altogether by the time we arrived at the next club. My head was swimming and I had trouble remembering how it was I came to be in Cardan's presence. At the time however, that didn't seem to matter, I was just glad to be with him. He glamoured the bouncer to allow us into the club, we painted ourselves with UV paint and decked out our bodies with glow-sticks. Cardan took one look at me and began to howl, his laughter seemed to reverberate through the speakers, which sent me into a crumbling mess of giggles. I found myself feeling freer with him than I ever had done with anyone else. I took two glow-sticks from my wrists and dangled them over his pointed ears.

Further into the club I noticed podiums, with half naked girls dancing against glimmering poles. It didn't shock me to find Cardan practically licking the stage. I pulled him away and found a booth, the lights were dimmer but the music seemed louder. The seats were sticky with what I hoped was nothing more than a spilled drink, but my conscience told me otherwise. I looked at Cardan, whose eyes were alight with intrigue. He leaned in to me, his lips against my ear and whispered, "I thought such debauchery was of Faerie, not of the mortal realm."

"You'd be surprised what we get up to!" I laughed. He didn't move away and neither did I. His lips trailed against my skin, hot and wet. His hand founds its way back to my thigh and, against my better judgement, I allowed him to slide his hand further up.

"I changed my mind," He hissed. "I don't care if you pity me, Jude Duarte. Because I pity you more." He turned my face to his and kissed me, forcefully. In my drunken stupor I didn't feel like pulling away, instead I insisted that he stayed by thrusting my hands in his hair. His hands explored my body, making me ache for him. His fingers clasped around my throat, instinctively I tried to pull away but when I eyes met his I saw... what was it? Not hate... no not exactly. It was something new. When I started to panic and pulled back, he looked at me hurt as if I had my hand around his throat. "I want to dance!" I lied over the music. He nodded and followed me into the crowd. Surrounded by jostling, sweaty bodies his hands found my waist. I turn away and danced against him, at first he seemed to recoil- unsettled by the intimacy, perhaps too used to the way we moved in Elfhame, but after a moment he settled into it and moved with me. He gripped my waist tightly, as if I was his only life jacket in this strange mortal sea. I turned to face him, to see his big black eyes staring down at me. I cocked my head to one side. He leaned down, so close that his lips brush my ear as he spoke, "You should come home." I dragged myself away and stared at him, face on. His liquid irises hardened. Slowly and methodically he said; "You. Should. Come. Back. Home" In a second my mind reeled. What? He sent me away? He didn't want me? He confessed that he missed me but didn't want to kiss me? Then he's all over me? Before I knew what I was doing I turned and fled, pushing my way through sweaty, sticky bodies. I had grown weary of his faerie mind games, his trickery had grown tiresome. Of course I had longed to return to Elfhame, to find a riddle in his banishment but how could I ever go home? With the threat of execution or worse hanging over my every step. No. I refused to believe there was any way to escape my plight. Before I knew it I was a block away, panting alone on a street I didn't recognise. My ears rang and from the distance I heard to rhythmic thumping of club music. I looked left and right, but couldn't quite remember the way I had come from... or the way home. I fumbled in my purse, searching for my phone. I could call a taxi or Vivi or Heather, anyone to take me home. I fought back the tears that stung behind my eyes. Cardan Greenbriar had always been an enigma but this... oh this was worse than anything he'd ever done before. "Jude!" His voice echoed through the empty streets, it's direction untraceable. "Jude! What did I do? Please, Jude!" He rounded the corner nearest to me. Startled as he saw me, he rushed over. I raised my hand and swung it towards his face, instead of hearing a sharp slap against his skin, my wrist was caught in his long, slender fingers. "If you strike me again tonight, I will lose it." He breathed. "Why won't you come home. I know you're smart enough to have figured it out. So what is it Jude Duarte? Is it that you truly hate me as much as you always said? If it is so, then I beg you tell me mortal lies and let me believe you love me." I clawed my hand away from him, I couldn't bare to look at him. A wounded little boy, abandoned and turned wicked, but wounded nonetheless. His deep black eyes were a golden blaze in the street light, I finally met his gaze. He was hurt and lonely and still so wicked and he could have had me killed or left me to rot in the mortal world and yet I wanted to hold him. "Why did-" He cut me off with a long, gentle kiss. I tasted no malice on his tongue, his lips were as sweet as the faerie fruit I so desired. "Please say you love me." He whispered as he pulled away.

***

Our foreheads resting against one another, I closed my eyes right away from his words. Truth. It was all he could speak. As desperate as I was to find treachery in his words, I could decipher none. "Cardan, I-" I began. "You need not speak now, Jude. You should tell me if you should ever return to our home." He whispered. "If you wish for me to leave you, you need only say once and I'll leave you alone." I hate him. Except I don't. I only want to keep hating him, I know that now. "Stay with me." My voice, soft and timid, was entirely foreign to me. "Don't leave me again." He took my hand in his and brought it up to his lips. His hands were soft against my calloused fingers. "Take me home with you."

***

The apartment was silent, undisturbed since we left several hours before. I flipped the switch and illuminated the open living space, socks and bras and unwashed jeans lay over the couch and coffee table. "I'm sorry about the mess. I wasn't expecting to bring anyone back here tonight." I said, feeling my cheeks glow crimson red as I gathered up the dirty laundry. "We don't have maids or servants, it's hard to keep on top of." I turned to see Cardan, leaning against the washing machine, a smirk dancing on his lips. I glared at him and he laughed a short, curt laugh. "You are so very mortal, Jude. Has anybody ever told you that?" I scowled and he laughed a little harder. "I like watching you do things... normal things to you. I think tonight is the first time I've seen you without a blade." This made me laugh. Without saying a word, I hitched my skirt up slightly to show him the small silver dagger I had strapped to my thigh. "I'm surprised you didn't feel it." Cardan moved towards me slowly, I cocked my head to one side trying to work out his next move. His eyes narrowed as he examined my body. Phlegmatically, he lowered himself down to his knees before me as his hands crept up across the back of my dress. He leaned in and kissed my thigh, just above the hilt of the blade. His fingers trailed along my skin, before gently slipping the strap down my leg. He continued kissing my leg as he reached up my dress. With the same methodical movements he pulled down my underwear. My cheeks ran hot as the rest of my body shivered with anticipation. Cardan stood, towering over me. His black eyes were hungry, I looked up at him like a doe in the line of an arrow. He tipped his head towards the sofa, and obediently I went and sat down. The High King placed his fingers softly under my chin, tilting my head to look at him. "Open your legs for me." His voice was low and gruff and I obliged. "Good girl. Now tell me, did Locke do to you what I am going to do to you?" I shook my head and he smirked. I had always hated when he did that, but then in that moment I felt something with in me begin to boil. Passionate heat coursing through my blood in a way it had done only once before... the annex behind the throne. Cardan seemed to notice my squirming as he traced his keen fingers along my jawline. His hand lingered for a moment too long and I felt myself sink my cheek into his cupped hand.

In one swift motion Cardan was on top of me, pinning me against the couch. His cool breath tickled my neck, sending an icy shiver through me, as he expertly unzipped my dress and slid it from me leaving me naked and vulnerable to his next move. My fingers shook as I unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling with the intricate clasps.

When finally I rid him of his clothes I allowed my hands to wander across his back. He flinched away as my fingers ran over the crest of a particularly raised, long scar. "Memories from a lifetime ago, my love." He whispered through gritted teeth. He inched closer, his knee pressing up against me. I let out a soft moan as a chill sprang up through my back, I wanted him more than I could scream. I wanted to push him off me and pull him into me in the same instant. Before I could form a full thought his head had migrated away from mine and had found it's way between my legs as he breathed a soft, cool gasp. His long fingers wrapped around my thighs and squeezed, his nails pinching at my flesh. I took a sharp breath as Cardan's tongue grazed my skin and laced my hands through the tangle of his dark hair. "Cardan.." I whispered breathlessly. "Cardan please..." He pressed his tongue harder and faster as I squirmed beneath his weight, pulling at his hair. I felt my eyes begin to roll as I climaxed, I arched my back and curled up my toes, it overtook me in tides of pleasure. As he sat up and wiped his mouth, by body tingled and my legs were weak but I could feel only one thing. I was horrified. How had I allowed this to happen?

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "This is only going to make things ever more complicated."

I stared at him, aghast. "Yeah, no shit." I grabbed a cushion from the back of the couch and threw it over my body .

"I'll ask you this only once, did you figure it out?" His voice was soft. "Did you see through my trickery and stay away only to make me suffer?"

"Your trickery? What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice shaking. I had grown tired of his mind games, it seemed to me that the whole evening he had been leading me to some proverbial cliff only to keep threatening to push me over the edge.

"Jude you are the High Queen of Elfhame. The High Queen. You are the crown." For a moment his words meant nothing to me. I knew I was the High Queen, of course I knew. But the crown? What did the crown have to do with anything. Until it dawned on me. "The mortal queen of Faerie who is oh so clever, my dear Jude. Pardon yourself. Better yet, I'll pardon you. Come home and be my wife, come home and be beautiful by my side." I could have strangled him.

I stayed silent for a while, allowing his revelation to wash over me. "Make me forget." I whispered. "A gease. Or a glamour... I know you can do it. Make me forget tonight so I can go back to hating you."

"Jude-"

"I command you to make me forget." I had lost track of how long I had left controlling Cardan and just hoped with everything in me that he would follow through. "You will make Vivi swear to never tell me.

"Your deal with my brother, Jude-"

"You are High King Cardan of the Isles of Elfhame, do you mean to tell me a deal with a dead man is enough to sway your power? I have commanded you Cardan and you will do as I say."

Cardan nodded slowly and looked away from me. "Can I at least stay with you until morning?"

***

I climbed into bed closely followed by Cardan. He wrapped his arms around my waist and scooted his body into mine. His breath was hot against my neck as his chest rose and fell.

"I'm going to figure it out. Your little trick." I whispered. "I'm going to figure it out for myself. My word isn't worth much but I'll give it to you."

"Your word means everything to me."

***

The sun streamed through my windows, sending shocks of pain through my head. I grabbed the pillow next to me and smashed it over my face, trying to block out the light. I breathed through the pillow, breathing in a nostalgic scent I couldn't quite put my finger on. I heard Vivi bustling around the kitchen through my walls. I heard the hushing of words and the slamming of a door.

My body groaned as I pushed myself up and I vowed to never drink again. I crept out of my room to see Heather in a slight daze on the couch and Vivi brewing coffee in the kitchen. She turned to look at me, seeming almost shocked that I was awake.

"Look who it is!" She said, sarcastically. "How's the head?"

"Not great, Viv. Not great." I chuckled softly. "What happened last night?"

Vivi took a moment, pouring out three black coffees before turning back to meet my gaze. "So you don't remember, huh?" I shook my head, of course I didn't remember. Why else would I have asked. "We lost you in a club, we looked for you but we couldn't find you. Then when we got back home you were asleep in bed."

"I don't like this... not remembering I mean..." I muttered, taking a sip of my coffee. " Surely I can't have had that much to drink?"

"Like I said, we lost you. We didn't see what happened after that." It struck me that Vivi was choosing her words very carefully, as if there was something she wasn't telling me. I turned my attention to Heather, who seemed just as confused as I was.

"Heather. Do you remember what happened last night?" I pressed. "Anything you can tell me about what I was doing?" Her head snapped towards me as if she only just realised I was in the room with her.

"I don't... I don't remember." She whispered. I crept further into the room as Vivi's cat eyes bored into me. "Why can't I remember?" The room reeked of residual magick, clinging to the air around Heather. I narrowed my eyes towards Vivi.

"What aren't you telling me?" I demanded.

"I can't tell you anymore. I didn't see what happened. You don't want to know." It sounded as though she was begging, begging for a way out of this conversation. "I can't tell you anymore." I looked around the room, searching for clues as to what had happened. Yes, something magickal had happen. That much was obvious. Thanks to my gease with the late Dain, I couldn't be glamoured but it was awfully convenient that neither Heather or myself could remember a thing. I was struck with a deep feeling of betrayal, I knew that Heather's words were being cleverly strung together in order to deceive me without outright lying to me. It dawned on me all at once.

"Who did you make your oath to?" The question seemed to take her by surprise, the shock clear in her flushed cheeks.

"What?"

"The oath. Who did you swear to?"

"I cant..." She croaked.

I nodded slowly and backed away, trying desperately not to let the anguish show on my face. Heather still seemed dazed, obviously recovering from a glamour of some kind. Possibly binding her to the same secrecy my sister was obliged to. I returned to my room, shaking with rage. How could she swear to keep last night from me? How could she double-cross me like that? It made no sense, it wasn't in her character. I tried to breathe through my fury, to not let it consume me, I found myself laying back on my bed breathing in that distant memory, a smell that reminded me so much of home.

A long time passed that way, until I heard a knock at my door. "What?" I demanded. The door swung open to reveal Vivi, standing solemn in the opening.

"I didn't want to swear. I had no choice." She said.

"We always have choices." I retorted.

"Not this time." She lingered there, waiting for me to say something. I rolled over, not wanting to look at her for fear of saying something irreparable. "They said it was what you wanted, that you'll figure it out in your own time. We won't be bound any further from that point. I just hope you can forgive me."

I thought about it for a long moment. "I'm mad." I whispered, realising immediately how childish and immature I sounded.

"I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it was in your best interest." She slapped her hand against the wood of my doorframe. "Heather asked if she can have her dress back, she really likes that one."

I sat up reluctantly, and hopped off my bed. I searched the floor and in my wardrobe but came up empty. I got down on my hands and knees to check under my bed but still, I could not find it. "That's weird..."

"Is it?" Vivi smirked.

*******

Epilogue (I guess)

I kiss Cardan softly before climbing out of bed, my nightgown trailing on the floor behind me. I glance over my shoulder at him, sleeping soundly and looking as painfully handsome as ever. He hates how early I rise each day, wishing me to stay curled up next to him for as long as possible. But if he had it his way, Faerie would be left to fend for itself and we would descend into anarchy.

I sink my feet into the plush, luxurious rug woven by Mother Marrow; it supposedly had a plethora of magickal qualities but Cardan decided it was too delectable to refuse, and make my over to the dressing room. I sigh as I begin rifling through the abundance of regal clothing, searching for something simple. The Court of Shadows requires no façade of grace.

I hear Cardan stir behind me, turning to look at him I see he is grasping at the sheets trying to feel me out. I snort and stifle a laugh, looking at the ground. My hands continue to trace along the garments until I feel something entirely foreign. Cold and plastic, bright red in colour. I take the dress from it's place and hold it against my body. It's tiny, shiny and definitely not from Elfhame.

"Oh my god." I shout. Cardan sits bolt upright, brandishing a dagger he must've found under my pillow.

"Jude!" His voice is panicky. "Jude what's going on?"

I turn to him, holding the dress at arms length. "What the fuck is this doing here?"

"I will tell you everything... but you have to promise not to kill me... and maybe put the dress on?"

#jude duarte #jurdan fanfic #jurdan smut #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #tfota fanfic #cardan greenbriar #fanfic #jurdan

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yansimstorythatiwillnotworkon · 3 months

Text

Wednesday

Info-Chan was being suspiciously generous today. Out of nowhere, Info comes up with an “idea” to get Osana expelled for having things in her bag that she shouldn’t. Cigarettes, answer sheets, so on and so forth. And since Ayano apparently did Info-Chan such a “big” favor with Mai’s phone, it was enough to get her a freebee from Info-Chan. In this case, that was cigarettes.

As she walks into the class, she notices that a couple of students are still hanging around in there. Two of them were from outside of her class anyway. One of them was Kokoro Momoiro, who was meant to be in class 1-2, and Bea Gemron, another transfer student who was meant to be in class 2-2. They seemed to be hanging out with Hana Daidayama at the moment.

Outside of them, there was Enpitsu Byoga, who actually belonged to the class, although it was strange that he was here instead of outside of his clubroom. When Ayano approached him, he looked up suddenly, but looked back down, just as suddenly disinterested. “Hello, Ayano.”

“Enpitsu. What are you doing in class?” Ayano asks, tilting her head to the side.

Enpitsu shrugs. “I’ve been in several rooms. Geiju told me that if I’m so focused on beauty, then I should draw all the girls in school and figure out which ones would work as the best muse.” He rolls his eyes. “Which is a complete waste of time- we all already know who the most beautiful girl in school is.”

The artist was always pretty narcissistic. If anything, his obsession with beautiful girls probably stems from him wanting someone who “measures up to his beauty”, or something of the sort. So far, the only person he’s bothered with trying to get as his muse was Meka Nikaru, who ironically has rejected his attempts.

“Simp says what?” Bea calls to Enpitsu, who turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” He asks, but scoffs as soon as he realizes that he fell for that trick. “She’s just jealous. “

“Of you or Meka?” Ayano asks, only receiving a shrug in return.

Instead of answering Ayano’s question, Enpitsu taps his pen in his notebook. “Have you ever thought of letting your hair down and styling your hair differently, Ayano?”

Ayano furrows her eyebrows. “I am not going to style my hair like Meka’s.” She states in finality.

Enpitsu sighs, “I guess asking you to dye your hair wouldn’t work out very well, either.” He mumbles, sketching something on his notebook. “I do recommend changing your hairstyle, though. Some people might bother approaching you if you did. Maybe they’d even give you compliments.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

Ayano frowned but did contemplate that idea. As she did, Enpitsu received a text on his phone. His eyes widened briefly, and he paused in thought before slowly lowering his phone and giving Ayano a smile. “Yan-Chan, my favorite classmate!” He purrs, and Ayano herself cringes at his purely artificial smile.

“You know, we’ve been friends for a while..” He starts, but immediately stops when he sees Ayano’s unamused expression. “I need you to convince Meka to be my muse.”

“Why?” Ayano inquires, tilting her head to the side.

“Why do I need her to be my muse, or why should you?” Enpitsu asks, but waves her off and answers both anyway, “I need Meka because she’s the most beautiful girl in this school. My one goal is to capture beauty, and yet she runs from me.” He sighs.

Meka didn’t actually flee from Enpitsu, but Ayano was sure she would if it came to it. From what she’s heard, Meka just locks the doors to the club room until he goes away. “As for why you should..” Enpitsu scans the classroom, sweeping a hand beneath his chin in thought. He then shrugs, “A favor for a favor? I’ll tell my whole club that you’re just the sparkliest angel out there. Even though the majority of them won’t care. Myself included.”

“I’ll take the favor bit.” Ayano claims, folding her arms and shrugging. “How would I get her to do that if you couldn’t, though?”

Enpitsu hums in thought, but likely not much thought considering he continued drawing for at least 20 seconds before speaking back up. “Uh, maybe she needs a new perspective? Some artists work better while looking from a different angle at the same project. Maybe if she hears from another person that she would make a lovely muse, she’ll cave!”

“Meka isn’t an artist.” Ayano points out. In return she only gets an irritated sputter and dismissive hand-waving from Enpitsu.

“I’ll even pay you to get this done, Ayano.” Enpitsu claims, digging into his bag. “If I don’t get this task done Geiju says he’s going to make me draw something hideous instead. Plead her if you have to.” He says, standing up and putting a twenty dollar bill in Ayano’s hand.

“Right..” Ayano rolls her eyes, putting the money in her pocket. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Enpitsu twiddles his fingers with a satisfied look. “You’re the lovliest!” He cheers. “Still not the most beautiful, though..”

Ayano glares at him, tempted to throw him a middle finger, but just realizing that that would probably lessen the reward. She pulls out her phone as she walks down the hallway. Texting Info-Chan, she asks:

Yan-Chan: How would I go about befriending Meka Nikaru?

Uekiya hums lightly, pruning some plants in the greenhouse with a pair of scissors. “Hey, Uekiya.” A familiar voice calls out to her.

“Oh, Kyuji. Hello, dear!” Uekiya places the scissors down and takes a handful of the access leaves that she cut off. She brings them to a corner of the garden that serves as compost. “Have you reconsidered joining?” She asks, wiping her gloved hands together briefly.

Kyuji hums, rubbing the back of his neck. “I.. I want to, but..” He pauses briefly, deciding on how he should word it. “I’d.. like to join with… that girl I told you about? If I can convince her to join. I just.. I guess want to stay with her? But- that’s only after I manage to confess to her.” He says, trying his best to sound confident but immediately faltering at the thought of his crush.

Uekiya giggles. “Aw, that’s so sweet! You sound just like my father!” She claims, “He used to go on and on about how he would always try to stick to my mother’s side when they were in highschool. So cute!” She hums, putting a hand on her cheek sweetly.

Grabbing the scissors again, Uekiya slips the gloves off of her fingers and hands them to Kyuji. “I’ve given you plenty of tips so far, I want to see how well you cut some flowers!”

“I, uh.. Me..?” Kyuji asks, slowly putting the gloves on and taking the scissors. “I mean.. Which ones do I even cut?”

“Anything on that row.” Uekiya points to the left side of the greenhouse. “Pick whichever ones you think Osana would like. I’m sure it would mean a lot more for the both of you if you could proudly say that you cut them yourself!”

Kyuji blushes lightly at the thought. “..maybe.. Wait, how’d you know it was Osana?”

“‘Kyuji totally stopped hanging out with his friends to stalk Osana’! ‘Bros before hoes where??’” Uekiya laughs at the fact that she was even using such language. “I’m sorry.. Those gyaru girls really do have mouths on them. No one takes it seriously, of course, because of how dramatically it’s formatted online, but plenty have heard of it.”

“Ah.. God, that’s…” Kyuji sighs, “How much do you wanna bet that Osana or her friend already saw that?” He asks, nervously rubbing the back of his hand.

Uekiya hums, pulling her mouth into a stiff smile. “I… think it’s best not to worry about that right now, hehe..”

Kyuji exhales, attempting to rid of all of his dread at that realization, and instead focuses on what flower he would pick for Osana. Hopefully if she did hear about the rumours, it wouldn’t affect how she sees him.

Meka furrows her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side at Ayano’s explanation. “Did Enpitsu send you to convince me to be his muse?” She guesses immediately and correctly despite Ayano’s attempt to seem social and friendly. Maybe that didn’t appeal to Meka?

Sighing, Ayano deflates visibility. “How’d you know?” She asks, despite reaping no positive reaction from Meka she still continued her girly-ish persona.

“He’s sent his club mates and a couple of his few friends to convince me before.” Meka explains. “But none of them have bothered doing anything for me in return, so I always refused.” She shakes her head in disapproval. “God forbid I ask Enpitsu to do something himself.”

Ayano crosses her arms, allowing her friendly mask to drop just slightly. “That’s ironic. I’m doing this in exchange for a favor from him. I’m sure I’ll love hearing him complain afterwards.”

Meka nods, her face still straight. “Aye, as many can agree. I’m sure if Enpitsu could learn to look outside himself he’d be a much more pleasant company.” She clears her throat. “But that’s besides the point. I’ve a favor if I have to become Enpitsu’s muse.”

“Thought so.” Ayano hums, smiling lightly in an attempt to return to her “girly” persona.

“I’d like to use the storage room frequently since it’s really only ever used for…well, storage.” Meka crosses her arms, “If you could move some things out of the storage room and place them elsewhere in order to make room, I would be grateful. I know a lot of that stuff is pretty big, so at least pushing the majority from one side to the other would be very much appreciated.”

Ayano nods. “I’ve got it. I’ll get it done in no time, you just wait!” She says with a confident smile before heading downstairs to get started on the task immediately.

The storage room was generally pretty clean. Some shelves and spare chairs were in the way. Not to mention a large chest in the middle of the back of the room. Maybe it would be alright if Ayano just moved everything she could from the right side to the left. Everything on the right side seemed to be generally light anyway.

Ayano exhaled, stretching her arms, legs and back before starting off with the foldable chairs and tossing them on top of one of the vaulting boxes. There was what looked to be a spare dolly to the right as well. Assuming that Ayano would need it to move something else, she moved it outside of the storage room, which caught the attention of one of the Sport’s Club members. One of the slowest ones, who was still in the middle of his stretches.

“Yano-San?” Mantaro called, jogging over. He was clearly exhausted from whatever his clubmates were still in the middle of doing, but tried his best to slow down his breathing. “Uh..what’re you up to?” He asks, looking at her and then peeking to the storage room.

Ayano stands up, kicking the dolly away a bit. “I’m neatening up the storage room for Meka. She said she’d likely need the room, and chose this room due to it hardly ever being used.” She explained, putting a hand on her hip confidently.

“It’ll take a while alone, won’t it?” Mantaro asked, blushing a bit with a shy smile. “I mean.. Would you… like some help? It’s- totally fine if you don’t need it.” He assured her nervously. Ayano wondered if his nervous demeanor was normal when talking to acquaintances or if her attempt at a confident stance was working on him.

“I’d appreciate that, Mantaro.” Ayano said with a smile before holding a hand out to the shelves. “I plan on moving those over to the left side so that the right side is completely clear. I’ll need to move all the access maps and vault boxes off of it to make it easier, though. Do you think you could help me with all that?” She asks, placing her hands on her hips.

Mantaro nods with a big smile. “Totally! I mean- of course, you can count on me!” He says gladly, happy to be able to help at all, Ayano assumed. He rolls up his sleeves and Ayano kneels down to grab a couple of mats.

By the time the two were finished, it was 7:45. A bit of time left, but Ayano did need to hurry up if her goal was to get this whole process over with efficiently. “How’s this look, Yano?” Mantaro asks, his brow dripping with sweat.

The entire time, Mantaro rushed to do several things that Ayano was planning on doing, likely as a workout or maybe to make out that he wasn’t with his club at the moment. Or maybe just to be even more helpful. Whatever the reason, it worked out significantly for Ayano, as in the end the storage room was cleaned up and nearly cleaned out and she’d hardly broken a sweat.

“Perfect!” Ayano gives Mantaro a firm pat on the back. “Good job, Mantaro. You worked great there!” She assures him, making Mantaro blush and beam with pride.

“No problem! Call on me any time, okay?” Mantaro holds two thumbs up to her, “I’m gonna go finish up with my club, though. See ya!” He waves happily, jogging out of the gymnasium.

Now that that hassle was out of the way, she just needed to stop by the science club and then Enpitsu. Perhaps he could call Hana, Kokoro and Bea out of the classroom for a moment? That would give Ayano just enough time to put the cigarettes in Osana’s bag, Ayano decided.

“I see.” Meka hooks a hand beneath her chin as she admires the photo Ayano took of the storage room. “I’m impressed you could do all of that on your own. And in such a short amount of time.”

“Actually, I got a lot of help from Mantaro. One of the sport’s club members.” Ayano explained. She was sure that if she’d claimed all of the credit for the work that was done, Meka would assume that she was a very strong and efficient person. Which she wasn’t just yet. With enough gym classes, though, Ayano was sure that she could fix that quickly.

Meka nods. “I appreciate the help, Ayano. I’ll be sure to thank Mantaro as well later.” She says to Ayano, “Tell Enpitsu that I’ll be his… muse during cleaning time. I’ve things to do until then.”

“Got it. Thanks a bunch, Meka.” Ayano waves, heading downstairs and towards her own class.

Once she arrived at the classroom, she saw that all four of the people that were there earlier were still inside. Enpitsu’s expression lights up as he spots Ayano, and he raises to his feet. “So? What’d she say? Did she finally agree? What took you so long?”

Nodding, Ayano puts a hand on her hip. “That’s right.” She furrows her eyebrows at his last question. “I did a task for her in order to get her to agree. She says that you’d never bother getting your hands dirty.”

“Ha! She knows me so well.” Enpitsu chuckles and shakes his head, flipping some of his hair in his regular narcissistic fashion. “Anyway, did you need that favor now or can I–”

“--I need it now.” Ayano interrupts. Enpitsu rolls his eyes at this with a reluctant expression. “Distract them for a minute.” She nods to the trio of bullies.

Enpitsu looks back at the chatting girls before raising an eyebrow Ayano’s way. “For what?”

Ayano shakes her head. “I just need you to. Get them out of the room for a minute.” She demands, crossing her arms.

“Right, so you can put a whoopie coushin on Hana’s chair.” Enpitsu rolls his eyes again. Despite his sarcasm, he does end up getting up and swiftly walking out of the room.

After a moment, he peeks his head back in. “Hey, there’s, like.. A wad of cash on the floor in the cafeteria?”

“It’s mine!” Hana claims, darting out of the room. Kokoro gapes, likely not wanting Hana to snatch someone else’s money, but stays quiet and follows her.

“Watch it be, like, two bucks.” Bea chuckles, following the two. Now that the three of them were out, Ayano was able to swiftly slip the cigarettes into Osana’s bag.

Ayano sighs, not feeling as accomplished as she hoped she would, likely because the process was a lot longer than she thought it would be. Maybe she should try doing her peers’ tasks more often. Maybe that would prevent having nearly no one to ask for help?

As Ayano thinks over more ways to make her schemes more efficient, Hana’s whining comes to her attention. “This is what you call a wad of cash, Byoga?!” She hisses, throwing the two dollars back at him. Enpitsu only shrugs with a smile, walking back to his seat.

Bea quickly snatches the money up and snickers. “Hey, two dollars is two dollars. I can buy eight whole gumballs with this.” She claims, stuffing the two dollar bills into her skirt pocket.

“Whatever.” Hana rolls her eyes, sitting at her own seat as Kokoro and Bea sit on a desk near her to continue chatting.

Ayano leaves the room, heading towards the guidance counselor downstairs. Enpitsu watches as she leaves, wondering what exactly she did, but shrugs it off and continues sketching.

Genka’s eyes widen slightly at Ayano’s accusation. “And.. you know this how?” She asks, folding her arms with a serious expression.

“I saw her move them from her pocket into her bag this morning.” Ayano claimed, tapping her fingers onto her other hand in faux nervousness as she avoided Genka’s gaze.

“That’s a clear violation of the rules, not to mention completely illegal. This could call for serious punishment..” Genka sighs, neatening up a stack of papers on her desk. “Strange. She’s usually such a well-behaved young lady.” Shaking her head, Genka continues. “I’ll ask her about it later. Thank you for telling me this.” She says, nodding to Ayano.

Ayano respectfully bows her head to Genka before quietly leaving the room. Serious punishment, huh? Considering a minor smoking is illegal, she should face expulsion, right? It only makes sense, surely.

As Ayano hoped, Genka came to Ayano’s class and called for Osana. Around five minutes later, Osana came back looking ashamed, but not holding the expression of dread Ayano thought any suddenly expelled student would have. As Osana sits down and puts her bag back on the hook of her desk, her question is answered. She wasn’t expelled.

“What happened..?” Raibaru asked quietly, her voice low as to not get the teacher’s attention.

“Miss Kunahito found…cigarettes in my bag. I’m not sure how they got there..” Osana says with, frowning. Raibaru gave her a shocked look. “Not even my parents smoke. It doesn’t make any sense..!”

“Osana.” Mrs. Fukahori called, glaring at the pigtailed girl. “Miss Genka already had a talk with you. I expect no further interruptions.” She said, putting a hand on her hip.

“Right. Sorry, Mrs. Fukahori.” Osana bows her head quickly, getting a nod from Mrs. Fukahori, as she turned to continue writing on the board.

As Osana pays attention to her book once again, Raibaru whispers. “Glad to hear you aren’t in any serious trouble.” She smiles and nods, and Osana smiles back.

But why not?

Ayano’s phone vibrated quietly, and she took a look up at her teacher’s back before looking down to her phone.

Info-Chan: I don’t think just one event will get Osana expelled.

Info-Chan: If anything, you would probably have to frame her for the whole week.

Yan-Chan: Why didn’t you tell me this before I went through all of that effort?

Info-Chan: It’s one thing to hear about something and another thing to experience it :)

Yan-Chan: I’m running out of time. What the hell do I do?

Info-Chan: Let’s try again tomorrow. We can probably get something done then :D

Ayano: But we have the rest of the day.

She doesn’t recieve a reply from her oh-so-helpful informant, and she quietly stuffs her phone back into her pocket. What was Info-Chan planning? Did she have a plan? Or was she just stringing Ayano along until she inevitably failed?

Ayano puts her cheek in her hand as she leans her elbow onto her desk. What could Info-Chan gain from all of this playing around? Was this the form of entertainment that she really wanted? Just leading Ayano astray instead of allowing her to properly stop her rival?

“Aishi!” Mrs. Fukahori smacked a ruler against the board, making Ayano flinch. “What on Earth has got you all so distracted?” She sighed, pointing the ruler to a question she’s written on the board. “Can you answer this?” She asked.

“Sorry.” Ayano replies blankly, “Yes, I can.”

Tomorrow was a “new day”, Info-Chan would say. But what good is a new day if it’s your last? Or second to last?

What non-harmful plan could Ayano even try at this point? If this didn’t move fast enough, she would have to take drastic measures.

#yansim story #yandere #yandere simulator #yansim #yansim ideas #Chapter #Day Three #Week One #WeekOne DayThree #Ayano Aishi #Osana Najimi #Raibaru Fumetsu #Enpitsu Byoga #Mantaro Sashimasu #Meka Nikaru #Hana Daidaiyama #Kokoro Momoiro #Bea Gemron

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