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sttoru · 8 months

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𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .

⟣ sypnosis. you’re fed up with your rich abusive husband and finally decide to hire a skilled assassin to get rid of him in secrecy. one night when you’re left alone in your penthouse, you invite the assassin named toji over to give him the money he’s demanded to accept the job. things turn for the worse when your husband comes home early that day and catches toji and you together.

⟣ note. eeek. never thought i’d be here to write this out but i did and it turned pretty detailed if i must say. hope u all enjoy and appreciate my hard work. feedback / comments are greatly appreciated ! if the fic does well, i can make an alternative ending that’s smutty :3 wc: 7.4k

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. angst, comfort. themes include abuse. reader is in an abusive + toxic relationship with her husband. implied age gap with husband. implied size difference with toji. mentions of guns + blood + m.urder. knifes.

“what is a successful marriage?”

that is one of the many questions that keep you up at night. you’ve laid awake for hours on end ever since you’ve married your husband, in search for reasonable answers. you’ve got many of them sorted out, however that specific question is one left unanswered.

it is very subjective—many can vary about the concrete answer. but one thing you know for sure is that your marriage is the exact opposite of what ‘successful’ means.

you were so full of yourself. you didn’t realise that your pride would also be your downfall one day; you’d constantly brag about having a rich husband who gets you everything you wanted. you were too blinded by love—or actually—by his money to notice the real him. the real, twisted and manipulative face of the man you were determined to marry.

his name was daisuke. from the yamamoto family. a family known in japan for its generational wealth and the many buildings and famous corporations it owns. you’ve worked at one of those companies and had met daisuke whilst he was on a visit. you’ve heard about his image by the public; sweet, caring and apparently wouldn’t hurt a fly.

unfortunately, the true him matched none of those descriptions. the true him only you—his wife—came face to face with at your shared home. you remember when it started. when daisuke began to turn into a nasty, abusive man whose anger is never restrainable.

your dating years were nothing but a dream. or, maybe you were too gullible to notice the signs and red flags your then boyfriend was showing. his love bombing, the manipulation, the gaslighting—you didn’t know better. if you complained about a minor thing that he had done, daisuke would apologise by sending you lots of money and presents. toxic, isn’t it?

but you didn’t care. you were happy and content with that being your compensation. the money was the evildoer that made you lose all your morals. the teenage you who said that you’ll never put up with a man’s disrespect was long forgotten.

even now, 4 years later, you put up with his verbal and physical abuse just to continue staying in that big mansion you live in. to continue getting everything paid for you. to continue getting lots of money by doing nothing but be his wife—his trophy wife, at this point.

it’s an easy life; ‘all i have to do is get through his abuse and it’ll be just fine’, you tell yourself that every night. it’s the only thing keeping you sane—a coping mechanism of some kind.

however lately, daisuke’s never skipped a day without being abusive towards you. he’d enter your home yelling and shouting, complains about the tiniest speck of dust in the house (which is not even your fault, it’s the maids’), reminds you how worthless you are in his eyes and the list goes on. he sometimes gets physical and throws stuff at you, causing multiple bruises and cuts to appear on your body after he’s done having his daily tantrum.

he might even kill you one day. it’s scary to think about; if he would, he easily could. he could one day just decide to be done with you and stick a knife in your body, leave you to bleed out and then order one of his men to get rid of your corpse. just like his family does to whoever stands in their way of success. you don’t want to discover how many people your husband has killed.

daisuke can easily get away with murder after all—the law is nothing but a thing to exist to keep the common citizens in the government’s control. to the rich, it’s like those rules don’t exist. court? justice? the so called independent judge? nothing money can’t buy. after all, money is power. money is innocence.

after four years of sticking with that rich man, you were getting tired. you were staying with him for his wealth, but was it actually worth it? besides, if daisuke hates you so much, why wouldn’t he divorce you instead? you don’t have anything going for you. except for your looks and youth, probably. that’s the main reason why daisuke coaxed you into marrying him—to show you off during events or parties. a complete and utter trophy wife you are.

you’ve been going to sketchy bars lately to let off some steam. you weren’t even there to drink alcohol. the sole reason for attending pubs was to forget about your own situation. you’d get weird stares since you’re always alone, sitting in that one spot in the far corner, no one wanting to come up to you because of that gloomy aura you’re emitting. and because you’re always dressed modestly from head to toe—not an ounce of skin showing. it was all the opposite of what most people would normally look and act like in bars.

‘what is normal?’ also a subjective question. society has turned it into an objective one, however.

“good day, miss.” a deep voice had interrupted your thoughts one day whilst you were doing your usual routine; sit near the bar counter, get a non-alcoholic drink, stare at the table for hours and question your purpose in life before going home to the reason of your problems.

a man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s, sat next to you on an available stool. he nonchalantly ordered a drink before making small talk. it was a nice change of pace for some reason. you had asked him his name. it was shiu.

that stranger had kept you company for hours until a call from your husband made you snap back to reality; you had to be home as soon as possible. judging by daisuke’s tone, you were in big trouble.

you remember how shiu outed his concern for your well-being by pointing out the bruises on your arm which you didn’t even know were showing.

you dismissed his worries with a fake smile and told him it was nothing, quickly pulling your sleeve back down. shiu seemed to let the topic go, but before parting ways with you, he handed you his business card. you didn’t know what it was for—what kind of services he could offer;

“call that number if you need someone to get rid of your problems,” was all you got before the mysterious man walked away. you couldn’t shake off the emphasis on the word ‘rid’. it sent a shiver down your spine.

that sentence of shiu’s echoed in your ears as tears streamed down your cheek after you arrived home. you were in your personal bathroom, hands shaking as you put a bag of ice on your fresh bruise, the small red and blue-ish area stinging. once again—you couldn’t avoid your husband’s wrath.

after having slept for a mere two hours that day in your bathtub, you’ve awoken to an empty house. daisuke was gone for work. luckily for you.

you hastily grabbed the business card in your purse and dialled the number. staring at the card, you’d think it was some kind of house cleaning service. that’s the kind of vibe it gave. little did you know that it was far from that.

a few rings later and you heard the same familiar deep voice in your ear; “good morning. with shiu kong.”

your heart was beating in your throat as you couldn’t gather the right words to say. maybe it was due to the little voice in the back of your head that warned you for something—you couldn’t pinpoint what the specific cause was just yet.

you answered eventually, “hi. uhm, you said i could call this number if i needed someone to get rid of my problems.” you pause and inhale deeply, “wh-what if my problem was.. a person? would you…” your voice trailed off, but the implication could not be missed by anyone if they heard the tone you used.

shiu seemed to recognise your voice, though stayed silent for a second or two at your request. when he replied, it sounded like he had expected you to ask him this—like he’s heard this many times before; “certainly.”

that’s when you realised what you’ve gotten yourself involved with. you were sweating and you had trouble breathing as you realised that.. this was your chance. to get rid of that man called your husband. your abuser.

you had decided to take on that opportunity and that’s how you ended up getting a phone call from an anonymous number right after your talk with shiu. the agent hadn’t told you anything other than the name of the person who’d contact you; ‘toji’, and said that he’d help you further.

you stared at the ‘no caller ID’ on your screen. this was him: the person who’d help you get rid of your problem. you gulped before sliding your thumb across your mobile to answer the call.

“hi, good m—”

“location.”

the husky male voice cut through your introduction and got straight to the point. your lips were parted to answer the man whom you guessed was ‘toji’, but your breath got caught in your throat for a second. do you just randomly give your address to a stranger? was that okay to do? you didn’t know—no, you didn’t care. if you got killed in the process or something similar, that’d be way better than to live another day in hell with your husband.

you dropped your address after some hesitation and toji just added a quick, ‘be there in an hour or so,’ before hanging up on you.

fast forward to 50 minutes later and you were pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to breathe properly and not have a second panic attack. daisuke wouldn’t be home until noon, so at least he won’t see whoever will enter your mansion in a few minutes. and if there’s a possibility that you get killed by this stranger, you’re sure that your husband would be more than happy that the job was done for him.

a loud tune. the sound of your doorbell. normally, you’d find the short melody relaxing, but now it sounded like something out of a nightmare. you made your way to your intercom and looked at the small screen—seeing a tall black-haired man with a compressed shirt and beige baggy pants standing near the gates. that must be toji—the man you talked to an hour ago.

he must be confident in his abilities since he didn’t cover up his identity at all when coming all the way over here.

you press a button and the gates open with a buzz. toji disappears from the little screen as he enters your front yard. the screen fades to black and you’re left alone with a sense of dread in your stomach. that only lasted for a couple seconds since the doorbell of your front door goes off.

“c-coming!” your voice cracks. you make your way over to the entrance of your home and breathe in. you open the doors slightly, peeking through the gap at the tall, intimidating man standing before you.

toji was kicking a rock to the side whilst waiting and looked up when you opened the doors. he seemed laidback, as if this was nothing but child’s play to him, “took ya long enough.”

you were appalled as toji simply barged into your home like he owned it. his strong, masculine cologne wafted through the air as he passed you by without giving you a second to process his intrusion.

your shaky eyes followed his bulky figure—the muscles that bulged through his shirt, which tensed every now and then. his aura was no joke either; it was horrifying to someone whom didn’t even know who he was or what he exactly did for a living.

“phewww,” the dark-haired man let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the interior of the entrance hall, shamelessly touching a few expensive looking decorations, inspecting the material, “pretty damn rich, ain’t ya? this y’r daddy’s money?”

you shake your head and close the door behind you, staying there in case you needed to run. you are still wary of this situation, even when you had been the one that started this all.

“h-husband’s.” your voice was a quiet whisper. toji raised an eyebrow and turned his attention towards you. his eyes scanned you from head to toe. you looked pretty young. a fragile little thing, is how he described you in his head.

“husband? you?” toji chuckles dryly, before stepping closer to you, his body towering over yours. he lowers his head and stares at you from up close, his hands in his pockets whilst wordlessly looking at you.

you swallowed a bit of saliva and glanced back at the big man whom belittled you twice in just a couple seconds. you fumbled with the sleeve of your hoodie as the silence grew deafening—the only sound being your own soft yet shallow breathing.

your fingers scratched at the bruises under the fabric of your clothes, causing the cloth to slightly crinkle and glide up a few centrimeters with each rub before coming back down once your fingers stop. the instant you start touching those bruises, the itching just wouldn’t stop.

toji noticed this and looked down at your arm. his eyes caught a small glimpse of a wound on your wrist, but he didn’t seem to comment on it. with a sniff, he straightened his back and cocked his head to the right—face cold again as he glared at you;

“do ya know what kinda stuff i do?” his voice was booming, the deepness to it making you shiver. you press your lips together and search for answer, only to find nothing;

“n-no, i mean—“ your itching increases the more nervous you felt, “th-the man who directed me to you said you’d explain things further. all i know is that you can get rid of uhm— a problem of mine.”

toji scoffs and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath about his ‘stupid agent letting him do all the work’ before turning around. he lazily walks ahead as if he had all the time he needed in the world. once arrived in your living room, the man plops down on your couch, spreads his legs and leans back against the cushions. he really acted like he owns this place.

“i’m not the type to beat around the bush, little lady,” toji starts whilst his eyes follow you as you nervously sat on the chair next to the sofa, “so i’m gonna get straight into it. and if ya back down after this or get too scared ‘n call the cops, unfortunately, y’r pretty ass gotta go.”

toji swipes a thumb across his neck to indicate what that latter meant; killed. you’re gonna get killed if you learn his real identity and decide to expose it to anyone, especially the police. you blinked your tears away whilst thinking of that possibility and shook your head, putting on a determined face. you need to take responsibilities for your actions. you were the one who started this.

“all right. i promise that i won’t back down.” you reply after getting yourself together. toji’s eyes had left yours for a second to look around the grand living room—as if inspecting for something—before settling back on you. he quickly exhales through his nose; leaning his head on his hand while his piercing gaze burned holes in your skin,

“i’m an assassin.” toji says in a bored tone. he’s done this little introduction to his job so many times before to clients who hire him in for the first time, “i kill people in exchange for money. so, ya basically hired me to get rid of someone ‘nd i’m here to collect the money and information i need to finish the job. got that?”

there it was. the confirmation you needed and got without an ounce of hesitation coming from the man in front of you. you had expected this outcome (from the many you created in your head), of course, thus you weren’t that surprised. yet the fact that you actually have a hitman in your house, someone who can easily kill your husband, still makes you nervous.

“yes, thank you.” you eventually replied and nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. you looked up at toji and this time it wasn’t in a nervous way. this time it was in a determined way. toji notices this change and the scarred corner of his lip curled into a smirk.

“how much. . . money do you want for this job?” you go straight to the point. the dark-haired man grins whilst scanning your figure up and down shamelessly, enjoying the confident look on you. it suited you better.

“depends. who is it that i gotta kill?” toji asks, using his thumb to crack his index finger. you look around as if anyone could hear you. you were sure that no one was there with you, no maids no bodyguards no husband, yet your anxiety was still at its peak.

“my husband.” you reply quietly and point at the big picture frame on the wall near the chimney. it was a picture of daisuke and you. you seemed happy there, but it was all for show. that photoshoot was simply for his benefit, “daisuke. daisuke yamamoto.”

toji raises his eyebrow and stares at the picture. he’s heard of that name before. it was mentioned many times in the articles he reads. the assassin stands up with a grunt and walks to the chimney, letting out a small hum like he was thinking about it. not about if he could get the job done—no, his pride told him he easily could—but about the amount of money he wanted to get out of this.

there was a silence before toji turns around on his heels and walks over to the couch again, plopping down on the soft cushions whilst propping his feet on the table in front of him, “around seven million yen will do.”

that was about 50.000 dollars.

your jaw slightly dropped. it’s not like you haven’t seen nor heard of such big numbers before, it’s just that it was a little unexpected. but then again; nothing you can’t afford. with your husband’s money. the same money that ruined your life, is going to be used as a weapon to save it.

daisuke’s own money is going to be the death of him. and you’re the one to guarantee that.

“all right. i can get you that in cash.” you nod idly. your mind was clearly somewhere else—trying to remember the password to daisuke’s safe that was situated in a hidden room near his office. you recently found out that he keeps most cash, gold and other valuable pieces there, away from your sight. he was bad at hiding that fact from you, however.

one night, he came home drunk and it ended up with him confessing to you that he ‘won’t ever let a gold digger like you near his money again’ and proceeded to spill that he ‘has a secret safe which you won’t ever get your hands on’. eventually, you did. after a bit of snooping around, you easily found the hidden room behind a bookcase.

those fat stacks of money in there definitely add up to more than seven million yen. you’re sure of it. the only obstacle in your way is gathering that money. most of the time, daisuke locks his office before leaving home—or if he doesn’t—his maids will be in there cleaning.

“it will take me some time, but…” your voice trails off as a pensive look falls on your face. you bite your bottom lip and try to figure out something—a plan. toji catches your attention again by letting out a deep sigh. he dismissively waves your worries away with one hand;

“tha’s fine, lady. i need some time to prepare for this job too—it ain’t an easy one after all.” the assassin comments whilst scratching the scar near his lips, also seemingly deep in thought about his own plan, “bet he got lots of guards on his ass, too. tch.”

there was another thought in the back of toji’s mind that bothered him. normally, he’d be pissed off if his client didn’t prepare any kind of money beforehand. maybe some compensation bills, or at least a little thing he can have before they give him the full amount.

but with you, he seems not to mind. he wouldn’t be mad if he left this place empty handed for the time being. maybe he actually feels pity for your situation. or was it something else?

toji scoffs at his wandering mind and inwardly tells himself to shut up about such dumb stuff. getting his money is what’s most important to him. if you die afterwards, he wouldn’t care.

that’s what he tells himself.

“anyways. you should gimme all ya know about him. y’re his wife, right? ya should know his routine ‘n stuff that i can work with.” toji speaks up after the ten seconds of silence. you nod at his question—he wanted every single piece of information about your husband, so you’ll give him everything. no details excluded.

you pull out your phone and show toji pictures you took from daisuke’s computer in secrecy. pictures of his daily schedule for the upcoming month. your prior intention by taking those was to know when to be back home or when to avoid him, but they could be useful for this as well.

you continue to explain when and where daisuke holds his breaks, where his main office is located, the bodyguards that accompany him every day and when they leave him alone— all the information you gathered.

toji can’t help but be amazed by your memory. and the fact that you can recall everything, small or big, about your husband. it certainly did make his job easier; now he doesn’t have to pry out more hints on daisuke himself.

of course, you had your reasons for knowing all the miniscule facts about daisuke. it’s how you managed to survive those four years of marriage.

“good. tha’s enough.” toji nods and stands up with a grunt, stretching his arms—the muscles retracting. you couldn’t help but stare at them; he must have gone through a lot of training to become an assassin. a skilled one at that.

“before i go,” toji continues as he walks past you without looking back, heading straight for the exit of the living room, “you should delete all cctv footage that ya got going on ‘round here. i’ll take care of further evidence, yeah?”

toji moves his index finger in a circle, pointing at all corners in the house. he doesn’t want to risk anything, “i’ll call ya once i get things sorted out. then i’ll get to work when ya hand me the money.”

you nod and make a mental note for yourself to do that immediately once toji’s gone. you still had an hour or two before your husband would return. you don’t think he checks the cctv footage often (otherwise he’d have caught you sneaking into his office before), but it’ll be a big problem if he actually does and sees a random man in his home.

“will do. thank you.” you reply to toji and get up to politely see him out of your house. that’s when the realisation kicked in; your husband will be killed by this man right here in front of you. goosebumps appeared on your skin—not from fright. but from… happiness?

this stranger will end years of torment for you. yes, it’s his job. he’ll probably disappear after he’s got the money and completed your request, and yet, you can’t help but be extremely thankful.

without thinking, you reach out and grab onto toji’s wrist to stop him from moving. the assassin doesn’t stiff or tense up by this sudden touch. in fact, he’s already sensed it coming and allowed it.

toji’s actually more surprised by the fact that his mind and body allowed you to touch him. if it were anyone else, he’d probably have avoided their touch, broken their hand or worse—cut it off.

he moves his head to the side and looks at you from his peripherals, though not fully turning to you yet. he doesn’t speak up either; he’s waiting on you to go first.

your heart was somehow starting to beat even faster. you bit your lip and mentally cursed yourself out for pulling such an action; you could’ve just waited to show your gratitude through the phone.

well, either way, there was no going back now so you might as well spill your words of gratitude right this moment. you took a deep breath and parted your lips, ready to talk, but was then interrupted by your biggest nightmare.

a familiar, chilling voice. your heart drops. your body freezes.

“i knew it.”

a looming figure stood near the entrace to the living room. you recognised him instantly, as did your body, which went into an almost paralysed state. your mouth went dry, your hands started shaking and your eyes widened to the point you weren’t blinking anymore.

your husband, daisuke, appeared out of thin air in front of toji and you. his gaze was solely focused on the way your fingers were curled around toji’s wrist. to top it off, he had only heard the last bits of your conversation: something about deleting cctv and money. his brain hadn’t heard the entirety of it—he had already taken wrong conclusions in his head.

daisuke’s veins were on the verge of popping as he took two big steps towards you—you taking two steps back in response.

“i knew you were cheating on me, you fuckin’ slut.” daisuke spits with his finger pointed right at you. he was ignoring toji’s presence for the time being. he had to deal with you first;

“i work my ass off all day and night to provide for you and this is how you repay me? by inviting a random dude over whilst i’m gone? ungrateful bitch.”

two insults in a row; one more and daisuke’s putting his hands on you. it always went like that. your mind felt like it was emptied, but you somehow felt relieved that your husband didn’t seem to know the real reason of why toji had come over. daisuke really thought you were just cheating on him, and that your words of ‘deleting all cctv footage’ was to hide that infidelity.

“it’s n-not.. like that, daisuke.” you try to soothe the raging man in front of you, but your attempts were futile. he was just three quick steps away from resorting to physical violence.

toji, in the meantime, had stepped off to the side. you were only his client, thus there was no need to interrupt a couple’s ‘dispute’. you weren’t anyone dear or special to him—just a client. a stranger that owes him money to perform a job.

the assassin leans against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest whilst watching the scene unfold. it was unfortunate that toji’s target was right there in front of him; he could just kill him right now. get the job done and over with. but, once again, toji only got to work if he had the money. he only assassinates when his skills are paid for. not any earlier and not any later. those were his morals—the rules he lives by.

if toji wanted to, he could simply walk away and let you handle this stuff by yourself. daisuke accusing him of being your ‘thing on the side’ didn’t bother him. as long as your husband doesn’t know his real identity, he’s fine with whatever accusations that get thrown at him.

but, for some reason—the same reason from earlier—his body was yelling at him to stay. toji sighs; he knows he won’t ever win a battle against his heart’s needs. he decides to stay.

daisuke still doesn’t seem to care about this; all the man wants is to out his anger and accuse you of things he now has enough ‘evidence’ for. he was seething and fuming at this revelation.

“god knows what else you’ve done behind my back. i bet he isn’t the only one you’ve fucke—“

“stop! i’m not cheating,” you finally yell back. it was the first time in a while that you had gathered the strength to do so. it felt good now that you had stuck up for yourself, but you knew how this would end for you—probably on the floor. crying.

despite all of that, you decided to keep on going. it’s now or never: all you have to do is make up a lie, probably withstand daisuke’s anger again and hope it doesn’t kill you. just this once; all you have to do is survive this once and then you’ll be freed from him.

you’ll give toji his money and he will do the job for you. just a few more days—

“he’s.. he’s my friend’s husband. i invited them both over and he just arrived earlier than expected.” you quickly made up. it sounded a little convincing to you. toji’s low snicker of amusement in the back confirmed that it maybe was the opposite of convincing.

daisuke scoffs at the pathetic attempt of hiding your ‘infidelity’. with another step forward, he raises his voice a notch; “yeah, right! what a pathetic excuse.”

a second step—you were waiting on that third curse. that third swear word that would set hell loose in this house, “do you really think you can fool me with that? huh?!”

it hadn’t happened yet. you still had time to think of a plan to perhaps escape this situation. your eyes flickered over to toji, although it didn’t seem like he’d be of any help. of course, he’s just an outsider after all. a stranger whom you just met today.

assassins have already disregarded their heart emotions the moment they decided to go down the path of killing for a living. you wouldn’t even blame toji for not stepping in. you’re also but a stranger to him.

toji could see the glimmer of hope in your eyes when you looked at him. or maybe it was a call for help. a desperate look. he can’t tell the difference. though, what he can tell, is that there was a gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach. a gut feeling that told him it’d be smart to interfere.

but there’s his rational thoughts that tell him to not get involved—to avoid any more trouble than needed. besides, what other benefits would it bring him if he did? toji doesn’t want to be seen as a hero or saviour by anyone.

his jaw clenches as the time ticks. only a couple seconds left before the cold-hearted assassin has to make a decision.

daisuke’s patience was running low. the tension was increasing and could burst at any given moment now. one wrong move and you’re done—

one wrong breath could result in the worst possible outcome.

your silence spoke volumes to daisuke. the way you held your head low, your eyes that flickered from the floor to the ceiling, your fingers that nervously fumbled with your clothes and your bottom lip that trembled unstoppably. that pissed him off.

everything about you pissed him off. daisuke didn’t see any benefits of having you around anymore. he hadn’t for the long time, however didn’t know how he’d get rid of you.

divorce? no, he’ll have to give some of his earnings to you. kick you out? a possibility, but that would ruin his reputation. blackmail? that option was now the best choice. he’s caught you with another man after all. with camera evidence.

but, daisuke wouldn’t be satisfied with that outcome. his rage was blinding him—more than usual. he has to make you learn your lesson. in a way that will have you begging for your life to be spared.

and thus, the last step was made. the deciding hands were raised—aimed for your neck. the final curse had left his lips;

“come here. i’ll show you how whores like you should be treated.”

killing intent. it was the first time you’ve seen daisuke’s gaze darken that much, his demeanour emotionless yet full of rage. you close your eyes and expect for the worse.

“tha’s enough.”

everything went blank to you. it was silent, your vision was black, your hands were above your head, your heart felt like it wasn’t beating anymore—had you met your end? had you already been murdered?

in that same instant, you could feel drops of liquid splatter on your face. a faint ringing sound in your ears—it sounded like fireworks had been set off. a loud ‘pop’ sound.

something hit the ground right after. it wasn’t your body since that someone or something landed right at your feet.

after that: utter silence.

you gathered all your strength once more and slowly opened your eyelids. your vision was a bit blurry, though the first shape you could make out was one of a man on the ground. and not just any man—it was the man whom you hated most. at your feet.

you would’ve never thought of seeing that image before. of your husband laying at your feet; both literally and figuratively. a red liquid gushed out of his head and soaked into your shoes.

a normal wife would’ve let out a blood hurling scream at the sight of her lover laying lifelessly near her. a normal wife with a healthy relationship, that is.

you did let out a scream at the sight of your husband laying lifelessly near your feet. but that wasn’t done out of panic for your husband’s life—or due to the pain you were in to see him dead.

it was purely because you hadn’t seen a corpse before.

“d-daisuke..?”

a normal wife would’ve called out her husband’s name in a futile attempt that he’d answer back. that all of it was a dream. that her beloved wasn’t dead.

your reason wasn’t anything close to that. you called out that name in hopes he wouldn’t answer back. that all of it wasn’t a dream. that your abuser was dead.

it was real. you were glad, yet extremely disturbed by the fact that there was a corpse at your feet. you didn’t want to see all of it happening—that wasn’t part of the plan.

you stumble back a bit, hands clutching onto the chair you bumped into as you did your best to avoid the gruesome scene before your eyes. you just wished someone would clean the mess as soon as possible.

it’s then that your gaze fell on the other person present in the room; the man who was standing with a gun in his hand. toji scratched his head with the barrel, cold eyes looking down at the corpse with a faintly visible disgusted expression.

the assassin clicks his tongue as he walks towards the lifeless body and puts the sole of his shoe on daisuke’s cheek as if he was stepping on a pile of dirt, moving the head back and forth to check for any possible ounce of life in there.

there was none. the soul had left its body almost instantly after that bullet went through his brain. toji sighs; this time at himself for acting irrationally, “should’ve tortured you to death for tryin’ to put y’r hands on that lady instead of givin’ you the easy way out.”

with a harsh kick to the head on the floor, toji gathers some of his saliva on his tongue before spitting on the man. doubling the disrespect; “consider yourself lucky.”

toji cocked his head to the right. that’s where he spotted you with a familiar look on your face. the expression of someone who just went through a traumatic experience. he’s seen many people react like you when facing a near death experience or when witnessing somebody die before them.

usually, he’d tell them ‘it’s normal, get used to it’ and leave it at that. this was different. it felt different with you.

“are you okay?” the words slipped out of toji’s mouth before he could hold them back. his tone was a mixture of genuine concern and confusion. the latter was due to his own state of mind at the moment.

you didn’t answer, but you put your hands on your mouth as if you were going to puke any moment now. your vision was getting blurry with tears, head spinning and body feeling numb and weird.

toji hesitates before stepping towards you. his hands reached out to hold you, though he stopped them. he’d figured you wouldn’t be comfortable with him touching you in any way or form. he just killed someone in front of you—

it’s not like you cared that it was your husband. that much was clear. you sniff and glance up at toji with such a relieved yet devastated expression that his arms instinctively wrapped around you and pulled you into his warm embrace.

it was an awkward hug since toji doesn’t really know the basics of comforting someone. he was a bit stiff, but you didn’t show any discomfort due to that fact. instead, you clung onto his body and left tear stains on his black shirt.

“shhh, shh. it’s fine. it’s okay.” toji whispers, whilst his big hands indecisively move around, trying to find a spot to rest on. one eventually lands on the back of your head whilst the other starts to slowly rub up and down your spine, “it’s over, yeah? all of it—it’s over.”

toji doesn’t have a clue about the exact details of what your life was like. why you asked him to kill your (now ex-)husband was none of his business. all he knew was that he was going to get paid for it, so he didn’t care what the reason was.

it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the scars and bruises on your body throughout your conversation either—but that as well—was none of his business. assassins do their job without any further questions. there was no need to have personal connections or relations with their clients.

yet, toji was going against those unspoken rules once more. all because of you. for you.

“thank y—you.” your voice was weak as you speak up. it sounded hoarse and tired, though the sense of gratitude was undeniably there, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

a series of ‘thank you’s’ leave your lips whilst your body and mind were still trying to recover from the whole ordeal. toji was trying his best to keep by your side until you calmed down. that’s the least he could do—after the fact that he singlehandedly got rid of the main problem in your life.

“no need to thank me, lady.” the dark-haired man whispers, allowing you to mess up his shirt with your tears and tugs, “i did what i had to do.”

toji didn’t actually have to do what he did. he never does his job before he’s guaranteed the money. however this time, it was a different story. he did it without thinking. he had to. his body was telling him to move—and in a flash—it was done.

he tries to tell himself that it’s just him slacking off. that he isn’t possibly starting to care about another person. he shouldn’t; those complicated emotions would stand in his way. and yet. . .

“c’mere.”

toji lifts you up bridal style while you keep quivering against his shoulder. his hands had a tight grip on your body, his eyes a sharp gaze on the mess he created. with a sigh, he takes you upstairs to a random room—kicking the door open.

toji carefully puts you back on your feet and guides you to sit on the edge of the kingsized bed. he absentmindedly brushes a few strands of your hair back after wiping some more tears away from your face;

“i know it’s a lot to take in,” toji kneels down before you, looking up with an unreadable expression whilst wiping the tears from your cheeks. his warm palms make contact with your skin and it’s like you’ve forgotten all about what just happened, “but is it okay if ya stay here while i go take care of the rest? i’ll come back once i’m done.”

toji has his own ways of cleaning up after he’s done a job and most likely wants to put one of those techniques to use before any maid or guard comes to check in on the house situation. you sniffle and hiccup afterwards, trying to form a verbal response through your broken sobs, but to no avail.

you simply nod and lean into toji’s calloused hands—such rough and masculine hands—ones that were meant to protect instead of hurt you. you weren’t able to trust men after your marriage, however this one in front of you was unlike any other. even if he may not seem like it on the outside.

his touch was gentle yet firm. the pads of his thumbs swiped the wet skin under your lower eyelashes and you could’ve sworn toji’s gaze had softened for a split second before he caught himself.

he had to stand up, get rid of the mess and leave the place before he got too attached to you. the assassin cannot make such a grave mistake.

“i promise,” toji speaks up after a bit again, standing up after giving you a soft pat against your shoulder, “you’re fine. i’ll be back—ya have my word.”

there he goes; making promises he knows he probably can’t keep. ‘i’ll be back’, will he? he can’t. for your own safety. he has to treat you as just another client. none of what he did in this house could be spoken of anymore.

he slipped up this once. it needn’t to happen again. money. he does his jobs for money—when he obtains the money. he doesn’t kill his targets for the sake of others, for the protection of others.

he doesn’t kill for love.

toji wishes that all of this had never happened, because he knows that his heart will lead him back to you at the end of the day. he knows he won’t leave once he cleans up the mess downstairs. he’ll come right back to you.

and you have faith in that. you trust this stranger whom had practically saved your life with just one shot.

“i don’t know how to repay you.. thank you.” you manage to mutter through shallow breaths. you stare at the back of toji’s head as he makes his way to the door. he stops in his tracks to reply to your comment.

he stands still at the doorway and looks over his shoulder at you—the scarred corner of his lips twitching;

“prepare the money. tha’s how you can repay me.” toji replies and you don’t know if he’s joking or being serious because of that little grin on his face. a breathy chuckle follows and then the assassin disappears.

the door closes and you’re left alone in this space. left alone in the silence of the home that had treated you as its prisoner. you remember how your husband used to lock you up in your bedroom whenever you had done something to piss him off; taking away your freedom by keeping you in a room.

now it’s yours—your life is yours. you’ve fully gained your freedom back and can decide what to do for yourself. it seems like a foreign situation, a foreign world, a foreign concept; you can now actually do whatever your heart desires. without any restraints.

“what is a successful marriage?”

well, to you, it’s one with a satisfactory ending.

🏷️ : @satoruhour @squicksquak @omgeto @xmintpie @cursingtoji @obsidiannero @elmoees @x1aosg1rl @fushironi @ceceher @ajax1230 @toji-is-hot @jayugh @rinshoe @sligerate @satoryaa @luveblad3 @happystrawberrytyrant @ezraiix

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fic #jjk x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #i tried my best :#:(…

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kedsandtubesocks · 3 months

Text

your heart, a sonnet

Author!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: you discover there’s more to your boyfriend than you realize

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, surprise hidden identity reveal, grumpy but soft!Joel who has a secret love language of writing and love letters, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s), light discussion of reader and Joel’s insecurities, reader is addressed as darlin/honey/baby, a few spicy moments where Joel gets handsy

word count: 5.3k

a/n: I know, I know… this doesn’t seem like the typical Joel fic but i blame Pedro’s look at the Hollywood star walk of fame ceremony because it immediately made me think ‘oh that’s Joel’ and now here we are lol I couldn’t have done this without my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you and i can’t thank her enough along with @ahauntedcowboy for always letting me scream about all my wild ideas, and now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You first met Joel at a bookstore.

The weekend after your birthday you went in to treat yourself and wandered into the records section of the store. As you flipped through the selections, the sudden sight of a Fleetwood Mac album had you inhaling sharply in surprise.

“S’good one.” That’s when the sudden smooth drawl of a southern accent floated out to you.

A few steps beside you stood an absolutely gorgeous man. The evergreen plaid button up shirt he wore flattered him as if it was made to be only worn by him. Rugged and distinguished, he seemed like a romance hero plucked straight out from one of the books among the shelves. You even blinked a few times wondering if he was real.

“If you don’t take it, might have to fight ya for it.” Even with his gruff low voice, an underlying teasing nature radiated friendly and light.

Now, many months later, a piece of you believes you might have fallen for him right then and there.

Joel is a rare beautiful soul of a man. He’s strong and a bit rough around the edges. He used to work as a contractor, even managed to build a very reputable business with his brother. His hard work remains effortlessly etched into his hands that now type editing books, his current job. He’s kind, so deeply loyal and loves fiercely.

With a yawn, you slip out of bed to pull on his cozy Texas longhorn shirt.

Heading downstairs, you walk among the clouds.

Instead of working at his office desk, Joel sits at the dining table typing away. Just seeing him wear his reading glasses sends a delicious desire trickling through you like a soft rain.

His dark earth eyes flicker up over the edge of his laptop and his gaze softens.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna wake up.” His wonderfully smooth as molasses voice makes you want to get caught up in its sticky sweetness.

“It’s not even that late. You’re one who woke up wanting to get work done on a Saturday.” You scoff playfully yet press your lips to his, a soft good morning greeting.

“Besides…who’s the reason I slept in so soundly, hm?” You smile against Joel’s lips that now twitch with a smirk.

His large warm hand slowly creeps up against your bare leg and rubs soft against your skin. After a few sleepy kisses, Joel’s tongue smoothly slips into your mouth trying to now consume you with a syrupy heat.

Joel pulls you down onto his lap. Your hands run up his chest to his cherub curly gray hair. His lips leave yours to start nipping at your jaw.

“What happened to working, cowboy?” You sigh softly.

“Come keep me company, darlin’.” He breathes out and any hope of maybe making breakfast is happily forgotten.

The rest of the morning unfolds at a nebulous pace you bask in.

When a late brunch is finished and you start cleaning up the kitchen, Joel’s warm solid hands map out your hips with other plans in mind. He slides behind you, a towering comfort that you lean back against.

“You’re extra handsy today Mr. Miller.” You tease.

“I can stop?” Joel offers while his scruffy beard scrapes a path against your skin. Against you, his broad shoulders, his wonderfully built frame, wraps you in his protective cover.

You hum a content no and move your hands over his now.

“Just wanna enjoy being with ya before I get busy.” Joel mutters while his hand slides down your cozy lounge shorts.

You had forgotten about his upcoming work plans.

You already want to mourn the impending weekend without him, but that can wait for another day. Especially when his thick fingers delicately, so sinfully, run up and down your underwear playfully touching you.

But then that weekend arrives and it brings a hollowness.

Lounging on the couch back at the apartment you share with your best friend, you force yourself not to text Joel again. He’s busy and you know this. So you vow to hold all your yearning and longing chained inside like a Jane Austen heroine.

“Are you done sulking?” Your best friend teases from the kitchen and you glare at her from the couch.

“I get it, being awake from your hunky handsome older boyfriend is hard. What will you ever do?” She snickers playfully. You’re tempted to throw the nearby couch pillows at her.

“What did you say his job was?” She asks.

“He used to be a contractor, but now he’s a book editor.” You answer.

“A hardworking hot Texas cowboy who reads and is a good man? Yeah, keep him locked up.” Your best snorts and you understand exactly what she means.

Fanged temptation claws at you more to text him again. Joel promised he would call you tonight and you don’t doubt him. But you didn’t realize how badly you’d missed him.

“Alright,” your best friend declares. “No more moping! I’m dragging you out with me to that book signing I’ve been talking about.”

She’s been obsessed with this apocalyptic novel series for so long. You happily tag along and even perk up when you see how excited she gets.

“And the author is finally doing a book tour! He’s kept his identity hidden this entire time so I wanna get a chance to maybe just even see him!” Your best friend gushes the entire time she drives you both to the bookstore the signing would be held.

Just so happens it’s the same bookstore where you first met Joel. A deep surge of affection swallows you whole and you float on blissful lovesick nostalgia.

Then the impressive line already waiting outside the front doors stuns you.

“I told you! It’s a big deal! Plus the series is so good.” Your best friend exclaims. She has been trying to get you into the series for a while.

The core of it focuses on two young girls who manage to survive an apocalyptic fungal zombie outbreak. The series follows the girls growing up, the journey to live with each other, and how it slowly bonds them as sisters.

“I heard they’re trying to make a Netflix series on it.” Your friend adds hopeful.

You can’t help but snag your best friend’s book copy she also hopes will get signed. Flipping through the front pages you land to the dedication page.

“To my baby girls, this will always be for you two.”

The author must have based the series on their daughters. That’s adorable.

Now curious, you flip to the first chapter.

“After seeing the end of the world, after witnessing the carnage of life consume itself, Ellie thinks she’s seen it all.”

Your best friend's sudden excited laugh pulls you out of the book. She’s talking with the other fans in line and you decide to join in.

Everyone discusses how worth the wait will be and how most of them even purchased the newest released book to make sure they reserved a slot for the signing.

“So why’s the author finally doing a face reveal?” You ask quietly not wanting to seem too out of place.

“So apparently,” your best friend begins in her hush about to spill the good gossip voice. “Some random ass moron on Twitter came out and said they were the true author. It became a whole messy issue of who it really was.”

Your best friend goes into more detail about how even a couple of online sites had articles on it.

“That’s awful.” You sympathize with the author. It must’ve been a headache trying to enjoy the peace of anonymity only for it becoming something used against them. You can only imagine how heartbreaking it was to see others steal and take credit for your work.

Like a surprise strike of lightning, an electric excitement suddenly breaks through the air.

Glancing up, you watch the line rapidly move towards the front doors. Time to go in.

Unfortunately, the main seating for the reading and q&a fills up fast. The bookstore though manages to wrangle the remainder of the crowd that can fit on the first floor towards a section where they can watch. It’s more than enough for your best friend who’s about to burst with anticipation. The buoyant commotion in the room even pulls you into its current and you get excited to see the new surprise author.

Soon a chic handsome older looking man, the moderator of the event, scurries to the front of the gathered group.

Warmly he begins the introduction to the writer.

First, writing sweet children’s books, stories for his daughters, those works became the author’s first publications. After that he navigated apocalyptic writing and his hit series has earned critical acclaim.

“Simply known as the anonymous writer J Miller. I’ve had the greatest pleasure to know this man as both his friend and now agent and I’m beyond proud to introduce him to you. Everyone please help me in welcoming J Miller!”

The thunderous applause and screams of excitement galvanize the entire room.

Then Joel walks out from the side.

Your heart instantly leaves your body.

For a moment you think your lovesick yearning heart has you slightly projecting Joel in any man you might see.

But the minute you focus, truly watch him slide into the chair, you see him.

Soft gray grown out curls, a strong beautiful nose, the patchy beard with the spots you love to kiss, and his reading glasses - the ones he’s so self conscious about because of how they make him look “so good damn old,” yet you love how they distinguish and elevate his appearance. You even remember the first time Joel wore them while he read waiting for you.

Truth makes its way into your heart.

It’s Joel.

The famous mystery author is your Joel.

“Thanks Frank.” And when he takes the mic, thanking his agent, his slick southern sunset voice melts the crowd.

“So, uh he’s gorgeous?!” Someone behind you squeals.

“Who would’ve thought he’d be this hot?!” Someone adds.

The whispers and mummers swarm like wasps buzzing all around you and you want to swat at them.

You can’t wrap your mind around this or the amount of emotions rushing through you. You feel separated from your body, floating detached from the scene and trying to gather yourself back.

Why didn’t he tell you?

Did he not trust you?

Joel suddenly laughs at something Frank says, that gruff wonderful laugh you hear after you show him a ridiculous video or his daughters tease him. It snaps you back into awareness.

“He’s about to read a section!” Your friend giddily whispers under her breath

Now you fully focus on this man, this almost stranger.

He’s so handsome it isn’t fair. He looks like a distinguished professor and your throat tightens seeing how broad his shoulders look in the dark casual suit jacket he wears.

“One of my favorite parts.” He admits quietly. “It’s when Ellie and Sarah realize they can make it outta Pittsburgh together.”

His daughters. He named his characters after them.

Joel clears his throat and begins.

He reads the passage with a magnetic cadence. The words slip from him like the smooth drink of whiskey that lingers on your tongue. When he finishes, an ache twists in your chest.

The applause he gets is shatteringly loud. The smallest bit of pride does float through you. But confusion drowns it out.

The floor now opens to quick questions. Some are about the book itself and the certain decisions made writing wise. Others are obviously about why he stayed hidden for so long.

That one perks you up quickly.

In such typical Joel fashion, he shrugs.

“Just couldn’t figure out Twitter, s’all.”

Everyone laughs at his playful reply and you do as well, but it sounds hollow and watery.

Soon enough the last question arrives.

“Do you ever see yourself writing for any other genres? I mean, we’ve seen horror and some moments of romance in the series. So I’m just curious if you’d write anything else?!” The lady asks brightly and now you simply settle your thoughts aside to listen.

Joel chuckes, a bit breathless and his gaze drops. This entire time he’s teetered between a sly southern charm that’s hypnotized you, to being guarded almost a bit nervous.

But now a boyishly hesitant grin falls over him and it’s so familiar.

”Uh, guess romance would be the next I’d maybe try.” He answers low, bashful.

The crowd erupts into fangirl like shrieks.

“Right?! I keep saying he doesn’t know the potential he has if he became a romance writer!” Frank, who has such a bright and lovely personality, adds.

Too many emotions clash in you.

You wonder if he wants to explore romance writing because of you?

Or a much harsher voice creeps out from the back of your mind whispering maybe you’re just being used for source material.

You quickly stomp those thoughts away.

The rest of the event shifts to the signing and you walk in a sort of guided daze.

“You okay?” Your best friend asks gently, noticing your slight mood change.

You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth yet. This was something she had been looking forward to and you didn’t want to ruin her excitement or experience. So you wearily just smile and tell her your head simply started hurting.

She sympathetically nods.

“Thankfully we won’t be waiting too long.” She adds and explains how the signing would be called by groups.

“We might not have gotten seats, but we did manage to sneak into group A for the signing.” She grins proud and it lifts your spirits.

The line curls against the sides of the bookshelves blocking your view of Joel. It becomes both a blessing and a curse.

Maybe you should wait in the car for his and your sake?

However, something inside you slightly bitter, raw and wanting answers, decides to stay. Besides you, your dear friend tries to keep herself calm but you can sense her bubbling nervous energy.

“I’d be calmer if he wasn’t so damn attractive.” She hisses and a jealous flare gently rises in you.

“Just think,” you reassure her. “He’s probably just as nervous as you.”

The relieved comforted grin she gives you makes staying worth it. But then all of that flies out the window the closer and closer you get to Joel.

Petrified dread claws its way in when you realize your best friend is next in line.

“He looks kinda familiar now that we’re closer.” The casual comment your friend says makes your heart sink.

“Maybe.” You mutter.

The times Joel has been to your place your roommate, your best friend, has been either at work or sleeping. You can only think of the first instant you introduce Joel to her when he picked you up on a date.

Your eyes flicker straight to Joel.

His hair seems so perfectly curled and his dark jacket highlights his wonderful grays.

Thankfully, any discussion of who he might look like gets squashed because your best friend gets called next in line. She turns to you squeaking excitedly and you beam back bright.

Joel lifts his eyes up, like a true southern gentleman wanting to give someone his full attention.

You wait on the side and watch the interaction unfold. Joel chuckles at something your best friend says and you’re glad she’s enjoying herself.

The book signing is done so fast. In a blink, it’s finished. With her newly signed book, your friend turns to you. She makes a slightly embarrassing but endearing noise of excitement that has you laughing.

That’s when your eyes flicker over to Joel and your gaze locks with his.

Instantly, Joel’s handsome face drops. His gorgeous earth eyes widen as he immediately recognizes you. His mouth falls open slightly and a flash of something close to fear fills the depths of his eyes.

He breathes out your name on a shaky exhale.

Everything seems to slow and stop. You don’t know what to say. So all you do is weakly smile.

The fleeting moment fades. The next group in line already giggles moving towards the table.

Time’s up. Turning on your heels to leave with your friend, Joel calls out to you, calls your name.

“Wait!”

You freeze.

Glancing back at him, Joel’s eyes pin you on the spot. An unspoken heaviness hangs in his deep eyes while he stares intently at you.

“It’s okay, we’ll talk later.” By some strange possession of slight bravery, or maybe delusion, you manage to speak.

But it’s all you can say and it’s all you can do before Frank, Joel’s agent, slides in to whisper something to him.

The moment again shatters.

Your best friend however grills you the rest of the day

That’s when you pull out your phone. You show her a photo you secretly took of Joel. It’s one where he’s adorably glaring at his ipad while he tried ordering take out for dinner.

Your best friend shrieks. “He’s your boyfriend?!”

He is.

Your boyfriend, Joel, is a writer, a very famous best selling author.

And that weight yanks you under a dangerous current you can’t seem to swim against.

Even after lunch, even getting back to your apartment and trying to settle your thoughts, your emotions are still so tangled.

You mindlessly scroll through your phone for the rest of the day and a blink, you notice it’s already early evening. Your plan to stay sulking is ruined when your phone starts ringing so loud.

It’s Joel.

“Hello?” You answer as composed as you can.

“Darlin?” His beautiful rich voice sounds hesitant and guarded.

“Hi.” You reply back quietly.

“Can we talk?” He asks just as low.

You agree, expecting to have the discussion on the phone. Except a knock taps on your apartment door and scares you right out of your body.

Ever proactive, ever the man who takes action, Joel stands waiting for you when you open the door.

You’re thankful more than ever that your best friend went to the gym for the evening.

“Wanna sit outside for a bit? Maybe get some air? S’really nice outside today.” He offers gentle.

He’s breaking up with you. That’s what your mind jumps to.

At least the weather is surprisingly kind this early evening.

You’ve sat out here on your apartment’s decent sized balcony with Joel before. But now the energy between you and him shifts strangely.

The sky stretches above a soft sherbet orange. A breeze comes, thankfully not too cold, but you think about maybe heading in to grab a blanket.

Joel however quickly slings off his jacket and drapes it over you. Always the gentleman.

The smell of his cologne, so comforting and masculine, wraps around you like a cloud.

You thank him with a soft small smile and Joel nods. Then he sighs and leans forward on the folding chair.

“Always loved the outdoors.” He begins, a small olive branch of a conversation to break the tension. “The girls and I love hiking the trails out by the lake. You ever been?”

You shake your head no.

“Maybe one day we can all go together.” The comment holds hope, a delicate thread of it. Yet you catch the hesitation.

Your eyes flicker to him, confused and cautious.

“Wait, you aren’t breaking up with me?” You blurt out, maybe just wanting to get it over with. You hate the way your voice cracks slightly.

Joel, with his beautiful concerned wide eyes, snaps his face to you.

“What? Honey no. Thought maybe you’d be the one maybe tryin’ to break up with me.” Joel, who Sarah jokes about how some of their neighbors question if he’s perpetually grumpy, stares at you with a tenderness that melts you to your core.

You can’t help but laugh watery.

“Why d’ya think I’d want to end things with you?” He asks patiently.

You can think of so many.

He’s a famous writer who’s about to maybe become an online sensation. He’s older than you, wiser and seasoned. He’s a full on father with young teenage daughters.

So you reveal your heart to him and all the fears that dwell in its shadows. You wipe away a few tears that manage to spill out.

Joel moves to hold your hands in his, a guarded warmth and protection keeping you stable.

With a heavy sigh, Joel’s attention fully focused on you.

“Honey…I’m so sorry for not telling you about my work, about me, sooner.” He earnestly apologizes and his words drip with comforing earnesty.

Now his gaze drops down to where your hand sits in his.

“Didn’t want it complicatin’ things with us. I knew I had to tell you eventually. But really…I was worried you’d see me differently once you knew. I know I don’t seem like the writin’ type anyway.” He mutters and you miss the hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

You squeeze his hands.

This could never make you look at Joel in a negative light. If anything, you now feel proud knowing he’s a writer. You do explain your worries though and the ache you felt knowing he kept his from you.

“I know darlin’ and I promise,” he squeezes your hands now. “No more secrets between us.”

“You…us…means more to me than you’ll know.” He adds and you draw his hands up to your mouth.

You kiss his worn hands, his hard working beautiful hands that now move to hold your face so tenderly in their grasp. His thumb strokes your bottom lip delicately as if you’ll disappear from his sight.

“Can I kiss ya baby?”

You nod and in that same breath Joel pulls you towards him. He kisses you light, delicate enough that you feel so precious and treasured within his hold.

It seems like such a simple small kiss but it soaks into your bones.

You have so many questions. And as much as you’d like to make out with your boyfriend on the balcony, you’d like answers.

So you pull away and stand up.

Joel looks adorable as confusion paints his face.

“Don’t worry I’m just getting us a blanket.” You grin at him as you sling on his jacket claiming it as your own.

Blanket in hand you now curl up with him in the lawn chair, thankful for its sturdiness and cozy size. Your heart soars at how quickly Joel pulls you into his arms and basically onto his lap.

It feels like it’s been months since you’ve last been with him, or maybe that’s just how exhausting today was.

Joel sighs content and pleased once you fully rest against him. Hesitantly you ask if it’s okay if you can talk about him, about his work.

“Ask away honey. I’ll tell ya everything n’ anything.” He says firm.

You grin and your thumb starts stroking the back of his hand.

“So what made you decide to reveal yourself now? I heard there was an issue about someone saying they were you?” You ask, thinking of the discussions earlier with your best friend.

“Yeah..” Joel now sighs tired with an ancient weariness that settles over his handsome face.

“Sarah was the one who saw it first on Twitter or wherever it was.” He adds with a grumble.

Your heart aches knowing one of the girls saw it first.

“Didn’t help either that I ain’t online. So it became a whole fuckin’ mess we had to deal with it a couple months back.”

A light bulb goes off inside your brain.

“Was that when you said you had to visit a family friend out of town?” You connect the dots.

“Yup.” Joel nods. “Went to visit Frank, my agent, to try and figure this shit out. Could’ve let it all maybe die down but… ya know.” He huffs and you understand completely.

Joel is too stubborn, a bit too prideful. You almost snort amused just over the thought of him trying to let the situation blow over.

“Frank wants to meet ya by the way.” Now his voice dips with a bashful tone while his hands begin softly stroking your thighs.

“I’d love to meet him too.” You truthfully tell Joel.

“So, are you going to be online now? Should I start making secret accounts to follow you?” You now tease and Joel barks a beautiful amused laugh.

“Baby, I’m over 50. The only apps I need on my phone are candy crush and ESPN. Ain’t got the time or patience for social medias.”

Now you’re the one laughing.

It feels freeing, blissful, like this is the first moment you’re spending time with him all over again. Yet, there’s a deeper sacred connection that settles.

You can’t help but kiss him again and Joel eagerly welcomes you on his lips.

Now his lips move fervently, almost possessively, against yours, licking and trying to consume you. A small moan squeaks out of you.

“Come on baby,” he mutters, shifting you against his lap so that you fully feel his hardness straining against his pants. “Wanna taste ya.”

You’re thankful you manage to drag him back inside because you can’t imagine getting intimate with Joel on the balcony. Well, at least not yet. But that was a thought for another day.

Now in the afterglow’s soft relaxing peace you wish for more time with him.

But Joel must sense that ache too.

“S’late honey. Come back home with me. Even if it’s just for the night.” He mutters against your lips and you can’t deny him. You don’t want to deny him or the aching tug pulling you to him.

That night you fully embrace every inch of the man Joel Miller is and let a dizzying adoration for him swallow you whole.

The next morning, in the soft early still dark shade of his room, Joel wakes you with a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Gotta go meet with Frank for the day. I’ll see ya later, honey.” He mutters against your cozy heated skin.

You hum a soft agreement and sleepily wish him a goodbye before falling back to sleep. After that, you wake up later to a colder and empty bed.

Tugging on another one of Joel’s shirts you head downstairs already missing his presence.

And when you get downstairs, there on the table sits the most gorgeous floral arrangement. Its beautiful vibrant blooms make your heart flutter so fast against its cage.

A folded paper sits beside the flowers. Your name is written on the front in Joel’s slightly chicken scratch like handwriting.

You scramble fast to grab it.

A letter, he’s written you a letter.

“Honey,

I know I’ve already apologized and you’ve forgiven my old undeserving ass.”

You snort at that line but continue on.

“But I just wanted to fully apologize to you again. Might take me a while until I stop, but just be patient with my old bones yeah?”

You would. Your heart would and will always wait for him.

“Doesn’t seem like it but, I aint that good at talking about things, about my feelings. Shocker right?”

You smirk. You know he isn’t good with words - that’s why it almost feels ironic and a bit unreal that he’s an author.

You’ve discovered Joel shows his affection through his actions.

He spent an entire day rearranging a business scheduling conflict just so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about it. Joel never missed a single one of Ellie’s basketball games. Sarah only prefers a certain type of orange juice and Joel never fails to only get that one.

The first few weeks you started dating Joel you got sick with a nasty cold. He dropped off a whole bag of various items like tissues and cough drops. It was then you knew his heart shines through his actions.

He sometimes surprises you with an order from your favorite take out spot. He never lets you touch a door, always opening them for you instead. He’s the most generous lover and never fails to remind you of how tender, how consuming, his passion can be.

Joel does grumble, sometimes even seems grouchy, but he loves fiercely.

And now here he is showing you this side of him, this form of himself as a writer.

So you return to reading his letter.

“I got into writing because it helped me process all my emotions, my thoughts, the good and bad days - everything. And sharing my writing with others, especially with someone as important as you, still makes me feel so vulnerable. Funny how that worked out though huh? Guess fate wanted to drag my ass and make me face my fears and vulnerability and whatnot.”

Someone as important as you - The line makes your heart flutter.

“I know I told you the reasons why I didn’t tell you. But another reason was because I was afraid.

I was afraid of how much you mean to me. Telling you about this part of me would be taking a bigger step. And it scared me shitless. Cause darlin’ I haven’t felt this way in a very long time. Like, as Ellie loves to say, in such a long time that ‘dinosaurs weren’t even fossils.’

That makes you laugh a bit watery but you let his words carry you again.

“You make my damn heart race when you smile. I get so worked up just seeing you walk around my house as if you were always meant to be here. And I didn't want to lose that either. I still don’t.

You feel like a bright future, like waking up after a cloudy week and the sun greets you so nicely. And I just wanna stay in that warmth, your warmth.

Yeah sorry, that line might be too romance novel writer for my league…but like I said I’m thinking about it. And it’s because of you.

We said no more secrets yeah?

So I’m not lying when I say you’ve become so god damn important to me. And I wanna see more days with you, as many as you’ll have with me.

Fuck. This damn letter already feels too long and I hate my old ass for rambling and maybe not making sense. But I adore you honey. Plain in simple.

And I’m just gonna leave it at that.

Don’t miss me too much and I’ll see you soon.

P.S I picked that bookstore as the tour’s first stop here because it’s where I met you… and I’ll always be grateful for that

-Joel”

You now fight back an absolute ocean’s worth of adoration for this man.

Tears clog your throat and you try not letting them flood your vision, but it’s so hard. So hard when you’re this head over heels.

You don’t want to say it yet, and you don’t know if he’s even ready to say it, but the emotion filling you like a newborn star feels like love.

You barely manage to send out a text thanking him and hoping you’ll get to talk to him soon.

Joel, ever the endearing man he is, replies back with a simple heart emoji and you laugh.

You really might love this man.

And you hope, you so brightly hope, that he maybe loves you too.

You think of his book series, of how he became a writer simply wanting to tell his daughters stories. Those stories grew out of his love for them and now he gets to crystallize that among his pages.

You realize how writing truly is its own form of love.

After all, what better way for a writer to show their love, their heart, than to capture you in their words?

You think that’s where writers must live now, in the heart. Or maybe - your maybe gruff handsome one just does. And you happily welcome Joel’s place in yours and hope he resides there forever like a love poem etched into your very soul.

#hello hi if you read this know me and author Joel are writing you a love letter #Joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #author!joel miller #Joel miller fic #Joel 🤎

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miraclewoozi · 5 months

Text

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

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mangowillow · 24 days

Text

last to know | ch. 2: as always, even now

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: mentions of weight loss and a hospital, jeongguk has a panic attack (semi-detailed), problematic parent-child dynamics. let me know if i miss anything and please be kind!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: *peeks into the void* why hello there! let's pretend i didn't disappear off the face of the earth. earlier this year i went to see The Rose live for their dawn to dusk tour and it was so much fun! there's just a lot of things that have happened and continue to do so; please accept my sincerest apologies for being inconsistent! BUT. know that i haven't forgotten about this story. heh.

also a few more things: ♡ to put things into perspective: jeongguk, OC/reader, and woosung are all the same age; that also means they're as old as seokjin and yoongi in this fic. all the other members maintain their age. honorifics may or may not appear at times. if that bothers you, well, can't please everybody! ♡ this fic isn't beta'd nor proofread by anyone. we go rogue, always.

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

fic masterlist

Woosung plants a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek and giggles.

Looking at him, you ask, “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” Woosung teases as he chews on his jjajangmyeon. You chuckle at his candidness and reach out to wipe the sauce that landed on the corner of his lip. The both of you resorted to sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, using one of them as a makeshift table to place the food.

“I’m really happy you got to come today,” you muse, enjoying Woosung’s calming presence as he delicately places a piece of chicken karaage on your noodle bowl before setting his own down. You haven’t seen him for a few days because he needed to get some new music done in preparation for his application to a recording agency as a performer and a producer. You were more than happy to support him in any way you could, including giving him his space to figure things out. It was also who Woosung was— a quiet soul who liked working in solitude.

You and Woosung are so much alike.

“Why? Did you think I’d forget?” Woosung teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

“No, I just thought… maybe you needed more time to prepare for your application. That’s important.”

Woosung gently shakes his head, ready to disagree— “Nothing will ever be as important to me as you.”

A slight pink dusted your cheeks. You didn’t expect him to be this cheesy so early in the morning so you smile and cast your eyes back down to your meal.

“... I do have news for you, babe.” Woosung starts. He turns his body to face you. Giving your hundred percent attention, you cut the noodles with your teeth and place the bowl down. Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you hum at his statement, “What is it?”

Woosung smiles and looks at you lovingly. You feel a bit self-conscious every time he stares at you so intensely and like clockwork, you feel your cheeks heat up.

“I got the job, sweetheart.”

Hearing the news leave his lips leaves you surprised— your hands fly to your mouth and your eyes start to water. “R-really?” Woosung nods and chuckles through his own teary eyes, you throw yourself at him to give him a tight hug. “Woosung, oh my god— this is— “ you hold him by the shoulders, explore every inch of his face, elation in both of your hearts— “this is great, oh gosh I am so happy for you,” you hug him again.

You feel Woosung’s body relax instantly in your hold; it has been a journey, walking with Woosung through his own painful moments struggling with his art and passion. Two years ago, he came to Seoul desperately needing a break from life and music after many unsuccessful attempts to make it into the music industry back home in the United States. Although he and his bandmates have put out several songs in the past, they never really gained as much traction with an audience as they had hoped. Going back home to his roots in South Korea also meant leaving his bandmates behind— they have been nothing but supportive of him and his time as they also needed to re-assess their own lives and figure out what they truly wanted.

Two years ago, Woosung also met you. Both your lives changed ever since.

“Thank you for all your support, ____… you know I wouldn’t have been able to get through all this if it weren’t for you.” Woosung whispers, tightening his hold on your waist. You feel this, you feel everything when it comes to him— so you wrap your arms tighter around him, too. “This is all you, babe. This is all your hard work.”

You both stay that way for a while. Unspoken words are left hanging, as well. You both know well what might become of all this as you always try to communicate. You believe it is what has sustained your relationship for so long.

Both of you know that Woosung will always belong to music— it’s his dream and the reason why he took so many risks along the way. It was only a matter of when. The possibilities have always been there— should there be a moment where Woosung would return to his career, to his band, to becoming a global star. The fears that come along with those possibilities were also ever-present: what you and Woosung’s future would look like.

All of these thoughts come rushing to the both of you, but neither of you said anything.

For now, the both of you are happy. And that is enough.

When you parted from each other, you pushed away some of the hair that fell over Woosung’s eyes. “When do you start?”

Woosung takes a deep breath, “As soon as the higher-ups get settled in. I’ve been told they’ve recently landed in Seoul so it shouldn’t be too long now. I’ll be meeting with the owners and one of them is the lead producer. I heard he was a genius, but also a bit scary. They’ve also given me a signing bonus and a potential collaboration with him… that was new… he said they liked my work so much…”

“Wow, that… that sounds so exciting, baby. How are you feeling about all of this?”

“I’m nervous, for the most part,” Woosung murmurs, readjusting the collar of his shirt. It’s been a while since I talked to someone else about music professionally and… this company— I’ve heard so many wonderful things about it. For one, it was built by musicians, too. So I’m hoping they’re not just doing all of it for the business.”

You smile warmly at Woosung and hold his hands. “You’re going to do great, you know that, right?”

Woosung draws in a breath and nods before meeting your eyes.

That night, Woosung couldn’t sleep. He watches over you as you dream and when a strand of your hair falls on your face after moving a bit, he tucks it behind your ear. His fingers lightly dance while grazing the side of your face. Woosung sighs as a feeling of anxiety starts to creep into his heart. He loves change, but he cannot help but feel somewhat scared about it anyway. He gets so lost in his thoughts about you that he doesn’t notice you wake up.

“Baby, hey… you’re still awake.”

Your voice brings Woosung back to the present. Seeing your sleepy eyes under the sliver of moonlight that passes through your window makes his heart do a mini somersault— it always does.

“Hmm… I couldn’t sleep,” Woosung says. You scoot closer to him, his arm going under your shoulders to support your body in an embrace.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” you whisper, eyes closed, inhaling his scent— him.

“Just… things. I’m not sure how to articulate them yet…”

You hum, “Then I’ll just stay like this with you to keep you warm… warmth helps you sleep, right?”

Woosung nods, bringing your body closer to his. “Hm… especially your warmth.” Seconds later, he feels you breathe deeper, letting him know that you’re about to let yourself succumb to sleep once more. “I love you.”

When no response came from you, Woosung closed his eyes. Then suddenly, in the stillness of the night, he feels your hand squeeze his ever so lightly.

“I love you, too.”

“Hyung, I think that’s the salt—” Jimin starts.

Seokjin snorts, stopping with the shaker in his hand mid-air, “What do you mean, Jimin-ah, I think I know the difference between salt and sugar.” He was about to potentially put salt on the croffle in front of him, leaving Jimin feeling both very nervous and distressed.

“Last time, I remember you put the sugar in a different container because a customer accidentally broke the original shaker. The color of the cap was blue, not red. This—” he pointed at the shaker Seokjin was holding, “— is obviously not blue.”

“Yah, that happened last week, but I already switched them out two days ago—” Seokjin tries to argue.

They didn’t notice Woosung enter the cafe until he spoke, “Why don’t you just taste it?”

“Oh hey, Woosung-hyung,” Jimin greets.

“Hey, Jimin. Good to see you,” Woosung replies as Jimin nods, his eyes turning into crescents as soon as he smiles.

Seokjin scoffs once more before greeting Woosung, but he relents and tastes whatever is inside the shaker. When he makes a funny face, Jimin and Woosung chuckle.

“Told ya, hyung. Tell us I saved your life.”

“I can’t believe this is salt, I knew I already switched it out—”

With possible disaster averted, Jimin doesn’t listen to Seokjin’s monologue anymore, “You’re here early today, hyung. Would you like to order the usual?”

“Actually, I am here to buy a mango parfait… ____’s fridge is crazy cold and the frozen mangoes are, well, too frozen. I might actually break the blender. I also forgot to make her usual overnight oats. We had to move a lot of things very quickly yesterday so she could have a bed to sleep on.”

“I got you, hyung. We just finished making a fresh batch of parfaits. Do you want one, too?” Jimin asks.

“Are there other flavors?”

“Blueberry and strawberry,” Seokjin adds.

“I’ll take one blueberry, then. Thanks.” Woosung gets ready to pay, but Seokjin waves him away. “It’s on the house.”

“You always give us free stuff, Seokjin—” Woosung tries to argue, but Seokjin shakes his head immediately.

“Taking care of my sister is more than enough, Woosung-ah.”

Woosung gives Seokjin a tight smile and nods. Seokjin then asks, albeit softer, “How is she doing lately?”

“She’s doing better,” Woosung reassures. “She has been painting more recently; not just because of her job at the university, but also at home. We’re going to set up her studio today so it should be fun.”

“That’s good to hear, right hyung?” Jimin turns to Seokjin, who nods. Jimin hands Woosung a paper bag with the parfaits. “I put some new desserts we’re experimenting with. Please give them a try.”

Woosung peeks at the paper bag and sees croissants and greenish muffins, presumably matcha-flavored. “Oh wow, thank you Jimin… I won’t take up too much of your time, guys. ____ is still sleeping and I need to clean up the mango disaster I left on her kitchen counter before she wakes up.”

Seokjin chuckles, “You really came all the way here for parfaits when you could have bought these anywhere near ____’s apartment.”

“Ah, but nothing beats your parfaits, Seokjin. A wise man once told me that,” Woosung smiles. He and Seokjin instantly formed a bond the moment they met two years ago, much to your relief. You’ve always been nervous to tell your brother anything remotely new about your love life— and you understand where he is coming from.

“Well whoever that wise man is must be pretty smart,” Seokjin replies. His eyes soften right afterward. “Go. Let’s have a drink sometime, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Woosung waves goodbye to Seokjin and Jimin.

Jeongguk walks the hallway of the recording studio, still groggy from sleep. Hands in his pockets, he stood outside Yoongi’s door, staring at his peculiar mat: a cat with its middle finger raised, the words ‘fuck off’ glaring at him. Figures, he thought. A doormat won’t stop him from ringing Yoongi’s doorbell, though.

“Who is it?” he hears Yoongi call out.

“It’s your favorite person in the whole wide world,” Jeongguk says, sarcasm lacing his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose; a habit he developed in college whenever he felt the exhaustion seep out of him. He hears scuffling from the other side of the door until the sound of the door’s automatic lock rings. Jeongguk sees Yoongi clad in a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a gray beanie— his signature style.

“Dumbass,” Yoongi mutters under his breath before turning his back to return to his equipment. “Good morning to you too,” Jeongguk teases as he closes the door behind him.

“How are you already set up? It’s barely a day since we arrived!”

Yoongi chooses not to respond.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jeongguk asks in disbelief. “Please tell me you at least went home to get your shit sorted? Or maybe sleep like normal human beings do?”

“I did… for a brief moment, maybe?” Yoongi starts.

Jeongguk shakes his head, “You have to stop spreading yourself thin, Yoongi. It’ll be the death of you.”

Yoongi fiddles with a few knobs on the synthesizer before muttering, “That doesn’t seem so bad— spreading myself too thin, that is.”

Jeongguk throws his hands up in surrender and rolls his eyes.

“Have I succeeded in frustrating you to hell and back, yet?” Yoongi smirks while continuing to flit his eyes through the numerous screens in front of him.

Jeongguk was about to say something but then the door alarm clicked. Kim Namjoon’s head peeks out from behind the door.

“I came to say my welcome remarks,” Namjoon says as he lets himself in. Jeongguk’s mouth falls open because he couldn’t believe Namjoon could just easily waltz in without any resistance. What’s even more astounding was that he knew Yoongi’s passcode— while he, on the other hand, had to ring the fucking doorbell.

“Oh, great. So your boyfriend knows your passcode and I don’t?” Jeongguk asks.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Yoongi states, matter-of-factly. Jeongguk couldn’t help but glance at Namjoon’s way, who seemed unfazed.

“Right, and I’m Neil Armstrong,” Jeongguk plops down on the couch.

“You’re the CEO, Jeongguk, of course, you should know the passcode… right, Yoongi?” says Namjoon, ever the oblivious one.

Yoongi continues to do work on his computer, his fingers deftly flying across his keyboard, “Don’t encourage him, Namjoon.”

Namjoon looks back at Jeongguk who has now taken an interest in the plant beside the couch. When they met each other’s eyes, Namjoon just shrugged, his dimples showing.

“How was your flight, you guys? I hope everything was easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Jeongguk responds. “Not sure about Yoongi here though. He looked like he was about to puke.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi retaliates.

“I can’t imagine the both of you tolerating each other while in another country. It’s a miracle this production company is still standing upright,” Namjoon says chuckling.

Namjoon met Jeongguk first in university while they studied in New York. Although Jeongguk was a business student and Namjoon double majored in music theory and composition, they ran into each other at a frat party-— with Jeongguk being drunk off his ass. He was about to fall into the pool full of piss (which the other frat members thought was funny) when Namjoon saved him in the nick of time.

Apart from Yoongi, Namjoon also served as Jeongguk’s confidant, especially after things went south between you and Jeongguk. When the dust settled and Jeongguk was sober enough to realize the gravity of his mistakes, Namjoon helped Yoongi pick up the pieces of Jeongguk’s brokenness. As with time passing by, Namjoon and Yoongi started to develop into something more, too. Much to Jeongguk’s delight and envy.

However, neither Yoongi nor Namjoon has admitted their feelings to the other. And truth be told, Jeongguk is sick of them dancing around each other.

But he also knows it’s none of his business.

“Hey, Jeongguk, is that family dinner of yours still happening tonight?” Yoongi decides to ask. Also probably to change the subject.

Jeongguk lets out a deep sigh. “Yes, it is.”

“Ouch. Will you be alright?” Namjoon asks out of genuine concern.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi inserts. “You just need to work on making the right ones.”

Jeongguk slacks his jaw and runs his tongue across his lip ring. He doesn’t really have an answer to that.

Because once again, Yoongi was right. Not just about the damn family dinner; Jeongguk also knows his best friend’s words run deeper and imply a whole lot more than just feeling forced to sit down with his parents over steak and champagne.

“See you on the other side, then,” Namjoon says as he pats Jeongguk on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Jeongguk mulled over bringing flowers to the family dinner but decided against it.

He knows that the house would be filled with them, anyway. And his efforts won’t matter, either.

As he got out of his car, a chauffeur was already by his side ready to take his keys for him. When the car drove off, Jeongguk took a moment to look at the house he hadn’t lived in for years. It feels odd to come home; it feels even odder to feel numb about all of it.

It took Jeongguk a few seconds to ring the doorbell; for god’s sake, it was his house too, he thought. Ringing the doorbell meant he was a stranger— which he felt was appropriate.

He was greeted by a new housekeeper. He gave her a nod before stepping inside. Almost instantly, his mother appeared at the top of the staircase. They look at one another for a moment, before his mother breaks the silence.

“You finally decide to show yourself.”

Jeongguk doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond, either. He was prepared for a stare-off match with his mother, but that was until his father showed up from the kitchen. With a dish towel in hand, Jeongguk’s father smiled at him as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you, son.”

Jeongguk, once more, doesn’t have it in him to respond.

At the dinner table, the silence was so loud, that Jeongguk thought it could break glass.

“Did you settle in fine, Jeongguk?” his father asks.

“Yes, father, I did.”

“You should have chosen a place that was nearer to us, Jeongguk,” his mother chides.

“Honey…” Jeongguk’s father tries to put out a fire that is about to ignite. Jeongguk, on the other hand, was so tired from the flight and emotionally, that he felt a need to retaliate.

Because why not? Whether he speaks up or not wasn’t really up to him. Between him and his mother, he has nothing to lose.

“I don’t know, mother, I chose that place because I wanted to get away from here as much as possible.” Jeongguk remarks. He knows he hit a nerve because his mother downed her champagne rather than respond.

“How is the company going, son? Everything doing alright?” his father asks, trying to mitigate a conflict that neither of them could recover from.

“I guess. Yoongi and I haven’t managed to burn anything so that’s nice,” Jeongguk eats a spoonful of mashed potato. He knows he really needs to shut up and regulate his emotions, but he just can’t help but be sarcastic.

Once more, the silence won. However, Jeongguk’s mother is the type to not back down.

“You should think about getting married soon, Jeongguk—” she starts. Jeongguk feels himself grow cold as if on instinct.

“—and this time, we want you to marry someone your level,” she finishes. Jeongguk felt his heart twisting so painfully that he didn’t notice how tight he held on to his cutlery.

Jeongguk swallows the once-repressed pain that used to consume him whole. He knows this is futile because he never dares to face his regrets square in the face. Instead, he allows the pain to make him angry. He allows his resentment to consume him in ways he doesn’t know how to handle and in a pained effort to avoid causing further damage, he remains quiet. Unresponsive. Cold. Withdrawn.

But his own mother is even more cold-hearted than he is. She is the one who made him like this.

It’s her fault.

“You need to marry a good woman who can keep up with your social status. Remember you’re not just anyone, Jeongguk. You’re a Jeon. And you have a legacy to uphold,” his mother condescends.

Tears start to sting Jeongguk’s eyes, but he doesn’t want to let his mother win. So he keeps still.

“I have a few prospects for you, dear. We should set dates for them, don’t you think so? I chose the most refined and educated—” Jeongguk hates how his mother knows how to push his buttons and hurt him.

He knows that his mother knows his ultimate weakness.

You.

And because his mother cannot contain her insecurities and prejudice, she projects it all on her son. But most especially, you— whether you were in the room or not.

Jeongguk’s mother continues her monologue. His father miserably fails to become the referee (he always does). Heat starts to rise Jeongguk’s neck and he swears he could hear his own blood pumping through his ears. What almost immediately follows is the high-pitched ringing that only he can hear.

Jeongguk starts to feel dizzy; like he’s about to lose control.

But instead of releasing, instead of crying, instead of getting angry— he does none of them.

He finds himself standing up, his hands dragging the plate full of food to the ground. With all his might, Jeongguk tries to breathe deeply.

“That’s enough, mom.” Jeongguk croaks. A tear escapes his eye. “Please.”

Jeongguk rarely addresses her as “mom”. But in times of vulnerability and helplessness, it’s the term he ends up using.

“As I expected… you are still weak, Jeongguk.” his mother states with absolutely no remorse.

Jeongguk feels like he is about to throw up. To save himself, he drags his legs to leave the dining area. Housekeepers try to help him, but he brushes them aside. Security guards around the house up until the gate tried to support him, but Jeongguk just waved them all off.

He just needed to get away before his vision completely blurred. He needed to get out of this godforsaken house.

It was a miracle that Jeongguk got far away from the house as he had. But in doing so, he felt physically weaker and weaker. His mind isn’t done with him yet as thoughts of you start to resurface. His chest starts to tighten again. He feels cold and afraid and tired.

Jeongguk falls to his knees on the side of the road; he allows his body to go limp and fall to the ground.

He barely remembers what happened next.

When Jeongguk opens his eyes, bright, stale lights greet him.

He hears beeping, faint footsteps, a voice over an intercom.

He feels something brushing his leg so gently that it takes him a while before realizing that someone is standing over him, wiping the edge of his slacks.

Jeongguk squints his eyes to get a better look at the person touching his leg. When he tries to elevate his upper body, the person in front of him feels him moving.

Jeongguk couldn’t believe who he was seeing. His panic attack must still be happening because it was impossible.

It was you.

“Oh… hi,” you start. Jeongguk is at a loss for words so he continues to stare at you.

You immediately feel self-conscious so you start to wrangle the damp cloth you were holding.

“Are you okay? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse—”

You start to leave, but Jeongguk catches your wrist. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. You look at his hand on your wrist before Jeongguk lets go of it.

“W-what happened?”

“You’re at the hospital… um, I– I got a call from them saying you were here,” you say.

Jeongguk’s eyebrows met. He is still confused as to how or why the hospital would call you. As he looks at you, in the flesh, in front of him, the familiar ache in his chest threatens to overwhelm him again.

You look as beautiful as ever, even more so than the last time he saw you. The last time he did, you were crying to him. He did that to you. That was his fault.

“Are you hurt, anywhere, Jeongguk? I think I need to call your doctor, just give me a second—”

“No… please. I’m okay. I don’t feel any pain.” Except for my broken heart.

“Oh… okay.”

Jeongguk observes you, more particularly your hands. You still have that habit of fiddling with your fingers when you didn’t know what to do, he thinks.

“H-how did the hospital call you? You didn’t change your number?” Jeongguk is a hundred percent sure his choice of questions was dumb, but he doesn’t have any idea as to why you’re here.

“The hospital told me I was your emergency contact… they uh– they only found your wallet on you and found this,” you explain as you handed him his wallet. Inside was an old piece of paper with your emergency contact number and e-mail address.

“The e-mail address is now defunct, but my number is still the same because I had it reactivated when I came back here…”

When I came back here, Jeongguk repeated to himself.

Jeongguk wanted to ask you a million questions, but his throat feels dry and he is unable to speak.

“I um, I also called Yoongi. He should be here any minute,” you continue. When Jeongguk looks at you funny, you give him a small smile— the first one you’ve given him since he woke up. “We talk sometimes.”

There is a lot of information that Jeongguk needs to process but his head hurts a lot and he makes a mental note to interrogate his friend later.

You move to grab and open the plastic bag that is on the bedside table. You pull out a pair of black socks. Jeongguk sees you hesitate a bit before speaking again.

“I got these across the street… your socks got wet from the rain.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk feels really dumb.

“May I?” you tentatively ask. “Your feet will get cold if we don’t—and you have the IV on so you won’t be able to use your hands—”

“It’s okay…” Jeongguk’s response startles you. “Thank you.”

You nod and sit by his feet to put on the new socks. Jeongguk feels the tears again but he tries to hold them back as he feels your touch and your warm fingers graze his bare, cold skin. When you’re done putting them on him, you smile to yourself.

“Does that feel better?” you ask.

Jeongguk nods and hums. He took his time to look at you and to his mild surprise, you reciprocated. A sense of stillness seemed to occur like time stopped just so Jeongguk could fully take in the sight of you.

He hurriedly tries his best to memorize all your features—old and new. Your face is smaller, your cheekbones higher; both indicative of you losing a bit of weight since he saw you last. Your eyes are softer, but also more tired. You also grew out your hair.

To Jeongguk, you are still so beautiful.

And he missed you so much that his heart hurt again at the thought of losing you.

“How are y—” Jeongguk tries to ask, but the door to his hospital room slid open, revealing a disheveled Yoongi.

“Jeongguk, are you okay? What happened?”

Jeongguk notices you quickly moving aside to give Yoongi room.

“I’m fine, Yoongi. I guess I just passed out and—”

“You had another panic attack, Jeongguk. That’s the second time this week. Have you taken your medication?”

Yoongi’s string of questions had Jeongguk feeling anxious. He just had the unexpected chance of seeing you again but under the most dire circumstances. Surely, it wasn’t the time for you to hear about his mental health issues.

“Yoongi, can we—” Jeongguk tried to save face, but Yoongi was faster.

Yoongi turns to you and hugs you. “I’m sorry, ____, you must have been so confused.”

“No, not at all, I’m… I’m glad I could be of help,” you reassure. More so for Jeongguk because you know this must be very awkward for him.

A bit of awkwardness did happen because none of you spoke for a bit. Your phone ringing was the only saving grace.

“Hello? Oh, okay. I’ll be right out,” you answer the other person on the line. Hanging up, you say, “Um… I should get going.”

“Is someone picking you up?” Yoongi asks.

“Yes, Taehyung’s just a few minutes away,” you answer.

Yoongi nods and pulls you in for another hug. He whispers his thanks and you respond by hugging him tighter.

You also approach Jeongguk a little closer. “Take care of yourself, Jeongguk.” You see the pain in his eyes, but you refuse to acknowledge it to yourself, even if Jeongguk’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears and his nose was already pink.

Jeongguk doesn’t want you to go. But again, he has no choice but to let you.

“You too, ____.”

As soon as you close the door, Jeongguk allows his tears to fall.

As soon as you get into the car, Taehyung asks his questions.

“Why the hell did you just come out of a hospital?”

“Tae—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? You’re the only one there? What happened?” You can feel the panic rising in Taehyung as he inspects you, but you just chuckle.

“Yah—you laugh?”

“I’m fine, Taehyung,” you tell him but he doesn’t look convinced. “I really am.”

“Then why were you in there?”

“I saw Jeongguk again, Tae,” you calmly respond.

Taehyung freezes. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” you answer.

“And you’re… are you okay?”

“I am.”

Taehyung knows you better than that but he gives you a pass because he could also tell you were tired and your short answers mean that you didn’t want to talk just yet.

“Do you want to talk about it over ice cream and fries?”

For a second, you felt tempted, but you just also wanted to go home. “Maybe some other time, Taehyung.”

Taehyung understands immediately and nods. “Should I take you to Woosung hyung or do I take you home?”

You do want to see Woosung because you know he is what you need, but you also don’t want to burden him with a bombshell of an event so you opt to be alone for the night. “Take me home, please.”

“Okay, ____,” Taehyung answers.

The rest of the car ride was a quiet one.

The short walk in the hallway leading to your home is a heavy one. As you punch in your passcode, you deeply sigh. You want nothing more than to collapse on the bed and ruminate on what just happened over the past few hours.

However, the moment you open the door, a wave of delicious scents welcomes you home. As you take off your shoes, you see a familiar pair. You smile to yourself as you place yours beside it.

You enter your home further and see Woosung with his back to you, working his way in the kitchen. As if on cue, Woosung turns around and walks toward you.

“Hey you,” you say with a smile.

“Hi,” Woosung responds, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into a tight embrace. “Did you have a good day, today?”

You feel yourself swallow once before nodding. Woosung, ever the sensitive boyfriend, holds you tighter.

You know you can’t hide from him. So you hold on to him tighter, too.

And you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Woosung feels your body shake and he runs his hand across your back to soothe you.

He may not know what’s going on right now, but he also knows you will talk to him when you’re ready. So he continues to embrace you; kissing the side of your head after a while.

Woosung whispers against your ear, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart.”

taglist: @whoa-jo @nays2112 @junecat18 @jk97bam @butterymin @smdnai

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

#jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #bts au #bts au fanfic #woosung x reader #jungkook divorce au #divorce au

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samiiy20 · 7 months

Text

♡ 𝑯𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒋𝒊𝒏 ♡

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Hyunjin x fem!reader 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑒: Smut 𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 3.5k 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Age difference (keep in mind that they are both of legal age, but still with a notable difference), oral sex, unprotected sex. 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: You're in love with your art teacher, but you've never told anyone until he finds out.

N/A: I've had this idea in my head for a while and hadn't been able to express it, but I finally got it, I hope you like it. Not without first clarifying that this type of behavior is illegal and that I am not in favor of it.

N/A2: This is the first long work I've done in a long time, it took me a long time to do it so I hope you like it

Here is the link to pt.2

masterlist II tag list

This content NOT is for minors!!!

This is merely entertainment, this does not represent any real person.

It is forbidden to copy or translate my work.

English NO is my first language.

The music resonated in your head while your hands moved across the paper tracing confusing lines. You weren't passionate about art, but drawing from time to time kept your mind calm, although right now your thoughts were shrouded in a cloud of confusion.

Your hands had left the pencil and you looked at your creation, you cursed when you saw the result, but you still put it in your things and went to sleep to stop thinking, although you knew that in your dreams you would also see it.

You knew that today wouldn't be the best day since you woke up late, the weather was ruining your shoes and you had forgotten some things in the rush, but the only thing that could cheer you up was art class. You had signed up to fulfill something, but you discovered that you liked it more than you thought and not just the class.

When you entered class had already started so you ran to sit in one of the empty chairs at the back without looking at anyone. You took out your things excitedly, you put all your attention on what the teacher was saying.

"…art is more than simple lines and strokes, they express everything that each of you can think and feel…" his gaze met yours for a couple of seconds, but you felt as if he were going through your head and he could see through it. You avoided his eyes by looking down at where the hundreds of his drawings were.

You couldn't help it, since you entered the first day and looked at him you thought he was the most beautiful being your eyes could have ever seen, for a moment you thought he was just another student, so you were quite surprised to know that he would be your teacher. The passage of time only helped you torture your thoughts with images of him, his free hair, his bright eyes, his sweet smile, his relaxing voice, the curve of his neck, his hands on the pencils; Everything about him made you forget anything.

After a short lesson on some new types of strokes they started to work but you couldn't concentrate with him hovering and you could only feel the intensity of your thoughts between your legs, the excitement that stained the fabric of your panties just by imagining his hands on your body.

Although your thoughts tortured you, you tried to stay calm to continue drawing, but you couldn't concentrate, your strokes were unsure and misaligned, the sheet that was originally white was now dirty and messy.

"What's happening?" You were excited when you heard a voice behind you, but you didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Nothing, it's just… I don't know what to do."

"Mmmm… I don't think so" you turned to look at him but when your eyes met you went blank. He took the paper on your desk and looked at it carefully. "I think you're not listening to your mind, you're trying to capture something you don't want."

"I… I can't draw what I want."

"Why not? What's stopping you from doing it?"

You shook your head forgetting that thought and trying to get your work, but he pushed it away.

"You should draw what you feel," he touched your forehead with two of his fingers and you grunted when he pushed your head a little, "not what you force yourself to think."

He broke the paper he had and went to his desk, you sighed trying to get out all your frustration and ignoring the fact that his fingers had touched you even for a second.

You took out your own folder and looking to the sides in case anyone saw you carefully opened it revealing what you really wanted. Him. Each page of that folder was Hyunjin's things, his lips, his eyes,his face, his smile, his hands, his body; but you couldn't give it to him, he would be scared just by seeing it, so you tore off a blank sheet of paper and closed the folder, hiding it.

In the end you drew the rainy landscape of the window, you were satisfied with the result and you handed it to your teacher praying that he would not reject it. He took it and after a quick glance at the page he looked at you sighing, leaving it in the pile of drawings on his desk. You looked at the time and noticed that it was already too late for your class so you ran out with a too light weight in your backpack.

When classes ended you decided to stay a little while the rain cleared, but it didn't seem like it was going to end. You decided to go to the library to do some work and maybe get some sleep, when you were taking out your things you noticed that something was missing. Your folder of drawings, you started to get alarmed and panic. Without thinking twice you ran to the art classroom praying that no one had found it.

If someone saw what was inside they would realize the obsession you had with your teacher. You were almost crying just thinking about what could happen, the burning in your lungs not caring when you turned and saw the classroom.

You opened the door without knocking and noticed that there was no one except Hyunjin at his desk. He turned to look at you through the glasses on his nose and raised his eyebrow.

"What's happen?"

"…n…nothing… it's just that…" you stopped for a bit to take a breath and tried to continue "I forgot some things."

Before he told you to come in, you were already in the middle of the classroom looking for your folder on the desks. When you got to where you had sat, you felt like your soul left your body when you couldn't find anything. You began to go around each of the chairs in search of your folder but when you didn't see anything, the tears in your eyes accumulated.

"Are you looking for this?" Almost forgetting that Hyunjin was there, you looked at him holding your folder in his hands. You didn't know what was worse, losing it or him having it, but hoping he hadn't seen it, you nodded, trying to calm your trembling legs as you went to get it.

With every step you took you wanted the earth to swallow you more, but when you finally reached his desk the only thing you hoped was that he wouldn't say anything. He extended the folder and you took it without objection, feeling a little relief, but when you opened it slowly, making sure he didn't see anything, you were scared when you saw that all the pages were blank. You flipped through the pages trying to find the evidence that gave you away, but there was no trace of it.

"But where…??" you went through the entire folder without finding anything "this is not mine."

"I guess this isn't either?" He threw a pile of leaves on the piece of wood and you looked down finding all your drawings of him, you swallowed and dared to look at him "well?"

"I…that…isn't mine" your voice shook a little and when he sighed, lowering your head, you stayed still. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, getting up from his place. You felt small when you noticed the height difference but you were so afraid that you couldn't move from where you were.

He walked around the desk until he was in front of you, you couldn't lift your head and you only looked at his feet.

"So what were you looking for?"

"N…nothing."

"So that's not yours?" You denied looking at the floor, but you noticed how he moved his body a little closer to take the drawings "then I'll have to ask one by one who he is?" You stayed silent looking at the drawings he was holding, you mentally scolded yourself for having drawn them.

You heard a long sigh from him and then one of his hands grabbed your chin to lift your face. Your eyes went somewhere else away from his face and you were holding back the urge to breathe.

"Answer me, is that what you really want?"

You clenched your fists and dared to exchange glances, you were fighting to stay on your feet, to not breathe and calm your mind, but everything was too overwhelming. You felt vulnerable having him so close and feeling the warmth of his skin on you.

"You always try to hide/repress what you want, but what you don't know is that you're an open book" you kept your gaze steady but a blow to your stomach was present.

"I do not know what you are talking about…"

"You think I'm stupid?" His hand gently descended down your neck to your collarbones. "Do you think I don't feel your gaze all the time? Do you think I don't notice how your little body tenses when I talk to you or how your legs tighten when I get too close?" You closed your eyes trying to suppress the emotions in your chest, but his breath hit your neck and you felt like you couldn't hold your breath anymore.

"That is not true."

"Then why does your heart feel like it's going to burst out?" He pressed his lips to your skin beneath your collarbones and you finally let out all your pent-up air. “Your drawings reveal who you really are, they show what you want.”

Hyunjin withdrew a little, for a moment you felt relieved but on the other hand you thought about the possibilities of this happening again, everything you had been holding back was overflowing from that little kiss and you couldn't hold it back anymore. Before he went too far you grabbed his shirt and pressed your lips against it.

You sighed, letting yourself feel the emotions that tickled your body, while you melted into her lips. Everything around you stopped making sense and nothing mattered other than savoring his kisses, you didn't care that he was your teacher or that someone could come in and see them, or the only thing you could keep in your mind was the shape of his lips.

You were so dizzy from his kisses that you didn't realize the moment his hands ran down your body to your waist. They both immersed themselves in a deeper kiss, letting their tongues get to know each other. You allowed yourself to tangle your fingers in her hair while holding your breath, thinking that this way the moment would last forever. You tried to memorize each of his kisses, each of his caresses on your waist and before you knew it he withdrew, cutting off the moment.

For the first time you saw his eyes and your brain reacted to what just happened. You covered your lips and stepped back a little embarrassed, you thought about saying something but the words weren't enough for the regret you were starting to feel.

"I'm sorry…"

"No" you saw him approach again and he grabbed your chin making your body start to shake again "do you know how long I held back from doing that?" you denied automatically, analyzing his words "every time you looked at me like that it made me want to take you in front of everyone" his fingers contoured your lips and you opened your mouth instinctively to suck one "but now that I've tried a little I won't be able to stop until devour you."

His hand went down to your neck, cutting your breath a little and without noticing it, he made a soft moan from you. Hyunjin was fighting with himself not to lose control, but he couldn't take it anymore, he needed to take you on his desk or he would die.

His lips collided aggressively with yours and his hands grabbed the hem of your shirt to remove it. You let yourself be carried away by the sensations and you let him kiss your collarbones and massage your breasts while you covered your mouth so as not to moan. His kisses trailed down to your abdomen and he paused a little to unbutton your pants, but you didn't let him do it because you wanted to do something first.

You took courage and held his face to stop him, you kissed him while your hands explored the material of his shirt as you undid his buttons. You reached his pants and without stopping to think you unbuttoned them, feeling his trapped erection. Your kisses traced a path across her chest and you heard how she let out small sighs while she realized where you wanted to go.

When you were on your knees in front of his still wrapped cock you looked up at him only to smile at him as you pulled down her boxers. He caressed your head in approval and you watched the tip of him dripping, savoring the flavor, you moved closer to paint your lips with his essence. Hyunjin moaned when he saw the intentions in your eyes and grabbed your hair so you could open your mouth once and for all.

You began to introduce his member little by little, trying to get used to it, but he didn't give you time and began to move his hips, making everything go into your mouth. You had imagined this for a long time and didn't believe it was happening, but the sensations in your wet core let you know it wasn't a dream.

You held his thighs with your nails but you enjoyed the mere way he moved and since he was still in control, you looked up recording the expression on his face. His eyebrows furrowed, his mouth open releasing curses and his eyes locked on yours at all times.

"You like this right?" He stopped and let you breathe a little. You nodded still with his member in your mouth "is this what you had in that little head?" You sucked on his member in response and he moaned in response. He pulled your hair back, leaving only the tip on your tongue to see how it painted. You savored what he gave you and moaned as you felt the tension in your core. You squeezed your legs together looking for some friction and Hyunjin noticed.

He lifted you up and cleaned your mouth, he imprisoned you in the middle of the desk and his body at the same time that his hands reached your clothed center. You squirmed a little when you noticed him but his movements were slow.

"Tell me what else have you imagined?" He whispered into your neck, leaving the mark of his teeth.

"I…only you."

"Tell me the truth" another bite on your skin made you squeal "I will fulfill each and every one of your fantasies pretty girl, you just have to tell me."

You pursed your lips trying to remember something, but his teeth and his caresses on your center were stealing all your attention and you couldn't concentrate.

"I…imagined that…you were fucking me on your desk, that you were holding my hands while you kissed my back."

With quick movements he made you stand in front of his desk with your back to him. He kisses your neck, getting rid of your bra and all your clothes, leaving you completely naked. You felt his cock on your butt as he came over to bend you over his desk while he grabbed your hands behind your waist. You couldn't help but moan when you realized how you were, you opened your eyes only to realize that you were on top of all the drawings you had made, each and every one of them represented your fantasies, but now they were coming true.

You were about to say something, when his fingers touched your sensitive pussy, drowning out your words. Your legs closed instinctively but he interrupted you by placing his own in the middle. He began to massage your clit and you arched your back a little trying to release the sensations in your chest. He was torturing you by going very slowly, but he just wanted to tease you and make you say your name.

His fingers explored your entire core and then he introduced two of them, making you let out a louder moan that echoed throughout the room. You couldn't move much because of the restrictions on your body but that somehow made you feel better. Notice how you could only accept the excitement and nothing else, but that was starting to go on for too long and made you desperate trying to let go to find release.

Hyunjin was more ready to end this, but he was turned on by the way that no matter how much you struggled, you couldn't do anything but moan, but no matter how much he could continue torturing you for hours, he knew that they weren't in the right place to do it.

He removed his fingers from inside you and lined up his cock to replace it. Without letting go of your hands behind your back, he engraved the silhouette of your body on the papers and since it had been stained a little by the charcoal, you were a work of art in his eyes and now that he had you in front of him, he would use your skin as his canvas and his kisses and caresses would be his brush, he would make clear what his mark was.

He introduced his member slowly, feeling how you squeezed him and recording the sound of your voice in his mind. He leaned over your back to have a better position and started to move, he moved your hair back to kiss you and mark your neck. Your moans were better up close, so he quickened his pace to hear you.

Feeling the heat of his body on yours made you lose your mind, his kisses on your back and the movement of his hips colliding with yours made you pray that it would never end, but your body couldn't take it anymore. You noticed how your legs were shaking, your hands were clenching, your insides were tightening more and more and how your stomach was contracting.

Your head was spinning and you couldn't handle all the emotions, it wasn't working properly having your teacher fucking you like you had always imagined, it was all too much and your moans were just the proof of it all.

"Come on pretty girl, I know you're close," you heard Hyunjin say as he increased the pace even more, "let me feel you."

His words seemed to be what was missing for you to release everything you could no longer contain. You felt your body tense for a moment and in a second you sighed, letting yourself be carried away by the release in your center. You moaned his name over and over again as he continued hitting your insides seeking his own release and a few seconds later you only noticed the hot liquid spilling down your legs.

He withdrew a little to free your hands and lay on your back again, leaving kisses and caressing your hair.

"You have done very well, now you can rest."

You closed your eyes processing everything that had just happened, but before you finished you felt the absence of heat. You were dazed and tired but you stood up slowly thinking about the consequences. When you turned around you found Hyunjin with a tissue in his hand, without saying anything he approached you and helped you clean yourself. Still a little sensitive, you held onto his shoulders but without looking at his face.

They didn't say a word while they were getting dressed and before taking your things he finally spoke.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” you hung your head, knowing he was right.

"I know, it's my fault," you said, releasing the burden you had been carrying for some time now, "but I couldn't help but fall in love and now I involved you in this, I understand if you don't want to see me again, I will drop out of class and I promise that You will never see me again, it was all my fault.

"what are you taking about?" Hyunjin grabbed you by the waist and you stayed still when you had him so close again. "You don't even know what I feel, why do you assume that I don't want to see you again?"

"But…"

"Shhh, we'll talk about that later, okay?" A little dazed and excited, you nodded, looking away from him. "Why don't we go home? I think I'll have to teach you to look at my face when I talk to you."

You smiled nervously as you hugged him, letting this moment remain in your memory to capture later.

Here is the link to pt.2

#hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x you #stray kids fanfic #skz hyunjin #kpop imagines #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids imagines #kpop smut

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drivinmeinsane · 7 months

Text

Witness in the Dark

※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }

※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?

It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.

※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)

※ Word count: 12,637

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.

"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."

You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.

"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows.

"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.

The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.

"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed."

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.

He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look.

"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.

You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.

You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area.

There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.

You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.

You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…

"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.

You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown.

"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."

The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."

"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."

He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.

You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."

"Goodnight."

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway.

He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.

She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.

"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.

He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.

"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.

"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands.

"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."

He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.

You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves.

He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.

"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.

"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."

You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.

"Here."

You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"

"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is.

He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.

"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.

You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.

The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."

"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt.

"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”

You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”

You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.

You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged.

She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."

"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."

Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.

"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.

You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.

Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.

You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister… and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.

Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion.

"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.

You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.

She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.

"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.

"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."

"They're smart people."

"Only family I got."

Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”

"Maybe that kind of makes us family."

You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning.

"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.

You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.”

She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.

He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six.

You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

“Rough night?”

“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers.

The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s.

“She’s happier with you around, you know.”

There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.

You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."

He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted.

"'Night."

"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.

Your nightmares don’t return that night.

───※ ·❆· ※───

About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.

Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…

You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare.

"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well.

"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.

He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.

"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.

"Then you know about the...." You hesitate.

"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"

"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.

"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids.

He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.

He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.

"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.

He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.

"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.

"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you.

"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.

"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?

You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again.

"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.

“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.

You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.

“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.

“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”

“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.

“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you.

“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.

“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.

“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family.

His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up

“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.

There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.

“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved.

“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil.

You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six.

“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.

You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart.

"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so.

"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.

You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."

“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.”

Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers.

Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.

“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel. You don't want to push the issue.

He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.

The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now? Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.

With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat.

Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.

You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.

“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.

"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it.

"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you.

“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch.

You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”

You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.

You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand.

“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door.

You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.

The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.

Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house?

Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?

The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up.

“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?” He must mean Six.

The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.

He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men.

Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking.

You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head.

Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage.

"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration.

You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”

"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.

“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.

“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.”

“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….

“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.

He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire.

You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh.

"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.

“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”

You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”

He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.

"Give me a minute," is his response.

He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment

"Are you okay?"

"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.

You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together.

You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.

He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either.

“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.

Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.”

She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”

Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well.

“I’m out.” He says, resigned.

Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist.

“He hasn’t won this back yet?”

“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you.

Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.”

“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go.

“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up.

She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone. He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.

He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg.

A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room.

You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”

"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.

He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong.

You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm.

You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep.

You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face.

You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.

"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself.

“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you.

”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.

“It wasn’t you. I overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.

You stare at him blankly. "What?"

"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.

"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.

"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.

"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving.

“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing.

“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.

“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”

”Six…”

You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.

You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.

That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.

"I had to give you a proper example."

"Good job. I feel exampled.”

" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.

"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.

There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”

The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous.

You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.

“Oh… and that was…?”

“Over twenty-five years ago.”

You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you.

He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later.

Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .

The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends.

You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

#the gray man #sierra six #courtland gentry #sierra six x reader #the gray man fanfic #ryan gosling #ryan gosling character #the gray man (2022)#courtland gentry x reader #my work #my posts

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slytherizz · 10 months

Text

A Different Kind of Wager - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Sebastian makes a wager with his girlfriend that will make the outcome of their final Crossed Wands duel before their graduation far more interesting.

My main fic has been sucking the life out of me with the angst and suffering. So here is some shameless smut I've been working on!

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, duelling as a questionable form of foreplay, Lucan Brattleby runs an illegal gambling operation

You can find all the tags on Ao3 :)

She nibbled idly on the end of her quill her brows drawn together in that cute little frown as it always graced her features when she was deep in concentration. With their NEWT’s closing in fast Sebastian felt like he’d barely seen anywhere but the inside of his dormitory and the dusty shelves of this library for weeks.

Not that he was getting much work done.

The blazing summer sun pouring through the windows made even the normally cool library stiflingly hot. Her tie was pulled loose where it hung around her neck, the top buttons of her blouse undone exposing the heat and blossoming beads of sweat on her clavicle were more than a bit distracting.

Over the last few weeks, Sebastian barely had enough time to sleep around his revision let alone spend any quality time with her outside of the library. Which had left him more than a bit frustrated that even a glimpse of skin was enough to have his thoughts so far from his own Potion’s essay.

So, he’d settled himself into the comfortable position of twirling her hair around one of his fingers whilst staring directly down her shirt. Sebastian hoped if he kept this up for long enough she’d eventually snap at his annoying prodding. If he got her wound up enough it would more often than not end in a frustrated fumble and if he got her seething which with how badly her history of magic revision seemed to be going was likely he’d work her up enough that she’d let him fuck her in the restricted section to release the tension.

A loud bang rang out echoing through the library as the heavy oak doors slammed pulling Sebastian abruptly from his fantasies. Sebastian cringed internally for the poor sod who had surely invoked Scribner’s wrath. He heard muffled apologies answer Scribner’s shrill scolding which rang through the echoing library like a bell. He’d been on the receiving end of one of the aged librarians foul moods more times than he cared to remember and did not envy the recipient.

Flushed with embarrassment, Lucan Brattleby scouted sheepishly once Scribner was satisfied he’d had an earful and moved her attentions elsewhere. Although taller now the fifth year was no less baby faced the scarlet of his robes accentuating the flush in his cheeks. As he spotted them from the far side of the library and hurried towards the back table where they’d sequestered themselves away.

“Ah, there you both are! Been looking all over the bloody castle for you.”

“Seventh-year Lucan,” she sighed rolling up her parchment with a smile “If we’re not in the library we’re crying in the toilets.”

“Not too busy for tonight I hope,” he smiled nervously, eyes wide in a pleading stare.

Sebastian had forgotten, between preparation for NEWT’s and spending the week desperately trying to get his girlfriend alone a final match of the Crossed Wands was far from the top on his list of priorities.

“Don’t you worry we’ll be there,” she smiled before Sebastian could disagree with more than a few ideas of what he'd rather do with her in his free time.

Lucan breathed a sigh of relief “Good that would throw the entire betting pool out of sorts. Not that I can let you two in on the fun I’m afraid. Can’t have one of you throwing a match and making off with the pot,” he grinned, brown eyes alight with mischief “I have some class as to not allow insider betting…that and the Ravenclaws would have my head.”

“Surely you can spare a kickback for old friends?” Sebastian quirked.

“You do it for the glory Sallow and you know it,” she grinned at him.

“Touché.”

“Slight change of plans for tonight,” added Lucan blushing clearly seeing it painted across Sebastian’s face exactly what he’d rather be doing tonight. “We’re in the Astronomy Tower. Too many close calls with Professor Weasley in the Clocktower Courtyard.”

“Don’t you worry we’ll be there. One last hurrah before exams completely destroy our social lives,” she sighed.

“I’ll see you both tonight!” Lucan clapped his hands together with glee looking between them conspiratorially before hurrying off.

If Sebastian was frustrated with their lack of time for each other now, he realised that would only get worse with exams looming over them edging closer. Sebastian leaned back in his chair and sighed dramatically, and he swore he saw her roll her eyes.

“It’s been ages since we duelled. It’ll be nice to do something apart from our usual verbal sparring,” she encouraged. But Sebastian’s thoughts were far from duelling when the idea struck him.

“Shame to let Lucan have all the fun," he said slowly leaning in close enough so his breath could disturb the loose hairs around her face "Care to make this more interesting?”

“I know that look. What are you plotting?”

“How about a little wager?”

“What kind of wager?” she narrowed her eyes at him.

Sebastian's eyes flicked around the room, as Lucan slammed the door a second time sending Scribner once again on the warpath. Directing her spitting rage towards some poor Gryffindor second-years who had tried to smuggle pumpkin pasties into the library and had gotten crumbs and oily fingerprints all over their books.

Satisfied they were secluded away from any prying eyes he hooked his finger under the hem of her long skirt where it had ridden up over her crossed legs. His hand stroked purposefully up the bare skin underneath, ghosting up the inside of her thighs teasing the soft skin with a gentle scratch of his fingernails that sent a shiver through her.

She looked at him half amused, but he could see how her pupils had been blown wide from the lightest touch that promised everything.

“I have some ideas.”

***

Even Sebastian was baffled at the sheer number of students who’d managed to sneak out of their common rooms to make the long trek to the Astronomy tower that night. Whoever had done the imperturbable charm had done an impressive job not a sound could be heard from outside of the classroom, despite the deafening din inside. There had to be at least fifty students crammed into the observation deck. They clang to the railings hitching themselves up high to get the best view.

“Last call to get your bets in. Come on don’t be shy!” Lucan shouted over the hectic crowd that had surrounded him. Students jostled each other as they attempted to push forward to get closer to the board. “I’ve got some 20:1 odds-on Prewitt - put your money on the Underdog and you could walk away with half the pot.”

Lucan was truly in his element. His left fist clutched full of betting slips, he scratched frantically with his chalk at the betting pool he’d meticulously crafted on the blackboard he must have nicked from the arithmancy classroom and lugged up to the tallest point of the castle. Students inspected the match-ups before shoving galleons into his waiting hands.

Sebastian really did admire his entrepreneurial spirit. Taking over an unsanctioned duelling club in your third year was one thing but making a profit off of it was a stroke of genius. He’d begun his enterprise last year started in with a few well-meaning bets and had now spiralled to a size where even students who’d never participated in the duelling themselves would attend every match just for a piece of the action.

Sebastian cast his eyes over the crowded room, a couple of overeager fourth years were stretching relishing that they’d made it this far in the tournament at all. A few Slytherin second-years in their pyjamas who looked very pleased with themselves for having managed to sneak out of the common room to watch the show were whispering huddled in the corner.

His eyes connected with hers across the far side of the room. She was leaning against the rickety balcony he suspected was only still standing due to magic embedded in the castle. She was smiling at him, the moon high in the sky illuminating her features bathing her in an ethereal glow. Despite the commotion in the tower, the nerves of competitors were so palpable Sebastian felt he could cut the tension with a knife she looked beautiful and serene. For a moment he considered doing away with the tournament and their wager all together and dragging her off to her secret hideaway opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy.

Sebastian battled against the grain of the crowd towards her. Weasley tried to grab his attention and pull him into a conversation about some combat-enhancing potions he was brewing but Sebastian patted the redhead on the shoulder placatingly never letting his eyes leave hers.

She smiled up at him a devilish glint in her eye as he came to lean against the banister beside her.

“You know if you want to back out of the bet I’ve thought of some creative forfeits,” he nudged her arm. She rolled her eyes; at the smug look he knew was plastered over his face. But he liked the way the small smile played on her lips. Lips that if he had his way wrapped around his cock before the night was up.

“Not scared of losing are you, Sallow?”

“Oh, not at all,” he leaned in closer, wrapping a strand of her hair around his finger to push it behind her ear. The smell of mallowsweet that always clung to her hair and clothes invaded his senses only making him more impatient to have that scent coating his skin “Just giving you the chance to save your knees while you still can.” He whispered into her ear low enough that only she could hear, relishing in the way she licked her lips instinctively at the thought. Despite the cool night breeze that came in through the open sides of the tower Sebastian could feel the heat creeping up his neck. Just as he’d decided to sack off the duels entirely and drag her away Lucan’s voice sounded over the muddle of raised voices.

“Right that it - Bets are closed. Sallow. Prewitt. Duellists take your marks for preliminaries!”

“See you in the final,” she winked and pushed him towards the middle of the tower. The red-head was already waiting looking insufferably smug as ever. Despite Sebastian’s general disdain for Prewitt, he did often find it amusing how even though he’d never once bested him in a duel he could delude himself into thinking this time could be any different.

“This is my year, Sallow,” he called across from him taking an offensive stance.

“Sorry Prewitt, I have too much on the line to go easy on you tonight,” Sebastian replied not meeting the Gryffindor’s eyes instead turning slightly to wink at her.

***

It wasn’t fate that landed her opposite him in the final duel that night. Sebastian had been quietly confident when he’d made his wager with her that it would always come down to the two of them. As much as Lucan insisted that his matchups were done completely at random, and he’d never sully his reputation with such cheap tricks. Lucan also knew people liked a show of seeing their two best duellers face off against each other. Having them knock each other out in the first round, well that would be bad for business.

Sebastian was certain he could live a hundred lifetimes and still remember the way she moved. As if it was seared into his brain that first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. She was like a raging storm, and he was a lost ship being pulled out to sea. That ancient magic in her veins practically glowing like an azure snake crackled amongst her fingertips like the poised lightning of a vengeful god ready to send his sails and crew to a watery grave.

Their dance began. She still duelled as if she was some untamed wind whirling reactively and unrefined. Her wand lashing out from her fast like a whip, she cast with her whole body. The wand was not just a tool but a very extension of herself. Never one for fancy charms she sent a confringo towards him that singed the edges of his cloak and sent the crowd quickly leaping from their view around the railings as the curse hurtled towards them. She’d leave her left side fully exposed and just as fast as he’d send a curse flying in her direction, she’d pivot so quickly the vulnerability was lost in a flurry of robes and hair. He parried and struck with his wand missing his mark again and again as she moved like a knife through butter. As they twirled around the moving iron plates marked with stars, they used this new terrain to their advantage. Taking cover when the discs shifted blocking their opponent and their spells from view only to spring from the other side with curses of their own. Sweat glistened faintly on her brow, and a wide grin spread across her face that he knew was mirrored on his own.

His eyes met her across the devilish glint in her eyes practically stopping his heart for a moment. The rest of the world, the crowds slipped away and there was only her. Her fire, her perfect storm.

It took his brain a moment to right itself and realised he’d been hit, and he was now meeting her piercing gaze with his arse firmly on the floor. Her brow gleamed with sweat, hair tangled and wild, blazing with victory. A goddess of war, triumphant. And she was his.

As suddenly as they disappeared the crowds seemed to come flooding back in a riotous cheer as they surrounded her. Weasley slapped her on the back his face broken into a wide toothy grin. He peeled off from the crowd hand outstretched to assist Sebastian to his feet. He gratefully took it dusting himself off, chuckling to himself.

“Tough luck mate,” he smiled placatingly. “I would say there’s always next time but that was your last shot. I’m afraid you’re out of the history books now. I lost eight sickles betting on you as well.” He ran his fingers through his ginger hair frowning to himself stewing over his lost winnings.

Sebastian smiled at him apologetically despite the fact he couldn’t give two shits about Weasley’s shrapnel not when he had a debt of his own, one that he was eager to pay.

Sebastian leaned against the railings in wait for her. The crowd swarmed around her dragging her this way and that, chattering over each other each eager to get her ear. Some cheered some muttering reluctant congratulations looking away enviously as Lucan handed those who had bet on her their winnings. Not nearly as much as the house would take however as Lucan lined his pockets.

Sebastian was beginning to grow impatient, it felt like an eternity as he waited for the crowds to finally disperse. This earned him a few smirking looks, everyone thought he was embarrassed, and Hogwarts' self-proclaimed ‘best dueller’ had been bested yet again. He played the part of the good sport despite his growing frustration, laughing off the snide little barbs from the likes of the insatiably competitive Imelda and most shockingly even a mocking glare from old Puffskein Dunkein. The audacity of a man afraid of puffskein to look at him like that Sebastian almost laughed out loud.

When at last a pair of gushing fourth-year Hufflepuffs girls had finally left her side whispering and giggling as they left the tower to follow the rest of the crowd. Sebastian slipped up behind clearing his throat as she turned to him eyes bright with triumph.

“So…what was all that about saving my knees?”

“No need to show off, pet. It doesn’t suit you,” he grinned slowly encroaching in on her. The once deafening tower was now quiet and still. The only lights left were the soft moonlight and glowing stars. Sebastian thought if he listened hard enough, he could hear her heartbeat increase with every step he took towards her.

She released a loud undignified snort of laughter “That’s rich coming from you.”

Sebastian silenced her pressing his lips hard against hers in a desperate kiss that ignited a fire in his bones. With the pressure of NEWTs, he hadn’t realised how starving he was for her touch. He nipped at her bottom lip and she gasped parting her lips just enough so he could slip his tongue between them to tangle with her own. His hands ghosted down her sides wrapping around her so he could pull her flush against him. He knew she’d already be able to feel his already hardening length exposing exactly where his thoughts were as they pressed into her. He pulled away from her a little breathless, freckled hands coming up to clasp her cheeks.

“A debt is owed, pet. Ready to collect?”

“What now? Here?”

“Did I not mention it’s a time-sensitive offer?”

She huffed out a surprised laugh as she met his eyes. But he noticed that telltale way she bit down on the inside of her cheek, noted how even in the low light her pupils were blown wide as saucers. He kissed her again more passionately this time, edging her towards the small table in the corner covered in ripped-up betting slips from sore losers and broken astronomy equipment.

In his haste, Sebastian swept the papers and objects littering the table a telescope clattered to the floor with a loud metallic clang. He gripped her hips forcefully and lifted her to plant her on the edge of the desk. He kissed up the column of her throat savouring every rasping vibration against his lips as her breathing caught in her throat.

“You were excellent, darling. Thought you might actually finish me off,” he murmured against her skin as he loosened her tie around her neck as he had done his own. He could already see a flush creeping up her clavicle as he worked the buttons exposing more of the stained flesh beneath. Her skin was salty on his tongue but after a week of nothing but longing looks and stolen kisses it tasted like ambrosia. He pulled the offending garment from around her shoulders throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. He pulled at the ribbons letting her stays flutter open before pulling the thin silky chamise over her head. Her nipples pebbled fully exposed as the night air swept in through the tower, mussing her hair. He brought the crown between his teeth tongue flicking out to tease the flesh and she groaned. Her hand came to settle on her neglected left breast pinching the twin between her own fingers. Wickedly gorgeous a movement that he knew meant she ached as much for him this last week as he did her. He released her from his teeth and kissed her quickly. Grinning Sebastian ran his hands up her thighs fingers pressing hard into those sinfully tight trousers she wore.

He hooked his fingers into her waistband as she lifted her hips assisting him as he peels her trousers and knickers off of her legs. She wriggled her feet out of the bottom and Sebastian discarded them next to her shirt in a pile on the floor. Bare and laid out before him he cursed himself for ever letting her wear clothes at all.

Dropping to his knees Sebastian coaxed her legs apart by peppering kisses along the inside of her thighs. Pausing momentarily to nip and suck small bruises on the tender flesh as he worked up towards the apex of her thighs. He bent her knees up to rest them on either side of his shoulders, he pulled her hips sharply forward spreading her out before him like his last meal.

“Did you like seeing me on my back as much as you do between your thighs?” he goaded. Her lips parted to reply but all that came out was a low whine as Sebastian flicked his tongue across her bundle of nerves. Her hips jolted forward in search of reprieve. More pleasure only he could give to her. A pleasure he now owed her.

He dragged his tongue across her clit more purposefully this time. Her hands shot down to knot almost painfully in his hair, as he kept him close to her aching heat demanding the payment that was due. Sebastian was a lot of things; ruthless at worst, an insufferable show-off at best but he was not a sore loser. He sealed his mouth over her aching heat, burying her tongue in her folds.

The sight of her above him he doubted there was a more perfect sight in this world. She was bare and spread out like a nymph from some Greek tragedy and he was a mere disciple who had come to pray at her altar. He chased her sounds, swirling his tongue around her nub lapping up every drop she offered to him. He dragged his tongue across her weeping entrance, a broad stroke with the flat part of his tongue. From the way her legs had already begun to tremble, he knew she had been aching for this, for his touch just as much as he had. He always marvelled at how quickly she came undone when he used his tongue, but with how much he’d been driven practically mad with need all week he wanted to savour this. Every flash of skin, the sway of her hips, when she leaned in too close, and her scent seeped into his mind had him as pent up as he had been before they were together and all thought of her had been a mere albeit all-consuming fantasy. So, he wanted to take his time with her, use that control he had over her and bring her to the brink and back until she was a crumpled mess.

She writhed sinful curses and breathy moans slipping from her lips as she ground her hips forward seeking relief on the flat part of his tongue. He was teasing her he knew. Edging her closer and closer towards that summit of bliss and that wasn’t part of their deal. But after a week of nothing but stolen kisses and fumbles above their clothes in quiet classrooms and hidden alcoves, he wanted her to come crashing down when she was near breaking and begging for release.

Just as he felt her legs begin to clamp together practically suffocating him between her thighs he ceased his ministrations of his tongue, sucking small bruises on the inside of her thighs. Not that Sebastian thought suffocating between her thighs was a particularly bad way to go out. He released her clit switching between sinking his teeth into her soft skin before swiping the marks with his tongue.

“Seb- what the fuck?” she groaned in protest, she bucked her hips towards him practically at breaking point in need of her release. Her fingers smoothing his mop of chestnut hair he guessed now looked even more tangled and wild than usual as she desperately tried to pull him back towards her aching heat.

Sebastian released his grip on her thighs, skimming his fingers along the inside of her thighs leaving goosebumps in his wake before he slid his fingers into her tight heat. Her eyelashes fluttered as he teased her open with two freckled fingers. He crooked his fingers and grinned as her light panting transformed into keening mewls as he hit that sweet spot inside of her that made her crumble from the inside out. He knew it was cruel to make her wait, she had earnt her prize fair and square, but he’d been starving for her for all week, and he wanted to feel her come undone harder than he ever had. Even if it took all night. He pumped his digits slowly coaxing her towards the brink again with each purposeful thrust. She was practically vibrating, so dangerously close to the edge Sebastian thought he saw the ghosts of tears in her eyes as she writhed desperately.

“Sebastian, please. I can’t- Fuck,” she groaned desperately. Sebastian sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked - devouring the quivering nub.

The combination of sensations must practically set fire to all her nerves. Even if no one had heard the unsanctioned duelling tournament he still wouldn’t be surprised if they heard her now. The loud unabashed cry that she released as her earth shattered even her legs clamped around his ears did little to muffle her glorious sounds. Despite his own need twitching almost painfully in his trousers at the sight of her shuddering release; all Sebastian cared about was prolonging her bliss. He lapped purposefully at her swollen flesh as she rode his fingers forcing her hips down onto them. Each thrust is more forceful than the last. He’d gladly let her wake the whole castle with her strangled cries. Let them all hear the pretty sounds the Hero of Hogwarts only made for him.

Her legs at last went boneless panting hard as she collapsed back on her elbows. Her head lolled helplessly to the side as she gazed at him through hooded eyes of admiration and desire. She looked practically drunk at the sight of him still buried between her legs.

“My congratulations to the victor,” he said smugly. Licking the residual wetness that still coated his lips as he at last removed his fingers from her tight heat. His tongue laved at the bruises he sucked on the inside of her thighs soothing their ache. He travelled up her pausing only to run his nose through the sparse hairs at the apex of her thighs which made her groan again as his heated breath tickled her still-sensitive nub. Impatient at his torturous pursuit up her body her hands clasped his freckled cheeks to pull him towards her. She claimed his lips not caring to wipe his mouth. She nipped greedily at his bottom lip her tongue flicking out to meet his won as she tasted the need her body had for him still sweet on his lips.

Her hands ghosted across his hipbones that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The scratch of her fingernails had Sebastian’s hips instinctively jerked towards her. Chasing his own need for release rutting forward his still-clothed member twitching against her exposed heat. She captured the grunt he released with her lips her deft fingers frantically working the buckle of his belt. He encircled her wrists with a large hand stopping her pursuit.

“Ah- Ah. You won fair and square. No need for that,” he grinned. He could practically feel his own body cursing the part of his mind that wasn’t completely overcome with desire for the witch spread out before him and was still capable of rational thought. He focused on the need his cock had to claim her into his lips fastening his teeth over her fluttering pulse.

“Don’t make me beg,” she groaned. With the little room she had to move her hands in his grip she pulled him forward by his belt loops more forcefully until his hips were flushed against her. Even through his trousers, he could feel the heat from between her thighs that made his cock twitch demandingly.

“But I so love it when you do.” His hands buried into her hair in a possessive grip to pepper kissed along her jaw.

“Shut up and fuck me already,” she practically growled, palming his cock through the fabric. Sebastian knew he would grant any request from her lips. Taking her hips in a bruising grip she yelped as her backside was pulled sharply over the edge of the rickety table. He didn’t let her fall instead letting her weight pass to him flipping her around so she could take a firm hold of the table and steady herself. She turned to look at him, her eyes hooded pupils blown wide biting so hard on her bottom lip he thought she might draw blood. To the world, she was a triumphant warrior, a heroine forged in fire and bloodshed but for him and only him in secret moments stolen under darkness and moonlight, she would shed that armour. And give herself to being his to claim and conquer.

Sebastian shucked his trousers down forcefully kicking them off from around his ankles. His cock sprang free of its prison, arching proudly in front of him. Sebastian swiped his fingers through her still soaking folds coating his fingers in her slick and his spit.

“Please Sebastian-” she whimpered at the contact, desperate to feel more than just his fingers inside her. He teased her kiss-swollen bottom lip down, pushing his digits roughly into her mouth. She closed her mouth greedily around his fingers languidly dragging her tongue to clean them off. Her pupils were blown wide as black as the night sky; he almost came completely undone just at the lusty look she was giving him. He could wait any longer to be inside her and feel her around him. Sebastian angled his hips and breached her walls with a strong deliberate thrust. She released a strangled cry her head lolled against her shoulder her desperation to finally be filled by him satiated.

“Fuck-” Sebastian hissed. He didn’t wait for her to adjust to him as he took her hip in a bruising grip thrusting his hips forward. Still tender and swollen from how he’d already made her quake her oversensitive walls fluttered around his cock as she took the entirety of him. As he rocked his hips into her Sebastian thought he could rename every star in the sky with the speed with which filthy moans and praise to him and everything he made her feel tumbled from her lips. Each is more wonderous than the last.

He hastily undid the remaining buttons on his shirt to admire his incessant plunges into her warmth. Only caring about how she practically swallowed him whole.

“Taking me so well,” he grunted, rough and low. Her spine curved at his praise drawing him in deeper. The head of his cock teased that sweet spot inside her. The more of her weight shifted backwards the more she arched towards him until she was flushed against him and rutting her hips back frantically in search of more friction. He slowed his pace to draw himself almost fully out of her before filling her again with a languid thrust. “Tell me how it feels darling.”

“Incredible. Fuck- I’ve needed you all week- inside me. Please Seb more,” she whimpered.

He wondered how many students dreamt of having her and how even they in all their wildest fantasies couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to take her under the stars.

He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her to settle on the curve of her stomach. Holding her in place so he could increase his tempo slamming home hard. Each thrust into her tight heat drew keening mewls as he edged her closer towards her second climax.

Sebastian could feel that coil inside him tightening threatening to snap. He wanted to feel her crash down around him. He didn’t just crave it. He needed it. Like a man lost in the desert and she was his oasis gulping down water greedily until he was sick with it. Sebastian curled his hand around her throat, squeezing just enough that a choked whine could still escape from her lips as her head began to spin. Each finger that pressed around her delicate neck said the words his sex-addled mind couldn’t make his mouth form.

Only I can make you feel like this. You are mine. I am yours. I love you.

He pulled her backwards harder onto his cock by her throat, spearing her with brutal efficiency. Curling his fingers tighter his other hand slipped down the planes of her stomach to apply soft pressure to her hooded bundle of nerves sending a shock through her like a burst of electricity. He could feel her body begin to clench and tremble around him in a way that was maddening. Whatever words she tried to speak came out as little more than a garbled cry over the grip around her delicate neck.

“Come for me, darling. Please- I can’t hold back any longer. I need to feel you come undone all over my cock,” Sebastian groaned into the shell of her ear as he began to tease furious circles over her still-swollen clit.

Sebastian doubted there was a more beautiful sight than the witch he loved unravelling under the full force of his fingers and his cock. Her walls clenched around him. Spasming and contracting as they sucked him in impossibly deeper into her cunt as she let out a shriek. With a final uneven snap of his hips that coil inside him snapped and his own release spilling inside her. His hips spluttered, pumping it deeper into her, her name and filthy praise erupting from his lips in a sound he could only liken to a primal whine.

Her body was flushed with a thin sheen of sweat that coated her glittering under the moonlight. His forehead came to rest between her shoulder blades he released his hold on her throat to wrap his arms around her as she struggled to stay upright on weakened trembling legs. He peppered soft apologetic kisses across the small bruises that were beginning to bloom around her throat. Still buried deep inside her his thumb stroking her nub gently, she whined and bucked her hips to try and shake off the overstimulation. She chuckled against her skin, and at last, releasing the small bundle of nerves she sighed with relief.

He removed himself from her aching core and she groaned at the loss of him inside her. As if she only felt whole when he was filling her completely. On shaking legs, he guided her over to rest gently on the edge of the desk again. He kissed her more gently now and she hummed against his lips. A pleasureful little sound that even despite being completely spent had him wondering if he could muster up the energy to take her again as his tongue flicked lazily out tangling with her own.

“I love you,” he smiled and she practically glowed. To him, she was brighter and more beautiful than any star that any astronomer could find in the farther reaches of the cosmos.

“You let me win, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mused, pushing her hair behind her ears absentmindedly.

“Either way the result was the same. You’ve been looking up at me from your back since you were fifteen,” she smiled slyly, her eyes twinkling with mirth. She bent down to scoop up her trousers before shimmying back into the tight material that he still had no idea how she got away with wearing the wildly inappropriate attire on the school grounds.

“Oh- You want a rematch? I’d be more than happy to take my winnings.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would be.”

“Care to make it more interesting?”

“I’m listening,” she grinned. His little witch had always been a thrill seeker, but their rematch was a contest he wasn’t willing to lose. He didn’t just want her mouth. He wanted her hand.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #Sebastian sallow x female reader #sebastian sallow x f!mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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lostlovesoul11 · 1 year

Text

[DEMON TIME]

Pairing: Jeno X Haechan X Reader

Warnings: friends to...?, Smut, oneshot threesome(mmf), dubcon, double penetration, mxm action, manipulation, overstimulation, spitting, insecurities, ouija board, demons, usual filth

Word count: 9k

18+ no minors! Read tags beforehand.

so this was meant to be released for Halloween but I went on hiatus for the next couple of months. Since I'm back, I can share this with you all. ignore any errors bc i haven't even edited since.

Summary: When playing with an ouija board goes wrong...

A year ago...

It was completely dark in the room, yet Jeno’s thoughts were feeling corrupted. A mistake he made by becoming curious may have costed him to live an entire nightmare, only to be startled by a familiar presence.

“Jeno..” A soft yet deep like voice called out making jeno snap his head up only to see a bit of light surface. He gasps at the sudden call, almost like his breath got taken away, slowly opening his heavy eyelids to see what’s ahead. He knows too well who this is and he probably thought he wouldn’t come across this once again.

Jeno thought this would be over, perhaps forgotten since it’s been years. But alas. Haechan always made his presence well aware, often times entering his mind throughout the days, reminding him of a particular offer he had placed.

“Did you really think I’d forget?” A loud chuckle is heard as Jeno watches the gorgeous red headed man near him. However he wasn’t just a man, a beauty with horns, devilish. He’s mocking Jeno’s reactions at the sight of him knowing what is to be expected, he was told this would happen soon.

But maybe Jeno didn’t think it’ll come. Maybe Haechan would forget since its been a while but no. He’s tired of the demons continuous counters, reminding him daily about the past mistakes. “Just leave me alone!” Jeno huffs out in annoyance.

Haechan pouts, “But you don’t want me to. After all, who do you even have besides me?”

"No, I have friends!" Jenos inner monologue repeats in his head. The thought torments him. He wishes he never indulged in anything that particular day. Hating how his curiosity lead to this pathway.

A finger is placed on Jeno’s chin lifting it upward, “You needed me. You called for me. And I came. I gave you my company, became a friend, helped you to get whatever you desired.. ”

“Stop!” Jeno shouts, pushing Haechan’s hand away from him completely. ”I don’t need you.”

Haechan shouts back, “You’ve always needed me!

He hates this. He hates how right Haechan is. Jeno was always a lonely child, often finding it hard to fit himself with people. Until he came across the demon, Haechan.

“I- don’t.” Jeno closes his eyes, finding ways to escape the lies telling from his eyes.

Haechan smiles, watching him convince himself from the utter truth. “You could have said goodbye Jeno but you never have. Shall I tell you why?”

He gulped knowing the exact reason why. He’s aware having the ouija board he can end this by saying goodbye, one of the rules to initially do once you’ve finished using it. Anything can be done to get rid of a demon. So why doesn’t he?

Lowering himself as a breath rushes to Jeno’s ear, “Because your a troubled lonely boy who craves company, desperately.”

And there it was the reason to why Jeno even befriended a demon. Though thinking it was harmless at a young age, Jeno grew attached to the presence of the demon. Especially during the times he had no one.

But demons don’t just befriend people without having something for themselves. And that’s Haechan always reminded him there’s a price to pay. What you didn’t know was, that price was you.

It terrfied Jeno once he started taking a liking towards you after finally finding a group of friends. You stood out. You was the opposite of Jeno. Kind but fierce, confident at what you always wanted. Something Jeno wishes he had.

But most of all, Jeno felt flutters in his heart having you around him. He knew he was screwed, who wouldn’t fall for a beautiful person like you?

And that’s when Haechan entered wanting to find a new prey. Convincing Jeno who initially was hesitant. But it worked. Maybe Jeno did have a sick mind to have you in this way too.

_________________________________________

Halloween was always something you looked forward to. The moon tonight was illuminating when you stepped outside with the group as you all made your way to a Halloween party.

Dressing up was one of your favourite things to do. Looking like a straight vampire out of the movie, fangs on your teeth with smeared lipstick stain on your bottom lip. An extremely short black dress with see through tights, barely covering you up.

Later that night, everyone returned home from the party to Jeno's house. It's always something the group does, a cosy and huge place to come back to was the best. Everyone was drunk off limits, playing a bunch of card games, ordering food and what not.

The time arrived when everyone began to get up and finally going back to their house. However, you felt slightly lazy today. It's not unusual for you though, having to stay over at Jeno's was a normal occurrence. He was such a great friend, always helping you out during your drunk times, taking off your make up before you doozed right off. You really appreciated having Jeno.

Although this time, you wasn't really too drunk at all. But you still wanted to stay the night over. Jeno's house was huge, thanks to having rich parents. Hence there was always enough room for anyone to sleep over.

And tonight you was staying over.

Laying on the long sofa scrolling away on your phone, your other hand putting snacks in your mouth. Jeno finally enters back in the room but with something in his hand. Your eyes fluttered over at the very thing he’s holding on to, walking across to the table.

“Jeno what’s that?” You asked, brows raised when you shift your eyes away from your phone and on to what he is carrying in his hand.

Whatever it was seemed to be quite rusty, dust scattered above it as Jeno rubbed it off with his hands. It looked like an old board as you watched.

It would be a lie to say that Jeno wasn’t scared. Truthfully this could either work or not. And hearing your innocent voice calling him to ask makes his heart churn. The way you have no idea..

He clears his throat nervously before he speaks, “It’s a ouija board."

Your eyes widen at the statement, “No way, an ouija board?”

He saw the way your eyes popped open, attention leaving away as you dropped your phone down and watched what’s in front. Unable to tell how your reaction towards this is.

You came closer to Jeno, your fingers touching the old board as some dust particles remain on your finger. You’ve heard of ouija boards but never have them in person. You visibly feel shocked. “Wow...” this is...

The guilt slowly forms up to Jeno as he inhales deeply before he speaks up, “It’s okay we don’t have to play—

Only to get abruptly stopped as your hand reaches on Jeno’s arm. Jeno was confused at the reaction, genuinely thinking you felt creeped out by this but the glint in your eyes spoke otherwise.

“I want to play” You quickly shout out.

Jeno’s eyes widen, a fast inhale retrieves out of his mouth, “Really?”

He still cannot believe you want to go ahead with this and tries to find ways of convincing, perhaps the one who needs convincing is him.

You almost looked like a a kid begging to play with their favourite toy, a grin slapped across your face as you pester him more. “Yes, let’s play it! I think this will be fun.”

Fun. It will be everything but fun, Jeno thought. As much as he hates doing this, the sick part of him is happy your wiling to try it out. It’s why he would often mention to not be so willing to do just everything in the pretext of risks. What if these risks put you through dangerous places?

What if it put you to dangerous beings, people like him?

But you was fearless. Always striving to do whatever you can to gain experience. Something Jeno was fond of yet jealous.

However in this context it was far from such. Unfortunately your determined nature just makes it easier for anyone to coy you around.

He licks his bottom lip as he fights back a laughter, “Okay fine, let’s do it.”

Both of you sat down together with the board below. Though it seems like a dusty old board, you could still see the words that are written on it. The various letters in bold with the Yes and No at the top corners.

“Do you want me to go through the rules?” in which you had nodded, waiting for him to tell you more.

Rule number 1 Never use this alone. Always play with others

Rule number 2 Always set the mood during the night, use candles before initiating

Rule number 3 Dont forget to say goodbye

Rule number 4 Be careful what you wish for..

You’ve watched many movies growing up about these things but never actually coming across it in real life. You don’t exactly know how to feel at this given moment except to listen to everything Jeno is mentioning, after all, he knows well doesn’t he?

Going through the rules makes Jeno feel so fake. Because he always end up doing the exact opposite of what was to expect, but could he be to blame? He was just a child. A vulnerable child who knew nothing with a curious mind.

Jeno gets up and retreats to a different room as you waited in the living room, only to come back whilst closing the lights behind him and placing a few candles around the board. He uses a lighter above the candles as it burns ahead.

Now that the mood has settled in you definitely feel a bit nervous about this whole thing, your hands shake but Jeno calms you with his own above.

“We got this’’ He says in comfort making you feel at ease knowing your not alone in this.

We.

You closed your eyes as you inhale a deep breath ready to face your fears.

The planchette is directly placed on the board, Jenos hands merges with yours while you both move it around in circles until you stop. You gulped as you awaited for what’s next. Jeno suddenly speak up.

“Are there any spirits that’d like to come in contact with us right now?”

An eerie vibe comes along as you wait for a reveal, your hands suddenly felt cold, chest slightly heaving on what’s to come ahead. Is it true? Do spirits exist? Does this even work? Slowly, it felt like time was dragging on having no response, no movement to answer the question.

Jeno looked with worry in his eyes but the smile remained still on his face. You can’t pinpoint what he’s feeling, maybe he’s scared?

“I think you should ask a question” He spoke, a small grin on his face. You blinked a couple of times before it sinked in what he had asked, you licked your lips returning a smile back towards him.

“Are there any spirits present here who would like to come in contact with us right now?”

Utter silence.

Maybe this doesn’t work. Maybe these things are just for fun purposes, nothing to indicate how real these things are. It felt lowkey as a relief, because you felt yourself feel light hearted about the situation. So you asked again.

“Are there any hot spirits present here who would like to come in to contact with us right now?” You playfully joked, emitting a laugh from Jeno.

You both giggled, feeling light hearted about what is happening right now, maybe this is just a fun game to play and has nothing real about it. So why not make some jokes?

Both of you were immersed in yourselves when all of a sudden the planchette slowly shoots up the corner, YES.

You felt your heart sank, your stomach feeling physically sick. You cannot believe this is real. This actually works.

“Holy shit” you gasped in shock. So this shit really does work? Surprised at what just happened. Just not long ago you was thinking how this may just be some made up game, only to be shooked to the core.

Jeno just watched your face, as if you’re trying to dim down the effects of being terrified. Its normal for him though. However for you its not. He knows you must be feeling all sorts of ways, once like ye did too.

“Are you okay?” he questioned in concern, not knowing if is something you still wanna go ahead with.

Your pupils dilated, you cough up, “Y-yeah totally didn’t just get scared at that..!” trying to brush off acting as if it didn’t affect you. Your words are stammering as they fall out your mouth, of course your shit scared!

“I.. just.. can’t believe.. this... spirit has a praise kink!” You shouted out. If you really think about it, whoever it was only revealed themselves after you called them "hot".

Only to begin go laugh and making Jeno laugh along. Seriously, even in such situations you still somehow make light of your situations and that’s one thing Jeno really admired about you.

“You’re unbelievable” Jeno shakes his head as he chuckles at your jokes. At least in this way you can make jokes rather than giving up on this.

This is interesting you thought. Halloween night playing ouija board with a hot spirit? Like hell does that stuff really exist?

“Technically I’m right, whoever it was definitely responded because I called them hot,”

If only you knew.

You started feeling bold, wanting to find out more about who this spirit is thats decided to communicate with you both.

“What’s your name?” You asked, but this time the planchette moved rather quickly than last time, spelling the name out as you begin to read what is said.

H A E C H A N

“Haechan" You spoke up, you don’t think you’ve ever heard such a name before today. Guessing its definitely a male speaking with you right now. What you didnt notice beside you was Jeno’s eyes stayed still on the board, not blinking one bit hearing Haechans name came out of your mouth. Causing goosebumps grazing on to his skin. Things are beginning to feel real once again, feeling sickness in his stomach already.

“Have you ever heard of this name, Jeno?” Looking up to him as he breaks out of stillness, before replying, "No."

Such a liar. Even when Jeno lies, it still does not sit right with him, wondering if you’d be able to catch his bluff. But you haven’t so far, a sick feeling of relief washes past him.

You prompt another question, almost like you’ve gotten the hang of this game. So far whoever this spirit is seems friendly, it seems.

“Why are you here tonight?” You asked further, curious what made this specific spirit is seeking tonight.

Tonight was the day a deal was formed between the demon and Jeno something you’re completely unaware of. You have no idea what your getting into at all. Your innocent and curious nature yet again deceiving you.

The planchette moved, something that still sends chills to your bones, forming a response.

T O C O L L E C T

Goosebumps form as the answer shoots you completely. Things were seemingly creepier as you interrogated the spirit more. Collect what and who you thought?

You seemed to still be in shock so Jeno took over and asked. “To collect who?”

It was silent. Unlike the previous times where the spirit communicated rather quickly, this time there was nothing. No urgency of a response, making you frown.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea to do, maybe the spirit didn’t want to communicate any longer so you sighed and was just about to say to end this, only to be startled by the planchette moving itself towards the alphabets.

M Y P R E C I O U S

You both looked at one another in shock, not expecting such answer which only leaves you both confused on who this is talking about. You kept thinking of multiple scenarios of how this spirit must have had a past lover whom they’re still trying to connect and vice versa.

“Who is?”

Y O U

You felt your breath get sucked out of your body, panting on the new information. This is becoming worse as it goes on, you have no idea who even this spirit is except his name, Haechan. You look towards Jeno absolutely freaking out, “Jeno.. w-what the fuck!”

Jeno saw the way your eyes bulged out, fear written over your face. You seemed so scared and conflicted, he knew this was to come.

“Maybe he’s just flirting with you,” Jeno snapped back trying to make you laugh, only to watch you huff out. “Well that’s a sick way to be flirting!”

Sick. Everything about this was sick, he thought.

Whilst you're both speaking, not realising the planchette moves once again, catching your eyes below to read out the message its delivering.

O R D O Y O U P R E F E R M Y S L U T

Holy shit. No way did this spirit just say this stuff right now. Mouth opened wide trying to process what you have just saw. No way is this spirit really talking dirty to you right this second.

"What the fuck." You froze ahead at what's spelled out, "This is getting weird..." You sighed.

To be honest, even Jeno didn’t like what Haechan just said. Thoughts coming back thinking whether this is a good thing to do, for the demon to have you and do whatever he likes..

However Jeno has to remember what his motive really was, trying to find ways for you to still remain here. “Maybe he hasn’t had any action since,”

Only for you to roll your eyes, “Wow, I mean surely hes on the other side so what action will he be getting." Jeno literally laughs out, a part of him does loath Haechan so hearing things mocking him does make him chuckle.

Your stomach wasn't feeling great about this anymore, all of a sudden your throat began to close up, You whispered quietly, “Maybe we should stop this...”

Before you could even do anything or wrap this up, the candles suddenly leave their flames, darkness welcomes back in to the room. It’s pitch black, not an ounce of light to be seen, you felt restless with your heart accelerating, “Jeno.. I'm-im scared!.”

The silence begins to get creepy, no sound to be heard at all. Now you’re really beginning to feel the effects, not realising your eyes have slight prickly tears formed.

“Jeno..? Jeno..?”

You felt a warm hand tug on to your back, only to aggressive push you in a instant. You screamed, not realising you have fallen into the arms of someone. Face hitting their chest. Not not only is your heart racing but so is another.

Jeno turns one of the candles above his face as you slowly look up “It's me, Jeno" he reassures.

“J-Jeno something.. pushed me i-iswear-"

Jenos coos you on his arms, “I'm here."

The candle light brought out your face, Jeno in awe how you still look so beautiful, even in fear. You was always beautiful to him for sure, but today your features were shown in a different light. Teary eyes and flushed face brought out your cuteness, its kind of sick of Jeno to even see beauty within your fear. The parting of your beautiful lips trying your hardest to exhale with both of your breasts pushing upwards. Your hands tightening as you held on to Jeno’s arm, almost bruising into his skin. But he doesn’t care, his pain doesn’t exist when you’re there. Almost like a cure for him.

That push really shook your core, you perhaps think this may have been the spirit itself. But why would he do that? Matter of a fact you’ve never encountered a real life spirit. Not having any idea how one looks and quite frankly would rather wish not to know.

You stay beside Jeno inhaling his fresh scent, despite partying earlier on with the rest, he still manages to smell great. Like comfort, not overbearing. Your latched against him with his a hand making way towards your hair, giving gentle strokes. He moves you away from him with your face in contact to him, watching him with furrowed brows. His hand moves down towards your cheek, giving slow rubs.

Its the way he was paying attention to your face, like hes searching for something within you. His brows were raised with his teeth grazing his bottom lip. He looked attractive, well you’ve always found him attractive but tonight was different. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this upclose and his strong jawline carved to perfection.

“I’ll protect you” He spoke, unable to help but watch your luscious lips. You look so tempting, hes surprised how well he held off. Whenever you was around him, even giving him light grazes, he would almost flinch. But most of the times it was visits to the bathroom, taking care of his problem of getting hard, fisting his cock completely dry.

How can you claim to protect someone when you invite them to this hell, Jeno?

Your puppy eyes were stilled on Jeno’s face. Admiring his every feature you can see, so strong yet delicate. You lick your lips at the sight of him, thoughts wandering off your head, thinking how nice his lips would feel-

“Don’t do that” Jeno said sternly. You had zero idea of what you was doing to him, making him feel right this second. The way your eyelashes start fluttering with a confused look, is it possible he can read your mind?

“But I didn’t—

“it makes me want to kiss you.” He fought back, biting his lower lip with his eyes below, how managed to contain himself throughout but its seemingly impossible now. Why do you look so frightened yet pretty? How do you manage to have beauty even in darkness?

You swallowed, eyes wide as you hear Jeno’s thought. You can’t believe he would or could ever say such thoughts, you’ve never heard him say anything like this to you. But right now that’s exactly what you want, you lean closer against his body, tipping upwards with a seductive eyes, “Then kiss me.”

Jeno didn’t need to be told twice. No hesitation shows when his lips urgently collide yours. He tilts his head as he deepens the kiss inhaling every breath of yours. It felt like giving him revgererance each time he consumed you. You have no idea how desperately he wanted to do this for the longest time and now he’s finally kissing you.

Saliva begins to form below your chin with Jenk sucking it up inside, his tongue grazes all your mouth and lip. Tasting better than he thought. You took him in gladly, letting your hands roam over his soft hair continuing the kiss.

The candles were perfectly lit bringing light into the living room, the inhaling through your nose as it burns away. A chair is placed right beside you both in which you struck Jeno down below and reach above him. He was a taken back from the gesture, eyes wide but dived into you further when you sat below his lap.

You struct back and forth against his pants already feeling his hard on. It excited you to know how hard he’s already become for you, such an easy puppy. He saw the way you moved backwards, rushing to whatever your going for as he snaps you out of it.

"Trying to cum on my pants?” He huffed out, almost making you stop with his strong hands around you, watching the desperation from your eyes wanting more.

“Yes.” Answering immediately, you’re shameless but you love the feel and its exactly what you want.

“Are you always this desperate?” He bucks his hips further up, hitting his hard on against your sensitive clit. Making your mouth part in pleasure.

“No..” You lied, not used to seeing this side of Jeno. From what you knew, Jeno was mostly reserved, the nice boy. But today he’s different. You didnt think he’d have it in him but right now he convinced you otherwise.

“No?” He questioned, moving his mouth lower towards your neck planting a few kisses, making you curl. He brings your palm below, touching his erection directly, “Do you feel that?” He whispers.

“Fuck” “I—” Moans eclict from you at the contact of his length, the material brushing your hand with roughness. His pupils dilated watching you become so dumb for him, his hand holding yours below his length moving you slowly, “This is all your fault, you know that right?”

You’ve never felt so helpless, wanting to rip out his clothes and let him do you right then and there. You’re throbbing underneath him and you’d do anything to feel your release, “Why.. is it?” You fought back, wanting to play along with him.

He chuckles as he bites his lower lip, enough to pull blood, “Who told you to look so pretty? Do you know the amount of times I’ve fisted my cock because of you? Got me so hard?

Shocked was an understatement. You’ve never thought of Jeno doing anything like this. He gets off about you? Since when? Why haven’t you been made aware of this? Why haven’t any of your friends mentioned this? This is complete news to you.

He saw the way your cheeks blushed, your brows were furrowed in confusion and carried on, “The times you came near me and I backed away? The times I had to always run off to the bathroom? Fuck I was so scared of you finding out, biting my lip so hard so you don’t end up hearing me..”

Now all you could picture is the times you remembered him running off never thinking twice why. Picturing how he’d lean against the shower with the water gliding down, a hand on his erection as he pumps himself. Fuck. So hot.

You felt so needy, rustling yourself on him as you let him speak more about what he does when he’s alone. You wanted to play along, teasingly, “That’s not right to do.”

Jeno immediately stops you from trying to reach your climax, “And you? Fucking your cunt on my thigh whilst hearing the things I’ve done is?” You bite your lip as a moan escapes your mouth, letting him put you in your place. Your thighs ache as your body jolts with the

“Jeno I had no idea..” Finally speaking out, only for Jeno to pull you closer to him with your hands held on his shoulders. He looks up with hopeful eyes, “Of course you didn’t.” He smiles until it slightly drops making you feel some way, “You’ve never noticed me.”

You saw the way his light eyes suddenly dimmed down towards the end, a drastic change of reaction. You genuinely never noticed his behaviours until now, maybe because you never felt the need to. He was a friend, after all.

Well you’ve fucked friends before and its nothing you take seriously, he could have asked you if he really just wanted that you thought.

You gasped as you break out of thought when he suddenly lifts you up from him, feeling a loss of contact with his erection. Picking you up with the dimly light ahead, leading you inside his bedroom. Your eyes open as your placed beneath the bed, coldness hitting your back as you lay down.

Jeno crawled over you, breath fanning over before he kisses into your lips once again. He loves how soft you feel. His hands reaching below as removes each piece of clothing off. Cupping your breasts before he sinks lower and inserts one towars his mouth. You immediately falter, loving the way he sucks on your nipples.

He doesn’t stop kissing your body, letting himself consume every inch of you. You smell divine, it drives him crazy how he’s finally gotten you. He’s happy because he can finally feel you, let him touch you in places he’s only imagined whilst in the bathrooms. Perfect may not exist but for Jeno you do. He reaches lower with his eyes up, drawing his tongue below your abdomen to thighs.

You eclict moans right away, hitting the sensitive spot. He loves making you feel good. You deserve to always feel pleasure. And he will be always ready to deliver. Slowly tearing down your skirt below you knees, as expected to see you full of wetness.

Diving in deep with a swirl of his tongue, hitting you out of nowhere. You reached for his hair as you tugged with the pleasure, “Wetter than my dreams.” He states in awe at the sight ahead of him.

He reached up planting kisses before he connects his lips against yours. Sometbing he can’t keep himself to not do. Always wondering how your lips must feel, soft. It feels good to have you against him, allowing him to do whatever. Jeno felt so happy. For once, his dreams were becoming a reality. For once, he’s finally gotten you, or will that reality hit him like a dream once again..

“Jeno hyung"

A sweet voice was called out from behind, near the door of the bedroom. Jeno’s eyes snapped back, back to reality. The moments he had shared almost forgetting what the truth of reality was. A nightmare living in a dream. His happiness lasted briefly, eyes bulged out in terror.

You’ve possibly never seen a reaction as such before. Jeno turned almost pale, his eyes widen with darkness but a tint of fear behind. He stopped moving, freezing in time. His hand wasn’t touching anymore, it stilled. You’re absolutely deprived and have been edged for too long, trying to bring your hand up to Jeno’s face. Only for him to snap backwards, completely ignoring you.

You tried to call him out but avail. Something snapped to him ever since someone called him out, only to realise there was also another person present in the room. That sent shivers to your bones, watching ahead in fear. Jeno walks towards the door but stops mid way.

The lighting was dim enough in the room, but whatever was standing near the door blossomed with light. From your angle, you could only watch and notice the bright light entering inside closer and closer.

It appeared closer as you squinted your eyes, however frozen when you see the sight ahead. An alluring red headed beauty, sun kissed skin that beams with light. He almost looked like an angel had you not seen the small horns from the corners of his scalp. A fallen angel, perhaps.

He approached closer to Jeno, lifting his hand as it grazed along his cheek watching him in adoration and glinted eyes, “I’ve missed you, hyung.” Jeno watches in shock, it’s finally hitting him how real this is. The touch felt so familiar with him, something he’s not felt in years as he puts his hand above the demons.

“Haechan..” He breathed slowly, someone who was always with him. Someone who he had shared his moments with, his loneliness with. He grew attachment to him and till this moment, too.

Haechan walked closer as his nose scents Jeno’s neck, before gripping it with his hand and pulling himself near his ears with a whisper, “I told you you could never escape me..” He smirks.

Haechans breath fans all around Jeno’s neck, causing his neediness to rupture. It was always a sensitive spot for Jeno, receiving small sigh from his mouth.

You gulped nervously, did you just hear Jeno call out to Haechan? The same one who you played the Ouija Board with? How is this possible? How does Jeno know him? Millions of questions arise in your mind, mind boggled. Your heart begins to accerlate as each second passes, gripping on the sheet harshly as a safety net.

You felt silenced. Not a word formed in your mouth. Just watching the sight ahead, you lated still waiting to see what happens next.

Haechan’s tongue made presence as it shifted towards Jeno’s ear, slowly moving below to his neck. Jeno moaned quietly as the boy felt pleasure, cock hardening as he swirls away. His nose above his ear before tugging his hair back, “So easy and receptive to my touch hyung, you must have missed me quite a bit.” He boasts.

Jeno immediately rushes his lips against Haechan’s, though his kiss was driven more from his earlier events and the demon itself. He felt more alive as the kiss deepens, the only time Jeno feels out of the ordinary. A sense of comfort that only he has for himself, a feeling like no other to be known. Jeno takes in more and more, sucking the demons tongue like thirst.

Haechan pushes himself hard, throwing his hand below the shaft, forming moans through the mouth. Jeno hissed, throwing his head back as his eyes rolled, letting the demon take control over his body. You watched in complete awe on how receptive Jenos falls in Haechan’s hands.

You should be petrified, you are. But the way your legs have been spread out, left lonely because of Jeno makes you feel needy. The redrawl of touch hits you hard. A scene that should make you run for the hills, but what do you do instead?

Bringing a hand on your aching thighs, dragging it down slowly to gain some sort of touch. The hand moves it’s placement from your ankle, towards your abdomen, causing slight shivers to your body. Biting your lip to not make any sounds, the finger ascends above your breasts, cupping before you massage them.

Jeno’s groans feel like music to your ears and a favourite to the Demon. He walks backwards slowly as Haechan continues his pleasure, nearing towards you. However that doesn’t make you stop, you're absolutely needy. The hand cups your breast before you pinch your nipples, swallowing your moans away.

Your finger slowly makes way down, every touch accelerates your reaction. You can see not only Jeno but the sight of the beautiful demon. Wondering how easy you can fall in to his touch, imagining his fingers running down towards your area. You’re incredibly wet, your fingers moving upwards and down before it stops at your swollen clit.

Mouth parting at the sensitivity down below, you know with one touch you’d literally come. You furrow your brows, lifting your head up to see the sight ahead. You cannot contain yourself much longer, before you begin to rub furiously below.

Small moans erupt from your mouth, breathing accelerates as you move. Hot sweats break out against your skin rushing for climax. You continue, only to stop in almost shock at what you see. The demon kisses Jeno’s ears as he opens his eyes at the sight of your arousal.

You immediately froze. Like someone snatched your breath away. There was fear behind your eyes showing evidently to the demon as he curled a smirk on his face. Your heart was pounding feeling like you got caught. Caught in something wrong.

Your fingers almost vibrate with the throbbing below indicating how close you are. For some reason you just couldn’t move your fingers at all. The shock of seeing Haechan catching you literally get yourself off from them makes you feel ashamed. But, don’t the wrong things feel so good?

Remaining eye contact with the demon ahead as he continues rubbing Jeno, you slowly begin to thrust up. It was subtle at first, but Haechan knows you way too well. The fact that you tried to act innocent by stopping with your fingers, yet you start thrusting yourself against your fingers. You begin to bite your lips, letting the demon watch the way your toes begin to curl. The arrival of the release occurs with your eyes rolling back, legs shivering until you can take the achehis before you drop below the bed.

You don’t realise eyes have always been on you. Haechan whispers to Jeno before stopping abruptly, making their way towards the bed. You laid with wetness as it continues to slip on the bed, eyes closed before you open your eyes once again.

“My angel,” He mutters, watching you as you felt exposed within his gaze. The petname immediately made you flush, hoping you aren’t caught once again. “Is this my angel, tonight?” He questions as he eyed Jeno.

Jeno felt nervous before he spoke up, “Yes.”

He didn’t know what to say to you. He didn’t know how your reaction is to see him this way, with a demon alongside. Jeno wants to say so much but so little comes out, knowing you’re shaken by this. Do you hate him? Are you angry? He doesn’t know because your face doesn’t indicate anything at all.

Your eyes are stilled on Jeno, a million questions on your mind but you can’t think. You can’t think when all you want is to feel a touch from them desperately.

“Jeno always had a thing for pretty things,” His hand travelling to your ankles with light strokes, yet you feel electricity running through as you gasp at the sudden movement. “And I have a thing to ruin them completely..” His fingers almost grazing towards your upper thigh before he widens your legs.

You shudder with soreness, exposed at what you’ve been hiding all this time as you softly moaned. Jeno immediately feels his cock harden at the sight of your open legs before Haechan speaks up, “Spread your legs open."

And you did exactly that despite of the burning you felt keeping still. Thinking you’d be receiving some sort of action, but no. Haechan immediately turns to Jeno before putting his mouth back on his once again. This time increasingly faster and rough as they kiss.

Feeling absolutely ignored, you try to close your legs until Haechan eyes loom over yours, “I said keep them open.”

The throbbing immediately begins, wanting to close your legs but remembering you can’t. So you stay still, suffering as you watch them swallow each another. You wanted to get touched, to feel anything at this point. That’s until Haechan backed away, averting his eyes to your sullen face before he looks at Jeno.

“Open your mouth.” He demands.

Jeno does without hesitation, as the demon connects himself against him before he released himself, spitting in his formed saliva into the mouth of Jeno’s. You almost drooled at what you saw, Jeno mouth dripping with his own saliva alongside Haechan’s, reaching just below his chin.

He looks up to Haechan before he moved away from him, mouth being full before entering his liquids inside.

Your legs wide, aching in pain before you see the demon bring Jeno near you before he draws out, “Spit in her sinful pussy.” He demands. You suddenly gasp at how cold it felt as the fluid travels down towards your throbbing hole, making a trail down your thigh.

You felt exposed how they watched in awe at your hole before the demon instructed Jeno next, “Brim her full of my spit, shove your fingers inside.” Jeno doesn’t hesitate at all, his long fingers already making way and fucking inside of your cunt rapidly, forcing the wetness to be shoved all the way in.

“Fuck Jeno,” You gasped at the harshness of his fingers inside. He showed zero mercy on you and fasten as he kept going, leaving you gasping each second. Jeno loved how pretty you looked, breathless and teary all for him and he wanted to see you being a wreck.

You almost forget that you have another visitor, a hand roams around your body heightening the experience further. Your eyes are shut, breathing deeply as you feel Jeno hitting your spot. Eyes opening slowly as a tongue is felt beneath you, swallowing you as it stays between your breasts.

The pleasure feels surreal, all at once hitting you everywhere. Your nipples have hardened, goosebumps forming on your skin before you slowly opened your eyes, seeing Haechan remaining eye contact whilst he sucks on to your breasts before biting with his sharp teeth, electing pain from your mouth.

You don’t even realise how close you are until streams of tears reach below your chest, feeling overstimiulated from the pleasure from both. The demon already looms above you without you noticing watching his prey looking wrecked and beautiful.

Looking prettier as ever, Haechan almost is convinced you're an angel. How can one look so gorgeous as they cry out? Your cheeks are flushed, lips plump red and skin heated as you felt the breath fanning over your face like breeze, cooling you from the heat.

Jeno loves the way you taste, loving how he gets to be underneath you and suck in your wetness when he dives deeply. His mouth finds contact to your clit and flicks it furiously to make you cum.

Your hand tugs below, tears streaming down your face before Haechan brings his tongue out and licks them away. You felt the cold shiver as he continues his lick when every droplet falls, dark eyes watching you falter completely in his hold. You looked so helpless, as your face scrunched up.

He knows you're wrecked and can sense your nearing just before he shoves Jeno’s face down all the way inside of your cunt, “That’s it, give the boy a treat.” Jeno struggled but still maintained his hands against your skin, tugging into you deeply . He was so excited to have you finish all inside of his mouth, groaning along your cunt.

“I’m going to c-cum—”

Your cut off immediately when Haechan latches his mouth against yours, sucking in every moan your mouth can make. He kisses you so raw, a little different to Jeno. It felt animalistic. He wanted every bit of you, inch, sound of you. Feeling almost selfish, wanting you to consume your moans only to him.

Jeno felt the withdrawal of the hand when he peeks up, coated full of your wetness witnessing the demon and you indulging with each another. He felt his heart sinking a little before remembering he’s the reason why he’s able to even feel you, perhaps even inside of you.

He grew needier as he palms his cock out, giving it a few rubs as he watches you both. “Wanna fuck you.” He meekly speaks, “Wanna feel your warm pussy.”

You look up to see Jeno fisting his cock, looking sensitive as ever. It’s exactly how you pictured him doing you in the bathroom, his arms showcasing his veins as he kept pumping with a bite on his lip. You spread yourself open, the urge to feel a cock inside. He smiles, can’t contain himself parting your thighs open while he enters inside with

It catches you off guard as you scream at his intrusion, his huge cock slowly making its way known inside. His eyes remained stilled on yours, softening as he moved up towards you before kissing in to your neck. You’re melting under his touch, his cock hitting you rather gentle.

Haechan is under watching Jeno’s cock go in and out before he scoffs, “I see you don’t know Angel as well as you thought.” Causing a frown on Jeno’s face at what the demon said.

Annoyed, Jeno mutters, “Shut up.”

He continues to kiss your body away, his lips stilled on your abdomen as he continues thrusting inside. You have no idea what the demon and him are exchanging, you just want to feel pleasure.

The demon loves how worked up Jeno’s becoming, only to tease him further. “Come on, fuck her like you mean it.” He teases, continuing his pace before he slows down completely, “Show her how much you like her.”

The last sentence hit Jeno like a bus. Eyes widening at the statement said, you was never meant to know that and he can’t believe Haechan just exposed him about it. He looks over to you in embarrassment, taking his eyes away before you call out his name.

You was surprised hearing this information come out. Watching how immediately Jeno stopped reacting, almost making himself look small. Youve fucked with friends before, no feelings involved whatsoever, so is this true? Does Jeno possibly have feelings for you?

Your eyes widen, “You like me?”

Jeno forms no response, but seeing how you look so wrecked yet cute makes his heart falter even more. The heat rushes towards his face not realising how apparent his answer is towards you.

‘’Aw.” The demon cooed as he watched. “Look how red your face is. “Did I make you go soft inside her?” He chuckled evily as he pokes a tongue against his cheek.

“Fuck you.” Jeno shouts back.

His pace changes quickly, the cock thrusting deeply inside of your walls as he pushes himself further. You feel your eyelids flutter once he goes inside and out. Almost feeling his cock stretching your pussy all out.

The demon wears a smug face on, annoying Jeno thus more. His hand reaches Jeno’s thigh, just for him to throw it back away.

“You wanna be a fucking brat?” He grits out, watching Haechan under him with thirst before he removes the cock from your hole and inserts directly into the demons mouth.

Abusing Haechan’s mouth as he continues ramming inside, the smile still remains in his eyes whilst he chokes himself on it. It’s definitely been a while since he’s had Jeno inside of him and he loved how he can get under his skin so easily.

Haechan licks and sucks him all over as he kneeled below. Jeno puts his hand above Haechan’s before he pushes him further down on his cock, making him swallow. But Haechan coughs up, trying to breath only for Jeno to keep his hand on him firm.

“Didn’t you want my cock? Come on take it all.”

The dynamic between the two wasn’t something you expected. They both can overpower each other yet fall into each others touch so easily. To know Jeno has this side already drove you nuts, your hand reaching your area to relieve yourself from the loss cock.

You felt so turned on just before Jeno throws your hand away from yourself, eyes darken towards you, “You’re not cumming through your hands, you’re cumming on my cock.” He commanded. Lifting his cock out of Haechan’s mouth and pushed it all the way up inside your cunt.

The demon smirked as he licked off the remaining wetness off him, now diverting his attention towards you.

You throbbed hearing him, eyes rolling back, you felt so wet under that you almost can’t even feel a cock. It just felt like a gush of wetness that slides all over hitting the perfect spot. You’re happy he changed his pace because this is exactly what you wanted. To be wrecked.

He delivered brutal thrusts, pining your arms down to the sides as he pushed himself more and more into you. Tears filling your eyes at being over stimulated, Jeno’s cock hits on the spot, already shuddering from it.

“You take me in so good, fuck—” Jeno groans, loving the feel of your cunt sucking up all up. Youre throbbing against him and he knows your about to climax any second. “Wanna cum with you too, hold on will you?” He asks nicely, his forehead connecting yours before he kisses. You nodded biting your lips harder than ever.

Jeno looked so concentrated, so sexy. You held off your climax just to see him use your hole as he could. His face is against your neck, groaning in pain. A sign of him cumming, you hold on to him and let yourself move to feel the same way too.

“Fuck fuck fuck—” He groans, letting his release spill inside of you as you did too. The gush was a lot mixing along yours, eyes turning as your nails dug into his skin. Your leg were still shaking with the orgasm passing along your whole body.

He lifts off from you as you stay laying, until the demon turns you around. Your ass was planted with a kiss, jolting at the touch as your still sensitive.

He spread your legs wide once again, cheeks on display before smacking your lips in between. “Fuck, pervert.” You screeched aloud. You noticed the demon had a thing for you being spread out entirely, only to make him chuckle.

He placed his lips as he puts a kiss, trying to soothe you. “You humans fascinate me, you know?” Quirking a brow from behind, his hand slowly moving towards your core.

Already faltering to the demons touch as you whimper, “Why?”

His hand stretches you more, allowing better access before he shoves his fingers inside. Jolting in an instant, it feels sore yet pleasurable. As he takes them out and continues to move around over your clit.

“So needy for me already,” He rasps, allowing his hand to get coated along your wetness. “One touch and you’re already faltering.” He smirks behind you. Even a singular touch from him causes you to react so fast.

He removes his hand suddenly depriving you off his touch, making you frown as you look back.

Only to see something you’ve never seen before. A cock this huge, you’re sure he’d rip you to shreds. You begin to wonder how it’ll feel, how deep it can get inside of you.

“Scared?” Haechan teases back, a smirk written across his face. He seemed so full of himself you thought, but it only made you like him more. He knows how well you try and hide how you feel, only for you to shrug it off.

The ache between your legs expands, as you wiggle yourself behind his cock. You can already feel the texture, smoother than you imagined. Moving around emitting groans from the demon.

“Such a tease, Angel.” The demon groans biting his bottom lip sounding almost melodic. He let your body smother his cock all around. Despite it not even being inside you yet, your body heat was raised. Even more when you decide to reach lower allowing the cock to slide against your wet core.

“F-Feels so.. nice" You winched. This time you tried to even be daring and tried to grab his length, only to get your hand thrown away. Making you annoyed.

“Did I tell you to touch me, slut?” Haechan spoke offended. A pout forms while you still wiggle around him, begging to feel something more.

Your core was dripping in wetness, something the demon was always awed to see. Humans were different from his kind, almost stupid he thinks. The biggest weakness about them was controlling their temptations, a failure that they adhered and especially you.

“This is what a good human slut need” He rasps, his hands placed on your hips, gliding his cock just above your pussy, teasingly moving back and forth as if he’s already fucking you. Instantly feeling stimulated with this way.

“Look at it angel,” He motions your head down just enough for you to see the small gap between your thighs. You watch how his cock manages to slide through it, feeling every vein as it pulses through you.

It felt so good, like hes fucking you for real. Haechan begins to increase his speed each time he thrusts forward, hitting your ass and core. You both were moaning, little groans from his mouth as he continued to fuck into you in this position.

“Fuckk—I—"

He loves seeing humans break. Be at their absolute wrecked state. No thoughts in mind, just craving pleasure. Just allowing demons to use their bodies for their gratitiftaction.

You looked so flushed, legs unstable as he holds on tight. His cock constantly brushing along your pussy folds, ravaging through. Feeling your pussy already clenching on him as he moves.

“Angel" He mutters, kissing your back with his lips causing you to jolt. “I haven’t even fucked you yet. Want demon cock that bad?” He says mockingly.

“Yes, please m-more—”

And before you can even react, his cock savagely makes it way from behind, emitting a scream from your mouth as it parts away.

“Omg..” It felt so different to normal. As each thrust comes, feeling it grow more and more inside yourself. Haechan bucks himself up, hands tugging on your arms as they stay behind, “You can take it.” He cooed.

And you could. You felt yourself relax more into it as he continued. He begins snapping his hips against you, balls smacking on to your swollen sweaty thighs at every thrust given.

His hand makes way to your breasts, cupping fully then flicking them around, “See these tits? So hard and swollen.” He then stops his hand just below your core, before he slaps harshly. “This pussy you kept touching because you felt neglected.” He smirks, knowing you all to well with the shenanigans you did earlier.

You moaned in pain, feeling the sting below before he soothes it with his palms and rubs. Feeling exposed within his hold, you knew that he was watching you before and you purposely allowed him too.

“I just—” You mumbled.

“You just love attention baby,” He chuckled, kissing your neck as he reaches towards your ears. “Human slut can’t take not having any attention, can you? Need to always get touched, fucked on don't you?”

The hand leaves and reaches your neck, tightening after every thrust. “See why I love humans, my pretty slut?” He whispered sensually in your ears, ticking you as he speaks. Hearing the demon call you that just made you feel heated below, clenching around his cock.

He brings you closer against him, hands roaming all over your swollen breasts and body, travelling towards your cunt. “Because you’d always allow us demons to take what we can from you.” He smirks.

Haechan rolls his hips before he becomes rough, knocking you out of breath, “Made to be used.” His cock was fucking you all up, physically and mindlessly. You couldn’t think straight nor stand without falling, his grip on you was solid.

Taking any pent up tension he had for you, rocking your world. Your legs tremble in his hold, your mind felt hazy as he rams harshly. “This cunt is mine” with his hands rubbing above your clit, increasing speed all of a sudden as you wither with cries.

“Hae-chan.. can’t, fuck—” You cried out, your legs are shivering out of control. His hand doesn’t stop moving around your clit, rubbing it even more just to see you look like a pretty wreck.

You try to move yourself away from him from the overstimulation only for him to grab on to your arm with force, pushing you back against him. His grip tightening on your flesh so you don’t run off him.

“Best fucking human pussy’’ He praises, causing a gush inside of you immediately. Hands spreading around your thighs to open you more, watching the way his cock hammers inside you, "Made for demon cock.”

Your core begins to pulsate at his praises, moans becoming high pitched as they mixed in with his loud growls. He knows he’s nearing his climax so he makes sure you are spread wide apart, holding onto one leg of yours before he fucks in to you further deeply.

You can almost feel the knot inside of your stomach, his cock was piercing through hitting be spot perfectly, “Gonna... cum” You barely managed to wince out. Haechan can already feel you clenching on him, in awe of your pretty pussy pulsating with his cock.

Your body begins to feel tense, shuddering all along as your eyes closed. The stimulation rid all over your body, toes curled up as it hits you in an instant. Your moans were so loud but its what kept the demon going more, watching your hole drip out cum just before he ruts it further in you.

“Human slut wants my cum, hm? Fill you up good? Your eyes looked back him mercifully before you plead. “Please, fuck, want your cum—” whining as his cock pushes further in your walls, just before his movements turn almost sloppy nearing his release. His hips moves just a little bit more before his cum spurts inside of you completely full.

He turns you over as you face him, picking you up before you squealed. Moving his cock roughly in as some of his cum spills down, with some stuffing you all up inside. His growls become softer with a final release, filling you up. You felt the familiar warmth below, just before he rewards you with a passionate kiss.

_________________________________________

You're already knocked out completely, sleeping rather peacefully on the bed. Jeno had cleaned you all up just before he put you to sleep. Words coming out rather slurred as you tried to communicate with him before your eyes closed.

He knew he’d have to see you the next day and explain himself. Something that scares him completely. Would you see him differently? But all he can do is sigh, feeling glad that the deal finally ended. Haechan got what he wanted and in the same way sick way, so did Jeno. But why does he feel this uneasiness in his heart yet? It didn’t feel right.

But did it really end? A voice in his head speaks quietly until it becomes louder and clearer, whether it was his imagination or a message he doesn't know. But he froze completely after hearing it come closer, “You’ve never said goodbye, Jeno...”

#jeno smut #haechan smut #nct smut #kpop smut #nct dream smut #jeno scenarios #nct drabbles #tw: dubcon #haechan imagines #jeno imagines #lee jeno smut #kpop fics #mxm

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cb97breathing · 10 months

Text

SHATTERED

Pairing: Afab! Reader x Minho

Theme: Angst

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Please do not repost or translate my work! Let me know if you wish to be on the tagged list.

Not one call, not one text, nothing and today of all days. A day that was important to you. This wasn't the first time that Minho had done this, and of course with his job he was extremely busy. You tried your best not to let it get to you and be understanding. The life of an idol wasn’t easy. But neither was the life of a normal person dating an idol. But he knew how important today was for you and it was getting very late. The other boys made sure to send you messages. Hell Chan even called you. But from the man who claims he loves you more than anything? You got nothing and it hurt you.

So here you were at the studio, wanting to at least get to see him and hear his voice. Maybe once he saw you he’d realize what today was and apologize. But when you walked into the dance studio he ignored your existence.

“Hey!” Hyunjin rushed over to you with a big smile as you entered. “I didn’t think you’d be coming here!” You smiled as he pulled you into a hug. The rest of the boys greeted you happy and asked you if you liked everything they all sent you to celebrate today and of course you did. You looked over at Minho sadly and the boys watched as you slowly approached him.

“Baby?” You called out softly as you watched him dance. He stopped and looked over to you and his brows furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. There was no sign of recognition on him, only annoyance at your presence. You felt your heart drop and you did your best to smile.

“I just wanted to see you and maybe talk for a little.” You said quietly as you went to grab his hand. He yanked his hand away and glared at you making you stare at him with wide eyes.

“I’m busy. You know not to bother me when I have to practice. Especially with the comeback hitting in a few days.” He hissed. Your heart shattered at how aggressive he’s being.

“Minho I—“

“I said I’m busy! God how annoying can you be right now!” He screamed at you. You stared at him in shock. Your body trembled as you felt tears swell in your eyes. The boys were staring at him in anger and shock as well. You bit your lip to stop it from trembling and looked down.

“I’m sorry I bothered you. I-I’ll go.” You whispered. You turned and rushed out the door ignoring all the protests and calls from the boys as you slammed the door shut. You rushed out of the building trying to keep yourself composed, not wanting to cause a scene at his place of work. But when you finally got out, it started to pour. You choked on a sob and buried your face in your hands. How could the man who loved you treat you in such a way? Today of all days. You had to get away from the building and fast before he came out after you.

“You fucking pabo!” Jisung screamed at him. Minho looked at him with a raised brow. Jisung never screamed at him. Never. “Do you realize what today is!?! It’s her fucking thirtieth birthday! You knew how important today was for her and this is how you treat her!?! Are you fucking insane?!”

Minho’s angered demeanor quickly changed into one of fear and regret. No, that wasn't today. How could he have forgotten that? He pulled out his phone and his face drained of all color when he saw the date. He saw all the texts and calls from you and he felt himself growing more and more nauseous by the second. He moved to rush after her but Chan stopped him.

“Oh no. You are giving her space right now. You’re only going to make things worse. Stay.” He said sternly. Minho shook his head and bolted past all of them rushing to find you but you were already gone. He kicked the hall and cried out in frustration before sinking to the floor.

He knew he screwed up and screwed up badly. You were always insecure about yourself. Your weight, your looks but you were always mostly insecure about your age. Even though you were older than him, it never once bothered him but today was the biggest day for you and he just ruined it all.

He tried calling you over and over only to be sent straight to voicemail. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Chan.

“I need to go.” He begged. “Please let me go after her. I can’t lose her Chan. I can’t.” Chan squeezed his shoulder and nodded before helping him up.

“You better get down on your knees and beg Minho. She’s been struggling with you not being around as it is.” Minho nodded and rushed out of the building. But when he got to the apartment you both lived in together the lights were off and there was no sign of you. Your part of the closet had been emptied.

“No.” He choked out. “No no no!” He cried as he continued to search for you. But when he got to the kitchen what he saw shattered his heart. On the kitchen table was a ring, but not just any ring. It was the promise ring he gave you on your birthday the year before. The one he promised would eventually be replaced by an engagement ring.

He picked it up as tears flew down his cheeks. He quickly took out his phone and dialed Chan. His lips trembling as he struggled to keep in the sobs. Chan immediately answered but when he heard Minho crying he knew immediately what had happened.

“Hyung she’s gone. She’s gone.”

Tears flew down your cheeks as you sat in the taxi, taking you far away from your home, far away from him. You may have acted a little dramatically, but at this point you didn't care. You were hurt, you were heartbroken and you were sick of being brushed to the side. Even though most of the time you knew it wasn't his fault, there was no excuse this time. This was all him and if he wanted your forgiveness he was going to have to earn it. Right now you needed space, you needed to get away. You needed time to think without him being there. Because you knew the second he looked at you with his soft pleading eyes any strength you'd have would be gone and you'd be in his arms.

You ended up at your friends apartment and they gladly took you in, they helped you bring all your things in and set your stuff up in the spare room and held you while you cried your heart out. You didn't dare look at your phone, you knew all it would be is calls and texts from the boys and from him. For the next week you never really left the bedroom, you cried yourself to sleep almost every night and you barely ate. You friend was worried and had reached out to Chan to let him know you were there and what was happening. What she didn't expect was for Chan to tell Minho.

"She doesn't want to see you." You heard your friend his as you began to wake up.

"Please." You heart stopped at the sound of his voice. "I need to see her, please." He begged. You slowly rose up from your bed and opened the bedroom door. You looked out to see your friend blocking the entrance as Minho stood in the door way. When his eyes locked with you your heart shattered all over again, he looked just as broken and unwell as you. His hair was a mess, his tan skin pale, he looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all.

"Kitten." He choked out. You let out a shaky breath as tears flew down your cheeks. "Kitten please I am so sorry. There are no words to express how sorry I am. I will do everything in my power to make it right, but please come home." He begged. "Come back to me please."

"No." You said quietly and you could see his his heart shatter in front of you. "Leave Minho. Don't ever come here again." You went back to go into the bedroom but before you could you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around you and pull you close. You struggled in his grip as tears flew down your cheeks. "Let go." You choked out. "Let me go."

"Never. I can't lose you jagiya." He choked out as he buried his face in your neck. "I love you. I love you more than anything. I know what I did is wrong, but please give me a chance to show you I will never hurt you again. Please." He begged. "You're the sun to my moon, without you I am nothing. Come home."

"I need time Min." You whimpered. "Please just give me that. Give me more time." Minho nodded and turned you around to face him.

"Okay." He whispered as his eyes looked into yours. "When you're ready, I'll come back." He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a slow and deep kiss. You did your best not to give in and thankfully he pulled away before you could. "I love you Kitten." He whispered and with that he left.

You stood there for a while staring at the spot where he was stood, you gripped couch beside you as you tried to keep yourself from collapsing. You wanted to go home, you wanted to so badly. You wanted to be in bed, with him, laying in his arms as he held you tight. But you knew that he had to prove to you that he wouldn't hurt you again. Until then, you had to be strong and stay away from him and when you were ready you'd decide whether it was best to come home.

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teddyeyeseddie · 9 months

Text

The Cherrywood Motel

The Man With the Axe

rockstar!Eddie x housekeeper!reader

masterlist

(a/n: lots going on here, I am so sorry. do we hate eddie or do we hate eddie?:( )

warnings: angst, eddie is a player, drugs, alcohol, a sexual encounter, general rockstar lifestyle

tags: @yunnie-f1 @nope-thanks @meganwinchester -@daisyridleyyyy @ostricx - @aysheashea @emilyshortcake @ostricx@bebe07011 @miss-celestial-being @bblunuh @dandelionnfluff @bibieddiesgf @erisdogwood @emxxblog @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

now playing:

Days passed with little sign of Eddie. He locked himself away and barely peaked his head out of the room, only doing so for the odd pizza delivery. If he was honest with himself, he was wallowing.

He wasn't used to having to chase, most women simply falling in his lap at the snap of his fingers. He wasn’t used to having to prove himself to be worthy. But, to be fair all the women he had in his bed were gone by the next day, the night long forgotten as well as their names.

He knew you weren’t like that, he knew he had his work cut out for him. The drugs, money and fame didn’t impress you the way it impressed people from LA, desperate for any taste of Eddie’s lifestyle. He was always happy to oblige, gifting friends goodie bags of drugs at his parties and even going as far to have a dealer on hand at any and all times when he was back home.

He lived for a party, lived to be in the fast lane. He rode it without his seatbelt on, not fearing the inevitable crash and burn that would launch him into a life of loneliness.

So, that's where he has spent his last few days. He was either coked out, high on pills or smoking weed. Not to mention the excessive drinking that came with the pity party he was throwing himself, fueled by self loathing.

He picks up the rolled bill from the end table, running it through his line as he makes sure to pick up all the remnants with the now crumpled hundred. He groans and throws his head back once he is done, smiling widely when he catches a glance of himself in the mirror, trying to create the face of someone who is actually happy.

He walks towards the mirror, studying his face as he gets closer. He winces when he notices the bags that have formed under his eyes. There is dried puke in his hair from the endless cycle of drinking and hangovers. Hair of the dog, he would tell himself.

He doesn’t recognize who he is, the bright eyed young rock star now aged by endless nights of partying. Sure, he was still as handsome as ever but the festivities he took part in took a toll on his body.

He decides a shower would do him good. He backs away from the bathroom mirror, turning towards the shower in order to turn it on. He lets it warm up for a minute before stepping out of his pajama pants and boxers. He jumps in, letting the water soothe the ache that has settled low in his bones.

He gets out of the shower when he hears commotion coming from outside. He turns off the water, grabbing a towel before quickly drying himself off and slipping back into his pajama pants sans boxers.

He was in a rush to see who was causing all the ruckus, his hair was still dripping wet, droplets of water painting the expanse of his chest and back.

He's shocked to see you standing there, tears in your eyes as a man screams at you.

“I don't care what happened, you are going to buy me a new suit out of your little paycheck and I’m not taking no for an answer,” a man with silver hair screams, he is towering over you, veins popping out in his neck as he becomes more and more irate.

“Hey, hey, hey big man, no need to yell at the girl,”

“She poured bleach all over my suit,”

“Sir, you ran right into me, I tried getting out of the way,”

“I do not want to hear it, I’ll leave my information at the front desk. I expect a replacement by the time I finish my stay,” the man bites, turning towards Eddie who is now towering over him.

“Think you shoulda kept your head up champ,” Eddie retorts, a smirk playing on his face as he crosses his arms over his bare chest, the cool October breeze causing his hair to stand on end.

“Who are you and why are you even inserting yourself into this?” The man squares his shoulders, looking Eddie up and down.

“Kinda concerns me, you’re raggin’ on my sweets,” Eddie shoves the guy with each word, backing him up against a motel room door. He grabs a fistfull of the man’s shirt, his other hand coming to grab his jaw and force him to look at him.

“You’re gonna go about your business now aren’t you?” Eddie’s hand now moves from his jaw to his throat, successfully pinning him against the door.

“Hey! What’s all this?” A man shouts from behind Eddie. He curses to himself when he turns around, a policeman coming over to see what the problem was between the two men.

Eddie ends up in the back of a patrol car, no boxers on and no one to call.

His eyes plead with yours as the cruiser drives away, silently begging you to help him.

You push into the precinct 2 hours later, having to finish your shift before you could go and pick up Eddie. You’d drained your savings knowing it would probably cost a pretty penny to bail him out. You stroll up to the counter, asking for Eddie as you pick at the torn edge of the envelope you’d stuffed the money in.

“Hey sweets, knew you’d come for me,” a voice comes from behind you. You turn to see Eddie waiting for you, a tight t-shirt now adorning his formerly bare torso.

“Like my new digs? Apparently I’m the best junior officer around!” he chuckles and points at the writing on the chest of the shirt.

You hold your tongue when you walk towards him, simply walking past him and out the door. He follows, your silence making his skin crawl. He quietly gets into the passenger seat of your car, his hands resting in his lap as he stays silent.

“You know I could have handled it, Eddie,” you finally break the silence after a few minutes.

“You don’t know what he would have done,”

“Nothing if I would have just bought the guy a new suit! He ran into me sure but I should have had a cap on the bottle,”

“No! He was being a cocksucker and deserved a little roughing up,”

“You were drunk and high Eddie, I don't think you should be the one to decide who needs to be “roughed up” ,” you’re borderline in tears, the idea that Eddie came to your rescue making you feel so many emotions.

“I’m not gonna’ sit there and watch someone rag on you. You of all people,”

“I am not yours to protect, Eddie,” you say, your voice now softer, some of the anger leaving your body as you continue to drive.

Eddie looks over and sees the tears running down your cheeks, the moonlight causing them to glisten as they fall. Eddie thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even with a red face and a runny nose he still wants to lean across the center console and kiss your tears away.

“M’ sorry,” you simply shake your head, not trusting you voice.

You pull into the motel moments later, parking in between yours and Eddie’s room.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you say to him once you are out of the car.

“Sweets wait,” his hand grabs your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as he tries to rein you in.

“Just leave me alone, Eddie,” you shrug your arm away from him, retreating to your room and leaving him in the cold.

That night, Eddie wallows some more. He punches the wall after a few drinks, knuckles now swollen as he tries to roll a joint. He indulges in anything and everything before walking outside and to the bar across the street.

He enters rather smoothly despite the plethora of drugs he is on, settling into a chair as he flags down the bartender. He orders a rum and coke, turning towards the dance floor to find his pick of the night. He spots a brown haired woman, dressed in a tight red dress and black heels. Eddie decides she’ll do.

Eddie turns on his flirting, bringing the woman a beverage before slipping his room number in the valley of her breasts before whispering a soft, “You know where to find me,”

She comes like a bee to honey, only waiting a few minutes to exit the bar and head over to Eddie’s room.

It’s hot, heavy and dirty.

She is loud, her moans echoing off the walls and making their way over to your room. You throw a pillow over your face, trying to do anything to drown out the god-awful moans and the pounding in your brain. You toss and turn while you have to listen to Eddie break your heart one more time.

While you sit there fighting back tears, you realize that you have no place to be upset. You aren’t interested in him. He was some rock star that would probably ruin your life with drugs and parties, he wasn’t the man you were meant to be with. But here you are, heart broken and on the verge of sobbing as you listen to Eddie praise the girl between his legs.

“Feel good, sweets?” the nickname rattles in your brain, the tears coming back as he chants her name over and over and over.

Finally they're done, the room now silent as you listen to soft rustling on the other side of the wall. You wait for a minute, waiting for the sound of Eddie’s door opening and closing, signifying that she’s gone. It never comes.

The next morning, you’re up early. The clock reads 6am as you make your way outside and towards your car after getting dressed for the day. You duck into your car as soon as the door to Eddie’s room opens, a woman in a red dress emerging with heels in her hand. Your heart sinks when you see her try to lean up and kiss Eddie. He simply turns his head allowing the kiss to fall upon his cheek instead.

Eddie woke that morning with a jump, forgetting much of last night and the name of the woman in his bed. He nudges her awake, telling her she has to go so he can make it to a meeting.

“Do you have something I can borrow? I’d like to see you again,” She purrs as she snakes her arm up his bare chest, attempting to push him back on the bed for another round.

Eddie shakes his head, pushing her hand away before getting up from his place on the bed and handing her the dress from last night.

“Need ya to get out soon,” he throws the dress in her direction before turning to head to the bathroom. He splashes water on his face, rubbing at his nose to release some of the dry skin that has accumulated there. He dries off his face before returning to the bedroom, the woman now dressed.

“I uh- called a taxi. It will be here soon,” she says. Eddie simply nods before fishing in his wallet for money to cover her fare.

“S’ only fair if I’m kicking you out this early,” she politely takes the money and heads for the door.

That’s when Eddie spots you, watching in the front seat of your car. He turns her head and directs her kiss to his cheek, waving her goodbye before ducking back into the room to avoid you. He couldn’t look you in the eye, not after that. He knew he fucked up bad this time. The first two being minor bumps in the road in his eyes, but this one took the whole fuckin’ cake.

You stay away from the motel all that day, deciding to go and hang out with Christa.

“So he’s gotten high at dinner, threatened a man and had you pick him up from the police precinct, and now he’s fucking random girls? I thought this man was into you not into trying to ruin your life,” Christa says over a glass of wine.

“That’s the thing, I don't know why I care so much. Like he is so bad for me in every way, Christa,” you throw your hands up in the air, a groan escaping your lips as well.

“Just ignore him, he’s just trying to find a little plaything to keep him busy in this little town,” You leave the Eddie talk at that for the night, the conversation naturally flowing to other things that didn't make you upset.

You return back to the motel around 10 that night, pulling into the parking lot to find all the spots by your room were taken. Groaning, you turn your car around and go to the other end of the parking lot, finally finding one. You park your car and make your way to your room, the heavy sound of music flowing from Eddie’s room and into the open air of the night.

You push your way into your room, immediately falling into bed. You kick off your shoes and strip down to your t shirt before attempting to fall asleep.

With the music and chatter that is coming from Eddie’s room, you toss and turn for a few minutes before deciding enough was enough. You’ve lost enough sleep over this man and it ended tonight. You pull on your sweatpants, throwing open your door and trudging past a few people who were seeking refuge in the form of cigs and silence.

You push into Eddie’s room, seeking him out when a girl approaches you.

“Where’s Eddie?” you question, she simply shrugs and smacks her gum as she looks down at you.

“Dunno, but if you find him, tell him we're out of blow,” you roll your eyes, scanning the room to find no trace of Eddie. You notice a line is forming at the bathroom, the person at the door banging on the it as he yells for the person inside to “hurry the fuck up,”

You make your way over to the bathroom, cutting in front of the man before you knock on the door.

“Eddie?” you shout, “Get out here!”

Eddie appears moments later, denim vest on with no shirt. He’s sweaty and flushed, mind foggy as he looks down at you.

“Heya sweets, long time no see,” he sings, hand coming to caress your cheek. You’re quick to bat it away, staring up at him with a scowl on your face.

“Eddie it is 10 o’clock at night, why on earth is your room full of people who look like they’re about to go to a honky tonk,”

“They’re my friends, see this is hic- Marc,” he shouts, pointing at the man who had been pounding on the door moments earlier.

“It’s Matt,”

“Matt, Marc. Who cares,” Eddie laughs as he walks away, he heads towards his end table, groaning when he sees they have run out of coke.

“Eddie, listen to me. These people can’t be here,”

“Again, sweets. Who cares!”

“I do!” you yell at him, hands on our hips as you try to look at least a little bit intimidating.

“S’ cute when you do that,” he points to your hips, smiling widely as he looks back up at you.

The two of you argue back and forth for a while, Eddie inevitably snapping at you in his drunken haze.

“Goodness sweets jus’ get out of here! ” he shoos you away, a man approaching him with a half smoked joint, Eddie indulging as you turn away from him and retreat back to your room.

You sit on the edge of your bed for two whole hours, listening to the beat of the music pulse through your room. You’re about to lay down when a soft knock interrupts the flow of music.

You open your door, surprised to see a barely standing Eddie at your doorstep.

“Sweets, my darling. Can you help me out?”

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hwaightme · 9 months

Text

Hand hug

(masterlist) (perma-taglist)

🫶 pairing: hongjoong x gn!reader 🫶 genre: fluff, friends to lovers, implied producer/idol joong bc iykyk 🫶 summary: you and hongjoong have many traditions, inside jokes, and stories, but do you really know him like the back of your hand? 🫶 wordcount: 3.0k 🫶 warnings/tags: editing? mayhaps, coffee at questionable hours, food mention, convenience store snaccysnaccs, producer!joong, wholesome joong in a hoodie, rooftops/being on roof, night scenery, very late(early) night(morning) 🫶 taglist: at the bottom of the fic~ 🫶 a/n: @pocketjoong my love, my Sky, my universe, my everything. happy birthday <3 i love you to infinity, and thank you for everything and more! i am wishing you all the best on this amazing day~ and i hope you like this joongie~ <3

Hand hugs. One of the many, many inside jokes and mini traditions that you had crafted together with Hongjoong over the course of your friendship. Or relationship. Or whatever pining for your friend for ages was supposed to be called. You did not mind. At least you got your Hongjoong by your side. Or could you even say that?

While you watched Hongjoong rush down the aisle of the convenience store after he had exclaimed that he had forgotten something ‘essential’, the thought plagued your mind, gnawing on it like a persistent little devil. Just like it had done the last time you two hung out, and the one before that. How would you react if he were to ever date anyone? Get in a relationship? Get married? Would you be okay with being the best friend at his wedding, quietly seething in the corner and wishing that it was you standing next to him? You shrugged to yourself and clutched the basket tighter in your hands.

It was always you and Joong. You knew him like the back of your hand, and he knew you like the back of his. Maybe that was why the hand hugs were so symbolic, transcending their original intent, which was to find a compromise between your desire for oxytocin surges and his aversion to all things physical touch. A simple palm to palm, digits to digits, thumb around the other’s hand. A hand hug. Simple. Sweet. A reminder for both of you that you knew each other, and were living a beautiful life together.

While you were caught up in your musings you noticed your load lightening a little too late - Hongjoong was already on his way to pay, again. With a yelp you started for the self checkout, but he softly nudged you with his hip, a cheeky smile adorning his face while he scanned the items. You pondered if this deserved a joking purchase of something abominably spicy, but decided against it. After all, you would not be able to force him to eat it even if you tried. So you simply held a resting gaze on the methodical swiping and the way in which the items disappeared into Hongjoong’s trusty canvas bag, one after the other.

It was tattered, showed some darkening at the edges, a couple of loose threads here and there, but Hongjoong would fight you if you were to even dare suggest throwing it away. But you would never even think to do it - after all, the design that it bore was one you two had painted together, a few years ago in the midst of one change after another. It was a depiction of the Earth surrounded by the random favourite things that made the two of you who you were. Pleasant and heart-warming memories. This canvas bag had carried things equally as pivotal to the both of you. It had carried your items when you moved out to begin life as an independent adult (only to have Hongjoong visit you, or you visit Hongjoong so often that you knew no solitude), it had held the equipment and disks owned by none other than your closest and dearest friend as he marched to the studio, dreams stronger than ever, passion and eagerness to achieve in every step. The handles remembered the way in which you would share the weight, one for each person, swinging ever so slightly as you would walk in stride down the city streets wherever your hearts desired. Just like you were doing now, with the snacks and quick meals protected by the sturdy material. In your free hands, you had your ‘cost effective coffees’, as Hongjoong had called them once and the title stuck. This was your favourite kind of two in the morning.

There was only one place where your feet would take you at this hour, and it was the rooftop. Not any kind of rooftop, but the one on Hongjoong’s apartment building, located in a scenic and quiet residential district, a little ways off from the centre of the city, but giving the best landscapes and skyline view of glimmering lights. The walk to his building was silent - there was no need to fill the atmosphere with aimless chatter that would, either way, turn to a hazy, noisy static. You knew what the other was thinking, at least you wanted to pretend you did. You smiled to yourself. If only he was thinking the same as you were in this moment. About the closeness of your hands, about how your heart was pounding in your chest, about how you caught the scent of his cologne that suited him so well when he playfully pushed you. You focused on the dimly lit street ahead, trying to keep your breathing level as you trekked higher and higher up the hill, to your one true paradise.

Thankfully the building was only a few stories high, and did not need too intense of an effort to conquer. At least this was what you told yourself every time before starting on the journey up the spiralling flights of stairs, one step after the other until you were almost out of breath and your legs were just starting to ache - there was your cardio for the next day or so until you would decide to do this all over again. Because this was a small price to pay for the timelessness that you would experience once you got to the top. A click of the key, a turn of the doorknob, and the infinite expanse of the night was surrounding you, and the breeze gently tousled your locks as you stepped out onto the roof, following Hongjoong closely.

You were not sure how exactly he had managed to convince his landlord to give him the keys to the roof, since it was normally off limits and a mystery even for the permanent residents. Maybe Hongjoong promised to clean and re-vamp the place a bit - which he most definitely did, considering that it now looked like the ultimate relaxation spot, with outdoor fairy lights, plants that did not mind waiting until the next rainfall to be watered, lounge chairs, an antique table that he had picked up at the secondhand market and reinforced to live through the tests of the great outdoors, and some little trinkets that were simply so him that it made you want to burst into tears. He had an eye for design, an eye for expression, and whether he would have liked for you to say this or not, had an eye for love. It was all around you. In everything he had done to the place, in how he treated it, in how he pulled out the chair for you, in how the two of you took a moment to look out into the distance, marking out the local attractions and main highlights of the city before launching into a scavenger hunt through the canvas bag, keeping quiet and feigning obliviousness when your hands brushed once, twice, another time. No, you could never give up this feeling.

Clinking plastic cups, the lids preventing the drink that was the colour of deep mahogany and the taste of bitter remnants of a campfire, you reclined on your seat and nodded to yourself absent-mindedly, taking a sip. Nothing could be sweeter than this after all. You stole another glance at Hongjoong, who was still wistfully staring off into the distance, caught up in his thoughts. You and him decided to wear your ‘accidentally matching’ hoodies today, in the true free and young spirit of the late night, or early morning, raid on the convenience store. You said ‘accidental’, but was it really when the hoodie was one that he had gifted you for your birthday, and ‘just so happened’ to have a similar one, obviously new? Regarding the piece with a soft smile, you had taken note of how the sleeves of the hoodie spilled just a little bit over his frail, yet elegant wrists, practically transforming into warmers or mittens. Only thanks to the drink which he was cradling in his perfectly manicured hands - with one finger sporting a new coat of nail polish, could you even see his digits in the lulling semi-darkness.

Nothing was being said, and yet a whole universe was passing with every second. In every sigh, twist, tilt of the head, in how Hongjoong flicked through his phone only to put it down and let soft instrumentals twirl from the speakers - a track he was working on, no doubt, in everything that the two of you shared was something you did not wish to even begin to define, out of fear that it would crumble before you. A fragile creature, a precious little bird that cautiously shared its song with the two of you, perched on the echoes of years behind you. Hopping from branch to branch of dialogue and dreaming. The acoustic piece ended, and with it, the birdsong. A trembling flutter of the wings carried it away into your ribcage, and you waited with bated breath for the next moment. Hongjoong set his coffee aside, clumsily pausing the track which had already returned to the intro and was beginning to repeat the first few strums of the guitar chords, and with a timid smile, gazed at you. Expectant. You looked away, trying to find comfort in the glints of distant stars, the hum of traffic miles away and howling of ghostly sirens reflecting off the blanket of deep navy, an onyx-coated purple, and right at the horizon, of stubborn, yet dazed and tired ashen reds and yellows of the urban nocturne.

“Thoughts?” not liking the sound of his own voice, he cleared his throat after letting the whisper escape him. You paid it no mind, every syllable turning into a stunning creation in your mind. The best the sonorous world could offer. He leaned closer, you could feel it, but you remained how you were, pretending to be transfixed by the starry masterpiece.

“It’s pretty,” you mumbled back, ambiguous. You knew better than to hope that Hongjoong would end the discussion there. Ever since the early days, he would ask you for your reviews, opinions, critiques, input… During nights like these, the most casual get-together could turn into a listening party, with him playing song after song only to stop one midway and start another, worried, wanting to impress you. All the more exciting for you - you could listen forever.

“What is?” he tried again, perching his elbows on the armrest of his chair, to the point where you could sense his presence next to you.

“The tune.”

“There wasn’t one though?” you could imagine his eyes narrowing as he asked.

“I can hear it. And I know you already have one in mind so,” you let your sentence trail off as you took another sip of the cooling coffee.

“Got you. Incomplete, right?” he picked up on your cues better than anyone could. You nodded, humming in agreement with his conclusion.

“Yeah. But I know you considered it.”

“Sure did. What are you piecing together?” he continued, running a hand through his hair, to adjust some invisible strand. A nervous habit. So he could feel it too after all. Unless you were misreading in your recent state of hoping. You chuckled, deciding to not delve further into whether it was at yourself or the evident tension, lifting the cup to eye level to inspect how it caught the fairy lights, revealing various shades of brown, copper, silvery white from the plastic.

“That one melody from last week. Tuesday, I think it was. The one where you had the synth riff and the humming. And then the lyrical refrain you told me you wrote while waiting for me by the bakery,” he gleamed, soul growing warmer from your recollection. You fiddled with the cardboard holder, Hongjoong’s burning look proving to be too much to handle.

“I swear, you can read my mind,” you could not help but exhale sharply, bemused at the suggestion. If anything, you were convinced of the opposite. There were few times when you were certain of what was going on in Hongjoong’s beautiful mind. Be it a new project or creative adventure that he was embarking on, or an entirely different experiment, or a surprise that you could not even begin to conjure ideas about. He was a mystery, but that was one of the many things you loved about him. Your reaction earned you a raise of the eyebrow and a light tap on your shoulder, making you finally turn towards your friend, only for the intensity of his eyes to be almost breathtaking, “what was that?”

“Nothing,”

“Am I wrong?”

“I mean… you do keep whole albums a secret for… goodness knows how long so…”

“I bet you know what I am thinking now,” his boldness took you off-guard, and you paused. Blinking a couple of times to adjust to the sudden shift in what was between you, so laden with an unspeakable force that you could barely formulate your own response, you regarded his outstretched arm, palm facing you, fingers together, all except the thumb. You squinted in suspicion, but failed to conceal the grin that was creeping onto your features as you moved to complete the hand hug.

“Kim Hongjoong… what are you plotting?” words failed to leave an impact, it seemed, since your friend merely picked the cup from your hands to leave it beside his at the table.

Pressing his palm to yours, he concentrated. You could not look away, not when you were going progressively more haywire with each passing second. He was not letting go, thumb beginning to dig into the back of your hand, and his gaze remained trained on you, only you. Right through you and into your heart. He was reading you and seeing your every thought about him - that was how the exchange felt. Hongjoong was picking apart your infatuation, inspecting it, living it. You felt exposed in front of him, and yet he would not allow you to let go. That much you were sure of. Unlike whatever he was mulling over.

But you did not need to wait much longer for your answer, as, in a split second, your fingers were intertwined and he was pulling you closer and closer to him, his other hand flying to your shoulder to support you and prevent any falls. When you were only a couple of centimetres away, he stopped, as though all bravery had left him temporarily, and his eyes darted from yours, to your lips, back again, anywhere except your face and back to you, now staying. In this eternity of being in one space, sharing the same breath, searching for a future in the decision that was to come, you finally clear that no, you could not see anyone like this. Anyone except your Hongjoong.

“I'd say you can guess… maybe?”

“I don’t think I can,” coy, you responded, much to Hongjoong’s relief. You were you, the one he loved, and nothing was going to change that. This, just like any of the traditions, habits, memories you had made together, was the most natural, and most precious thing in the universe.

“Let me give you a hint,” a whisper, sultry, low was the last thing you heard before your worlds collided, and his lips were moving in a perfect rhythm with yours.

It was like puzzle pieces falling into place. Long lost soulmates finding each other. The sun rising after a thunderstorm. It felt like all the times that had made you and Hongjoong who you were, and who you were going to be. Your hand found purchase on the side of his face, his sharp jawline and soft skin in a stunning harmony against your fingertips. In every sense, it was him, and him alone, and you were blessed by the stars themselves.

Only when you heard the creaking of a chair did you pull away, and glimpsed Hongjoong cursing under his breath and muttering that he ‘hated this thing’ before he stood up, sweeping you away with him. You obliged, longing for his closeness. This was unprecedented, but so, so very welcome. A strong arm around your waist, and a quick push under the chin focusing you back on him, and you were back in bliss, in an entrancing tandem. The kiss was a revival, just like it was a revisitation. It was right. It tasted like the coffee and the late nights, it reminded you of the deep talks and the walks to nowhere and everywhere, it made you yearn for more and yet in the marvellous dance of your lips against his, you found it.

“What am I thinking?” Hongjoong asked as you broke apart, inhales pronounced by the chill of the early hour.

“You are thinking… ‘wow, this is way too close for comfort’,” you jested, chuckling when he scrunched his nose in mock frustration.

“Okay no you definitely cannot read my mind,” he answered, finding your hand once more, and lifting it to his own. Palm to palm. Digits to digits. Thumbs around to complete the miniature embrace. You watched, beaming.

Hongjoong was closer than ever before, for you and with you, and your heart was about to burst. You regarded him, the love in his eyes and his every gesture as he rocked side to side, just how he knew you liked. Soothing, and always yours. He knew you and you knew him, and at the same time, never failed to find new beauty in one another and details to learn. Masterpieces, forever evolving, you were in this moment together, in this city, on this rooftop, in each other’s arms. Alive and in love. Through the silence, your voice travelled.

“So we are now hand huggers who kiss each other sometimes,” he laughed, breaking into your favourite grin, and leaned forwards until his forehead was against yours.

“Mhm. Sounds good to me.”

🫶 taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @ssaboala @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @lightinyreads @ren-junwrld @burnmepls @pyeonghongrie-main @archivesummer @little-angel-k @marsstarxhwa @/pocketjoong-reads @alyszaen

enjoyed the fic? i would really appreciate any reblogs, comments, notes! much love!

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myveryownfanfiction · 10 months

Text

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @eclecticwildflowers

warnings: cuts, bruises, mention of fight

I closed the door to the house and sighed. Dropping my bag next to the door, I paused at the sight of the leather jacket and hat hanging on the hook. Perking up, I hurried into the bedroom.

“Indiana!” I cried when I saw him. Indy turned towards me, halfway out of his shirt. He smiled at me and held his arms open, shirt now forgotten.

“(Y/N).” He sighed when I rushed into his arms. “I missed you.” I pulled back to look at him. I opened my mouth to respond when the cut under his eye made me pause.

“I didn’t realize this dog was that dangerous.” I said as I ghosted my finger tips over the cut. Indiana winced and gave me a small smile.

“I didn’t either.” He sighed. “Got into a little fight.” He pulled back to wave a hand at his torso. I looked down and gasped at the bruising across his ribs. “Doesn’t hurt that bad. Been a few days.” He shrugged and tried to pull me back into the hug but I held my ground.

“Indiana, let me take care of you.” I mused as I took his hand and led him to the bathroom. Pointing at the toilet, I went into the closet for the first aid kit. “Sit.” I ordered when I realized he was still standing there watching me. He seemed to jolt out of whatever his mind was on and sat down.

“You don’t have to do this you know.” Indiana said as I moved to kneel in front of him. I shrugged as I used a cotton ball to dab antiseptic on the few cuts that littered his face and chest.

“I know. But it’s rare I get to take care of you like this. They’re normally all healed by the time you come back. Besides,” I grabbed the wet washcloth and pressed it against his ribs. Indiana hissed and pulled back slight. “I want to.” He looked at me with understanding and nodded.

“ok.” He surrendered and let me finish patching him up. When I was done, I put the first aid kit away and reached out for his hand. Indiana took it and let me pull him into the bedroom. Pausing to grab his discarded shirt, I stripped and put it on. Indiana smiled as he laid down on the bed, arm out for me to curl up under. “Thank you.” He said with a kiss to my forehead.

“you’re welcome.” I said with a smile. “Thank you for letting me do that.” I leaned up to give him a kiss. Indiana hummed against my lips.

“I’ll try to come home with fresher cuts for you.” He teased. I gently pushed him before curling up against him again. “Love you.”

“love you too.” I sighed. “Welcome home Indy.”

#indiana jones fanfic #indiana jones fanfiction #indiana jones imagine #Indiana jones #indiana jones x reader #harrison ford #harrison ford x reader #harrison ford imagine #Harrison ford fanfic #Harrison ford fanfiction

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delicatebarness · 3 months

Text

bring him home | chapter two

Summary: Reader needs to find her new purpose now that everyone is gone.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Avengers: Endgame + Captain America: Civil War. Violence. Grief. Mentions of Depression. Swearing.

Word Count: 1307

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: I just finished rewatching The Falcon and The Winter Soldier and it has got me wanting to make a sequel series to this one.

Tags: @crazyforbarnes | @whiminiferous | @armystay89 | @bucky-just-needs-love

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED OR PUBLISHED TO ANY THIRD PARTY SITE OR APP. IF ANYONE SEES MY WORK ANYWHERE BUT HERE, IT HAS BEEN REPOSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

6 Months.

It had been the longest time since knowing your family and friends that you had gone without seeing them. Since Vision was ‘born’ you hadn't gone without getting to see him for no longer than 3 days at a time. Peter, maybe 5 days. Wanda, you saw her every day until she went on the run. Even then, it was still once a month. Steve, Natasha, and Sam. Every 6 weeks you got to catch up with them. And, Bucky. Every other weekend you were spending time in Wakanda.

Wakanda. You haven’t forgotten about your friends there too. T’Challa and Shuri were welcoming, generous, and understanding. They did everything they could to help Bucky and they did, they helped him. Freed him. They allowed him their resources, time, and trust. Keeping your secrets hidden and helping with excuses to visit. You could never repay them. The country now stood without their heirs and their protector. You knew you had to go back and repay your debt by aiding however the people would let you. But, for now, your people needed you too.

You spent hours going over everyone who was reported missing, in the last 6 months, with Natasha and Steve. Making notes, who they are, age, where they’re from, and when the last time they were seen. None of you knew what you could do other than make a note and hope they came back soon and didn’t disappear.

“He meant half didn’t he,” you mumbled as you paused your counting. “stupid, purple, PRICK!” Steve and Natasha turned to look at you, it was infrequent that they heard you say anything negative about anyone. Fair enough, you could have said worst and they wouldn’t have blamed you if you did but it took them by surprise.

“You okay, kid?” Nat asked from the other side of the room. You hummed in response as you wiped a stray tear off your cheek. They both picked up on this.

“He loved you, you know,” You looked up at Steve sitting at the desk. “I spent years watching him with girls growing up and he never looked at them the way he did you.” He smiled down at you, you let yourself send him a small smile. You knew this already, Bucky’s love ran deep and he had shown this many times, it was just nice to hear it after so long.

Airport.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Retreating your helmet and lowering your repulsors, you give a small smile to Bucky. He looks into your eyes, realizing who you are and what he has done to you.

“Why?” He asked while subconsciously bringing a hand up to rub his neck. “I hurt you.” You shook your head and tried to get closer to him, yet with every step you took forward, he took back.

“Please,” your eyes pleaded with his, you just wanted to help him. You believed Steve, his friend was framed. You barely took a side, it was chosen for you. In all their minds, you’re still a kid. So, when it came to the politics of this job, they made the decisions for you. This time, you didn’t feel like the right one was made. “I know you’re already in pain and I -“

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky spat at you, you watched as his face contoured into anger then instant regret. You could see he didn’t want to speak to you in that tone, he just didn’t know how to respond calmly. You were a threat to him. Trying to arrest him for something he did not do. All he knew was, you fought against his side.

“I’ve heard the stories,” you started, he let his head fall, ‘Here we go’ he thought. “You seem like a great friend, loyal, protective.” Lifting his head again to look deep into your eyes now, he tried to find some sort of malice in them. Nothing. “I don’t believe you’re what they say you are.” A smile. Bucky smiled! You smiled back at him, letting out a small giggle. “You fought for us, this country, thank you for that.” You both stood there, staring at each other, blushing.

“Y/N, please,” Steve yelled out as he was approaching you both, looking between you and Bucky, he panted. “You’ve got to under-“

“Go, do what you need to do,” your eyes never left Bucky’s. “I’ll try to,” Pausing to think of how to distract ‘your side’ “I’ll do something.” You smiled, and Bucky nodded. Steve carried on looking between you both, confused. He patted Bucky’s shoulder and gestured towards the Jet.

“Thank you.” Bucky mouthed as Steve pushed him away, Steve turned back and gave you his approval nod which still after 7 years, made you feel accomplished. The symbol of righteousness approved of your choice. You smiled at the two of them, putting your helmet back up over your face and blasting off towards the fights.

Support Group.

You spent a lot of time researching the stages of grief. You thought you had skipped the first two stages and went straight to ‘Bargaining’. There was no ‘Denial’ in what happened. The silence in your life reminded you every second that they were gone. That, and the fact everyone disappearing like that replays in your mind every day. You couldn’t avoid it if you tried. ‘Anger’ was the second stage, which you believe you skipped again. The only thing about everything you ever got angry about was the way they left, they just disappeared. Why? Why couldn’t you have been given time after losing to Thanos to say goodbye to them?

‘Bargaining’ you firmly believed this was where you were at. Trying to find meaning, and help others. That was your stage. You wanted to be able to talk about your loss while being there for the others who have lost. Give them someone to rely on.

You had hacked into many different medical files while doing this research and found out that depression had increased massively since The Snap. The fourth stage. This was the sign you’d been looking for. A way to help people. You continued to gather information and resources to come up with a plan.

“I want to create a safe space,” you sighed as you continued to show your dad a slideshow of your ‘business’ plan. It wasn’t a business, you didn’t care about money, and you wouldn’t be taking any money for this. This would be Stark-funded in its entirety. “A place people like us, who have lost, anything, due to my failure -“

“Our failure.” Your dad interjected, yet motioned for you to carry on. Clearing your throat, you did.

“Somewhere they can talk, grieve, connect. Anything they need while knowing they aren’t alone and they’re safe.” You pulled up a slide including a graph with the depression increase in just 6 months. Your dad nodded.

“Are you asking me to fund this?” He had his face resting in his hand as he looked out at the printouts you had given him previously. You confirmed back to him that you were indeed asking for his help. You didn’t trust what government was left to set this up respectfully. “Alright,” he got up, his figure finally returning to the way he looked before The Mad Titan appeared. Pulling out his wallet, he handed you his Stark Industries company card. “Use mine its got a higher spending limit than yours,” he winked. “Buy what you need and I’ll talk to Pep about-” he waved his hand in front of the holographic display. “All of this.”

After giving your dad a tight hug, you took the card, gathered your things and went venue scouting. It didn’t take long to find the perfect spot for your first group.

Midtown High School.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #dad!tony stark x daughter!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #catws #falcon and the winter soldier #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark #the avengers x reader #the avengers

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leclerc-s · 6 months

Text

(daphne's version)

series masterlist

february 11, 2021

liked by danielricciardo, alex_albon, nataliaruiz, and others

daphnejones i’m thrilled to tell you that my new version of fearless (daphne’s version) is done and will be with you soon. it has 26 songs including 6 never before released songs from the vault. love story (daphne’s version) will be out tonight.

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danielricciardo LET'S FUCKING GO!!!

georgerussell63 to quote the great kevin maggnussen, “suck my balls mate!”

↳ isabellaperez don’t be shy, tag him. scooterbraun how do you feel knowing daphne's releasing her versions and you'll stop earning money for her hard work?

alex_albon mr.perfectly fine, your time has come

↳ isabellaperez tag him...joejonas you're up first.

sebastianvettel glad you’re finally taking back your music daphne.

lewishamilton sebastian and i can be normal in our congratulations, unlike some people. so, congrats on taking this step daph!

freyavettel YOU BELONG WITH ME (TAYLOR'S VERSION) IS FINALLY GOING TO BE HERE!!! AHHHHH

mickschumacher i apologize for them. they're all drunk.

↳ charles_leclerc you are too micky

rickybobby3🔒 SUPER FUCKING PROUD OF YOU. I LOVE YOU!

liked by daphnejones

↳ user53 is this the boyfriend? his account is private

↳ user45 did you think he'd expose their relationship? they want privacy, let them have it.

↳ user53 maybe he shouldn't comment on a public instagram post?

↳ nataliaruiz maybe people should stop being so nosy and focus on daphne re-releasing her music? that’s the real accomplishment here.

june 18, 2021

liked by danielricciardo, maejones, charles_leclerc

daphnejones the next album that i’ll be releasing is my version of red, which will be out on november 19. this will be the first time you hear all 30 songs that were meant to go on red. and hey, one of them is even ten minutes long🧣

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danielricciardo FULLY PREPARED TO CRY MY FUCKING HEART OUT!!!!

isabellaperez COUNT YOUR FUCKING DAYS JAKEGYLLENHAAL

↳ arthurleclerc you gotta stop tagging them isa

↳ isabellaperez no.

maejones AND MAYBE WE GOT LOST IN TRANSLATION

↳ danielricciardo MAYBE I ASKED FOR TOO MUCH

↳ charles_leclerc BUT MAYBE THIS THINGS WAS A MASTERPIECE 'TIL YOU TORE IT ALL UP

↳ maxverstappen33 RUNNING SCARED, I WAS THERE

↳ pierregasly I REMEMBER IT ALL TOO WELL

↳ nataliaruiz AND YOU CALL ME UP AGAIN JUST TO BREAK ME LIKE A PROMISE

↳ rowantodd SO CASUALLY CRUEL IN THE NAME OF BEING HONEST

↳ carlossainz55 I'M A CRUMPLED UP PIECE OF PAPER LYING HERE

↳ penelopetrevino 'CAUSE I REMEMBER IT ALL, ALL, ALL TOO WELL

isabellaperez jakegyllenhaal, this one’s for you. but also the kennedy kid, we haven’t forgotten about him. he was a saint compared to you.

↳ georgerussell63 how can someone fuck up so bad that he gets a 10 minute song written about him?

↳ isabellaperez i don't know lets ask him 🎤 jakegyllenhaal what did you do?

user71 isabella is so unhinged, i bet that she’s drunk

↳ penelopetrevino she is. most of us are, but it feels like one of those nights we won’t be sleeping

user26 i can only imagine the pr mess this is going to create

rickybobby3🔒 so fucking proud of you sweetheart! can’t wait to drive around and scream this album with you. (i’ll be screaming and you’ll be singing)

liked by daphnejones

↳ user04 the mystery of ricky bobby continues. who is this man? is he daph’s boyfriend?

↳ user93 honestly, if he is love that for daph. he's seems like he's supportive of her and her career and if it's the same person, the they've been together since at least 2016, when daph let it slip that she was dating someone.

may 5, 2023

liked by danieljonesricciardo, maxverstappen1, isabellaperez and others

daphnejonesricciardo it fills me with such pride and joy to announce that my version of speak now will be out july 7 (just in time for july 9th, iykyk 😆) i first made speak now, completely self-written, between the ages of 18 and 20. the songs that came from this time in my life were marked by their brutal honesty, unfiltered diaristic confessions and wild wistfulness. i love this album because it tells a tale of growing up, flailing, flying and crashing… and living to speak about it. with six extra songs I’ve sprung loose from the vault, i absolutely cannot wait to celebrate speak now (daphne’s version) with you on july 7th.

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danieljonesricciardo I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

↳ danieljonesricciardo I'M SO PROUD OF YOU! AHH!!!!

↳ danieljonesricciardo THAT'S MY FUCKING WIFE PEOPLE!!!

danieljonesricciardo YOU ARE AN EXPERT AT SORRY

↳ baileywinters AND KEEPING LINES BLURRY

↳ nataliaruiz NEVER IMPRESSED BY ME ACING YOUR TESTS

↳ charles_leclerc ALL THE GIRLS THAT YOU'VE RUN DRY HAVE TIRED LIFELESS EYES

↳ landonorris 'CAUSE YOU BURNED THEM OUT

↳ freyavettel BUT I TOOK YOUR MATCHES BEFORE FIRE COULD CATCH ME

↳ pierregasly SO DON'T LOOK NOW

↳ yukitsunoda I'M SHINING LIKE FIREWORKS OVER YOUR SAD EMPTY TOOOWWWWNNN

↳ isabellaperez does this seem like cheap writting johnmayer??? (message approved by max verstappen)

user29 mother said we had to be nice but her own friends are calling j*hn out? does that mean we're allowed too?

↳ daphnejonesricciardo nothing i said would've gotten them to stop. i think the same can be said for my fans.

↳ user29 digging my grave rn

georgerussell63 count your days j*hn

lewishamilton do any of you have any idea about what kind of pr mess you're about to create?

↳ isabellaperez what is fia going to do to me? give me a grid penalty?

↳ oscarpiastri i'm adding your name to my long list of traitors lewis

↳ maxverstappen1 you know damn well the original group chat name was daphne jones defense squad

↳ user13 that's iconic

alex_albon SHE WAS NINETEEN WHEN SHE DANCED WITH THE DEVIL! I'M COMING FOR YOU JOHN!!

↳ lilymhe do you ever think about the consequences off your actions alexander?

↳ alex_albon when it comes to defending daphne, no.

mickschumacher i feel like it's my job to inform everyone that they are all extremely drunk except for daph, lily, and lewis. i am bordering on drunk and sober.

↳ user19 love that they all always end up drunk when one of the girls announces a new album

↳ logansargeant it's called celebrating achievements

↳ zoyatorres no, it's called using any small excuse to drink

user30 everytime she releases an album these guys come for her exes throats, and i just know she scolds them but they just don't give a fuck

↳ baileywinters she does but we must protect mother.

↳ isabellaperez father also agrees with bullying. one parent's consent is enough for us.

user89 daniel lurking and being the supportive husband we know he is

user12 dan's so in love with her he might stop breathing

↳ danieljonesricciardo OF COURSE I AM! HAVE YOU SEEN HER! I FUCKING LOVE HER! THAT’S MY FUCKING WIFE PEOPLE!

august 9, 2023

liked by danieljonesricciardo, lewishamilton, baileywinters and others

daphnejonesricciardo surprise!! 1989 (daphne’s version) is on its way to you 🔜! the 1989 album changed my life in countless ways, and it fills me with such excitement to announce that my version of it will be out october 27th. to be perfectly honest, this is my most FAVORITE re-record i've ever done because the 5 from the vault tracks are so insane. i can’t believe they were ever left behind. but not for long!

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danieljonesricciardo I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE! THAT’S MY FUCKING WIFE!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!

↳ daphnejonesricciardo love you too, you kangaroo

↳ danieljonesricciardo I AM A HONEY BADGER!!!

baileywinters GIVE IT UP FOR DAPHNE JONES DOING THE UNTHINKABLE AND BREAKING RECORDS LEFT AND RIGHT!!!

maxverstappen1 probably our favorite re-record you’ve done because it was after this one you and mae came into our lives.

↳ user87 stop that’s literally the sweetest thing max could ever say

↳ user91 max is such a sweet brother-in-law (they’re not married yet people!!) my brother-in-law usually tells me i’m an annoying fatass

↳ maxverstappen1 throw him away

carlossainz55 THIS ONE IS INSANE!

penelopetrevino DIDN’T THEY TELL US “DON’T RUSH INTO THING?”

↳ maejones DIDN’T YOU FLASH YOUR GREEN EYES AT ME?

↳ isabellaperez DIDN’T YOU CALM MY FEARS WITH A CHESHIRE CAT SMILE?

↳ zoyatorres OOH, DIDN’T IT ALL SEEM NEW AND EXCITING?

↳ dulceperez I FELT YOUR ARMS TWISTIN’ AROUND ME

↳ freyavettel IT’S ALL FUN AND GAMES ‘TIL SOMEBODY LOSES THEIR MIND

↳ nataliaruiz BUT DARLING

↳ charles_leclerc WE FOUND WONDERLAND, YOU AND I GOT LOST IN IT

↳ arthur_leclerc AND WE PRETENDED IT COULD LAST FOREVER (EH, EH)

↳ oscarpiastri WE FOUND WONDERLAND, YOU AND I GOT LOST IN IT

↳ danieljonesricciardo AND LIFE WAS NEVER WORSE BUT NEVER BETTER (EH, EH)

logansargeant the vault tracks on this are 🔛🔝

user56 THERE IS NOT A DOUBT IN MY MIND THAT THE PADDOCK FAMILY ARE THE FIRST ONES TO HERE EVERY NEW ALBUM AND SONG

↳ aussiegrit they are. oscar’s been singing a vault track for over 2 months.

↳ fernandoalo_oficial you were present for the listening party because daniel insisted you be there. jensen and seb were there too.

↳ user82 there was a dilf reunion and we missed it? where was kimi?

↳ landonorris he “couldn’t” make it.

↳ nicorosberg i guess my invite got lost in the mail or something

↳ isabellaperez no, we just haven’t forgotten brocedes and the silver war.

↳ dulceperez we picked uncle lewis over you

lewishamilton this one is amazing daphne

↳ daphnejricciardo thanks lewis!

user03 everyday i think this friend group can’t get more unhinged and they prove me wrong time and time again.

↳ landonorris we live to disappoint expectations of us

¡leclerc-s speaks! in honor of 1989 (taylor's version) i give you this. i genuinely don't what this is but i knew i wanted to do something for oct 27th and this is the result of that. have y'all heard 1989 (taylor's version) and if so what's your favorite vault track, personally is it over now? has been on repeat all day.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #the honest series #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x female oc #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fic

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sixhours · 1 month

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One Day at a Time - Chapter 3 - Embryo

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Days become weeks without word from Charlie. Every time he sees her, she gives him a little nod. Nothing overt, just enough to send a message.

We’re still here.

After two weeks, he’d found an old pocket calendar from 2001 and put it by his bed, and he marks off each day that passes with a big X. He’s done the math, and there’s a date in mid-December circled in red pen.

He can’t sleep for shit under the best of circumstances, but lately it’s impossible. He’s given up trying, choosing instead to crash on the couch with a movie playing on a loop in the background until a fitful sleep takes him.

He’s parked like this on the couch one night when the knock surprises him out of a half-doze. He fumbles for the remote and pauses the movie before answering the door.

It’s Charlie.

“I’m bleeding,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

His stomach sinks.

He reaches out without thinking, hands on her shoulders; she’s shivering. He pulls her forward into the warmth of the little house, closing the door behind her.

“Midwife says it could be normal or it could be a miscarriage,” she says flatly. “No way to tell yet.”

He seethes. He remembers Maria and Tommy telling him about the Jackson midwife; she was competent, but her bedside manner was shit.

“Does it…feel like…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“I don’t know, I’ve never made it this far. I’m not cramping. It’s not a lot of blood. I just…you wanted me to tell you, so I’m telling you.”

He nods, feeling stupid and helpless and hating it.

“Uh…sit,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “Want tea? It’s herbal. No caffeine.”

She nods warily. “Sure…I guess.”

He sets the water to boil, gets out two mugs, pulls the little canister of tea from the shelf, and fills the infuser with dried peppermint leaves. He can’t stand the stuff, but Ellie won’t drink coffee like a normal person, so they always have some in the house.

He glances at Charlie from over his shoulder as he waits for the water to boil. She’s on the couch, arms wrapped around herself as if she could hold back the thing she fears by force of will.

“You take milk or anythin’?”

“Just sugar, if you have it.”

He does. The kettle whistles and he pours the steaming water over the leaves.

She takes the tea with a small, hollow smile and sips at it. He takes a seat in the armchair next to her.

“Is there anything we can do?”

She shakes her head. “Midwife said to check in tomorrow morning. If it gets worse before then, I’ll go to the clinic.”

“Okay,” he says. “I can…wait with you.”

She nods, takes another sip, and sinks back into the couch. Waiting.

The silence presses in around them. It’s like torture, and Joel wracks his tired brain for something, anything to say. She saves him the trouble, blinking with interest at the television screen.

“Is this Gunz Blazin’ 2 ?”

“Uh…yeah…”

“I haven’t seen it since I was a kid,” she says, smiling a little. “My dad and I used to watch these movies all the time. They’re awful.”

He swallows hard, thinking of Sarah.

She looks at him and picks up the remote. “Mind if I…?”

“Yeah, yeah…sure.”

She hits Play and sits back, curling her legs under her and clutching the tea in her hands.

~*~

The credits roll a couple of hours later. Charlie has nestled into the couch with a blanket over her lap, empty mug resting on the coffee table.

“S’it as bad as you remember?” Joel rasps.

“Yes. Maybe worse. But in a good way,” she smiles a little. “Nostalgic, I guess.”

He nods. “How’re you, uh, feelin’?”

“Fine,” she says automatically, then laughs. “Not fine, actually. I’m exhausted and I’m sick all the time and my boobs are so fucking sore I could—“

She stops. “Shit, I’m sorry. That’s more than you needed to know. My husband used to say I was born without a filter.”

“S’alright,” he murmurs, his face burning. “You’re, uh, married?”

“Was…or what passed for marriage in the QZ, I guess. We were cordyceps orphans…grew up together after the outbreak, protected each other…kept each other out of trouble. We had 17 years together before…before our luck ran out.”

“So he, uh…you and he…wanted kids?”

“Yeah,” she snorts. “Sounds pretty stupid, right? Bringing a baby into a quarantine zone?”

He bites his lip and doesn’t say anything. He knew people still brought children into this broken world, but he’d never considered it. His interest in that life had stopped when Sarah’s heart stopped beating.

“I miscarried three times,” she murmurs. “We might have kept trying if we’d made it to Jackson together…I don’t know.”

“What happened to him?”

She shrugs. “We ran into trouble on the way here. He was bit. I…took care of it. We always said that was the deal, that we wouldn’t let each other turn. He…he didn’t even flinch when I pulled the trigger.”

She’s looking down at her stomach now, tracing her fingers over the ridges in her shirt, lost in thought.

“I wasn’t looking for this any more than you were,” she says softly. “But I want it anyway…I–I can’t help it. Is that foolish?”

Her eyes bore into his then, not sad now, almost…angry. Challenging him to deny her this.

Joel doesn’t know how to answer, but he huffs a soft, “No.”

She rubs her palm slowly across her lower belly. “This is the longest I’ve ever made it. I didn’t have morning sickness or the…other symptoms before, so I thought…maybe…maybe this time…”

“It’s not over ‘til it’s over,” he says softly.

He wants to take her hand. Instead, he gathers their mugs and takes them to the sink.

“Oh…it’s late,” she says faintly. “I should go.”

He frowns. “You shouldn’t be alone. You can stay here tonight.”

“Oh, no—”

He shakes his head, cutting off her protest. “If somethin’ goes wrong or if you get…sick…someone should be with you. I could come to your place if that’s–or call a friend if you don’t want, uh, me–”

“It’s not that, Joel, but I’ve been through this before–”

“By yourself?”

She swallows hard and ducks her head. “No.”

“Then stay,” he says. “Just for the night. I can put you up in–”

He falters, thinking of Ellie’s old room, still decorated in ugly pink stripes. Meant for a teenager but too close to a nursery.

“You can stay in my room,” he says quickly. “I’ll take the couch. Usually end up down here anyway.”

“I couldn’t–”

“It’s fine,” he waves her off. “Can’t sleep for shit no matter where I land. C’mon.”

He makes for the stairs before she can argue, and breathes a sigh of relief when she follows. He pauses outside the door to his bedroom.

“Just, uh…wait here. Gimme a minute.”

He ducks into the room, picking up clothes and tossing them into the hamper. He strips the bed and digs wrinkled but clean sheets out of the linen closet. After a pause, he picks up the calendar and the red pen from the nightstand and stuffs them into his pocket.

“Should be all good. The bathroom’s, uh, right through there,” he gestures. “All yours. There’s, uh, pain medicine if you need it.”

“Thanks…”

“I’ll be downstairs,” he says. “If you need anything, if anything, uh, happens…just come get me. Or yell.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it,” he says.

“I will, Joel,” she murmurs. “Thanks.”

“G’night then.”

He goes back to his usual spot on the couch and lies down, staring at the little cracks in the living room ceiling. He won’t be able to sleep now. He thinks about the raw need in her voice as her fingers traced her stomach, the hitch in her breath, maybe this time …

He throws an arm across his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts. A small, grief-blackened part of him hates that he cares. Before Ellie, he could numb the pain with booze and pills and a lucrative career in smuggling. But he’s not that man anymore. It would be so much easier if he were, if he couldn’t feel the little flicker of hope in his chest.

The calendar and pen dig into his hip, and he pulls them out of his pocket. It’s well after midnight, so without thinking, he uncaps the pen and crosses off another day.

~*~

He must have fallen asleep. When he opens his eyes, the room is lighter, and Charlie is nudging his shoulder.

He’s upright before he’s fully awake. “What is it? Y’okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. “I’m going to go. The midwife said she’d see me at 7:00. I need to go home and change.”

“Right, okay. Do you, uh…do you want me to come with–”

“No,” she says quickly. “I haven’t told her…or anyone…about you.”

“Right,” he blinks. “Um. Let me know…okay?”

She nods, holding her arms around her middle like she could protect herself from the worst. Without thinking, he reaches out and touches the back of her hand. She doesn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” he mutters, withdrawing. “I…I hope it works out,” he says lamely.

“Do you?” she asks, with an edge of bitterness in her voice. She’s immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. You’ve been kind, and that was…cruel. Missing my filter again.”

“It’s…fine.”

He wants to tell her he does have hope, despite himself, but she’s already out the door.

~*~

Charlie hasn’t been gone for five minutes when there’s a knock.

Shit.

He’s on the schedule for a construction job and he’d promised to meet Tommy early. Now he’s late.

“I’m comin’,” he mutters, wincing at the stiffness in his back. “Hold your goddamned horses.”

“Long night?” Tommy smirks on the other side of the door. “Thought I saw Charlie doin’ the walk of shame–”

“Shut it,” Joel growls, surprising himself at the bite in his voice. “Don’t say another fuckin’ word.”

Tommy’s hands coming up in mock defense. “Whoa, easy. Didn’t know it was like that.”

“It’s not,” Joel snaps.

“Alright,” he says, peering at his older brother curiously. “So…you ready to go?”

“Yeah. Lemme get my stuff.”

He’s distracted all day. The work is simple enough–framing a new barn for the sheep, to replace one that’s been infested by termites beyond repair. It should be easy, but he’s overtired and he can’t seem to make his hands behave. Tommy keeps having to repeat himself, giving Joel curious looks.

“You’re losin’ it, big brother,” he says amiably when Joel brings him a jar of the wrong-size screws for the second time in a row.

It’s mid-afternoon when he brings the hammer down on his middle finger. He watches the whole thing as though in slow motion, knowing exactly what’s going to happen well before he feels the pain, but he’s powerless to stop it.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he hisses, shaking out his injured hand. Purplish red blood is already blooming under the wide, flat nail. He resists the urge to stick the finger in his mouth to soothe the throbbing ache like a child.

“You break it?” Tommy’s looking over his shoulder.

“No,” he growls. “Just a bruise.”

“Yeah, right. Well, you’re done for today,” Tommy says. “Go home. Made good progress, anyway, we’re almost done.”

Joel shoots him a look, but it doesn’t affect his younger brother in the slightest. It never does. So he relents, packing his tools and trudging away, finger throbbing.

He sees her on the walk home.

Charlie is standing with someone just outside the caf. She looks about as tired as he feels, but then she sees him and brightens, the subtlest glimmer as she catches his eye. The look stops him in mid-stride, frozen in the middle of the street.

She gives him a little nod.

Warmth spreads through his chest, a flood of relief, and that blasted hope again.

We’re still here.

#the last of us #fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #babyfic #pregnancy

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grippingbeskar · 11 months

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unearthed

chapter five - married

warnings: canon typical violence, swearing, mentions of death (?) um idk i think that’s it???

a/n: gah. one of my fav chapters so far hehehehe ALSO PSA YALL— i’m trying to tag some of you in the taglist but your names aren’t popping up, i think this has to do with your settings?? i’m not taking anyone off i’ll retry to tag you ever chapter, but just so ya know!! if there’s like a line through it or it’s white instead of highlighted just have a look, or if i need to be following you just msg me and i will :)

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Just walk up there.

It’s nothing.

Nothing you haven’t done before.

You’ve been in front of thousands— millions of people before. You’ve been in arenas of people screaming and applauding, crowds swarming you as soon as you step out the door. This, being in a moderate sized room where half the eyes on you are stuffed in a helmet, should be easy. Child’s play.

It was nothing.

So why the hell are you feeling so terrified?

You were practically shaking— staring up at the set of stairs in front of you, leading to the Armourer who stood next to the original Forge. The one where every Mandalorian in the golden age would have been brought into the creed. And now, you were going to march up there and add your name to the list. You felt like an imposter, out of place in a flowing dress while you were surrounded by hard plates of armour and dark colours.

The only reason you moved was Bo-Katan behind you, a soft hand on the back of your arm nudging you in the right direction. You were grateful for her kind eyes as she nodded you up to the podium, and then your feet remembered they were attached to your body.

You met Din’s blackened stare, and started to move.

Your dress was loud. A brush of the light yellow fabric along the smooth granite ground sounded deafening. Like an alarm going off, alerting every watchful eye of the Mandalorian ancestors to your betraying presence.

Stars— you were starting to think like them, too.

It was hard not to get caught up in it all. The darkened room, soft whispers through helmets, and as you took the last step up, he was there. Your breath caught in your throat.

He looked the same as always. Of course he did, but it knocked the wind out of you all the same. Once he was in your sight, you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. His presence didn’t allow it. The Armourer said something, and the only reason you acknowledged her was because he did.

“This is The Way.” He says, the words sticking to you like glue when he practically purrs them out like that. This was the way it was now. You— a fake Mandalorian, unable to stand without everyone around you holding you up.

Swallowing hard, you felt Bo-Katan move away, but you were too busy watching Din take three steps to your side. His arm wrapped around yours, sneaking it’s way under the bare skin of your wrist, cold gloves skittering electricity up your arm.

And… oh.

It was like everything just stopped.

You could feel the press of his fingers, light but meaningful, like most of his small touches of you. He was careful not to wander the expanse of exposed skin, which he easily could, even in front of all these people. People who you’d… you’d actually almost forgotten everyone was there.

You stared up at him as if it was your first time seeing a night sky— entranced and all encompassed by the inky black and shining silver, and all the whispering voices faded away until it was just his rough breathing and his gloved hand on your feverish skin.

He didn’t look at you, just at where your own hand was placed, holding for dear life on one of the many plates of his armour. He led you with him over to the half sphere that sat in the middle of the stage. You peered in, seeing the eternal flame fluttering a reliable blue, with the water from the mines floating calmly behind it.

You grab him tighter— either out of reflex or wanting, but he leans into it. Lets you use him to stand, to stay strong in the face of the Armourer. You hope he’s strong enough to keep you standing on his own, because now he’s here, you aren’t sure how you stood without him.

Din was speechless.

He was known as a man of well chosen words to most, so his silence wasn’t unexpected. He was grateful he’d built that reputation, because even if he had to, he wouldn’t of found words that described why he felt frozen at the top of the stairs.

When he’d see you walk in, he felt like time had… stopped. It was stupid of him. He was meant to be in control. He was a King. Standing in front of his people; leading. But… stars, you were the only thing in 20 years that had made him freeze.

You walked so easily, like you were made to be there. It was like that first day, watching you walk through the city like the ground was made to bear your weight. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from your slow, swift steps or the way you gracefully floated across the hard floors. Neither could anyone else. Outside his direct view of you, he could see his people watching. Some eyes were evaluating; the hard faces and helmets looking you up and down like they were scanning the battlefield— precisely and with no mercy.

Others watched like he did. In awe. Some eyes were soft, some whispers drifted their compliments towards her, even though they wouldn’t be heard. That’s how he knew they were genuine. They fell on deaf ears, but they were supposed to.

When you crossed the stage to him, the only thing that snapped his attention away was the loud voice of the Armourer in his ear, telling him to move towards you.

He could tell you were nervous when he got closer— for once, your eyes betrayed you easily. He thought that he was the one that’s hard to read, considering you couldn’t see his face, but you had schooled yours to a point of contention. He knew if you could see him— really see him, you’d read right through him.

But your eyes now, even though they held his, were unsure. He was supposed to just stand next to you, walk with you to where you would touch where the mines water meets the flame, and then you’d be one of them.

But he couldn’t help himself. Your dress, draping over your skin like liquid sunshine, made something angry and foreign to him burn in his chest. He wanted to feel what it was to be that close to someone— someone, he had to tell himself. Anyone. Not just you. It was a lie, but it was one he’s going to have to believe himself.

He was jealous of your dress, gently grazing the skin of your hips, gliding against the softness of your thighs. You were covered, but he knew what was under there. What was in reaching distance for him. Instead, he settled for your arm. As soon as Bo-Katan released you, he took his chance, and for the first time in a while, he followed what his rapid beating heart was telling him to do.

When he reached for you, you answered in earnest. Your hands were nearly clawing at him, holding on to the thickest parts of his armour and pulling him close to you. He let you find purchase on his body— the line of yours tucking tightly into him, and he found himself hoping you held him harder. Dug your nails in so hard that he felt the lines being marked on his skin. He wanted you to need to lean on him— to need him like he found himself needing you up here.

You clung tightly through the whole ordeal, Din not being able to remember much about it other than how warm you were against him, and how close your skin was to his. Just a few inches of armour, feeling so heavy on his body, and he would be able to feel you. He hates that he thinks about that— a million eyes on him, and all he can think about is how soft you would be under the rough calloused palm of his hand.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s thought of feeling that. Let alone… longed for it.

The longer you held him, the more Din thought it wasn’t real. Maybe you were trying to sell it. As far as the rest of his people knew, you were supposed to be in love. You needed to be seen united and together, leaning on each other. This was just business to you— he knew that. It was to him, too.

It had to be.

The alternative… it was better to be buried than brought to light. Din wouldn’t handle that disappointment well.

The entire thing was a blur from the minute he touched you.

You remember the physical parts. Where he took you to the edge of the Forge, rested your hands on the edge of it. It was cold. Colder than he was, although he’d been pressed up against you so long his armour was as warm to the touch as your skin was. You wondered if he was that cold under that suit.

When you managed to shake that thought away, you remember him guiding your hand towards the flame. It was too hot, and you wanted to pull away for a second. You flinched, but Din kept you on the right path, guiding your hand and covering your reaction, and it ended up looking like a part of the carefully planned show.

The fire nearly licked the inside of your wrist— the water a sharp cold contrast. The Armourer spoke words, and you repeated them, but even they fade; pale in the shadow of the memory of how Din stood above you.

For the first time, he looked every bit the King you’d been told he was. He stood tall, watching as you knelt in front of him, never moving a fucking inch. Then, he reached out, gloved hand intertwining with yours as he led you down and out of the room, disappearing before you could speak again.

He didn’t have to do that.

He does everythin with purpose… and that little touch? That tiny extension of a person under all this? That was… well, it was enough to make you stumble out of the hall like an idiot.

It was mind numbing. How his fingers easily melted into the small gaps between yours, how eager he seemed to take your hand, how quickly he latched onto you and swept you out of the room, like he knew what you needed.

As you shuffled your way down and outside, you wanted to scold yourself. If anything, this was the part of the day you had to have a clear head about. You were left alone for this— it was just you, a short, isolated walkway, and a greenhouse in the middle of nowhere.

You’d asked about it. Why they had something like that out here— in an environment that seemed to harbour life well enough, despite the rumours of the toxic and cursed lands.

“It’s a symbol.” Din had replied, although when you’d asked him he’d just been The Mandalorian, the title feeling a little too official now.

“Of what?” He guided you with a hesitant hand, around the corner where the greenhouse came into view. It was small— modest, for the size of the population now. You could see the twisting vines and array of colours, though, and it was bursting with life.

“Of hope.” Din replied, and you chest tightened. “The Mandalorians that were left, after the Purge, they had nothing. Food reserves were scattered— the people were scattered. When a few banded together, this is was what came of it. It reminded them they were stronger together. Many think this was the place our true rebirth was born.”

The door was closed, but you could still see the colours bursting through it. You tried to look for him through the misted glass, but he was no where to be found. Your heart was racing— you had no idea what to truely expect in here. Would he say anything? Nothing? Would he whip out holochess to pass the time?

What made you the most afraid as you pushed the door open and stepped inside, would be that he was going to do exactly what that man said he would. That he’d share with you something you weren’t sure you wanted him to— something that would make you feel even less deserving than you already did.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see. It just felt too… too big of a thing to take from him. Despite the small conversations, you’d begun to respect the silent presence of him. And after today, you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you. You didn’t want to take anything from him, not when he’d been so giving to you.

The air felt fresher in here, passing through you in easy breaths, like there was a calming effect inside the four walls. It was bigger than it seemed, or maybe the winding vines and tall bushes that hid you in every corner made it feel more like a maze.

You let your eyes wander, a mirage of purples and blues bursting in between the brightest of green leaves. It seemed to overtake the greenhouse— it was clear there was very little maintenance on the inside, like they’d prefer to just let it run wild. It added to the atmosphere. It was almost a little… romantic.

You swallowed the burning in your throat, and shut your eyes tightly.

“Hello?” You called out, and mentally slapped yourself. It felt stupid. He was in here.

Probably.

Oh, stars.

If he was the one that left you at the altar you think you’d just crawl into a hole and die—

“Around here.” The sound of his voice sends relief rushing through your veins. You followed the sound of it, the two words enough to set you on the right path. As you rounded the corner, you could see him nearly shining, and your chest didn’t feel as tight.

He was there. Looking exactly the same, but somehow completely different in the light of the greenhouse, compared to the dark hue of the Forge room.

The darkness suited him. He was more intimidating that way— a King head to toe. But here, he was more human to you. As far as you knew, he was human, but either way, he was more approachable. Simpler. Here, he was just a man in a pretty suit.

It was very, very pretty in this light.

“I have something to show you.” He says as soon as he sees you. He spits it out like it was a loaded gun in his hand, and the sight of you was enough to make him pull the trigger.

You don’t nod, or shake your head. You just freeze. Staring at him, he turns around, and there’s no words to mince for the feeling you get in your stomach. Fear, maybe, and a little bit of simmering curiosity. You don’t want to see him out of obligation, but for a fleeting second— just for a moment, you know what you want. That you’re curious. You want to see, and you let your eyes flutter—

“AH!” You hear it before you see it.

Two giant ears stick out the sides of the helmet, and then two clawed hands hand below them. When he turns around, you notice how Dins hands hold it gently. Whatever the hell it is.

Or rather, whoever.

All thoughts of the faceless man in front of you flood out for the first time in weeks. When two giant bug eyes whip around and stare at you, ears flapping with the movement, it’s impossible to have any thoughts other than—

“What… what is that?” You say before you stop yourself. “Fuck. Sorry— I didn’t mean that. I just—“

“It’s okay. He’s my—“ The little green thing wiggles around in his arms and then promptly drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Foundling.”

“Oh. Oh!” You watch it stumble around, like it was formed out of proportion. The fast way it’s legs move seem out of alignment with its body, his head tipping forward, almost directing the rest of him, commanding it to follow.

With jagged movements, he ends up at your feet, where he promptly elevates upward, then plops back down again.

“Can he talk?” You say softly, not wanting to scare the little thing as you bend to his level. You look up to Din, who’s already watching you, and see him shake his head. “Well, that’s okay. I talk enough for the both of us.”

A metallic laugh echos from behind the small creature, and he babbles almost in response to it. The sound is infectious, making you grin as he waddles around, his ears tilting him to either side.

You reach out a hand, slowly, and instead of taking it he flies into you, resting in the crook of your arm. This angle gives you a better look, tiny hairs spiralling on his green head, a toothy smile and nearly wrinkled face. You’ve never seen anything like it before.

“He usually doesn’t take well to strangers.” Din says after a while, your body now curled half up on the floor to accomodate the tiny creature. “He likes you.”

“I can be very charming when I want to be.” You squint when you finally look up to him again, soft orange light pouring through the misted windows behind him. “He’s the little thing you were talking about, right? The found…”

“Foundling.”

“Right.” You stare down at it, watching its huge eyes blink at you, and the thing smiles. “Where the hell did you get him? I’ve never even seen… I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“He was a bounty.” You look up at Din, and clearly he can tell you’re horrified. “I didn’t know who, or what he was.”

You watch the little creature, who trusts you far too quickly for something that was clearly hunted by the likes of a Mandalorian. He yawns, speaking in little, incoherent mumbles before his eyes blink slower.

“Who would want to hurt a little guy like this?” His tiny hand wraps around one of your fingers, and you’re pretty sure you’re heart bursts.

“They’re dead.” His words are sharp and sure. It sends a cool shiver down your spine, but it’s definitely not fear.

You look back up at him, standing, and taking a step closer. Din holds your eyes for a moment, like he’s waiting for something.

You know he’s lethal. You aren’t surprised to hear he’s killed— he was a bounty hunter, and is a King. Neither of those titles are won by clean hands, not to mention the Darksaber at his side. If someone crossed him, or tried to take one of the few things he seemed to care about, you anything but surprised to hear they ended up dead.

“He’s sleeping.” You say to break the silence, and your voice drags Dins eyes away from your own.

“Here.” He reaches out, moving so close to you that you can feel the heat of his body. His real body— through the soft parts of him not covered by armour.

He scoops the sleeping form from you, and turns around, and it’s then that you notice the only other thing in the room. A hovering shape that opens on command, only to shut and float behind him once Din places his foundling in there. He’s so gentle with him. A man who just admitted to slaughtering what you can only assumed is dozens of people who got in his way, he’s surprisingly soft when he wants to be.

“Thank you. For letting me meet him.” You say, unsure of what to do next. Your hands go behind your back, eyes tracing the long vines wrapped around the frames of the greenhouse.

“I can never get him to sleep, but when I want him to stay awake, he passes out.” He stands in front of you, and even hidden under ten pounds of armour, he looks as awkward as ever. Your face splits into a grin, laughter softly shattering the careful barrier between you. “I wanted you to meet him. He’s… very important to me.”

“He’s very cute, too.”

“Grogu. That’s his name.” You try it out a few times, letting it familiarise itself in your accent.

“I like it. Nearly as much as Din Djarin. It has a nice ring to it.” You hum, and lean back against one of several wooden tables. It’s full of overgrown plants, some stretching onto the floor and splaying out under your feet.

Your hands dig into the wooden plank behind you, and the easy breathing from before is basically cut off the second he looks up at you again. It goes a little quiet, the whistle of soft wind floating over the top of the thin roof. You can’t stand the waiting around.

“Listen, you don’t… I don’t know exactly what you were planning; but I’ll say whatever you need me to when we leave here. The last thing I want to do is start this partnership off on the wrong foot.” He doesn’t say anything, conveniently finding the floor very interesting all of a sudden. “They told me about what you are meant to… do. And I don’t want you to— no, you don’t have to— can you say something so I can stop talking, please?”

Your heart was racing and you wanted to swallow your tongue if it would get you to stop throwing words around because yeah, maybe you did want him to take off that giant helmet because at the very least you’d be able to see if he was scowling or rolling his eyes or—

Laughing.

He was laughing at you.

Only a little, and you could only tell by the slight rise of his shoulders before he corrects himself and straigtens, but you catch it.

“Are you laughing at me.” You tilt your head, gaping slightly at him.

“No.”

“Asshole.” Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath. An easier breath.

“It’s okay. We— no one’s coming.” You sigh and nod your head. “You did good today.”

“Seriously?” Now you’re the one who laughs. “I nearly froze the second I got up there! If you weren’t up there I would have fallen on my ass. It was like all those helmets were staring into my soul.”

“It’s an old tradition, but they were happy to see it revived. The Forge is special to my people. You being there— they were glad for it.”

“And this?” You ask tentatively, curiosity nipping at your heels and urging you off the wall a little closer to him. “Is this all an old tradition, too?”

He readjusts with your new closeness, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he angles towards you, the crib his little baby was in only just visible behind his looming frame. He shrinks you with the long span of his shoulders, and you try not to let your eyes float lower.

“In the Old Ways, Mandalore observed very… reserved marriages.” He shifts again, nearly brushing you, and your heart beats audibly loud. “In most cases, a marriage was simply a well cooked meal and a question with an answer.”

“They just asked to be married. That was it?” He nods.

“Someone would present a gift, or a meal, some who were more intimate than others might try to make it special. But in most cases, nothing would change. They would just be. As they were before, but forever linked by the knowledge they shared. We would never know if anyone was married if they didn’t write it down, or share it with members of their clan. It wasn’t something that was shared in small groups, and no outsiders could ever tell the difference.”

“I’m guessing they weren’t fans of PDA back then, either.” He shrugs, the movement brushing your arm. “So, how’d they get to this whole thing, then?”

“As the Old Way shifted with time, so did their customs. Partners became more common, and they felt there was something missing from their relationship. Something that set them apart from the other members of their clan.” You go to answer, and bite your own tongue again before you can. “Physical touch. Intimacy. Simple touches, a kiss—“

“Partners didn’t kiss in the Old Way?”

“They never removed their helmets. Not to anyone.”

“So how did they…” He stares at you. He was really going to make you finish. “Or they didn’t…?”

“They did. At least, at some point, in some way probably. But mostly, The Way uses foundlings as a foundation for our people. Most Mandalorians’ don’t have any blood relatives in their clans, and if they did, they might not even know.” You make a small ‘huh’ sound. “But when the times shifted, it developed into the marriage system we have now, at least in the Old Way. The newer Mandalorians take on a more universal form of marriage, but the Old Way is still changed. A Mandalorian is to never remove their helmet in front of another living thing.”

“Yeah. I know that part.” You smile and gesture to him, and he stares back. He doesn’t move, his focus deadly and on you.

“When you become a partner of that Mandalorian, you are no longer another being. You become… one being. We remove our helmets, and all differences between us are bared. The things that keep us safe are torn away, and we rebuild to something new. Something connected— forever bound. You never take off your helmet in front of another living thing— but we are no longer seperate. They are a part of you until you take your last breath, and long past it.” You are spellbound. Mesmerised by his words— it’s the only way to describe it. He spoke so passionately about this, and it was hard not to feel the same. It was clear he took this very seriously, and although there was a bad taste in your mouth that you were taking this moment away from him, you couldn’t help but notice his word choice.

We are no longer seperate.

“You don’t have to show me.” You say softly, and he takes another step. He nods. “Ever. I wouldn’t take that from you.”

“This is The Way.” His hands hang by his sides.

“It’s not my way.” The slightest tilt of his head clues that you have his attention. “In my way of life, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. And this— this is important to you. It should be something you share with someone special. Someone you care for.”

He says nothing, but his hands twitch just slightly, and for a second you think he’s going to go through with it.

“The only time I want you to take your helmet off, is when you want to. You’ve… you’ve been kind to me. Respectful of my wishes, and I want to do the same.”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“And it’s enough.” It was true. He had done nothing to make you feel out of place, or uncomfortable. He’d pushed none of your boundaries, and he’d offered to help secure a lead to search for your parents killers. This… it was the least you could do. “Besides. I’m traditional. If we’re going to do the whole ‘Way’ thing, we can do it the way those old dudes did. Helmet stays on. That’s the Way.”

“This.” He corrects.

“What?”

“This is The Way.”

“Stars. Okay, I’m going to whack you in the head with this olive branch I’m extending if you’re going to correct my grammar.” You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms in front of you. “So… we’re good with this?”

He nods, and then says your name. His voice now is not wavering. It was full again, a brassy baritone surrounding the small space between you. “I had one more thing to say,”

You nod, and look down to your feet. He’d moved so close his beskar boots were nearly touching your toes. You didn’t move away.

“This is not how I saw myself getting married.”

“Great start.”

“I’m not— I’m saying it’s not what I imagined for myself. I’m not sure if I ever thought I would…” You nod. Wordlessly understanding. “When I agreed to this, I was still unsure. But, I I want you to know I have no doubts, now. Seeing you, hearing what my people think of you… your planet, your family— I will be what you need. I swear it on Mandalore herself. As long as it serves us, we will rule together, as equals.”

“Equals.” You blink at him, enthralled. It’s hard not to be. When someone as stoic as him speaks so passionately about you… it has an effect. Apparently, more of an effect than you were prepared for, because you find yourself having to think about the promises you made him yourself.

That this was just business. Just a professional contract.

“I want to rule with you. I won’t repeat my planets mistakes. I know an ally when I see one. A decent person. A good heart.” He faces you straight on, and it was the second time in the span of a few weeks you’d thought about how easy it would be for him to kiss you. If he was anyone else, you might have done it by now. “I want to do this with you by my side. And I want to be by yours.”

You didn’t have words. For a Queen that had an affinity for charm, to weave a web of intricate patterns of conversation and pull information out of the coolest of characters, Din Djarin left you utterly speechless. You couldn’t stop your hand as it reached for him.

He looked down instantly, watching the bare skin of your hand graze over the pauldron of his armour. The contrast did something to him. You know it. He locked onto it like a trained missile, tracking the light trace of your gentle fingers until they stopped just before his elbow. You shudder a breath, and whisper to him that you want that too.

His hand moves next, a calculated move that holds the wrist of your free arm. The shift means he has to step forward, bringing himself to press against you. Your eyelashes flutter, nearly brushing beskar, as he slowly tilts your arm up and intertwines your fingers. The melt of your hand in his rests between both your heaving chests, and he tries to speak. Whispers your name so lowly you wouldn’t hear it unless it was as deadly quiet as it is.

He raises your interlocked hands up higher, and there’s only one place they would be going. Only one destination that he’s chosen. When your knuckles bump lightly on the sharp edge of his helmet, you bite down your tongue. The cool beskar disappears as he moves your hands just a bit lower and dip them under… and he’s soft there. A soft, giving material hidden under the hardest metal known to the discovered universe, and then he pushes you up.

The whole thing probably takes less than a few seconds, but time nearly slows to a stop with his hands in yours. He was going to show you what equals meant. He was going to show you him. Your chest was tight, body locked in a way that only the parts he was touching were lose and mouldable. You want to… you want to see him. This is something you want, because he wants it.

Your own fingers stretch out, and the helmet moves half an inch upwards.

There’s a sliver of skin. A tanned, cut jaw that you catch, and you shuffle closer, entranced. It’s selfish and dangerous but you want to be closer, want to rip the helmet off him like a kid at christmas, impatient and shaking.

Just as you indulged your most selfish desire in the slightest, leaned forward so you could press the thin wave of your dress closer, an earth-shattering boom came from outside, and the sandy ash of the desert painted the entire world bright orange. You were thrown to the side, glass breaking under your weight as you went flying into the misted glass of the greenhouse. You heard him shout your name; something strong, something to cling to as your head slumped toward the concrete floors.

The last thing you saw was his gloved hands reaching for you before everything went black.

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