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literaila · 10 months ago

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worth

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: the past comes back to haunt you, as it usually does.

warnings: angst, allusions to disassociation, hurt/comfort, mama is sad

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year five.

"wait for me," satoru tells megumi, as soon as he starts walking away.

you're watching as megumi hangs his head, looking like he'd failed at his one objective--escaping--and turns around, glaring at satoru.

you've all been out shopping for the past two hours. getting the kids new clothes, shoes, whatever else satoru swears they need...

honestly, he's kind of cute running around like a maniac from store to store. showing tsumiki a cute dress she could wear, or teasing megumi into trying on a sweatshirt that matches his.

it's quite possibly the only reason you haven't complained.

or pointed out that both of the kids are on the verge of whining all the way home. or that he doesn't need to spend 100,000 yen to make them happy.

"hurry up," megumi tells the man, basically growling at him.

satoru grins and ruffles his hair, resting a hand on his back as the two of them begin to navigate through the crowd. mostly likely, neither of them knows where they're going.

you're not even sure where a bathroom is in this district.

"we'll wait here," you call out, nudging tsumiki. satoru turns briefly to give you a little peace sign, a little grin, and then he murmurs something to megumi you can't hear and they're both gone.

you're a little worried about them being alone together in this state but you ignore it.

"guess it's just you and me, miki," you say to the little girl at your side. she beams up at you, nodding. "do you want to sit down? how do the shoes feel?"

"mmm," she looks down, blinking at the sparkly shoes satoru insisted were perfect for her. "they're rubbing at my ankles a little."

"we can get some new socks, too. that should help. c'mon, i think there's a bench over there."

she grabs your hand as you begin towards the bench, humming something under her breath.

you look down to smile at her and don't notice the person walking by, accidentally bumping into them. "oh, i'm sorry, excuse us--" you turn and your entire body lurches away from you.

for a brief moment, you're not yourself. your conscious moves in an instant, ready to defend itself from everything, anything. you're not yourself, but someone else. someone you used to know very well.

"i--" you breathe, freezing at the person in front of you.

tsumiki pulls on your hand a little, confused when you stop suddenly. she looks to the woman standing in front of you, with a bizarre look on her face, and then tsumiki's brown eyes go back to you, her face riddled with curiosity.

"y/n?"

i don't remember a lot about her but i remember hugging her when she got home from work, and the way she said my name--

you want to forget it all.

it's clear now, several years later, that you would rather forget everything about her--about this woman standing in front of you, basically a reflection of yourself--than have to do this all over again. then have to face the memories of what she did to you. then put that child through any of it.

"hi--hey," you say because you have to.

here's the thing about seeing your mom for the first time in a decade: you can't just pretend you didn't.

you'd like to turn right around and walk away. you'd like to pretend that you've grown sometime in the past nine years, that you've turned into someone who doesn't need to stay and talk to her. you'd like to think that you're someone who can cut her right out of your life and feel all of the better for it.

but you're not.

you can't run away from your mother. you can't apologize for bumping into her and turn around with tsumiki's hand in yours and forget about it. actually, you can't even move right now.

because there's still this girl inside of you.

there's still this child, a teenager who tried so desperately to earn the approval of this woman and never got it. who tried so hard to be everything that this woman wanted, but could never try enough.

and she's clinging to your chest right now, breathing into your skin like a toxin, digging her nails into your heart and begging you to try again. telling you that you've got another shot, a chance she couldn't have--

so you can't leave now. not when you owe it to her, to yourself to try, to trick yourself into believing that it was just a fault of your own, that your childhood memories are only the result of some flaws you've already fixed.

you can't walk away when your mind is stuck on her, her, and--tsumiki.

your broken eyes turn to her.

your little girl who is standing right beside you, waiting for your next move. if you told her to run, she would. if you told her to stay by your side and say nothing, to hide behind you, she would. she wouldn't even ask you what was going on.

but for no reason at all, you can't tell tsumiki anything. you can't whisper to her that it's fine, that everything is fine. you can't introduce her or drag her away.

you can't do anything and it's never felt worse.

"i thought that was you," your mother says, tilting her head at you. she's staring like this is just a casual bump in. like you're colleagues who haven't seen each other since she went on vacation. "you look... grown."

you feel naive. there's nothing you can say to this woman to prove to her that you're better than you were. that you're far too good for her.

"thanks," you whisper, even though you know it's not a compliment. it's an instinct to appeal to her. to be polite and perfect.

your mom clasps her hands together. if you were looking at her--which you're not, you wouldn't dare--you might be able to tell that she's uncomfortable with you being there. almost surprised.

maybe she just assumed that you'd die as soon as you left the comfort of your childhood home. maybe she thought that they would've kicked you out of jujutsu high a day after you arrived, leaving you to starve on the street just like she did.

"well, how are you?"

you swallow. "i'm good."

she nods, and then she looks to your side and finally notices tsumiki there.

tsumiki, with her precious face, her beautiful brown eyes, and carefully organized hair.

you're not sure what your mother sees when she looks at her.

you wish more than anything that you could hide her. you don't want your mom's--you don't want this woman's eyes on her. you don't want her to say a single word to your daughter.

"and who's this?"

but you can't just send her away. you have no idea where satoru went, and tsumiki can't walk around on her own. not right now, not when you're so preoccupied.

you just can't walk away.

tsumiki holds her hand out, just like you taught her. "i'm tsumiki fushiguro."

"it's nice to meet you," your mother answers, shaking her hand warily like she's certain that she might get an infection from tsumiki's skin. and then she looks at you, not daring to ask what she wants to.

you clench your jaw, wanting to slap her hand away from tsumiki.

you should've put up a barrier a minute ago. the only possible block between you and a woman who doesn't deserve the pleasure of meeting tsumiki. who deserves no explanations from you.

but your cursed energy is frozen in place, and you know that if you shut yourself in, you'll never get back out.

"my daughter," you add, a bit louder now.

your mom's eyebrows raise immediately and she pauses, looking between the two of you, searching for some useless resemblance. like it isn't obvious that you share a bond, just from the way your hands are intertwined. like it's not obvious that you braided tsumiki's hair, or helped her pick out the shoes she's wearing.

like it might not be true.

still, she asks tsumiki, "how old are you?"

"twelve."

and you know where her mind goes immediately. thinking that it can't be possible. she knew you when you were twelve, and you certainly weren't pregnant with the little girl standing beside you. you certainly weren't developing any maternal skills locked away in your room, with only the curse that liked to hide in the walls to teach you.

it brings that resentment to the surface of your core, threatening to burst through your skin. you feel suddenly so angry you can't bear it.

and you're not that girl anymore, you realize. you haven't been since you met nanami and haibara and satoru.

since you learned that you were only a child and not a trophy that needed to live up to its name.

"well," your mom sighs, shaking her head. "i can't say this is what i expected."

"excuse me?"

"really, what do you know about children, y/n? don't you think you're a little young?"

tsumiki looks up at you with a frown, about to ask what she means when you stop her.

you squeeze her hand and look away, into the eyes of the woman who created you--who has that string of biology she just judged you and tsumiki for lacking--and still didn't care.

she is nothing if not the proof that dna means absolutely nothing.

"what do you know about children, mom?" you repeat, rhetorically. "at least i know that a ten-year-old shouldn't spend every hour of the day locked in their room, waiting for someone to come let them out."

"i'm shocked that you--"

"at least i know that a child is a gift and not a toy to hide away when you get bored of it."

your mom scoffs. "i can't believe this--"

"neither can i," you say and look to your daughter, who's got wide brown eyes and a confused sort of fear on her face. she doesn't need to hear anything else you have to say to this woman. you smile at her, soft as ever. "go look for dad, okay? he shouldn't be far."

it's been five minutes, and satoru's probably right around the corner, you rationalize. he's going to come pick up tsumiki and rescue you any second now.

tsumiki nods immediately, letting go of your hand. she turns to go do what you said, but before she can there's a strong hand on your shoulder, a body right beside yours, and you almost gasp in relief.

"found him," tsumiki tells you, softly.

you turn to satoru, wanting to beg him to carry you away from her, to get you away from her--but the words won't come. you're too struck by the view of his face, and the knowledge that when you finally escape from this, he's going to be right there.

satoru was there the first time, and he'll linger for the second.

his shaded eyes look back at you, observing for a second, reading your mind, and then he turns.

megumi is trailing at his side, holding a shopping bag. he looks between this stranger and you, a cautious look on his face.

tsumiki is telling him something without any words.

"hello," satoru says, smoothly, breaking the silence. "i don't believe we've met. do you know y/n?"

your mother frowns, scoffing. "i'm her mother."

you can see it when satoru reels back, looking between the two of you for a moment, an intense realization on his face.

maybe he can see the resemblance. the face that might be your own in just a few years.

or maybe, finally, he can feel the horrors of being raised by her. all of the things you've never dared to tell him.

you're pleading satoru for something with your eyes but you're not even sure what.

"there's another one?" your mom asks, almost disgusted, as satoru processes. "how old are you?"

megumi frowns. he walks over to tsumiki, who's already picked up your hand, and asks you: "this is your mom?"

you nod at him, relieved more than anything that he's there, with the rest of you. and that if you can't explain, satoru will handle it.

megumi considers it for a second. "are you sure?"

and you want to laugh so abruptly that it shocks you. you want to grab him by the face and kiss all across his cheeks.

tsumiki is already smiling at you like she knows this. her grip is strong against yours.

satoru smiles at your mom, a vicious ugly thing. "did you need something from her?"

"i--no, we just ran into each other," she tells him, seemingly confused by his entire presence. she looks at you. "who is he? another child of yours?"

satoru licks his lips. "not quite."

you're about to answer when he grabs your empty hand, shaking his head. "i don't think there's anything y/n needs to say to you," he tells her, coldly. then he looks at you. "is there?"

"no," you whisper, coveting the feeling of his hand in yours. the two children at your side, who know what it's like to be loved. megumi and tsumiki, who will never feel unwanted, as long as you have a say in it.

satoru nods, guffly, and turns. "it was a pleasure to meet you," he says, and he moves all of you away. you can almost feel it when he shields the three of you from the rest of the world.

with his hand in yours, the other in tsumiki's, and megumi on the other side of her, satoru leads you all away from her.

and you let him. because the three of them are more of a family--a better, safer one--than that woman ever was.

you can't thank them all for being there, being yours, in this moment, but you will.

at least you know that.

satoru has been watching you for hours.

since you all got home and the kids' questions began.

that was your mom?

yes.

why haven't we met her before?

i haven't seen her in a long time.

was she upset?

yes.

why?

because i'm happier than she thought i'd be, you said, i have a better family.

are we going to see her again?

absolutely not.

after that, the two of them quieted. satoru could tell that they had more questions, that megumi was curious and tsumiki was worried--but neither of them continued.

it was almost unspoken that you couldn't take much more. that you needed a break from it, even if you wouldn't say. so they both moved on, resuming their usual antics and talking about the clothes they got, when and where they'd wear them.

well, mostly tsumiki. but megumi entertained her thoughts for a while at least.

satoru just watched you. the tiny break within your eyes, the gap between you and the rest of the world. you've remained all the same since you got home. cursed energy small, unchanging. your face in one position like it'll kill you to move it.

satoru can't stand it, but he doesn't want to intrude. he doesn't want you to push him away too.

so he only sat there, trying to fill your role (which was impossible) at the dinner table.

and several hours later, after dinner, after space, satoru still hasn't brought it up.

but he doesn't get the chance to. because as soon as you've put both of them to bed--insisting on tucking them in and talking to them both separately tonight, like you're making up for something--you're sneaking into satoru's room.

and he's waiting like he always is. his arms are wide open when you walk into the room, and there's not a moment of hesitation before you fall into them. you don't blink or breathe before you're right against him, keeping yourself up with nothing more than blood and bone.

satoru hugs you close to him, trying to let everything he feels go, just for you.

(because he's just angry.

he's angry that she showed up and ruined your day. he's angry that he wasn't there to keep it from happening. he's angry that when he walked over he could tell there was something wrong because you were frozen--because you were almost barren. no cursed energy, no expression. nothing to draw him to you like usual.

and he's so angry that he can't do anything to fix it.

so angry that being the strongest sorcerer of the modern age means nothing when he really needs it to.

satoru isn't a person who hates. he never hated the people who attempted to tie him down as a kid so he couldn't escape observation. he didn't hate toji when he cut him through the throat. he didn't hate suguru for leaving, or yaga for asking why he didn't stop him.

he doesn't hate.

but he hates her.

for taking your face and twisting it around. for stealing your childhood and pretending like she didn't. for holding your precious heart in her hands and acting like it was nothing of value.

he hates her.)

you both sit there, rocking back and forth, sinking together for a moment.

and then you sniff, and satoru closes his eyes against your head, not sure what to say to make it all better.

what he can do to erase this feeling from your body. what he can do to prove to you that you're worth so much more.

"do you think i'm a good mom?" you whisper to him, as he moves back and forth.

his heart pauses, needing a moment to consider this. to not feel a fire in his soul at the very suggestion.

satoru pulls back, frowning. and he makes sure that your eyes are on his when he says, "there's not a person in the world who could take better care of them than you do," he swears, feeling like it's the most honest thing he's ever said.

he wants to brand the words into your skin just so you never ask such a ridiculous question again.

"thank you," you say, voice breaking, and satoru wipes the tears falling down your cheeks away. each one a different memory, a terrible moment where someone showed you that you didn't matter.

and when they continue to fall, satoru continues to wipe them away.

"do you want to talk about it?" he asks, almost hesitating. he's not sure that he can handle hearing about it--but he would if you needed him to.

"not tonight," you whisper and fall against him again.

satoru holds you close.

and he swears, to whoever is listening, that he'll love you enough to make up for that woman. he'll love you enough to make up for everything.

he loves you enough to be sure of it.

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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A memory || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

GIF by @sommerspage divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: You have never questioned Coriolanus about what happened during his exile as peacemaker. But when the truth is revealed, Snow’s past quickly comes to haunt him.

Warning: blood, mention of infidelity, miscarriage

Wc: 1,818

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

“I really don’t think this is a good idea y/n.” Snow paces around the room as you sip your tea. “I’ll be fine Coryo, It’s a duty as First Lady that I need to do. It brings hope and somewhat unity to the districts.” Snow stops to look at you, his piercing blue eyes never failing to make you squirm under his gaze.

“If any of them touch you I swear-“ He storms your direction before you cut him off, “No one is going to touch me Snow. The baby and I will be perfectly fine.” You reach for his hand and place it on the barely there swell of your stomach. He lets out a sigh, dropping to his knees as he leans his head gently on your stomach.

“I want you back in one piece, untouched.” He softly says as you put your hands on either side of his face. “I promise.” Was all you said before kissing his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his soft tender lips that moulded perfectly against yours.

A knock at the door made you look behind your back, “The train is ready,” A voice called out. Snow stands up, towering over you as you embrace him in a tight hug. “Be safe. I love you.” He says against your hair as you rub his back. “I love you too,” You say, muffled slightly against his chest.

The trip to all the districts was going to take some time, around 3 months or so. 3 months away from the Capitol, 3 months away from your Coriolanus. But as First Lady, it was your duty to bring a sense of unity and hope to everyone, including the districts.

Coriolanus was against this trip ever since your brought it up. After his exile, he never spoke about what happened during his years as a peacekeeper, all you knew was that he sacrificed so much to return and become President. You never probed him into telling you exactly what happened, you just knew it was something he rather kept a distant memory.

Visiting each district went smoothly. Majority of the people respected you. And you only treated them with equalness and kindness. That was just who you were. Coriolanus ensured that the most strongest guards accompanied you. You felt safe most of the time.

Except for an attack during your visit to district 8. You weren’t harmed but shaken up to say the least. When news of this came back to the Capitol, Coriolanus urged you to finish your trip that instance and return but your refused, saying it would only make people perceive you as weak, and just like the others at Capitol.

Nearly 3 months had passed and you finally made it to the last district, district 12. You were already 3 months pregnant. District 12 was the poorest and smallest district, but you personally enjoyed it the most. Lots of singing and dancing happened around which you enjoyed after an exhausting 3 months of travelling.

You were sat at the back of a bar where everyone was dancing and singing along to the female singer on stage. Guards were by your side, ready for anything that may come your way. All of a sudden, a woman came up to you, she had a cloak over her head, slightly covering her face.

The guards came closer to you but you gestured them to back off. “Lady Y/n, It is an honour to see you here in our district,” Her voice spoke. You smile, “It’s my pleasure. I find district 12 my favourite, but don’t go telling the other districts that” You chuckle as the woman does the same.

“What’s your name?” You ask, trying to search her features that were covered. “Lucy. Lucy Gray Baird.” That name. It was so familiar to you. “Have I met you? Lucy Gray?” You try and dig through your memories seeing if you could match the name to a face.

She chuckles. “I don’t think so. Though I am familiar with your Husband, the President.” She pulls back her hood and it all clicked. Lucy Gray. Coriolanus’ tribute during the 10th hunger games. “I’m familiar with you now Lucy. The tribute my husband mentored, the tribute he cheated for.” You nod your head at her as she smiles.

You knew Coriolanus was a peacekeeper in this very district. What you didn’t understand was why he was relocated from district 8 to district 12. A surge of curiosity courses through your veins. Curiosity to what happened here while Snow was peacekeeper, what sacrifices he had to make in order to become President.

“Would you like to sit down? I have a few questions I hope you are able to answer for me, please.” Your voiced out in slight desperation. Lucy studies you for a moment before nodding her head. You look towards the guards who nodded their head and give the two of you space, but still on watch out.

“My husband was to be a peacekeeper in district 8 yet he was relocated here. Do you know any reason as to why that happened? I need you to be completely honest with me Lucy.” You felt a sense of guilt. You promised Snow you wouldn’t dig into what happened during his exile, but you couldn’t help it.

“I will be completely honest with you, Y/n.” You take her hands in yours as she glances down at your hands. “Coriolanus relocated here because of me,” She slowly said as you search her eyes to see if she was lying. She wasn’t.

You swallow as you urged her to continue. She then revealed everything to you. From bobbin being murdered by him in the arena, to him killing the mayor’s daughter Mayfair, and the death of Sejanus which she suspected was Snow’s doing. Lucy also revealed to you her relationship that she had with Coriolanus.

It started even when you and Coriolanus were together, but you just had no idea. You tried to stay as far away as you could from the hunger games. You were utterly shocked. It made so much sense to you. Snow’s words hinted what he did and Lucy’s words backed them up perfectly.

“And what happened between you and him?” You fidget with your fingers. “I was scared. So scared of him Y/n. I thought he was going to kill me when he found guns in the cabin. And that was exactly what he tried doing but I escaped.” Lucy let out a shaky breath as you listen intently. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me this.” You hold her hands before placing money in them as her eyes widen.

“Take care Lucy Gray.” Was all you said before you got up, leaving the bar. “This trip comes to an end right now.” Your voice was shaky as you step into the train back to the Capitol. Your mind was swirling with thoughts. What Lucy Gray told you made you question so many things about Snow.

You knew he would never hurt you. But there was still the lingering thought that he might. You knew Snow came back a changed man, but you never knew how much he had changed and what sacrifices he had to make. The trip back felt like an eternity. You could hardly sleep, drink or eat. Thoughts plagued your mind.

The train came to a halt, but you were deep in thought to even realise. A hand touched your arm, “Are you okay?” Coriolanus asks in a worried tone as you stare at him in confusion. “Y/n? Y/n!” Was all you heard before you saw blackness.

You slowly open your eyes as you adjust to the bright light. You look around your surroundings and felt a heavy weight on your hand. “Coryo?” You weakly say as he wakes up in surprise. “Y/n. Thank God you’re okay,” He hugs you tightly.

“What happened?” You touch your head that was pounding, “You passed out on the train. The doctors said you barely ate anything or slept. What happened?” He asks as he cups your face in his big hands. Memories of what happened came running back to you.

Lucy Gray’s words came back to you. You suddenly push Coriolanus off of you. He looks at you in shock. “Did I do something?” “Get out.” You softly say, refusing to look at him. “What? Y/n-“ “I said get out Coriolanus!” You say this time louder and more stern. He swallows hard, before leaving you alone just as you asked.

You uncontrollably start to sob. Your heart was aching so much. You understood he had to do whatever it took but killing those innocent people…. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. As you sobbed you felt something wet in between your legs. You pause. No. No.

You quickly throw the blanket off of you as you scream at the sight of blood. “Help! Someone please help me!” You scream as tears continue to fall down your face. The door burst open to reveal Snow there, a horrified look on his face at the sight of blood. “Why me?” Was all you said in between your sobs as Snow runs out.

“I’m so sorry,” The doctor says to Coriolanus as you lay on your side, your back facing him as hot tears streamed down your face. You had just lost the baby. Exhaustion, lack of sleep and food led to it. “Y/n…” Snow’s voice was soft, you flinch at his touch on your shoulder as he backs off.

“She told me everything.” You manage to say, you turn over but refuse to look him in the eyes. Confusion etched his features at what you possible could mean. “Lucy Gray. She told me everything” Coriolanus’ features harden at the sound of her name. “She’s lying. You honestly trust a district’s word?”

“Everything she said made pretty darn sense Coriolanus. The sacrifices you made? You mean killing your best friend and innocent people! And you and Lucy. Look me in the eyes and tell me that never happened.” He looked taken back. You sobbed as you cover your mouth in disbelief. “I can’t believe this oh my god!”

“Do you even love me?” You asked. Coriolanus rushed to your side, taking your hands in his. “Of course I do. Of course I love you Y/n. More than anything. I did whatever it took to come back to you. You have to understand that.” A few tear drops fall from his eyes as he pleads.

“I just need time and-and space. Please.” You screw your eyes shut as you look away. Coriolanus sniffles before standing up, straightening his jacket as he nods. “Of course, I understand.” As soon the door shut closed, another round of tears gush from your eyes.

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow #hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #president snow #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus snow angst #fanfiction #tom blyth x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #coriolanus x you

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solelifauna · 6 days ago

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Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.5

Guys, I'm cooked. Anyways, thank you for all the kind words!!! Also Y/n's cooked too...anyways! Enjoy!

ALSO!! EVERYONE THANK @oof-spoof!! THIS SERIES IS NOW BASICALLY DEDICATED TO THEM!!! Thank you @oof-spoof for supporting me!

The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your words sinking in as if the world itself had pressed down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about stopping Omni-Man and Invincible or sending that crucial tip to the Guardians of the Globe—it was about surviving long enough to make any of it matter.

The irrefutable fact lingered in the back of everyone’s mind, unspoken but looming: you might be killed again.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the memory of your father’s hand crushing your skull replaying in vivid, excruciating detail. The sound, the pressure, the blinding pain—it haunted you in ways you couldn’t even articulate. And if not that, then what? Would it be a more horrific death this time? Burned alive? Torn apart?

You looked around the table, the same realization written on the faces of your friends. Hallie was biting her lip, staring blankly at the table as her fingers drummed nervously. Connor’s jaw was clenched, his fists curled tightly on his lap. Weston was silent, his expression unreadable, but his tired eyes betrayed him.

Finally, Weston broke the silence. “I’ll figure out how to send the tip,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. His gaze shifted between each of you before landing back on his hands. “You guys focus on keeping our… other obligation in check.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about the Demogorgons. Those damn things hadn’t been on your radar for the past few days, but they were still out there, roaming the town, lurking in shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Judging by the groans and sighs from Connor and Hallie, they’d forgotten too.

“Everyone still has their things, right?” you asked, already mentally cataloging what you had at home.

Hallie sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “Got my pump action and bolt action in my trunk and in my closet,” she said, her voice steadier than her posture.

Connor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Got ammo and a G-48, Haymitch's axe, and the machete,” he listed off, his tone bordering on exhaustion.

“I still have the smoke bombs and my dad’s rifle he thinks he sold,” Weston added, his voice low but firm.

You nodded, storing the information away. “Good. We’ll need all that and more.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. You’d fought these monsters before. You’d survived the impossible. But this time, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about holding the line, balancing the dual threats of the Demogorgons and the looming Viltrumite takeover.

"I say we prepare for the worst," you finally say, your voice cutting through the silence. "Stock up on ammo when you can, supplies, canned food, and whatever else we’ll need. We have to be ready in case everything goes to shit again, in case… in case what we do doesn’t work—"

“Don’t.” Connor’s voice cuts you off, sharp and sudden. “Don’t say that, (Y/n).”

You flinch at the rawness in his voice, the sheer force of his words.

“Connor—” you start, but he barrels forward, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking.

“It has to work!” he says, his voice trembling. “It has to, or else—” He looks away, jaw tight, his hands clenching into fists. “Or else that means we fought for nothing. That means all those people who died—who are going to die—died for nothing. That means we came back for nothing.”

His words hang in the air, raw and painful. You feel them hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your lips press together tightly as you try to find something—anything—to say. Connor was always the "strong" one of the group, the silent type, the brash one who rarely let anyone see how deeply he felt things. He was the backbone, the shoulder everyone else could lean on when things got tough. Seeing him like this, unraveling, hurts more than you want to admit.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Connor,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes watery as he scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “You—you’re just doing what you always do, trying to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, Con,” you say quickly, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “I—I get it. Really, I do.”

The tension around the table is palpable. Hallie and Weston exchange uneasy glances, their worry for Connor evident in the grim lines of their faces.

“Connor,” Hallie starts gently, her voice low and careful, “nobody’s saying what happened before will happen again, but—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He lets out a shaky breath and sinks back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. But we have to consider the high chance it will.”

The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the thought of failing—of going through all of it again—was unbearable.

But you didn’t have a choice.

You glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their tired faces, the fear lingering in their eyes. They were your family, your only anchor in a world that felt increasingly impossible to navigate.

“We’ll make it work,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

You don’t know if they believe you, and honestly, you’re not even sure if you believe yourself.

Weston’s hand comes to rest on Connor’s shoulder, rubbing little circles in that gentle, soothing way he always did to calm the group down. It was such a Weston thing to do—he had always been physical with his care and affection, expressing his love in small touches and gestures that reminded you all you weren’t alone. You see Connor’s shoulders relax just slightly under Weston’s touch, though the tension doesn’t completely leave him.

You shift closer, moving to sit beside Connor, offering your silent presence as support. Across the table, Hallie slides her water bottle toward him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Here,” she says softly. Her voice doesn’t waver, but her eyes betray the depth of her concern. Connor takes the bottle with a small, muttered “thanks,” and sips from it, his gaze distant.

The weight of the moment settles over all of you, thick and suffocating. No one says anything for a while, and for a brief moment, the only sound is the distant hum of chatter from other tables in the courtyard.

Then the lunch bell rings, cutting through the stillness like a knife, signaling it’s time to go back to class. The sound sends a jolt through you, and you see the same dread reflected in everyone’s faces. None of you want to go. Yet, there was nothing you could do.

You all stand reluctantly, gathering your things in silence. Before you split up, you squeeze Connor’s shoulder gently, hoping it conveys what you can’t find the words to say. He offers a faint smile.

You walk into the crowded hallway, your mind scrambling as you try to recall your next class. What was it? You swear you knew just minutes ago, but now the information is gone, like a wisp of smoke slipping through your fingers.

You glance around desperately, hoping to recognize a familiar face, someone who might share the class with you. But the sea of students around you is a blur of faces you barely recognize. Who the hell are these people? You don’t remember their names, their voices, their stories. They’re strangers, even though you know you should know them.

Panic creeps up your spine as you weave through the hall, your breathing growing shallow. You’re losing it. You’re losing yourself, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The realization claws at you, sharp and unrelenting.

You hate this. You hate what this world, what this second chance, has reduced you to. What it’s reduced all of you to.

Your hands tremble as you tighten your grip on your bag, willing the shaking to stop, but it doesn’t. You pass classrooms, peeking inside, hoping something will click—a desk, a teacher, a face. But nothing does.

The hallways start growing emptier as students file into their classrooms, the bustling energy fading into a deafening quiet. You glance around, the panic tightening in your chest. Where the hell were you supposed to go?

Your mind scrambles, trying to latch onto something—anything—that will tell you your next class. The answer eludes you, slipping through your fingers like sand. You fumble with your phone, attempting to log into your student portal. At least that would show your schedule, right?

Except the password isn’t auto-saved. Of course, it isn’t.

You sit there staring at the login screen, willing your brain to remember your credentials, but nothing comes. It’s just another blank void. Great. Now you can’t even see your schedule, let alone your grades. Not that grades should be at the top of your concerns right now, but still, the thought gnaws at the back of your mind. You’re so screwed.

You lean against a row of lockers, the cold metal biting into your back as you let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell do I do now? Asking the front desk for help is out of the question. It’s the middle of the school year, and no one forgets their schedule this far in. It would raise questions. And why couldn’t you just look it up yourself? The idea of facing that judgment makes you cringe.

No, you can’t do that.

Instead, you resign yourself to staying in a random, empty hallway, slumping down against the wall. The quiet envelops you, a brief respite from the overwhelming noise in your head. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle around you. God, you didn’t realize how much your eyes were burning, how much your body ached.

The idea of just staying here, hidden and still, is so tempting. Maybe you could just chill here for a while. Yeah, that sounded nice. Just a little break.

You don’t realize how much time passes as you sit there, your mind drifting between the chaos of your thoughts and the exhaustion weighing you down. For a brief moment, you feel the smallest sliver of peace.

Until a voice shatters it.

“Playing hooky, (Y/n)?”

Your stomach drops. No. Not him. Not now.

Mark’s voice carries that unmistakable mix of smugness and sharpness, the tone that always made you want to squirm. “Tch, Mom and Dad are not going to be happy. Especially after the last meeting your counselor had about your little habit of skipping classes.”

You open your eyes, and there he is, standing over you with a smirk that makes you want to curl in on yourself. His eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating, as if he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“W-what? When did—oh shit,” you stammer, the memory hitting you like a brick. He’s talking about the meeting. You’d skipped a bunch of classes last semester to deal with the Demogorgons. Sure, you kept your grades up, but that didn’t stop the school from calling your mom. And to say she was upset was an understatement.

Mark’s smirk widens as he watches the realization dawn on your face. “Ah, there it is,” he says mockingly, leaning against the wall. “I’m sure Mom will love hearing about this. You know how she feels about second chances.”

You glare at him, the panic in your chest now mixed with frustration. “Mark, I—look, just don’t. Please.”

His expression softens, but only slightly. There’s still that edge to his voice, that unnerving mix of concern and menace. “Don’t what? Tell her? You’re not making this easy, you know. Skipping class, hiding out like this… It’s like you want her to freak out.”

“I just—” You falter, your words failing you. The exhaustion, the stress, the sheer overwhelming nature of everything—it’s all too much. You can’t think of a good excuse, and Mark’s gaze feels like it’s cutting through every lie you might try to tell.

He crouches down, leveling his eyes with yours. “What’s going on with you, (Y/n)?” he asks, his voice softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been off. I know you’re not telling me everything.”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze.

Mark’s words linger in the air like a trap, waiting for you to fall in. “Are you depressed or something? Maybe it’s a boy? I don’t know, (Y/n), but something’s off. I know it is,” he says, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Just tell me. Tell your big brother, and I can make it go away.”

The irony of it all hits you like a freight train, and you can’t help it—you huff, then giggle, and then it all spirals out of control. A laugh bubbles out of you, wild and uncontainable, quickly escalating into full-blown hysterics. You’re wheezing now, clutching your sides, and you know you must look insane. Maybe you are. How could you not be?

It’s funny, really. The idea that he, Mark, could fix your problems. That he could “make it go away.” It’s laughable because a massive chunk of your problems is sitting right in front of you, watching you unravel with that same calculating smirk. How utterly absurd.

Your laughter devolves into choked breaths as your chest tightens painfully. The tears come next, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, loud and ugly, your body shaking uncontrollably.

Mark’s expression shifts, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then something darker takes hold—something intrigued, almost amused. He wasn’t expecting this, but oh, was he glad. He leans in closer, his lips curling into a softer smile. There was something seriously wrong with you. He knew it now. And that knowledge only made him more eager to figure out what had happened to his weak, adorable little sister.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he coos, his voice deceptively sweet as he cups your cheek with his large, warm hand. His thumb brushes against your tear-streaked skin, wiping away the evidence of your breakdown. His touch is firm but gentle, an unnerving mix of comfort and control.

You try to flinch away, your instincts screaming at you to get out of his grasp, but your body betrays you. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into his hand, your head tilting slightly as if seeking solace. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. But you’re only human, and his warmth feels like the only anchor keeping you from completely spiraling.

“St-stop this,” you choke out between sobs, your voice barely audible. “Puh-please.”

Mark tilts his head, his expression almost mockingly innocent. “Stop what, (Y/n)?” he asks softly, his voice laced with feigned confusion.

“This,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “This—what you—you’re doing. Please, it—it isn’t fair.”

His hand doesn’t move from your cheek, and his thumb continues its slow, deliberate motion, wiping away fresh tears as they fall. His smile softens further, but his eyes remain sharp, predatory.

“Fair?” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “Oh, (Y/n). Life isn’t fair. You know that.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

You shake your head weakly, your sobs growing quieter but no less intense. “You—”

He interrupts you gently, his voice soothing but utterly condescending. “Shh. Just let me take care of you.”

The words send a chill down your spine, the weight of his intent pressing down on you. You know there’s no escaping him now, not when he’s latched onto you like this. Not when he’s decided you’re his problem to solve, his little sister to protect—even if it means breaking you further in the process.

Mark’s gaze lingers on your trembling form, his hand still cradling your cheek. He studies you with a mix of curiosity and calculation, the wheels turning in his mind as he contemplates your place in all of this. Maybe he could make something useful out of you. Maybe you could be shaped into something worthy of the Viltrumite cause.

But as he takes in your tear-streaked face, the way your body shakes beneath his touch, he doubts it. You’re too weak. Too small. Too soft.

It’s almost pathetic how fragile you are, how human you are.

Still, the thought lingers—what if? What if you could prove yourself? What if, against all odds, you showed even the slightest potential? Perhaps then he could convince their father to keep you after the takeover. It would be difficult, of course. Nolan had little patience for weakness, and you were the embodiment of everything the Viltrumite race despised. But if you somehow managed to prove your worth, there was a chance.

Mark’s lips curve into a faint smile, the thought of sparing you for his mother’s sake bringing him a strange sense of satisfaction. You weren’t ideal offspring, no, far from it. But you were her daughter. Debbie would appreciate having you around, he’s sure of it, especially when their father inevitably takes her away from Earth to shield her from the chaos of their conquest.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Mark murmurs, his voice low and smooth. His thumb pauses for a moment, pressing lightly against your cheekbone as his eyes bore into yours. “If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t even consider giving you a chance. But maybe… maybe you’ll surprise us.”

You blink at him, your chest tightening as his words sink in. “A-a chance? Mark, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his smile widening slightly, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll see,” he says cryptically, pulling his hand away and standing to his full height. His shadow looms over you, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re shrinking under his gaze.

“Just remember, (Y/n),” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more deliberate. “This world isn’t kind to people like you. But you’re lucky to have me. I’ll make sure you don’t get left behind.”

The words feel like a promise and a threat all at once, leaving you frozen in place as he turns and walks away, his presence lingering long after he’s gone.

You’re left alone in the empty hallway, your breaths shaky and uneven, the weight of his intentions pressing down on you like a vice. Lucky, he said. But you don’t feel lucky. You feel trapped. And no amount of tears can wash that feeling away.

You sit there, slumped against the wall, trying to process what the hell Mark was talking about. “If it weren’t for Mom?” What does that even mean? Why would she have anything to do with whether Mark decided to “give you a chance?” What kind of chance was he even talking about?

Your mind spirals as you try to make sense of his cryptic words, the unease clawing at your insides. The idea that your mother somehow factored into whatever twisted plans Mark had for you only made the knot in your stomach tighten. What was he planning? What did he mean by not getting left behind?

Your thoughts race, one question bleeding into the next as panic wells up inside you. You can’t piece it together. You don’t have enough information. But the way he looked at you—the cold calculation behind his eyes, the way his words felt like a threat wrapped in false care—it makes your skin crawl.

You bury your face in your hands, your breathing shallow as your mind loops through the interaction. What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, Mark is on his way out of the school building, his phone already in hand. He dials the familiar number, his expression cool and composed. The phone rings only twice before the unmistakable voice of his father, Nolan, answers.

“What is it?” Omni-Man’s voice is gruff, direct, as always.

Mark leans against the wall outside, his tone calm but tinged with a quiet urgency. “It’s about (Y/n),” he begins, cutting straight to the point. “There’s something off with her. More than usual.”

On the other end of the line, Nolan sighs. His voice is bored, disinterested. “Mark, your sister has always been like this. Emotional and a bit erratic. It’s nothing new.”

Mark clenches his jaw but keeps his tone steady. “No, Dad, this is different. She’s acting weird—like, really weird. Come’on, I’m sure you’ve noticed how she’s stopped constantly asking to go out with us? Or how everytime she looks at one of us, her heart rate always increases, hell, I could smell the adrenaline rush that gets triggered.”

Nolan’s silence stretches for a moment. “Dad, why is she having a fight or flight, fear response triggered, huh?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Mark,” Omni-man sighs out. “If it’s worth worrying about, I’ll handle it. But until then, she’s just…” He pauses, and Mark can practically see the look on his father’s face. “She’s still a human.”

Mark exhales sharply, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better than to push Nolan when he’s like this. “Fine,” he says, his voice tight. “But if I find out something important, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Nolan replies curtly, and the line goes dead.

Mark slips his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. He’s not entirely satisfied with his father’s response, but he’s also not surprised. Nolan has never had much patience for what he considers “mundane human nonsense.” If (Y/n)’s behavior didn’t involve anything worthy of the Viltrumite cause, it simply wasn’t a priority to him.

Still, Mark can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than his father realizes. And if Nolan won’t take it seriously, then Mark will.

#neglected reader #platonic yandere #yandere invincible #yandere omniman #yandere mark grayson #yandere nolan grayson #debbie grayson #mark grayson #nolan grayson #omni man #invincible x reader #invincible

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gotta-winwin · 20 days ago

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(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> and for the ghosts that haunt me

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 3.6k tw: anxiety, mentions of bullying, panic attacks, blood, use of slut shaming italics are interviews cut between scenes + english a/n: this is a retelling of a story that is extremely close to my heart. school bullying is NOT a joke, and remember that you're beautiful, strong and that no matter what anyone else says - you define who and what you are. if any of the above trigger warnings trigger you - scroll away, stay safe, and come back for the next one 💓

“Cyana!”

Cyana turned to greet her, a mysterious, faceless young girl whose voice sounded all too familiar.

“Chloe, hey.” She smiled, a wave of fond memories washing over her as she reminisced about what used to be. “I’ve missed you.”

“We saw each other yesterday, silly.” Chloe laughed, the sound sending sudden chills down Cyana’s spine.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Cyana asked, noticing the sinister glare behind Chloe’s friendly smile. “Chloe?”

“You really don’t know, huh?” Chloe chortled, eyes dancing with mirth, relishing in the glory Cyana’s confusion and fear gave her. “God, you really are dense. Just like your mother. Bet you won’t go to university, just like her.”

“Stop that.” Cyana protested, and a sudden sense of deja vu washed over her. This had happened before. “What’s going on, Chloe? Aren’t we friends?”

“Psh.” Chloe hid a smirk behind her hand. “You’re way too naive to be sixteen, Cyana.”

Sixteen? She frowned. She was way past sixteen now. Turning twenty one just a couple months ago had hit her like a truck. She didn’t feel her age. In her head she was still sixteen, huddled behind bathroom stalls and hanging her head low in hallways.

“Cyana?” A familiar voice spoke out of Chloe’s face. “Cyana?”

She blinked.

“Chan?”

The familiar face of her self-proclaimed twin and tour roommate hovered over her, blurred and hazy as she blinked up at him. Gentle fingers placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose, and a worried Chan came into clear view.

“Are you okay, Nana? You were crying out for something.”

She sat up, nearly bumping into him as she looked around, disoriented. “I- just a dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan echoed the words his hyungs used to say years ago. “I used to get nightmares too. Jeonghan always said talking about it would make it easier.”

She shook her head.

“Cyana, she-” Dino paused, thinking. “She doesn’t like talking about herself very much. Sometimes I wonder if I really know her at all, and then I shake myself out of it because- she’s my twin. Of course I know her well. There are just some things she’s not ready to share yet.”

Cyana could feel her hands shaking as she packed for LA. Although she had been mentally counting down the days of tour leading up to it, she hadn’t realized it’d be so soon.

“Nana-yah?” Joshua knocked against the wall of her hotel room, poking his head in. “Are you all ready? We’re leaving soon.”

She hummed, keeping her head low, scared he’d pinpoint her red eyes and accuse her of crying. “Almost done.”

Nothing ever got past Joshua.

“Are you alright?”

Cyana really wished people would stop asking her that.

“I’m fine.”

“Cyana, she-” Joshua let out a breathy laugh. “Her tolerance for things is too high for her own good.”

Lingering by her door, Joshua’s eyebrows were pulled tight as he watched Cyana continue packing, her hands quivering under the dim lights of the room. A storm cloud was starting to stir within him, something deeply unsettling and worrying hovering just above the horizon - Joshua could sense it.

“I was never good at weaseling the truth out from others. Or forcing them to tell me. That was Cheol’s job. But he wasn’t there.” Joshua gave the camera a weary shrug. “It was what it was.”

Wonwoo was the one who found Cyana on the cold tiles of the airport bathroom, ten minutes before their flight to LA.

Pushing the door open with the brunt of his shoulder, Wonwoo crashed into the single occupant stall, disheveled and frantic as he stared at the girl sprawled across the tiles.

“Cyana?” He gasped out, catching his breath as he bent down, moving her hair away from her face. “Everyone’s looking for you. What-” Reality hit him like a rock as he realized the severity of the situation. There were dozens, if not hundreds of fans outside, and Cyana was currently lying on the floor, her eyes bloodshot and unfocused. “Where does it hurt?”

Her blurry eyes looked up to meet him as she took in his features. “Wonu?”

“Yeah.” His hands hovered shakily over her frame as his mind short-circuited, scared to move her but equally scared to let her stay on the floor. “The floor is unsanitary, Nana.” He mumbled, trying to calm himself as he checked for injuries. “Where does it hurt?”

Her hand moved to her chest.

“Your-” He paused, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t breathe.”

Ah. Panic attack. Why, Wonwoo had no clue, but at least he was familiar with these.

“Sit up. That’s good.” He braved a smile as he helped Cyana situate herself so she was leaning against the wall. Sitting down in front of her, Wonwoo spread his long legs in an uncomfortable position, but favourable for holding her as close as she needed. “Breathe. Slowly.”

He felt her whole body shake as she inhaled.

“Breathe again.” He whispered, painfully aware of the time ticking away - a plane waiting to be caught. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He felt her shake her head, her hair brushing against his chin as she did.

“Please.”

“I don’t want to go to LA.”

Wonwoo had suspected so. “Why?”

Cyana didn’t know what compelled her to tell him everything - but she did, crying on the bathroom floor in some grimy airport, covered in his arms. Wonwoo stayed silent as she spoke, his strong arms holding her together like glue as tears fell from his own eyes, mirroring the ones in hers.

“Yeah, I knew. I knew everything.” Wonwoo told the camera, revealing the truth after nearly six months. “But once she had collected herself back together again, she told me to keep everything to myself. So that’s what I did.”

“Cyana, you need to get out of bed.”

Dino watched from his spot on his own bed, as Joshua gently scolded his roommate. He was confused why an usually active and energetic Cyana had been lounging in bed all day, practically every day since they had landed in LA.

“Shua hyung’s right, Nana.” Dino quietly voiced his opinion, frowning when Cyana grumbled unhappily. “What’s been going on with you? So grumpy.”

“We’re here for our concert, right? So I don’t have to go outside.” Cyana argued, pulling the blankets tighter around herself. “Please don’t make me go out.”

“We’re here for a week, Nana.” Joshua sighed, exasperated. “You can’t stay here all week.”

Cyana’s lower lip jutted out. “Watch me.”

Dino watched the whole exchange like a tennis match, his head turning back and forth as he watched them speak, confused by the sudden switch in language. “Nana.” He tried again, thinking maybe she’d be more receptive if it was coming from him. “Please? You said you’d take me sightseeing.”

Cyana hesitated. She had agreed to Dino’s ask for her to be his tour guide, but that was before -

“Okay, fine.” She relented, unable to take back her promise. “But only today. And we’re avoiding the popular spots.”

Dino only got up excitedly, hurriedly getting ready and grabbing his bag. Joshua, on the other hand, frowned at her words. Avoid the popular spots? But why? Even as idols, they could often roam around unfazed, especially in the states, where Seventeen was yet to be a household name.

“I was already worried then.” Joshua told the interviewer solemnly. “But we had enough bad vibes going around and- I guess I was praying it was all in my head, and that she was actually perfectly fine.”

“You run away from your past until it all eventually coils up and attacks you all at once.” Cyana let out a defeated laugh. “LA was full of demons- demons I had fled to Korea to avoid. And now- well, tour had brought me right back where I started.”

Cyana stared out into the vast ocean of fanlights trying to catch her breath. Joshua had told her - moments before running onstage - to just breathe. To ignore everything else around her and to just concentrate on the performance, on them. It was easier said than done because now, looking out into the crowd, all Cyana could think about was the probability of one of those fanlights being someone she knew.

A small, miniscule possibility - but it terrified her nonetheless. The same kids that had threatened to destroy her could very well be staring up at her from the sea of fans and she felt too vulnerable.

“Breathe.”

Wonwoo appeared next to her, waving to the fans in their section but solely concentrated on her. He could hear her harsh breathing through the screams. “Breathe, Nana.” He reminded her gently.

It felt comforting knowing at least one person knew everything she was going through.

Taking her hand and placing it on his chest, Wonwoo’s eyes fixed on hers, his expression serious but worried. “Breathe - like me. In and out.”

Cyana did her best to follow the rhythm. “I’m trying.” She gasped out.

“Good.” Wonwoo smiled, and Cyana basked in the light of it. “You’re okay.”

“Mhm.” She nodded. She could make it through the concert - concentrated solely on the two of them, the little bubble that Wonwoo’s presence created around her.

Cyana could barely see her own hands as she stumbled offstage, making her way down the stairs the moment the stage screen had closed behind them. Her heartbeat was taking over her senses, drowning out the farewell cheers of the crowd.

Reaching a hand up to touch her face, she let out a harsh sigh of both relief and disbelief. She was still alive.

“Nana?” DK’s voice cut through the incessant hum in her ears. “Are you okay?”

A hand grabbed her shoulder and she flinched away violently. “Don’t touch me.” She yelped out, terrified as she spun around.

“Okay, I’m sorry!” DK yelped back, equally terrified by her sudden reaction. “You just don’t look so well and I thought- you might need a hand.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I’m fine.” Cyana couldn’t believe she had just snapped at DK, who looked at her with hurt in his eyes as she stumbled away towards their changing rooms.

“She looked almost drunk.” DK confided to the interviewer. “Stumbling around backstage, her hands digging into her neck and ripping out her in-ears. She looked sick. It was terrifying.”

“I’ll go after her.” Joshua called out towards the rest of the group, who were all frozen, unsure of what to do.

“Wait.” Wonwoo grabbed his arm, stopping him. “She’s not in her right mind right now. Something must have happened during the farewell ment. I’ll talk to her.”

“Are you sure?” Joshua eyed the younger boy warily. Since when had Wonwoo and Cyana gotten this close?

Wonwoo nodded, and Joshua could sense he knew something the others did not.

Running after her, Wonwoo skidded to a stop as he spotted Cyana sitting, half lying down on one of the makeup chairs.

“Cyana.” He approached her, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. He didn’t know what mindset she was in at the moment. “Nana-yah.” He reached out a hand to steady her, keeping her upright as she threatened to spill on the floor. “Look at me.”

“I’m sorry.” She panted out, her eyes unfocused. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” The English felt strange against his tongue, but it got some sort of recognition from the girl as she raised her head to meet his eyes.

“It’s all my fault.”

“What is? Cyana, what?”

“Don’t hurt me.”

Wonwoo froze. “I’d never hurt you, Cyana.”

“Chloe.”

“Is that her name? The girl who hurt you back in school? The reason you left?” The questions left him in a flurry as he kept her upright, her entire body weight against his. He could tell she was on the verge of passing out. “Nana. I know you’re struggling, but you need to get it together. Please. Just until we’re back in the car.”

Her eyes were glassy and her stare seemed to go straight through him.

“Please.” He pushed up his glasses to wipe his tears away. Her condition scared him.

“I don’t know how Wonwoo managed to get me back in the car.” Cyana spoke quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t remember much about that night - after the concert. But the others told me I was a mess. A zombie. Living in my skin but not quite there.”

Cyana watched from her place on the bed as Dino paced back and forth across their shared hotel room. Wonwoo had deposited her there, promising to be back once he had found Joshua, instructing a worried Dino to look after her in his absence.

It infuriated Cyana that they were all treating her like glass, even though she knew the emotion was unfair. They were doing their best - and she could feel herself shutting down, her safety mechanisms whirring back into place.

Dino’s footsteps seemed to thud inside her head each time he moved. Her heart was racing as she recalled the familiar face she had seen in the crowd during their farewell ment. How she yelled out her name, and that all too familiar threat. I’ll destroy you, Cyana. She had. She will.

“Could you stop moving?” She suddenly snapped, startling Dino out from his stupor.

He looked up from his phone and frowned. “What?” Cyana had never used such a tone with him before.

“Just- you’re being so fucking loud and it’s actually exploding my head and it’s just- too much!” She yelled out, her hands shaking as she balled them up into fists. “Just-” She forced herself to quiet down, although her body still shook with pent up rage. “Sleep somewhere else tonight.”

“What?” Dino’s irises shook with pooling tears.

Cyana looked away.

“I want to be alone tonight.” Her voice grew weaker. “Please.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t bear to look at the hurt that must be across his face right now.

“Okay.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Cyana sunk deeper into the bed, pulling the blankets over her as she squeezed her eyes shut, silent tears pooling from the corners.

She had never felt so horrible.

“You need to tell me what’s happening.” Joshua ambushed her the next morning, setting a breakfast bun and a cup of milk on her bedside drawer.

“Josh. It’s like seven in the morning.” She mumbled, tugging the sheets closer to her as she rolled away.

She was tugged back by a stronger but gentle hand. “I don’t care if it’s seven in the morning.You need to tell me what’s going on.”

Cyana knew he was right.

“I don’t even know where to begin.” Her shoulders slouched as she sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “There’s too much.”

“Start at the beginning.” Joshua sat down on the bed and turned to face her.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, really.” Joshua told the interviewer. “Something about school, or acting, I was sure. But not what really happened. No sane person would’ve expected that. Especially for it to happen to Cyana.”

Joshua listened as Cyana spoke, her voice strangely calm as she led him through it all - starting brand new in highschool, making friends, feeling included. His expression grew darker and darker as the story progressed, eyebrows furrowing as he imagined little Cyana in the scenarios she was speaking of right now.

Cyana told him everything. How her close friends- her ride or dies had betrayed her, turning against her all because of rumors a girl had spread to her classmates. How they had bullied her out of school- out of LA entirely.

“Chloe.” Joshua finally said after she had finished, gently wiping away a lonely tear that had fallen on her cheek. “I heard Wonwoo muttering about that name.”

Cyana nodded. “She was one of my best friends. You know those people who take your phone and unlock it- and you don’t even bat an eye? Or how you subconsciously hand over your bubble tea for them to try. The first person you call when something good or bad happens to you. She was that for me.”

“And she turned everyone against you?”

She hummed. It was a strange feeling - to re-explore the past. Cyana had found she never had any trouble when talking about it, because it’d always sound like a story she had made up. She’d forget it had actually happened to her. That is, until the stories become reality once again. “She said she’d destroy me. And she did. I never found out why, why she woke up one day and decided I was no longer a person who could feel anything she threw at me.”

“And being back in LA, like, triggered something?”

“I guess. I was- it’s silly.”

Joshua shook his head. “Nothing’s ever silly when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Well, I- I was scared my classmates would find me at our concert and try to- hurt me. Or hurt one of you.” Cyana looked down at her lap, her cheeks burning. “It’s stupid.”

“No.” His voice was firm enough to make her look up at him again. “It’s not. Every fear, however irrational you might think it is, stems from something.”

Cyana nodded. “When did you get so wise, Shua?”

Joshua’s lips twitched. “I’ve always been wise.” His expression sterned as he remembered his initial question. “You saw someone, didn’t you? At the farewell ment.”

She let out a cough, choking on her spit. “How did you know?”

Joshua let out a dry chuckle. “I think everyone could tell something went wrong during the ment.”

“I saw her. Chloe. Standing front row, waving a Vernon banner.”

“What did she do?”

“She yelled my name, so I turned around and-” Cyana hesitated, as if the words refused to leave her mouth. “She said she’d destroy me. Just like she did in high school.”

Joshua let out a shaky sigh. “You need to tell Coups. Or management.”

Cyana’s hand shot out to grab Joshua’s leg. “No!” She protested. “I’m sure it’s just in my head or something. We’re leaving LA soon anyways, it’ll-” She tried pasting a smile on her face, as if to reassure both herself and Joshua it’d be okay. “I’ll be fine.”

Joshua hesitated before agreeing. “Alright. But if anything else happens-”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Cyana finished for him. “I promise.”

Joshua stood up, gesturing to the breakfast still sitting on her bedside table. “Eat. You’ve been rotting in that bed for two days. And take a shower after. Nasty.”

She let out a laugh and Joshua brightened visibly at the sound.

“She’s better now.” He told Mingyu, who was waiting anxiously by her door as he stepped out, closing it behind him. “Opened up. Laughing even.”

“Thank god.” Mingyu’s shoulders relaxed.

“You should go shower too.” Joshua made a face as he walked away. “You’ve been rotting by her door ever since she went in. You too, Dino.” He added, spotting the boy who was sitting on the floor in the hallway, eyes unfocused. “Get some sleep, she’s fine.”

Cyana could hear all this through the walls, as she slid back into bed, her breakfast lying cold beside her. Her stomach churned at the thought of eating, and her heart weighed heavy knowing she had slighted Joshua.

Sure, she had told him the truth about what was going on- what had happened. But she wasn’t better. She knew they’d worry themselves sick and be rendered useless the rest of tour if she didn’t get her act together - so that’s what she did. She acted. Thank god for her acting background, or she would’ve collapsed into Joshua’s arms sobbing. She nearly did, but she caught herself.

After all, Cyana was glue. Flexible, strong, hard to get rid of. Whatever broke her down, she’d get back together, she was sure of it.

“Cyana.”

She found herself back in her school’s gymnasium, surrounded by fellow classmates all dressed up. She knew this night. Spring Fling night - where dating was overlooked for one night in an all Catholic school.

“Cyana.”

She turned, and realized who was behind her.

“Matthew.” She gasped out. He hadn’t aged at all, his hair was still infuriating lopsided, curls never landing straight, his eyes crinkled up in a large smile. “What-”

“I heard you’re so obsessed with me you wrote me over 200 songs.” His loud mouth split into a nightmarish grin. “Slut. You spread your legs open for anyone, huh.”

“What?” Cyana gaped at him. But- she had heard all this before.

“Cyana! Look over here!”

She turned, and blinked as a bright camera flash blinded her.

“I’m framing this so I can jack off to it later.” The boy who held the camera was faceless. “You let Matthew, so why not me?”

“I don’t-”

“Cyana!”

“Wonwoo?”

She turned around once again, greeted by Wonwoo, dressed in a pale blue suit, his hair pale white. He smiled at her with his hand outstretched.

“Dance with me?”

She let out a breath of relief, reaching her hand out to take it. All of a sudden, something came flying towards them, causing Wonwoo to slump to the floor, blood dripping from his side, his glasses askew on his face.

“Wonwoo!”

“You really thought we’d let you get your happy ending?” Someone laughed from the shadows of the party, the disco lights reflected against shadowed figures. “After I said I’d destroy you?”

She glanced back down at Wonwoo, who was on the floor, his eyes wide and frozen. She stifled a scream.

“Cyana!”

“Cyana! Wake up!”

a/n: oof. this one's a heavy one. i really wanted to bring this story into cyana's character - and if you can relate to any part of it - hope her journey to healing can help you in yours. fighting !! and remember: kindness is supposed to be a guarantee, not a "if."

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poguelandiarafe · 23 days ago

Note

Sooo I just saw this https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8FR5vPf/ tik tok, and it's stirring something in meeee...can you write about rafes inner turmoil, and how reader helps him with it? Love your writing sfm!!!

thank you so much lovely! this is such a good idea, i love it! i hope you like it <3 i’ve added the video above ^ (all credits to @petrovatbh on tiktok!!)

masterlist

————

rafe’s been home from morocco for just over three days and ever since he stepped through the door, the air has been heavy and thick with tension. he’s barely said two words to you, preferring to stay locked up in his office or out of the house and away from your questions. tonight, however, you decide to try your luck again.

“rafe?” you say softly when you hear the front door slam shut.

he isn’t expecting you to be awake since it’s way past midnight. yet here you are, sitting on the sofa, waiting for him to come home.

“not tonight.” he huffs out, making his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“yes tonight, rafe,” you begin, getting up and following him into the bathroom, “i don’t know what happened in morocco, nor do i want to but i’m your girlfriend, you can’t keep ignoring me. we live together but the past few days i feel like i’ve been living with a ghost and it’s not fair.”

rafe stops in front of the sink, gripping the edge of the counter tight. his gaze meets yours in the mirror and he lets out a sharp breath. there’s nothing you want more in this moment than for rafe to let you in and talk to you, to tell you about whatever’s on his mind.

“i said not now.” he mutters, splashing some cold water on his face to calm his annoyance, “i won’t do this right now.”

“then when?” you snap, growing tired at him refusing to talk about it, “you keep saying that, rafe. would you prefer if i left you alone completely? or how about if i move out so you don’t have to be annoyed when you see me in the house we share? you know, since we live together? if it’s about something i’ve done or you don’t love me anymore please, just tell me because i can’t deal with you like this.”

quickly, he turns around and exhales sharply, trying to find the words. it breaks his heart that you think he doesn’t love you when in reality he loves you more than anything. he just hates talking about what happened on the runway all those years ago.

“it’s not about you.”

he says the words with quiet confidence, trying to reassure you and at the same time silently ask for you to stop pushing him. but you don’t. you can’t stand him being so distant.

you miss your boyfriend.

“rafe, please talk to me. i can’t try to help if you don’t tell me what’s going through your head.”

a few seconds of silence pass before he pushes off the counter and brushes past you, walking into the bedroom. you follow him, sitting next to him on the bed.

finally, rafe gathers the words, “shoupe brought her up.”

“peterkin?” you whisper, the name causing goosebumps on your skin.

he doesn’t have to answer, the lack of one sufficient enough. it’s been years since either of you brought up that day, but the memory of it is still as haunting as ever.

“what did he say?” you ask, even though you’re scared of the answer.

“before we left for morocco… i told him i’d tell him about what happened with my dad and the plane and everything that happened on the runway last summer,” he has to take a breath, the memory replaying in his head, “but he wanted to know about peterkin. about what really happened. i- i killed her and he wants me to confess. he knows, i know he does but-”

“rafe, calm down.” you have to cut him off, sensing how stressed out he’s getting.

his chest is heaving as he takes in deep breaths and runs a hand over his face. from the corner of his eye, he can see that you’re facing him, your eyes studying his face.

“all i want to do is forget about that day, leave it in the past,” he whispers, interlocking his fingers with yours when you rest your hand on his thigh, “but shoupe- he brought it all back. it felt like i was back there. and then to have to spend all that time with them in morocco and away from you… it was horrible.”

carefully, you grab his face to make him look at you, his glossy eyes meeting yours. you gently wipe away the tears that trail down his cheeks.

“baby, it’s okay to feel that way. this has been with you for so long, it was bound to happen one day. but you don’t have to do it alone, i thought you knew that. i’m here for you, i always will be.”

your words apparently don’t have the intended effect of calming him down. he pulls away from your touch and abruptly stands up, pacing back and forth in front of you.

“no, you don’t get it!” he shouts, fists clenching by his side, “you didn’t shoot her, you don’t have to live with this guilt, y/n! she wasn’t supposed to be there. i did it for my dad and it all means nothing because now he’s gone.”

“you can’t undo what you did, rafe. it happened. but you’re not that person anymore,” you say firmly, also standing up, “you’re trying to make up for it, everyone can see that. maybe you can’t, but everyone else can. that mistake doesn’t define you so stop acting like it does.”

“she’s still dead and it’s still my fault! it doesn’t matter that i’ve ‘changed’.” he spits, laughing bitterly as the last word leaves his lips.

“yes, rafe. it does matter because you’re trying. you’re trying to do better and be a better person than who you were, someone people are proud of.” you push, begging him to listen to what you’re actually saying.

he stops in front of you, towering over you yet still the smallest you’ve ever seen him, his vulnerability evident in this moment.

“you really think i’ve changed? that i can ever come back from what i did?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“yes,” you nod, your hand cupping his cheek, “but, let me help you. whatever you need me to do, just tell me and i’ll do it because i love you.”

rafe exhales shakily, a tiny weight feeling like it’s been lifted off his shoulders. finally, he returns your nod and pulls you into a hug, strong arms tightly gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“i love you too. and i’m sorry… about everything.”

“we’ll get through it together, just like always,” you promise, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “but please keep trying. don’t go backwards.”

“i’ll try.”

“that’s all i ask for.”

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daengtokki · 3 months ago

Text

part six // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 10.4k

RATING: mature/explicit/mdni—contains: angst, fluff, sex, oral sex, sa mention, child abuse mention

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

Please support and reblog if you enjoy! Reblogs help your favorite writers on Tumblr!

TAGLIST: @kkamismom12 / @r0tt1n / @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz

[ MASTERLIST — DEITY MASTERLIST ]

The full moon shines down at you from the balcony window, and the light bounces perfectly off of the soft pink walls of the room. Seungmin is busy making the bed, moving the blankets and pillows from one yo to the other, and then stacking them. You’re supposed to be unpacking things, but you got distracted by the light coming in.

“Are you sure this is okay? I don’t mind requesting a room with a regular bed.” He sits gently to test it out, and runs his hands over the blanket to smooth it.

“If we don’t like it, we can switch tomorrow…but I’ve never slept on a yo, I should probably try it. Besides, you doubled everything up.”

“Yes, it should be comfortable. I slept on one when I was a kid. We only had yo’s at the Uljin house.”

Seungmin sneaks up next to you, and his touch sends a chill up your arms. It’s gotten softer, sweeter, and more frequent, the little touches he gives you. “Is it completely full? I should put my glasses on, it’s a little blurry.” He slides away and heads for the table where you set his things. You packed all three pairs he had in his drawer, and tonight he chooses the thick black frames.

“I like those with your short hair, you look cute”

He adjusts them and drapes himself over your shoulders. “Yeah?” Seungmin still feels a twing in his stomach—a little bit of awkwardness at the way you look at him and call him sweet things. He has plenty of confidence in his looks, but hearing you say it feels different. You looking him in the eyes and telling him anything feels different. It feels real.

“Yeah, it’s full…good timing”

“Can you see the rabbit?”

You look hard, and Seungmin laughs when you tilt your head. “Rabbit…oh yeah, I think I know this story.”

“You do?”

Maybe not. You’re suddenly drawing a blank, which is good, because now he can tell you why there is a rabbit on the moon. “I know that a story exists…I guess I don’t know much else about it.”

The moon disappears as he spins and guides you toward the bed. It seems perfect—the squishy doubled up mattress, the multiple pillows, and Seungmin’s body all surrounding you as you sleep. It can’t get much better. You pull down his neatly placed blanket and watch him pull his clothes off, piece by piece.

“Is it story time, or are you trying to start something?”

He laughs. His laughs have changed, too. They’re louder, and less hesitant every time you get a new one. “I’m always ready to start something…but the floors are heated and it makes me sweat. I don’t wanna sweat all over you.”

“Can we turn them down?”

“Yeah…” he slides under the blanket and pulls you closer, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”

Seungmin is now bearing some of the weight of your biggest secret, but the way he looks at you hasn’t changed. Everything is as it was before, or better; his touch, his laugh, his smile.

“Story time?”

“Yes, let me remember…” Seungmin flops into his back and closes his eyes, but his hand finds yours and squeezes. “A long time ago, in ancient times, there was a fox…yeou, a little monkey…wonsung-i, and...” He pauses, and turns his head to look at you, but your eyes are closed as you listen. “A rabbit, tokki. One day, Jeseokcheon, a king of the gods, decided to test the animals. He pretended to be a sick elderly man, and he approached the animals saying that he was very hungry. The fox, the monkey, and the rabbit decided to help him and went to look for food. The fox caught a fish and gave it to the old man. The monkey found and gave him berries. But the rabbit couldn’t find any food, and the grass he ate, it didn’t seem fit for the hungry old man to eat. He wanted something better for him. So, tokki made a bonfire and jumped into it, offering himself as food to save the old man. After seeing the sacrifice that tokki had made, the man revealed his true identity as Jeseokcheon and decided to send the selfless rabbit to the moon and make him its guardian, so that every living being could admire his sacrifice and good heart. Daltokki.”

“Tokki was willing to give up his life to help someone he didn’t even know?”

Seungmin nods. “And now he’s up there making tteok all the time.”

“Is this the rabbit on your music box?”

He nods again, and a smile pulls at one side of his face. “Umma loved daltokki.”

“I like him, too. And I’m sure I’d like your mom.” It might be too much—you keep giving him too much. You don’t know why. The time you’ve spent with him feels like years, not weeks, and everything that comes to mind ends up flying right out of your mouth. “Do you think she would like me, if she met me?”

“My mom would like you very much. She’s the reason I speak English so well. Imagine if we couldn’t speak to each other…”

“I would find a way”

“And she’s the reason I have any good in me at all, if I do”

“You do, Min”

“Sometimes I’m afraid she wouldn’t love me, or even like me anymore—the way I turned out, the way I get through my days, the awful things in my head.”

It’s not true, what he’s thinking, but you don’t know how to make him see himself the way you see him. You know what he does, but seeing him behind closed doors in his most private moments…he’s not a bad person. He’s just him, doing the bad things his brain tells him to do. Seungmin is hurting; he’s afraid, and he’s lonely…less lonely now. He’s doing terrible things, but he’s not the nightmare he claims to be.

The real nightmare is whatever happened to him—the bad dreams that plague him and make his urges worse.

“That’s not true, I don’t believe that. She would love you more than anything.” You remember the photo of the two of them, and the one of his smiling face that she probably took. “You still feel it all around you, and in your flowers…that’s how strong it is. I know you were talking to her.”

Tears are threatening to fall. You see them brimming and shining as he stares quietly at the ceiling. “Did he hurt you?”

You pause for a moment and think. The memories still come back, but you’ve gotten very good at shoving them right back down. “Sometimes. He liked to hit, but he preferred his hands over everything else…so I guess it could have been worse. My sister got my mother’s love, but she got all of his attention, too. He hurt her more.”

“Is that why you killed him, to protect her?”

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take another night listening to him.”

There’s some reluctance in his face, but you wait for him to get there. “How? You were fourteen. You’re small now, you must have been tiny then. How did you kill him?”

“I gave him too many heart pills. He trusted me to cook for him and feed him, so I—” you watch Seungmin’s eyes grow. “I crushed them up in his food.”

“You poisoned him”

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. It took a few hours, but it worked.”

“Did things get better after that?”

“It was manageable. We had to move—we lived in my aunts basement until I turned 18, and then I finally left.”

Seungmin moves closer, and wraps you up in his arms. The smell and warmth of his bare skin calms you, and makes you feel homesick all at once. Homesick for what, though, the apartment? Leaving Seoul and running from something that might happen has been the best thing that has happened, in a weird way. What if you could always be like this—just the two of you, alone, surrounded by the quiet mountains?

And what if you nudged him for more of himself right now? Maybe you could get it…just some even exchange. You need to know everything about him, but you’ll take whatever little piece you can get.

“Was Daltokki one of your bedtime stories?”

“It’s a Chuseok story, but yes…sometimes she would tell it to me at bedtime when the moon was full.”

The twinge of jealousy at his normal childhood disappears as soon as you remember how brief it was, and probably not that normal. Seungmin lived in Uljin with his mother who loved him, and his stepfather who didn’t, until he was nine, but you don’t know much else. “Did she always have a story, every night?”

“Almost every night. She read me stories in English to help me learn, but she couldn’t speak it around me much otherwise…at least not if my stepfather was home.”

“He didn’t like you?”

“He despised me from the moment he saw me. I was two when my dad died, and three when my mom married him, and he tortured me for six long years—ignored me, or disciplined me whether I deserved it or not. Eventually he took any opportunity he could to…scare me, I guess...break me."

You weren’t expecting Seungmin to open up, but he may be evening out the trauma with what you gave him. Maybe enough time has passed, and his comfort with you has grown. The joint killing had to have helped that.

“He would send me to bed without dinner all the time, but he was also good at making up new punishments without mom even knowing he was doing it.”

“Oh, Minnie.” The torture he put himself through sitting on the balcony makes more sense now. It seems like the type of discipline his stepfather would come up with, and unfortunately, it stuck to Seungmin. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

The blank look on his face, and the slow, thoughtful blinks, “he would lock me in that shed all night. I remember him sitting on the porch and smoking, making sure my mom didn’t wake up and see what he was doing. Not that she could stop him…”

So far, he’s said much more than you expected, and you’re not sure if he’s drained, or if talking about this has made him feel a little lighter.

“I just remembered something. I dreamt about it last night, but it may have been a memory.”

“Tell me”

Seungmin lets you place a hand on his cheek, and he closes his eyes and waits as you run your thumb across his lips.

“He drove me into the woods, the same pine forest we drove through…I’m not sure how far we went, but in my mind, as a kid, it felt like forever. Yeah, I remember sitting in the backseat and fogging up the window with my breath. I drew something in it.” He stops and sets his hand on yours. “It was cold out, it was far into winter. Just like now. We got out and walked right off the road to a clearing, and he told me run out and grab some of the nice pieces of wood to burn when we got home.”

You sigh, because you feel like you know where this is going.

The color drains from his face as he settles more into the bed. It’s as if he’s trying to find more warmth from the chill of his memory. “I listened, because I always obeyed him. I grabbed an armful of sticks, just the best ones, and I ran back to the road…and he was gone. I screamed for him, and cried for umma until I lost my voice.”

There is no stopping his tears, and finally, for the first time, Seungmin is letting you see him cry. He needs it, but you pull him close and knead your hand into his neck, so tense until your fingertips find just the right spot. You don’t interrupt—everything is quiet around his shallow, gasping breaths. As soon as you pull back to look at him, he grabs your neck and kisses, and it’s messy…wet and salty from his tears, but you kiss right back until he finally exhausts himself.

The silence carries on, and you watch him as he wipes at his cheeks and nose. You want him to keep going, but you also know when too much is too much. Are you the first person Seungmin has really unloaded his memories on, or did he have someone else to confide in at some point in the last fifteen years? It’s a long time to keep quiet.

“Sorry,” he covers his face and mumbles through his hands. “I didn’t mean to…” and takes in a deep, shaky breath. “

“Didn’t mean to what? You can tell me anything, and you can cry all over me if you need to.”

“The kiss,” he grabs a corner of the sheet and wipes at the mess he left on your face, “so messy.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face, at least—a little sparkle in his eyes, and again, for the umpteenth time, you wonder how you ended up where you are, in a strange hotel in the mountains, with him. The seriousness of the situation you’re in was almost forgotten until right this moment, but you don’t see the point in bringing it back to the front of his mind right now. What will checking the security cameras do, except ruin the mood? Or really ruin the mood, if he sees something this time.

No, you’ll do what you can to stay right here with him.

“In my dream, I was standing in that clearing again. Me, as I am right now. But there was something there with me. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it walking around me and scratching at bark on the trees. And something was burning, it was snowing…but not snow, it was um, from the fire…”

“The cinders…embers were falling?”

“Yes, embers. They looked like snow.”

“Scratching?" Now you start to remember. "And then?”

“I woke up, and then fell back asleep. When I woke up again, you were dreaming, so I woke you up.”

“That’s right, I was dreaming…and, what the fuck?” Everything starts falling into place. You thought about this yesterday, but the pain in your stomach pushed it out of your mind. The scratches, his dream, your dream, “you woke me up, because you heard the scratches on the door, right? And you left, and—”

“I didn't hear anything. Was this your dream? Hey, don’t cry…”

The tears come out of nowhere and without your permission, just like his did. The air you try to pull in gets stuck in your chest, and Seungmin’s hands on you makes you cry even harder. He backs off for a moment. “What is happening? Why…god, I feel crazy.” You sit up and wipe at your face. “I think I’m hearing things.”

Seungmin sighs, and you hear it through the muffled pump of blood in your ears. He’s looking at you, but he’s not looking at you…he’s thinking, and his eyes dart around when he notices you staring at him. “Minnie,” you move closer—almost sit in his lap, and put your arms around him.

“It’s scary sometimes”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s gone away, mostly. I think the medicine is helping that. But I can’t hear her anymore…I haven’t heard her lately, at least.”

The voices in the greenhouse, Seungmin’s auditory hallucinations. So he’s fully aware her voice isn’t actually there, or anywhere. That doesn’t matter to him, though, because he misses hearing it. “Maybe she’ll come back when we get to Uljin, when we get some flowers.”

“That would be nice”

You get back under the blankets and make yourself comfortable, “get in here.” He smiles like the heavy conversation didn’t even happen, and folds himself around you. Seungmin can keep you plenty warm without help from the heated floor. “It’s late, are you tired?”

“A little.” Despite the soft, sleepiness of his voice, his hands end up beneath your shirt and slowly work their way up your back. It’s an innocent touch, though—just a need for contact. “How is your stomach? No pain tonight, I hope.”

Fortunately, the horrible, stabbing pain eased up and hasn’t returned again. The dizziness comes and goes, but it’s not bad enough to send you to the floor. It’s nowhere near bad enough to mention and worry him again, and to let the idea of a hospital visit re-enter his mind. “No, everything feels okay.”

He replies with a kiss, a hand moving back down and squeezing your ass, then your thigh, tight enough to make you jump. Seungmin pulls your leg until you wrap it around his hip, and now you can feel what he needs. He’s not quite there, but he wants to be, and you’ll make sure it happens. A roll of your hips into his makes contact, and just enough friction to get a groan out of him. It’s nice like this, and easy…face to face, close enough to kiss and touch him.

The last few days without him, with the thought of his last fuck being with that girl, has been torture, but it felt like the wrong time when you laid in bed with him. Worrying, wondering, and sick. You’re finally here. You free him from his shorts and feel his cock grow in your hand, and lose yourself in the noises he makes as he kisses. He pulls you again, grips the back of your thigh and slides his fingers over you, but your clothes are still in his way. He grabs the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, and two fingers tease, slide between your lips, and slowly push inside of you.

“Are you comfortable like this?”

“Very comfortable”

His fingers push in and out, waiting patiently. He knows how much work it takes to get in, and Seungmin wants you wet in this new position.

“Can your leg stretch…” he grabs behind your knee and pulls it high, and he seems satisfied with how much he can spread you open. “Good,” he whispers and moans against your lips when he feels you guiding him into you. He pushes in gently, just a few inches, and then he gives you everything.

“Good,” you whine and hold tight to him as he pumps into you. “Oh…mmm, Minnie…”

“I’ve missed how you feel”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grips your waist and pulls you close, “so good.” Seungmin pants into your mouth, “so soft,” and nibbles at your lips as he finds a perfect rhythm. “Fuck…ah, jagi,” he whimpers, and mutters something in Korean, over and over as he fucks you.

If only you could understand him. All you have to go off of is how he sounds as he says it, and that feels good. But jagi, you know what that means.

“Nae jag-eun tokki…”

You watch his mouth form each word as he says it.

"Nae…salang…” he laughs, and you can feel him working up the courage to continue. But he’s done this already, so why the hesitancy?

You say it back to him, “nae salang”, bite gently at his lips.

He closes his eyes, and he keeps them closed even after you pull back. “Salanghae,” and he hides himself away in your neck.

“Nado salanghae”

Seungmin comes right back after your words hit his ears. You hope they hit him even harder in his own language. You’re not sure how to tell him in a way that expresses how it feels swirling around inside of you, but you made sure to learn how to tell him properly. The words in your head don’t seem big enough, and at the same time, your head is making you feel silly for feeling the way you do, and as much as you do.

Seungmin feels it, too, and he can’t look you in the eyes when he tells you. It’s still too much for him.

It’s too much for you, too. The tightness in your chest, the pounding of your heart. Your body feels like it’s somewhere else, but you feel his soft, strong hands on your back and ass, keeping you close…his lips on yours, on your cheek and neck. His hips rolling, and his cock gripped tight around you, stretching, pushing deeper and hitting right where you need it. You can’t hold yourself together, and you don’t care how thin the walls might be. Seungmin doesn’t care, either—he smiles even wider as you moan and cry his name.

“Don’t slow down,” you whine.

Seungmin holds your hips as you try to push him on his back and fuck him yourself. He resists, but lets you move on him, and he slows you down. “Not yet.”

“You feel so good”

“I’m gonna make you feel even better”

He pulls out and pushes your hips until you’re on your back, and gets you out of your panties. Seungmin is careful, but he still handles you like he’s desperate to get back inside of you. He turns you until you’re facing the window, your leg is up, held tight, and he’s in again. It does feel better like this, even at his pace—the slow push in against your g-spot numbs everything except the orgasm building.

Seungmin lets go of your leg and his fingers are on your clit, rubbing lightly, listening to you whine for him as it gets even closer. “Faster…slower?” He whispers and runs his teeth along your shoulder.

“Fast”

His fingers and his hips move faster, and he bites down.

“Fuck…fuck, I’m gonna come”

Seungmin laughs like he’s tipsy. He’s drunk on you, and his mind is numb to everything but this…fucking you just like you want it—

You feel yourself gush everywhere as your body shakes.

He slides out and feels it hit his thighs, and it keeps coming as he rubs your clit—warm, and wet, and messy. You soak the sheets, but Seungmin is still rubbing more out, and your orgasm takes its time running through you.

Seungmin breaths hard in your ear, but he’s speechless as he looks down at you, down at his fingers stroking. Another soft bite on your shoulder, and he stifles a laugh. “Wow,” he whispers as he finally slows down. But he doesn’t stop. He slides his cock into your dripping entrance. “Come for me again. Please.”

“Again?”

“Please.” He holds your leg and gives your clit a break as he works himself back to where he was. “I didn’t think you could get any more wet.”

The tone of his voice deepens, and that’s all it takes to get you going. His head hits that same spot—that perfect spot. You can feel every inch and every curve as his short, fast strokes slip in and out. Your swollen, sensitive clit throbs, and you need him to touch you, but you wait until you know he’s close. You wait…and wait, until his breath catches in his throat—until he makes the desperate noises you’re more familiar with now.

“Touch me”

As soon as his hand makes contact, yours hits, and he groans as he fills you up. You drip and squirt through his fingers as he keeps your orgasm going, and his cum mixes and runs out with yours, onto your thighs, and his…all over the sheets. He doesn’t stop until you do, and you feel another gush as he slides out. It feels too good. Whatever he did is still moving through every nerve as you hit the bed, but Seungmin can’t help but touch and slide his fingers into the mess escaping.

“Oh my god,” you pant, and try to keep your heart from exploding.

Seungmin laughs again—his tipsy laugh, like he’s not quite sure what’s going on, he just knows he feels good. “I didn’t know you could do that.” He pulls you until you’re facing him again and looks you over…eyes watering, cheeks pink, your tshirt, somehow still on, but working its way up your back, and your messy, trembling thighs.

“Neither did I”

“That was your first time?”

You nod, and collapse into his chest, “sorry, what a mess.”

“But did it feel good?” He’s smiling and giving you doe eyes when you look at him. Seungmin doesn’t need your approval, he heard you screaming…but he still wants more.

“Good?”

“Mhm. I’ve never made anyone do that before, how does it feel?”

It’s hard to describe, and it was a little embarrassing in hindsight, but… “felt like you were fucking every nerve in my body all at the same time, and every bit of tension disappeared. Probably how you feel when you come inside of me, maybe better.”

“Sounds better”

“It was intense”

“It was hot.” He slowly gets to his feet and stretches, and when he seems satisfied with how his legs feel, he heads for the closet. “Hopefully I can get you there again.”

One set of fresh sheets sits on the top shelf, fortunately, so you work on getting up and pulling off the wrecked ones. Also fortunately, it didn’t soak through both sheets to the mattress cover. But as soon as you kneel and start gathering them, another gush of cum trickles out, and you have to stop and wait for it to pass.

“I can change these, why don’t you go run a bath?”

“Seungmin, you’re very thoughtful…has anyone ever told you that?”

He thinks, but not for long. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, you are…you’re more thoughtful than most of the people I’ve encountered”

“I’m also a little selfish, because I’m getting in, too”

The water is as hot as you can stand it, and every time it cools down, you top it off and heat it back up.

“How did you get out of the woods?”

“Hm?”

He sounds so much more tired, and he should be.

“When you were left there”

“Oh, right. It took a few hours, but my mom finally found me. She said she drove up and down all the roads, got out and yelled for me every mile or so. Her voice carried pretty well through the trees, thankfully.”

“Did she know he left you there?”

“He told her I wandered off, but she knew better. And she also knew not to question him.”

“That had to have messed with your head, being left out there”

“It did. For a while, I couldn’t sleep through the night. I still have a letter she wrote to me not long after that, in the music box.”

The butterfly—you remember peeking and wondering about it. You almost poked around too much and read it. “The origami butterfly?”

“Yeah. And she made me wear her medallion, too. I never got to give it back.”

Now you’re much more curious about that letter. “I haven’t worn my necklace in years, I don’t know why I still carry it around with me.” A little piece of your past you can’t let go of.

“Are you catholic?”

“No, but I briefly considered confessing my sins. I never did, I was too full of attrition. It seemed pointless. Are you? Or were you?”

“No, but my mom had a lot of catholic friends when she lived in the states. I think some of it rubbed off on her, and she liked the archangels.”

You stand carefully and reach for a towel. The heat is actually starting to get to you, and the dizziness is fighting its way back. Seungmin waits for you step out, and then he follows close behind.

“Do you want the heat on?”

The room is a little chilly, especially against your damp skin, but a cool room and warm blankets might be the best idea. “No, but if you do…” You watch his towel fall away as he starts to dry his arms and shoulders, and you shouldn’t be lusting after him already, but he makes it difficult without even trying.

“We should check the cameras again”

That’s enough to get you back down to earth. You nod at him, and dig out your laptop. It’s long overdue, and should have been checked again a few hours ago, but the two of you got far too distracted when the secrets and stories started coming out.

He gets back into the fresh sheets and pulls up the footage, and this time he starts with the live feed.

“Front entrance looks okay, side entrance, too. Back door…oh, why is it propped open?”

“It’s open?”

He widens the angle, but the night vision isn’t giving much. “Yeah, it’s a fire exit. It’s supposed to stay closed.”

Seungmin’s voice changes. He doesn’t like what he’s seeing, regardless of how small and insignificant it seems—just a door left open. You can feel the tension on him, and it scares you a little. He starts the feed on the back door from where he left off earlier, and he speeds through it.

“Can you get my phone?”

He has to power it up again, and it feels like it takes forever, but the footage keeps him occupied until he can refresh the news sites from earlier. And he’s quiet as he scrolls.

“Seungmin…slow down the footage”

He stops it, goes back a few minutes, and then starts it again. “That…” he points at the top right corner, “is a police car.”

It’s the smallest corner of a headlight and front bumper.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, brand new Sonata…white, and only police cars have that blue stripe over the hood.”

Just as he finishes, two men walk into view; a cop, and another man that you can only assume is an inspector. That one goes for the door, unlocks it, and opens it exactly how it was open on the live camera.

“If it’s still open, they’re still in there.” Back to the live feed, the wide angle…and everything is suddenly lit up by a pair of headlights parking exactly where the car was before. Seungmin is quiet as he watches, but you have to assume his heart is pounding like yours is. “Yeah, they are.” Two cops walk into the shot and disappear through the open door, but this time, it closes behind them.

“Do you want me to be practical again?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind”

“They have to check. Maybe there was just enough for a judge to issue a warrant.”

Seungmin looks at you, purses his lips.

“Actually, I don’t know if it works the same here. Maybe I’m not helping.”

“No, you’re right…if I wasn’t there to grant permission, they could get a warrant. I’m assuming they did.”

“And they have to search everywhere. Knock on every door. Ask questions. You keep turning your phone off, so you may have missed some calls asking for permission. Especially with the spotty service where we’ve been staying.”

“If they search the apartment, they’ll figure out who I am, what kind of car I’m driving, where I’m from. My background is clean, but…if they can find us…and if they find something weird…”

The defeat in his eyes is surprising. You know he’s stronger than this, and smarter, but he might need time to process what’s actually happening.

“I’m sorry, Minnie. None of this would have happened if I had just left when I was supposed to.”

Now he looks truly defeated. His big, watery eyes burn right through you, but you know it’s true. You distracted him, you helped him stay on his medication, and then you continued to distract him. Seungmin had been doing very well, so you think. He was smart about his kills, and about his habits, and he probably didn’t draw attention to himself in public.

“Then I’m glad it happened”

As much as you want to slap him and tell him you were never worth all of this, it’s far too late. There is no point in dwelling on the damage you’ve caused if you can’t go back and change it—you’ll have to fix it in real time. Seungmin clearly sees something in you that you might never find, but you see in him what he overlooks, as well. If you try hard enough, maybe you can understand his growing devotion. It’s there for you, too…you’re pretty certain you would die for him.

Both of you somehow fell asleep without the help of tea or medicine, you’ll happily assume because of the comfort of each other, and the idea that you’re jumping to the next place sooner than Seungmin had planned. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He seems like he does have a plan. He has to, because he’s had a long figure out how to protect himself in case the worse happened.

You only sleep about three hours, though, and when you wake, Seungmin isn’t under the covers next to you. He’s in the corner repacking what you unpacked not long ago.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No...should I get up and get dressed?”

“Unless you’re still tired. The sun isn’t quite up yet, we have some time.”

True, but if you fall asleep again, you might wake up much more tired. And the adrenaline is already starting when you remember everything that happened. “No, I’m okay.”

Ten minutes into the drive, which will apparently be a long one, Seungmin explains his plan—which he admits isn’t completely solid…and very disjointed, but it’s all he has. “I was a little cocky. I never thought I’d actually have to worry about this.” He glances at you, “don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you still think this is your fault”

“Can we at least agree that we are both at fault in some way?”

“If the guilt makes you happy”

“Thank you. Where are we headed?”

“Daegu, it’s a bit of a drive, and it’s out of the way…but it might be a good idea to switch cars”

A second car shouldn’t surprise you, but it wasn’t something that crossed your mind. “Unregistered, I’m assuming?”

“Of course”

You actually started getting used to the backroads and small towns, and after another two hours, you’re still in them. Seungmin knows his way around without any sort of direction, and no map pulled up on his phone (off again), and it makes him even more attractive to you. He may not have a solid plan, and he might be much more nervous beneath the surface, but Seungmin is capable of handling things when he has to, and all he wants you to do is sit back and watch.

“What is it?” He glances at you briefly, and merges into the far left lane that leads to Seokjeon-ri.

“Hm? Nothing”

The car slows as he turns and then you’re on a new, smaller stretch of road.

“I feel you staring at me”

“That’s because I’m staring at you”

“Because I’m so handsome?”

You watch a reluctant smile appear, and eventually, it turns into a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s exactly why”

“This isn’t even my good side”

“You have a bad side?”

He laughs again. You’re glad you can still make him laugh. “When I look in the mirror I do, yeah”

“I like both sides”

The car slows, and you force your eyes away from him to look at your surroundings. Another small town, but not quite as small as the previous two. Seungmin drives down a narrow road, barely big enough for two way traffic, and after a mile or so, he pulls into a maze of storage units. The car turns left, and right, and right again, and you eventually stop paying attention as you weave in and out of the identical rows.

“Almost there,” he glances down at his watch, and then gives you a smile. “Oh, here it is.”

It feels good to get out and stretch your legs—Seungmin does, too…he lifts his arms and stretches his back and rubs his neck as he pulls a set of keys from his pocket. Unit 3047 is the one he leads you to, and it takes him some time to get the locks, both of them, to unlock and unstick from their rusted latches. You watch as he bends and grabs the handle, pulls, and it slides up easily. The car is inside, very well covered, and this rundown looking storage unit is surprisingly nice on the inside.

“Do you want some help?”

“Yeah, come grab this side”

You walk inside, and you’re right about it being nice. It’s not cold in here—it’s well insulated, it’s finished, and the vent on the ceiling seems to be doing its job. He grabs a corner, and you follow. The first layer comes off, just a loose tarp, and now you can see the shape of the car beneath its cover. Seungmin does this one himself, pulling one side loose, and then the other. You grab a piece and pull, carefully lifting it over the side mirror. The front end is a pristine, shiny dark blue, and as you walk the cover off…

“I assumed we’d be detracting from ourselves, but—“

“But you like it, right?”

The cover falls to the ground as he starts to gather it up, and you look at it from every angle, starting at the back. Turbo on the left side, Toyota Supra on the right. “Of course I like it. And it’s my favorite color.” You’re starting to think Seungmin has a secret need for your praise and approval, which is fine. You’ll give him that all day. “It’s almost as pretty as you.”

“It’s the same age as you”

“Oh…thanks. No more compliments for you today.”

He knew it sounded wrong as soon as it left his mouth, but it was too late. “Maybe several days. Sorry, just a stupid observation.”

“It’s okay, you’re still young and awkward when you’re not being cool and charismatic.” You wait for him to unlock the doors, and then slide in. “Did you pick this out yourself?”

“No, this belonged to my dad—my real dad. He left it to me when he died.” He’s silent as he starts it, almost as if there’s some fear of the engine not turning over, but it does, and it sounds good. “Am I awkward?”

“Sometimes, but it’s cute. I mean…you’re not cute, I take that back.”

The first time taking it out of storage since last May, and he still managed to keep control on the one long, straight empty stretch of highway before getting close to Daegu. He hit 155 kilometers per hour, but just for a few seconds. He knows better than to get pulled over in this car. It’s not unregistered, like he told you, but it is registered under a different name, and the license should still be in the glove box. He didn’t double check.

“Feel better?” You say, and Seungmin looks at you stretched out in the passenger seat. “Getting a little bit of speed?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s easy to do in this.” He slows and finds his exit, and looks at you again when he can take his eyes off the road. “What’s wrong?” Maybe nothing, but you suddenly look very uncomfortable sitting up, unbuckled, gripping the edge of the seat.

“Can you stop the car?”

He pulls off and onto the shoulder as you swing the door open, and you make it out just in time to throw up the coffee and cream bread you had an hour ago. Seungmin is out and next to you as it happens a second time, and a third, and then your face disappears in your folded arms.

“You okay?” He knows you’re probably not, and he feels a little guilty for speeding and causing this, but there’s not much else to say. And there’s not much else to do aside from rubbing his palm across your back and hoping it somehow soothes you. He hears your muffled mhm and sees the slight nod of your head, but you don’t move back to your seat. “I’ll find us a nice room and get you something for your stomach. We’re almost there.”

“I think I’m okay now”

But you’re colorless when you look at him, and your eyes are red and watery.

“Let me know if you need me to stop again”

The hotel is nicer this time, and while he is a little concerned about his now limited money, he decides he’d rather have you staying somewhere that feels more like the apartment, plus all the amenities. And now that you’re in the city, somewhere closer to a hospital—he doesn’t mention that, though.

“How long?”

“For now I booked a week”

“A week? You think we’ll stay that long this time?”

“It’s big enough here, and pretty crowded. Nobody will notice us much. How is your stomach? I can find you some dakjuk is you’re hungry.”

“Dak juk?”

“Chicken and rice porridge. It would be easy on your stomach. Or maybe just some tea if you have no appetite.” He doesn’t want to keep hovering when you don’t feel well, but at the same time, he does. You’ve already done the same for him. “Or maybe sleep is what you need.”

“We both need sleep”

“Okay, we’ll sleep…and we can worry about dinner later”

But when you say sleep, you mean getting into bed and holding him. You are tired after the last few days, especially last night, but touching and hanging on him is the necessary part of getting into bed and falling asleep. You wouldn’t even deny him if he was in the mood, because you’ve been feeling feral over the sight and the thought of him since last night. Your lust is outweighing the sour feeling in your stomach.

And that’s what you do—get him into bed with you and make him your little spoon. You kiss his neck and shoulders, touch him softly, run the tips of your fingers over his side. It only helps him relax, and he seems to quiet and fall to sleep with no trouble. Probably for the best, because you start to fall into your sleep immediately after.

Seungmin feels your hands on him, but he knows he’s still stuck in his sleep. He’s dreaming, and you’re in this one, finally. The problem is, there’s something wrong, and he can’t figure out what it is. The dream version of you is looking to him for an answer because you just want to feel okay again, but he doesn’t know what to do.

“Hmm?” Seungmin rolls over in his half-sleep, and he starts to wake up. It’s taking so much effort to pull himself out of it, though. “Tokki?”

“Minnie, I’m right here”

His arms fold you into a sleepy embrace. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Dreaming?” You rub circles over his back, “what are you dreaming about, love?”

Finally, his eyes open and he sees just beyond your shoulder. He sees the window, curtain halfway open, covered in night sky. “I’m awake.” But he doesn’t let go. “I’ll fix everything.”

“There’s nothing to fix right now. All we’re gonna worry about is what to eat for dinner.”

/ / /

Ten days…that’s how long you’ve been in this hotel suite in the middle of Daegu. Seungmin was right about not being noticed, of course. It’s not as busy as Seoul, but it’s busy enough for people to not care about you as you go about your business. It feels normal again, like being back at the apartment and occasionally leaving to stretch your legs, or get the necessities. No more shopping trips and no more splurging—it’s a good thing you didn’t have time to get used to that sort of lifestyle, because it might not be there in the future.

You come home with the only foods you’ve had any luck keeping down: ingredients for dal juk, because Seungmin makes it surprisingly well, eggs, tuna…and your favorite, which Seungmin hates—leftover rice and bananas in milk.

“I can find you some good rice pudding somewhere” is his comment every time you make it.

“You can, and then I’ll just eat both”

So now he walks the four blocks to get it every time you mention it to him.

The security cameras have given nothing significant in all of this time away, and Seungmin seems much more relaxed because of it. Neither of you have let the idea of complete safety get too far into your minds, though. You still don’t know if they found anything significant, but if they have, it was small enough to be taken out discreetly.

“We did get rid of everything suspicious, right?” He’s asked that two separate times while you reviewed footage. Both times you assured him you did.

Tonight, over dinner, you check the live feed briefly before he decides to put on the news, but there’s nothing mentioned about a missing girl, a murder, the apartment building…nothing.

“I feel like we dreamed this whole thing,” Seungmin leans back on the couch and sighs, “how can there be nothing?"

He looks inviting sitting there, even though he’s a little frustrated, “maybe we just missed it, and they looked and found nothing and started searching somewhere else,” so you climb on the couch and onto him, sit in his lap, and start the process of getting him out of his clothes. “And we can just go home soon, and this will have been a really nice bonding trip for us.”

“Bonding trip?” He jumps when you grab his sides, “yeah, I guess we did get to know each other better.” He’s told you more than he ever imagined speaking out loud. Someone sticking around and comforting him after telling his stories seems like a weird dream, too.

“And I love you even more than I thought I could”

The flutter in his stomach comes out in a nervous laugh, because it still feels so strange hearing, and it feels strange coming from him when he can get it out. But he knows you mean it, because he feels it all. “Yeah?”

Seungmin groans when you take his soft cock in your hand and stroke, and you get a mhm out after he pulls you in for a kiss. “Yeah. I love you, and your warm hands, and your sweet mouth…”

“You need me again…already?” He teases as he leans back and watches your hands on him. “Last night wasn’t enough?”

“I can never get enough of you”

He’s already getting hard, and his hips move to match the steady up and down of your hand. You’ve been all over him, needy and horny, since the night you spent at the moon dream hotel. Tired, but not tired enough. Every night, you’ve initiated, and every time, Seungmin has happily accepted your advances.

“I have plenty to give”

He watches you move to the floor and get between his knees, and your eyes move between him and his growing cock. A long, slow lick from the base to the tip of his head, and a shiver runs over him—Seungmin can feel a wave of goosebumps on his thighs, his arms, and up his neck.

It’s a lot of work, but you enjoy the act of touching and licking and getting as much of him in your mouth as you can, and you’ve gotten more and more in over the last several weeks. Seungmin loves watching your progress, and he likes watching you just like this—on your knees, taking your time, worshipping every inch of him.

Another wet lick up his length and you suck his head into your mouth, tongue him slowly as you work him in and out, a little deeper each time.

“That’s good,” he whispers and runs his knuckles across your cheek until you look at him.

Seungmin feels you gag on him—he feels the quick squeeze of your throat before you pull back, and then you do it again, and again. Both hands grip him and stroke, twist, and suddenly he’s squirming under your touch. Your tongue comes out for another taste, over his head, around it, sucking it back in while you keep stroking and slowly working his orgasm out of him. The sounds he lets slip out are less subdued each time, and Seungmin no longer cares how vulnerable you make him. The way you look at him and smile at those sounds makes him come so much harder. But by now, you usually switch up and climb on him to finish. This time you keep going—devouring as much of him as you can and stroking the rest, and it’s perfect, the rhythm and speed. You’ve gotten used to taking his cock anywhere he wants to put it, and now you want to finish right here.

“Gonna make me come…is that what you want?”

You look up and smile as you lick him.

“Yeah, you do. You hungry for it, bunny?”

“I want it”

Seungmin’s thighs tremble and his stomach tightens. His head swims, and he wants to tell you how much he loves you right now but instead he just screams it in his head. He loves you, and he loves watching you taking him like it’s the only thing keeping you going, and swallowing his cum will wash away all of your sins. It makes him feel powerful again, despite being so weak for you. You’re weak for him. Together, you could destroy each other…

Seungmin releases with no warning, but you’re still on him, pumping everything you can into your eager mouth, letting it trickle down your chin, not stopping until you're sure he's given you everything.

“Let me see,” he grips the back of your neck and so he can look at you and your mouth, overflowing with him. “Swallow.” The cum escaping is swiped up, and you close your mouth around his thumb as he pushes it in. “Good,” he coos and leans in for a kiss.

“Yeah? Was it good?”

He kisses harder, tastes himself on your lips. “It was perfect.” Seungmin smiles against yours lips, “was I good?”

“Mhm, very…I should do this more often”

A phone buzzes on the kitchen table, and it makes both of you jump. The post-orgasm bliss is cut short, but despite it, he still pulls you close for another kiss before rising from the couch.

“Is your phone on?”

“Yeah, I decided to leave it on for a few hours.” The curiosity got the better of him—wondering if someone would call, whether it was someone asking about the building, or his doctor. This call is not from his doctor, and the screen says unknown caller.

He picks it up and starts the conversation. You listen carefully though you can’t catch any of Seungmin’s quick words. It’s a short phone call, less than a minute, and when he hangs up, he looks at you and smiles.

“Who was it?”

“Senior Inspector Byeon.” He says it very casually, smiling.

“A cop? What did they say?”

“He said they’ve been trying to reach me, and I told him I’ve been in Daegu visiting family…and I asked what the problem was.” He pauses.

“And?”

“And he wanted to apologize for the intrusion on my building…and in my apartment, because of a false police report. They were tipped off and couldn’t find any evidence of the girl anywhere. Nothing on the security footage. Nothing from my tenants. They didn’t want me coming back to a surprise.”

“They didn’t find anything?”

“But if something changed, or evidence was found that linked to the building, he’d be in touch.”

“Did it sound like they were expecting to find something?”

“No, he didn’t think so”

“So we can go home?”

“Do you wanna go home?”

You think, look around the hotel room you’ve broken in, and think about how good everything has been between the two of you. “We should stay here a little longer.”

“Okay, let’s get cleaned up and go get ourselves a treat”

Seoul is safe—the apartment, the building, his bank account, so Seungmin’s pockets are suddenly bottomless again. He picks a cafe a few blocks from the hotel, and fills the table with whatever he thinks you might like; a slice of chocolate cake, a soufflé covered in caramelized bananas, a raspberry strudel, a plate full of hotteok, and two cappuccinos.

“Are we going to eat all of this?” You laugh, but immediately pick up a fork and take a bite of the cake.

Seungmin does the same, and then tries strudel. “We’re gonna try, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“I know. I have been feeling a little better recently, but I don’t like testing it.”

“We’ll have our leftovers for breakfast,” he says, but he’s distracted by a loud group walking into the cafe, all men, and probably younger than Seungmin. He knows better than to look and attract their attention, but he turns away a moment too late.

One of them speaks, but he ignores it and takes a sip of his coffee.

“What does he want?” You ask quietly.

“Nothing, just don’t look at them.”

He speaks again, to Seungmin, and then he seems to say something directed toward you. His friends don’t join in, but they don’t seem bothered by anything happening.

“Please, give it a rest,” he says softly.

A flashback to Seungmin’s temper, the bartenders bloody, broken nose, and the crack in the plaster wall. That can’t happen again, not now…not after finally being able to relax. Again, you’re in the dark listening to their fast-paced Korean—first the stranger, then Seungmin again. You can hear his anger growing.

“Hey,” your hand closes over his, “maybe we should just go.”

“Not yet”

The stranger speaks again.

“What is he saying?”

“He’s just being an ass”

Your heart jumps when Seungmin stands, and he’s at least a few inches taller than all of them. More than anything, he has a way of looking intimidating without much effort. But he’s one, and they’re three.

The cafe owner finally notices and yells at them to leave, but they ignore her.

“Min?” He doesn’t hear you, or he acts like he doesn’t. You wish he would look at you, because everything is starting to turn sideways. “Minnie?”

The anger in him is ready to spill over. Nothing would feel better than his hands around this boys neck, squeezing, crunching, destroying his windpipe and watching him writhe and gasp for air on the floor. Watching the light leave his eyes as he wondered if the things he said about you was worth his life.

The owner yells something, points over his shoulder, and all he sees is you, slowly falling from the chair and landing on the hard floor. He runs to you, and his anger disappears as if it never existed at all.

“Jagiya…what’s wrong? Open your eyes”

He hears the woman say she’s calling an ambulance, but he doesn’t want to believe that’s necessary. You just fainted because you said you get dizzy when you’re anxious. The vertigo hit when you were worried he would do something stupid, and he almost did. Seungmin could feel and see his fist meeting the boys jaw—he could hear the crack.

“Please open your eyes.” Your skin is hot. He places a kiss on your forehead, and then moves to your mouth. Seungmin can feel your slow breaths against his lips.

“Minnie, please be good,” you say, and groan in pain.

“I am…I was good”

He’s there when your eyes open. Confused, still dizzy, and now a throbbing pain in your shoulder. Seungmin looks just as confused. “What happened?”

“You passed out”

You feel stupid sitting here in a hospital bed—like a burden, like you’re wasting everyone’s time, and like you’re just causing more worry. But you can’t blame Seungmin for being concerned.

“How’s your shoulder?” He moves your gown out of the way and gently touches the red mark left by the floor.

“It’s not bad”

“I know you don’t wanna be here, I’m sorry”

“No, I just don’t think they’ll have an answer…that’s all. They’ll tell me it’s stress, or that it’s in my head and that it’ll go away. And I want my chocolate cake.”

“They did take blood, so maybe that will tell us something.” Seungmin readjusts your gown as two nurses return.

One speaks to Seungmin first, leaving you clueless, and she doesn’t give him a chance to translate. He holds his hand up and turns to you, “she said they did a few tests, but the others will take a few more hours.”

“You only speak English?” The other nurse looks at you.

“Yes”

“Are you her husband?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation.

“We do have some results from your blood, and you are feeling unwell because you are pregnant. Probably around six weeks, based on the information you gave us.”

“I’m what?”

“Pregnant?” Seungmin asks, and the look on his face is a mixture of confusion, and what looks like relief…maybe more than that.

“Yes, we suspected that and the bloodwork confirmed it. But it’s still very early. The morning sickness is normal at this stage, and the tiredness. All of this was making your stress worse, but knowing why should help.”

“Can we go home?”

“What’s wrong?” He pulls you against him and feels you tense up, “it’s okay…everything will be okay.”

“Probably not tonight. We’re going to give you IV fluids and vitamins since you haven’t been able to eat much lately, but you’ll be taken to the maternity floor.”

Seungmin can feel the anxiety radiating from you. He isn’t quite sure which direction his brain wants to go in right now, but of course he doesn’t want to leave you here alone for the entire night. “How long will the IV take?”

“Maybe an hour or two”

“Can we go home after that? And we’ll come back to see the doctor tomorrow.”

The nurse looks at you for a long moment, and then to him. “Alright, two hours in bed, and if you’re feeling okay, I’ll see if the doctor will release you. But I can’t promise he’ll agree.”

/ / /

Silence falls over the hotel room when you finally return three hours later, but you can tell that Seungmin wants to talk—wants to, but doesn’t know what to say. Both tests you took almost two weeks ago were wrong, but it must have been too early, and the idea of being pregnant almost left your mind with those negative results. Now you sit, wrapped in your damp towel with the knowledge of something growing inside of you. That thought is wearing you out, and so is remembering him trying to hide his true feelings when he found the discarded box. You love Seungmin, and you should be happy you’re having the baby he obviously wants, but your fear and uncertainty outweighs everything right now.

Seungmin sets a stack of clean clothes next to you, and he stands there for a moment, because the words on the tip of his tongue refuse to come out. He can sense your doubt and your worry.

“How do you feel…after the IV? I should’ve made sure you were eating enough, and staying hydrated.”

“I feel better.” You do, but you’re stuck with this uneasy stomach whether it’s from the baby or your nerves. “You didn’t know why I was sick, Minnie.”

“No, but I should have been taking better care of you anyway.” He turns and heads for the door when you both hear a soft knock. “I’ve been too distracted by everything going on.”

You hear him greet and thank whoever is there, and then he’s heading back to you with something in his hand. It’s a piece of chocolate cake—not like the one you had earlier, but it still looks good. Seungmin drops to his knees in front of you and wraps his arms around your waist, and you pull him into a hug.

“Hopefully this one is good, too”

“I’m sure it is.” A kiss on his forehead brings a smile to his face, finally. “Thank you.”

“Can we talk about it?” His voice shakes a little.

The Seungmin in front of you and the one you met almost two months ago are the same, but so different. He’s allowed himself to become soft around you, and for you—not just sometimes, and not all of the time…but most of the time. This part of him has always been in there somewhere, waiting to be coaxed out, but you’re mostly surprised because you know he stopped taking his medication after you arrived in Daegu.

“Of course we can. I wanna know everything you’re feeling right now, and everything going on in your head.”

“Everything?” He laughs. “Okay. I know I acted strange when you took your test before, and that was because I never thought I’d have a chance to experience the things that we’ve done together, and felt—the feeling of having someone so special that you could happily make a baby together. And I know I shouldn’t be, I know I shouldn’t feel that—“

“Yes you should, Seungmin”

“We aren’t really parent material…or you think you’re not, at least. I know I’m not. But maybe together, we’re different. Maybe we just need each other.”

“I need you, baby or no baby”

“Tell me what’s going on in your head”

That look he gives you makes everything feel better, and you’re starting to believe you can do anything as long as you have him. “I’m worried…I’m scared.”

“What are you afraid of? Giving birth…or caring for the baby? I’ll be there for you, for everything. I promise.”

“Yes, but I’m more worried I won’t be able to handle it. I’ve already been so sick, and I know that’s normal, but what if it gets worse? What if my body can’t do this right?”

“I’ll take care of you, whether you’re sick or not. Whether you can handle it, or you can’t. You come first.”

#kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin x y/n #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #kim seungmin au #skz au #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz smut #stray kids smut

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muiitoloko · 5 months ago

Note

Would you be able to do a Severus Snape story. One where his girlfriend is nervous about having sex with him, as she still suffers from issues she suffered at the hands of a man who thought cared about her but just wanted to abuse her. Severus completely understands and never pressures her, she tells him she finally wants to have sex with him and he takes his time with her and is gently with her due her abuser being a sadist when it came to sex and not preparing her enough. Then after they have made love, he cuddles up with her which is a foreign concept to her as her abuser just use to shove her clothes into her arms after he was finished. Severus telling her how beautiful she is, as her abuser also belittled her about her body.

if you aren’t comfortable with this idea, it is fine if you choose not to write this idea.

Title: Alchemy of the Heart

Summary: A story of transformation and healing, where Severus Snape learns that love, like magic, can mend even the most broken of souls.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request! 🫶

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never thought he would find himself in such a situation—dating a Muggle, living a life that was so mundanely normal after everything he had endured. He scoffed at the absurdity of it all as he moved about the small kitchen in his modest home at Spinner's End, preparing dinner for himself and you, the woman who had somehow wormed her way into his life, despite his best efforts to keep everyone at arm’s length.

The irony was not lost on him. He, Severus Snape, a man who had spent his entire adult life hiding behind shadows and secrets, was now standing over a stove, chopping vegetables for a Muggle dish he barely knew how to make. He was a man who had survived the war, against all odds, only to be pulled back from the brink of death by none other than Harry bloody Potter. That particular twist of fate still rankled him. Potter had used the Elder Wand to heal the wounds inflicted by Nagini, saving his life and subsequently fighting to free him from Azkaban, where he had been imprisoned for a year. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing he owed his life and freedom to the very boy he had spent years despising.

Snape grimaced as he remembered the cold, damp cells of Azkaban, the Dementors draining every ounce of warmth and hope from him, leaving only a hollow shell behind. He had resigned himself to that fate, ready to be forgotten, to fade into obscurity. But Potter had other plans, of course. The boy who lived, the boy who couldn’t leave well enough alone.

And now, here he was, living in his old childhood home, the memories of his past haunting every corner, every shadow. But there was one new element in his life, something—or rather someone—who had become an unexpected comfort in this bleak existence. You.

He had first noticed you a few weeks after his release, moving into the house next door with your belongings piled into an old, beat-up car. You were a breath of fresh air in the stale, suffocating environment of Spinner’s End. Snape had tried to scare you off at first, his usual acerbic demeanor and cutting remarks meant to keep you at a distance. But you were persistent, infuriatingly so. You would knock on his door with some trivial request—a cup of sugar, a light for your stove, a missing ingredient for dinner. And every time, despite himself, Snape would begrudgingly oblige, always with a scowl and a sarcastic remark.

But you kept coming back. No matter how cold or curt he was, you would return, flashing that infuriatingly bright smile, your eyes sparkling with a warmth that he hadn’t known in years. Slowly, despite his best efforts, Snape found himself softening towards you, your presence becoming a constant, a fixture in his life that he didn’t entirely hate.

It had started as a reluctant friendship—if he could even call it that—exchanging a few words here and there, discussing the weather or some mundane topic. But then, one evening, you had invited him over for dinner. He had almost declined, the words on the tip of his tongue, but something in your eyes, a quiet loneliness, made him change his mind. And that night, as you both sat in your small, cozy kitchen, sharing a simple meal, Snape felt something shift between you. It was subtle, a barely noticeable change in the air, but it was there, and he knew you felt it too.

From that moment on, things were different. The awkwardness that had always lingered between you seemed to dissipate, replaced by a quiet understanding, a comfort in each other’s presence that neither of you could deny. The dinners became more frequent, the conversations more personal, and before long, those moments spent together turned into something more.

The first time you kissed him, it was hesitant, a brief brush of lips that left him reeling. He had pulled back, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, of regret. But all he saw was warmth, acceptance, and something deeper—something he hadn’t felt in years. And so, he had kissed you again, this time with more conviction, more certainty, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, tasting the sweetness of your lips.

But even as things between you grew more intimate, there was always a hesitance on your part, a reluctance to let things progress beyond those heated kisses, those moments of passion that left you both breathless. Snape had tried to be patient, tried to respect your boundaries, but there were times when he couldn’t help the frustration that simmered just beneath the surface.

It wasn’t until one night, after another round of heated kisses that left you both wanting more, that Snape’s patience finally wore thin. He had used Legilimency on you, a skill he had honed to perfection over the years, and what he saw left him reeling. Memories of your past, of a relationship that had been toxic, abusive, of a man who had used your body, your trust, against you. It made Snape’s blood boil with rage, a fury that he hadn’t felt in years, directed not at you but at the man who had hurt you.

He had pulled back immediately, ashamed of what he had done, of the intrusion, but he couldn’t erase the memories from his mind. He couldn’t forget the pain in your eyes, the fear that had lingered just beneath the surface, even as you tried to move on, to find happiness with him.

So he kept it to himself, burying the knowledge deep within, refusing to let it taint what was growing between you. He would wait, he decided. He would wait until you were ready to tell him, until you trusted him enough to open up, to share your past with him.

And then, one evening, as you both sat on his old, worn sofa, your head resting on his shoulder, you had finally told him. The words had tumbled out in a rush, your voice trembling with fear and uncertainty, and Snape had listened, his heart aching with every word. When you had finished, he had wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered words of comfort, of reassurance.

"Thank you for telling me," he had murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You’re safe with me, always."

And that night, as you lay in his arms, Snape had made a silent vow to himself. He would never hurt you, never push you beyond what you were comfortable with. He would wait, as long as it took, until you were ready.

Now, as he stirred the pot of soup simmering on the stove, Snape couldn’t help but think back to that night, to the way you had looked at him with such trust, such vulnerability. It made his heart clench in a way that he wasn’t used to, a feeling that he had tried to bury for years but that now resurfaced with a vengeance.

You had come into his life like a force of nature, breaking down the walls he had built around himself, forcing him to confront emotions that he had long since buried. And while part of him resented it, resented the way you had made him feel again, another part of him—the part he tried to ignore—was grateful.

He heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind him and turned to see you standing in the doorway, your eyes bright with affection as you watched him cook. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the sight of you, so full of life, so full of light.

"You’re cooking," you said, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and delight as you stepped into the kitchen, your hands coming to rest on the counter as you leaned against it, watching him with those warm, trusting eyes.

"Don’t sound so shocked," Snape replied, his tone dry but not unkind as he turned back to the stove, giving the soup another stir. "I am capable of preparing a meal, despite what you may think."

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. "I never doubted it," you said, your voice light and teasing as you stepped closer, your hands resting on his shoulders as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "But I’m still impressed."

Snape felt a warmth spread through him at your touch, your lips against his skin sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the warmth of your gaze, the affection that shone in your eyes.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone, and Snape turned back to the stove, his hands tightening on the spoon as he stirred the soup with more force than necessary. He couldn’t allow himself to get too comfortable, to let his guard down. There was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much he was keeping from you.

You didn’t know that the man you were dating was not just a simple recluse living in a small, forgotten town. You didn’t know that the man you had trusted with your secrets, with your heart, was a wizard, a man who had fought in a war that had left deep scars on his soul. You didn’t know that the man you had chosen to love was capable of things that would terrify most people.

And as much as Snape wanted to keep it that way, to keep you safe from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. He could only hope that when it did, you would still look at him with the same warmth, the same affection that you did now.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand—preparing a simple meal for the woman who had become the light in his dark, shadowed world. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer.

You moved closer to him, your body pressing against his as you wrapped your arms around his waist, your head resting on his shoulder as you watched him cook. Snape stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your embrace, the warmth of your body seeping into his own, calming the storm of thoughts that constantly swirled in his mind.

"Thank you, Sev," you murmured, your voice soft and sincere as you pressed another kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering against the fabric of his shirt. "For everything."

Snape swallowed hard, his throat tightening at the sound of your voice, the sincerity in your words. He wasn’t used to this—this warmth, this affection. It was foreign to him, something he had long since resigned himself to living without. But now, with you, it was becoming a part of his life, and as much as it terrified him, he found himself clinging to it, desperate for the light you brought into his world.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust his voice to remain steady, so instead, he simply nodded, his hand coming up to rest on yours, squeezing it gently in silent acknowledgment.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just a connection, a confirmation that he was here, with you, in this moment. Whatever it was, Snape felt a surge of emotion rise up within him, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, as if sensing his turmoil, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, a gentle caress that made his heart ache with longing. Snape responded almost automatically, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate need that he hadn’t felt in years.

The kiss quickly grew more heated, more urgent, as Snape’s hands roamed over your body, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your clothes. He could feel the desire building within him, the need to take this further, to lose himself in you, in the warmth and comfort that you offered.

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, you pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty.

"Severus," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly as you placed your hands on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I… I want to be with you, but…"

Snape felt his heart clench at your words, the hesitation in your voice, the uncertainty in your eyes. He knew what you were going to say, knew what was holding you back, and it made his chest tighten with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

"But you’re not ready," Snape finished for you, his voice low and rough as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "And that’s okay, love. We’ll take things at your pace."

You looked up at him, your eyes filling with tears as you nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hand against your skin.

Snape felt a wave of emotion wash over him, a mixture of love and frustration and something else—something deeper, something darker that he couldn’t quite put into words. He wanted you, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—push you into something you weren’t ready for. Not after everything you had been through.

So instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin as he whispered, "When you’re ready, I’ll be here."

You nodded, your arms wrapping around his waist as you buried your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. And in that moment, Snape realized that maybe, just maybe, he was.

As the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Snape couldn’t help but think of how far he had come, how much his life had changed since the end of the war. He had gone from being a man consumed by darkness and hatred, to a man who was learning to love again, who was finding solace in the warmth of a woman’s embrace.

But even as he held you close, the weight of his secrets pressed down on him, a constant reminder that there was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much that he was keeping from you.

And as much as he wanted to protect you from that darkness, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

For now, though, he would hold onto this moment, this brief reprieve from the shadows that haunted his every step. And he would continue to wait, as long as it took, until you were ready to take that next step, to fully trust him with your body, your heart, your soul.

Because for the first time in his life, Severus Snape had something worth waiting for.

You and Severus Snape sat across from each other at the small, worn kitchen table in his modest home. The room was quiet, save for the soft clinking of spoons against bowls as you both ate the soup he had prepared. The aroma of the dish filled the air, a comforting blend of herbs and spices that seemed almost out of place in the austere surroundings of Spinner’s End.

Snape watched you closely, his dark, piercing eyes never leaving your face as you took your first tentative spoonful of the soup. He appeared calm and composed, but there was a hint of something else in his gaze—an emotion that he carefully kept hidden behind his usual mask of indifference. You, oblivious to the scrutiny, tasted the soup, savoring the warmth that spread through you as you swallowed.

To your surprise, the soup was not just good—it was delicious. The flavors were rich and well-balanced, each ingredient perfectly complementing the others. You glanced up at Snape, your eyes wide with genuine admiration. “This is amazing, Severus,” you said, your voice filled with pleasant surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be such a good cook!”

Snape’s response was immediate. He rolled his eyes in a manner that was both exaggerated and entirely out of character, the motion so unexpected that it caught you off guard. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he affected a tone of mock offense. “What did you expect, then? That I would poison you with my lack of culinary skills?”

You burst into laughter, the sound bright and clear in the small, dimly lit kitchen. “No, no! It’s just—I mean, you never struck me as the type to… well, cook. You always seem so serious, so… severe.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but there was a glint of amusement in them that you hadn’t noticed before. “I am full of surprises, as you’ve clearly discovered,” he said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were fighting the urge to smile.

You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand as you leaned forward, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Sev. I didn’t mean to sound so… rude. I’m just pleasantly surprised, that’s all.”

Snape’s expression remained impassive, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, if you’re going to be so disrespectful about my cooking, perhaps I should refrain from ever doing it again,” he said, his tone smooth and measured, though laced with a subtle edge of sarcasm.

Your laughter died down, and you looked at him with wide, imploring eyes, your lips forming a small, playful pout. “Oh, please don’t do that! I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He allowed the silence to stretch out, letting you squirm slightly under his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he set his spoon down and leaned back in his chair, his long, pale fingers steepled in front of him. “I suppose I can find it within myself to forgive you,” he said with mock gravity, his voice carrying that familiar, rich baritone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You grinned, relieved by the playful banter that had emerged between you two. “I promise to be more appreciative next time,” you said, your tone light and teasing.

Snape’s eyes softened slightly, and he allowed himself a small, genuine smile, though it was fleeting. “See that you do,” he replied, his voice carrying just a hint of warmth. He picked up his spoon once more, returning his attention to his soup, though you could tell he was still watching you from the corner of his eye.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the earlier tension between you having dissipated entirely. There was something soothing about the simplicity of the moment—the two of you sharing a meal, the quiet intimacy of the evening wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

After a while, you looked up at him, a thought crossing your mind. “Severus,” you began, your voice soft and curious, “you never really talk about your past. You’ve told me bits and pieces, but… I don’t really know much about you.”

Snape’s hand paused mid-motion, his spoon hovering over the bowl. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of something—uncertainty, perhaps?—in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual inscrutable expression.

“What exactly do you want to know?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You hesitated, unsure of how to phrase your question without prying too much. “I know you were a professor—a chemistry professor, right? At a college in Scotland?”

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the version of his past that he had shared with you. “Yes,” he said, his voice measured. “I taught for many years.”

You smiled at him, trying to convey that you weren’t seeking to push him into sharing anything he wasn’t comfortable with. “It must have been… interesting, teaching. But I can’t imagine it was easy, especially with students who didn’t always appreciate your brilliance.”

Snape’s lips twitched at that, and he let out a soft, sardonic huff. “Indeed. Many of them were more interested in their own self-indulgent pursuits than in actually learning anything of value.”

You chuckled, imagining a classroom full of students cowering under Snape’s stern gaze, their attempts at chemistry likely met with his cutting remarks. “I’m sure you were a… challenging teacher,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your tact. “I was effective,” he replied simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him with genuine curiosity. “Do you miss it? Teaching, I mean.”

For a moment, Snape was silent, his eyes distant as if he were considering your question—or perhaps reliving old memories. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more reflective. “There are aspects of it that I miss, yes. The pursuit of knowledge, the satisfaction of imparting it to those few who were truly eager to learn… But the rest… no, I do not miss that.”

You nodded, understanding that there was much more to his past than he was willing—or perhaps able—to share. You didn’t press further, content to let him reveal what he wished in his own time. Instead, you reached out and gently placed your hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Sev,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with sincerity.

Snape looked at you, his expression inscrutable, but you could sense the shift in his mood—the subtle softening of his usual defenses. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice low and almost reluctant, as if the words didn’t come easily to him.

You both returned to your meal, the earlier levity now replaced by a quiet, comfortable silence. As you finished your soup, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment—a feeling that, despite everything, you were exactly where you were meant to be, with the man who, against all odds, had become so important to you.

And as Snape watched you from across the table, his dark eyes lingering on your face, he too felt a stirring of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—something that, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t entirely hate.

Days later, you found yourself in a small, charming boutique nestled in the heart of town, dragging Severus Snape along with you. The place was a far cry from the dark, foreboding atmosphere of Spinner's End. It was bright, colorful, and filled with racks of clothing that seemed to almost offend Snape’s sensibilities. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fabric and a hint of perfume, and the light streaming through the windows made everything seem almost unnaturally cheerful.

Snape, however, was anything but cheerful.

He stood in the middle of the store, his tall, lean frame towering over the racks of clothing, his long black coat making him look like a shadow in a world of light. His greasy black hair hung over his pale, angular face, and his dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of disdain and discomfort. He watched you with a glare that could have curdled milk, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"You cannot be serious," he growled, his deep, monotone voice cutting through the lighthearted chatter of the boutique. "I have no interest in—"

"Oh, come on, Sev," you interrupted, undeterred by his intimidating presence as you held up a bright, turquoise shirt, eyeing it critically before pushing it against his chest. "You can't always wear black. It's time for a change, don't you think?"

Snape recoiled as if you had just handed him a particularly venomous potion. "Absolutely not," he snapped, pushing the shirt away from him as if it were toxic. "I am perfectly content with my current wardrobe, thank you very much."

You rolled your eyes, clearly unfazed by his resistance. "You can't hide in black forever, you know. It’s time to add a little color to your life, Severus."

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of stubborn defiance. "I see no need for such frivolity. I am not one of your... fashion experiments."

You grinned at his surly tone, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you rifled through another rack of clothing. "Well, maybe you should be. I think you’d look quite dashing in something other than black for a change."

Snape’s eyes narrowed further as he watched you, clearly unimpressed with the direction this outing was taking. "This is absurd," he muttered, though there was a faint trace of resignation in his voice as he realized that there was no escaping your determination.

And then, as if to test his resolve further, you pulled out a bright pink shirt from the rack, holding it up for him to see. "What about this?" you asked, your voice filled with playful innocence. "I think pink would really bring out the color in your eyes."

Snape’s reaction was immediate and visceral. His dark eyes widened in horror, and for a moment, it looked as if he might actually hiss at the offending garment. "Absolutely not!" he thundered, taking a step back as if the shirt were about to attack him. "I will not—under any circumstances—wear pink! No! No! No way! I’d rather die before wearing that!"

You burst into laughter at his dramatic reaction, clutching the shirt to your chest as you tried to stifle your giggles. "Oh, Sev," you managed between laughs, "you’re being ridiculous. It’s just a shirt!"

"It’s not just a shirt," he retorted, his voice laced with indignation. "It’s a deliberate assault on my dignity. Pink, indeed!" He scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disdain. "Do I look like someone who would wear pink?"

You stepped closer to him, your laughter subsiding as you held the shirt up to his chest again, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of challenge and affection. "You might be surprised," you teased, your voice softening slightly as you gave him a knowing smile. "Besides, I think you’d look quite handsome in it. It’s just for fun, Sev. No one’s going to see you."

Snape stared down at you, his expression unreadable as he contemplated your words. There was a long moment of silence as the two of you stood there, the bright pink shirt still held between you, an unspoken battle of wills playing out in the air.

Finally, with a resigned sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Snape snatched the shirt from your hands, his dark eyes glaring at you with a mixture of frustration and reluctant acceptance. "Fine," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "But if I look ridiculous, I will hold you personally responsible."

You grinned, practically bouncing on your toes with excitement as you watched him disappear into the dressing room. "I’m sure you’ll look fantastic," you called after him, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Several minutes passed, and you waited impatiently outside the dressing room, practically buzzing with anticipation. Finally, the door creaked open, and Snape stepped out, his tall, lean frame draped in the bright pink shirt you had chosen for him.

For a moment, you were stunned into silence. The shirt, against all odds, actually looked… good on him. The color, while a far cry from his usual black, brought out a warmth in his pale complexion that you hadn’t noticed before. The way the fabric clung to his lean form was surprisingly flattering, highlighting the sharp lines of his shoulders and chest.

But what really struck you was the expression on Snape’s face. He looked utterly resigned, as if he were bracing himself for some inevitable disaster, but there was also a glimmer of something else in his dark eyes—something that almost looked like amusement.

He stood there, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he clapped his hands together, his expression deadpan as he waited for your reaction. "Well?" he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you satisfied with your handiwork, or do I need to suffer through more of this torture?"

You couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter, the sound bright and joyful as you clapped your hands together in delight. "You look… amazing, Severus!" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you stepped closer to him, reaching out to smooth the fabric of the shirt against his chest. "I knew you’d look good in pink!"

Snape rolled his eyes, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips that betrayed his own amusement. "I look like an idiot," he muttered, though the words lacked any real heat. "This is precisely why I do not allow you to choose my clothing."

You grinned up at him, your hands resting on his chest as you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "Well, I think you look quite handsome," you said, your voice filled with affection. "And besides, it’s good to have a little fun every now and then, don’t you think?"

Snape huffed, clearly unconvinced, but there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before—a subtle acknowledgment of the fact that, despite his grumbling, he didn’t entirely hate the experience.

"Fun," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he gave you a pointed look. "Yes, well, I suppose if nothing else, I’ve provided you with some amusement."

You chuckled, your eyes twinkling as you leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "You always do, Severus. You always do."

And as you both left the boutique, Snape still wearing the pink shirt with a mixture of resignation and reluctant acceptance, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. The man who had once been shrouded in darkness, who had built walls around himself so high that no one could penetrate them, was slowly letting you in—one bright pink shirt at a time.

Later that day, after the unexpected and rather amusing shopping trip, you found yourself back at Snape’s home. The small, dimly lit rooms of Spinner’s End were a stark contrast to the bright, colorful boutique you had dragged him to earlier, but there was a certain comfort in the familiarity of the old, worn furniture and the quiet, almost melancholic atmosphere that seemed to permeate every corner of the house.

Snape, now mercifully back in his usual black attire, sat stiffly on a low stool in the bathroom, his long legs awkwardly folded in front of him, as you fussed over his hair. The small, narrow room was filled with the scent of shampoo and the faint sound of water dripping from the faucet, the only noises breaking the otherwise heavy silence.

You stood behind him, your fingers working through the tangled strands of his long, greasy black hair, your touch gentle but insistent. The hair-washing had been your idea, of course—a suggestion made with the kind of playful insistence that you knew Snape could never fully resist, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

Snape, for his part, was doing his best to endure the ordeal with what little dignity he had left. His dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of discomfort and irritation as he glared at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink, his lips pressed into a thin line of discontent. Every so often, he would let out a low grumble, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

"Must you continue this charade?" he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he shot you a sideways glance in the mirror. "I’m quite capable of washing my own hair, you know."

You ignored his complaints, your fingers continuing to work through the soapy strands of his hair with determined care. "Oh, hush, Severus," you replied, your tone light and teasing as you gently massaged his scalp. "You’re just being grumpy because you know I’m right—this hair needs a good washing, and you weren’t about to do it yourself."

Snape let out an indignant huff, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. "I hardly think you’re qualified to make such judgments," he retorted, though the faint hint of amusement in his tone betrayed his true feelings. "And you’re taking entirely too much pleasure in this."

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you leaned down to press a quick, playful kiss to the top of his head. "Of course I am," you admitted, your voice filled with affection as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. "When else do I get the chance to pamper you like this?"

Snape rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked any real heat. "Pamper," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he met your gaze in the mirror. "If this is what you consider pampering, then I shudder to think what you would consider torture."

You grinned, your hands still working methodically through his hair, carefully untangling each knot with the patience of someone who had come to know him well enough to not be intimidated by his gruff demeanor. "Oh, Sev," you teased, your voice soft and affectionate, "I think you secretly enjoy this more than you let on. You just don’t want to admit it."

He scoffed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he turned his head to glare at you, though there was no real malice in his gaze. "I assure you, I derive no enjoyment from being subjected to this… this—"

"Indulgence?" you supplied, your tone light and playful as you met his glare with a knowing smile.

"Humiliation," Snape corrected, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he turned his attention back to the mirror, his expression once again settling into its usual stoic mask. "But by all means, continue with your… indulgence."

You shook your head, your grin widening as you continued to work through his hair, the strands slowly becoming less tangled, less greasy under your careful ministrations. "You’re impossible," you muttered, though there was no real heat behind the words. "But that’s part of your charm, I suppose."

Snape’s only response was a low, noncommittal grunt, his fingers tapping impatiently against the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain his patience.

After a few more minutes of combing through his hair, you finally felt satisfied with your work. You reached for a clean towel, gently wrapping it around his head as you began to dry the now-clean strands with a firm but gentle touch. "There, all done," you said, your voice filled with a quiet satisfaction as you stepped back to admire your handiwork.

Snape, however, was less than impressed. He reached up, his long fingers brushing through his now-damp hair with a frown, as if expecting to find some glaring imperfection. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, his tone a mixture of irritation and resignation as he glanced at you in the mirror.

"Not quite," you replied, your eyes catching sight of a single strand of white hair near the crown of his head. Your expression shifted from playful to curious as you reached out to touch the strand, gently pulling it free from the rest of his hair.

"Sev," you said, your voice filled with a mixture of surprise and amusement as you held up the white hair for him to see. "Look what I found."

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the strand in your hand, his expression immediately hardening. "That is not mine," he stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It must have gotten mixed in with my hair somehow."

You couldn’t help but laugh at his stubborn denial, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you dangled the strand in front of him. "Oh, come on, Sev," you teased, your voice light and playful as you met his glare with a grin. "It’s just one white hair. It’s nothing to be ashamed of."

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes narrowing further as he snatched the strand from your hand, his expression one of absolute refusal. "It is not mine," he repeated, his voice filled with the kind of certainty that only Severus Snape could muster. "I do not have white hair."

You rolled your eyes, clearly amused by his adamant refusal to accept the truth. "You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head as you watched him carefully inspect the strand of hair, as if trying to find some evidence to support his claim.

"Impossible or not," Snape replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tossed the strand of hair into the waste bin with a flick of his wrist, "I refuse to believe that I am… aging."

You chuckled softly, reaching out to gently cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the sharp line of his jaw as you looked up at him with a mixture of affection and amusement. "Everyone ages, Sev," you said softly, your voice filled with warmth as you met his gaze. "Even you."

Snape’s expression softened slightly at your words, though he still seemed reluctant to accept the truth. "Perhaps," he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he glanced away, his dark eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had become so important to you, despite his stubbornness, despite his gruff exterior. "It’s nothing to worry about," you assured him, your voice soft and reassuring as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I think it just makes you more distinguished."

Snape let out a low, skeptical grunt, his lips curving into a faint, reluctant smile as he met your gaze once more. "Distinguished," he repeated, his tone filled with a mixture of irony and amusement. "Is that what you call it?"

You grinned, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you nodded. "Absolutely," you replied, your voice filled with playful conviction. "And besides, it’s just one hair. You’ve got plenty of time before you have to worry about going gray."

Snape rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced by your reassurances, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your touch, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulled you closer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down at you with a mixture of desire and frustration.

"You’re entirely too pleased with yourself," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering on your skin.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze, your heart quickening as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. "And you’re entirely too grumpy," you retorted, though your voice trembled slightly as you spoke, the playful banter giving way to a sudden, undeniable tension that crackled in the air between you.

Snape’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, seductive growl as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, "you need to be reminded of why you shouldn’t push me too far."

Your breath hitched at the underlying threat in his tone, a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you as his fingers tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady, insistent pressure of his arousal against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of desire straight to your core.

"Severus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and uncertain.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your hesitation, the dark intensity in his eyes giving way to a quiet, almost tender concern. "You’re still afraid," he murmured, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire as he brushed his lips against your temple, the gentle gesture at odds with the possessive grip he had on your wrist. "You don’t have to be, love."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the weight of his words, the quiet reassurance in his voice making your resolve waver. "I know," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt, of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the dark, smoldering intensity of a man who wanted you—body, heart, and soul.

"I want this," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke the words that had been on the tip of your tongue for so long, the words that you had been too afraid to say. "I want you, Sev."

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest at your admission, his dark eyes flashing with a mixture of desire and satisfaction as he leaned down to capture your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a possessive urgency that made your knees weak.

You responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you pressed yourself against him, the fear and hesitation that had held you back for so long melting away in the heat of his embrace. There was no room for doubt, no room for fear—only the overwhelming need to be with him, to feel him, to lose yourself in the pleasure that he offered.

Snape’s hands moved with a sure, practiced grace as he deftly unbuttoned your blouse, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of your chest. He let out a low, appreciative groan as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire as he reached up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, his hands moving to your waist as he slowly began to guide you toward the bed. "I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted you for so long."

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his lips against your skin, your heart pounding in your chest as you allowed him to lead you, your legs trembling with anticipation as you felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees. "Sev," you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and uncertainty as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your lingering hesitation, his hands moving to cup your face as he leaned down to press a gentle, reassuring kiss to your lips. "You don’t have to be afraid," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he brushed his thumbs against your cheeks, his dark eyes filled with a quiet, tender concern. "I’ll be gentle, love. I promise."

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had been so patient, so understanding, even as his own desire threatened to consume him. "I trust you," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hands against your skin.

Snape let out a low, relieved sigh at your words, his lips curving into a small, tender smile as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his hands moving to gently guide you onto the bed. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet, sincere gratitude as he leaned over you, his dark eyes never leaving yours as he slowly began to undress you, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverent care that made your heart ache.

There was no rush, no urgency—only the slow, deliberate movements of a man who wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every kiss. And as he finally stripped away the last of your clothing, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for so long fading into the background as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

Snape took his time, his hands and lips exploring every inch of your body with a slow, deliberate care that made your breath hitch in your throat, the pleasure building with every touch, every caress. He was patient, attentive, always watching, always listening for any sign of discomfort, of hesitation, ready to stop at a moment’s notice if you so much as whispered a word of doubt.

But you gave him none. Only soft, breathless moans and whispered pleas for more, your body arching into his touch as he slowly, gently, brought you to the edge of pleasure, only to pull back, teasing you with the promise of release before finally, mercifully, giving you what you craved.

When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you completely, the sensation both overwhelming and exquisitely perfect. You let out a soft cry, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure that surged through you.

"Sev," you moaned, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and relief as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

He let out a low, guttural groan at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he quickened his pace, the intensity of his movements matched only by the fierce, possessive hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you, his expression one of absolute, unbridled need.

"You’re mine," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his hips driving into you with a desperate urgency that made your breath hitch in your throat. "Mine, love. Always."

You could only moan in response, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form coherent words as you lost yourself in the sensation of him moving inside you, the steady, insistent rhythm of his thrusts sending you spiraling closer and closer to the edge of release.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you cried out in pleasure, your fingers digging into his back as you clung to him, the intensity of your orgasm leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent.

Snape continued moving inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as the intensity of his own pleasure grew, his control slipping with each passing second. His dark eyes, usually so guarded and inscrutable, were now clouded with raw desire as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper, rough with the effort to hold back. There was a note of desperation in his tone, a plea for your permission, your acceptance, as he teetered on the edge of release.

Your mind was a haze of pleasure, your body still trembling from the powerful orgasm he had just coaxed from you. His question hung in the air, charged with the weight of what it would mean—for him to finally claim you, to mark you as his.

“In me,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but there was no mistaking the conviction in your words. “Cum inside me, Severus.”

A low, guttural curse escaped his lips, a rare crack in his usually controlled demeanor, as he buried himself to the hilt with a final, powerful thrust. The sensation of his thick length pulsing deep inside you sent a shudder through your body, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, holding him close as he found his release.

He came hard, his entire body tensing as he spilled himself inside you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he held you in place, ensuring that every last drop was buried deep within you. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, mingling with the soft, desperate moans that escaped his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, the intensity of it nearly overwhelming him.

“Mine,” he growled through clenched teeth, his voice rough with satisfaction as he pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release. “You’re mine, love… all mine.”

You could only nod weakly, your body spent, your mind still reeling from the force of your own climax. The weight of his words, the possessiveness in his tone, sent a thrill through you, even as exhaustion began to creep in, your limbs heavy and languid as you lay beneath him.

Snape slowly pulled out of you, a low, satisfied groan rumbling in his chest as he watched the evidence of his claim slowly begin to seep from your body. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, the sight stirring something deep within him—something primal, possessive, and utterly inescapable.

But before you could fully process what was happening, Snape surprised you by shifting lower, his long, lean frame sliding down the bed until his face was level with your still-sensitive core. Your eyes widened in shock as you realized what he intended, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide to make room for himself.

“Sev—” you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and lingering sensitivity, but he silenced you with a look, his dark eyes glinting with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Be still,” he commanded softly, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your inner thigh in a feather-light caress. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

You whimpered softly, your body trembling as he moved closer, his breath hot against your already oversensitive skin. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your most intimate areas, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure and discomfort through your body in equal measure.

“Severus, please,” you pleaded, your voice weak and breathy as you tried to squirm away, the overwhelming sensitivity making you want to pull back, to escape the onslaught of sensations that were too much, too intense.

But Snape would have none of it. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as he buried his face between your legs, his lips and tongue seeking out the remnants of his own release mixed with your essence. The feel of his mouth on you, the deliberate, almost reverent way he cleaned you, was both too much and not enough, your mind spinning with the intensity of it all.

“Stay still,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a rough whisper as he continued his ministrations, his tongue lapping at you with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers of pleasure racing up your spine. “Let me taste you… let me taste what’s mine.”

You gasped, your fingers curling into the sheets as you fought against the urge to pull away, the overwhelming sensitivity making every touch feel like both pleasure and torture. Your body jerked involuntarily, but Snape only tightened his grip, holding you steady as he continued to work his mouth against you, his dark eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

He loved this—loved the way you trembled beneath him, the way your body responded to his touch even when it was too much, too intense. He loved the way your breath hitched in your throat, the way your nails dug into the sheets as you fought to keep still, to endure the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with dark satisfaction as he continued to lap at you, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way that made you cry out, your body convulsing beneath him. “So perfect… so responsive… I could do this forever.”

You couldn’t respond, your mind too clouded with pleasure, your body too wracked with sensation to form coherent words. All you could do was cling to the sheets, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Snape continued to work his mouth against you, his tongue relentless in its pursuit of every last drop of your combined release.

“Sev, please… it’s too much,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and need as you tried to pull away, your body on the verge of another climax, the overstimulation sending jolts of pleasure and pain through you in equal measure.

But Snape didn’t let up. If anything, your pleas only seemed to spur him on, his mouth working you with renewed fervor, his hands tightening on your thighs as he held you in place, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You can take it,” he growled against your skin, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re mine, love… every part of you. I’ll make you cum again… I’ll make you remember who you belong to.”

His words were your undoing. With a final, desperate cry, your body convulsed beneath him, your second orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent. Snape held you through it, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue continuing to lap at you even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your release.

When you finally came down from the high, your body limp and exhausted, Snape slowly pulled away, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you, his lips curving into a small, dangerous smile.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark, possessive satisfaction as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

You could only nod weakly, your mind clouded by exhaustion and the overwhelming pleasure that had just coursed through you. Every muscle in your body felt heavy, spent, and as you lay there, trying to catch your breath, the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart still pounding in your ears, as you waited for the inevitable.

You braced yourself for the cold distance that you had come to expect from your past—waiting for him to pull away, to turn his back on you, to push you away with a dismissive order, just like your ex-boyfriend used to do. The old fears began to creep back in, threatening to ruin the quiet afterglow that had settled over the room.

But Severus didn’t do that.

Instead, he surprised you. The bed shifted under his weight as he climbed in beside you, and before you could even process what was happening, he gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. His embrace was firm but comforting, his long, lean body molding perfectly to yours as he held you, his breath warm against your temple.

“Did you like it?” he asked quietly, his deep, monotone voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he were unsure of the answer. His hand came up to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you further. You could feel his lips brush against your forehead in a tender kiss, a gesture that was so unexpected, so out of character, that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the voice to tell him how much his gentleness meant to you, how much his care and concern had touched you. Instead, all you could do was lay there in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

When you didn’t respond immediately, Severus tensed slightly, his grip on you loosening as if he feared he had done something wrong. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet regret. “If I was too much… if I pressured you… that was never my intention.”

The sincerity in his words, the genuine worry that laced his tone, sent a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to blink rapidly to keep them from falling. The care he was showing you, the way he was so attuned to your feelings, was something you weren’t used to. Your ex-boyfriend had never asked if you were okay, never checked if you were comfortable or happy. But here was Severus, a man who had every reason to be distant and cold, holding you with such tenderness, such concern, that it made your heart ache.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. His dark gaze met yours, and you could see the worry etched into his sharp features, the way his brow furrowed as he waited for your response. He was genuinely concerned for you, genuinely worried that he had done something to hurt you, and the realization was almost too much to bear.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, but all you could manage was a soft, choked sob as the tears finally spilled over, trailing down your cheeks. “Severus, I… I’ve never…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find a way to explain the depth of what you were feeling. But Severus seemed to understand. His expression softened, and he gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, his touch so gentle, so reverent, that it only made you cry harder.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. “It’s all right, love. You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m here… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The reassurance in his words, the quiet promise that he would stay, that he wouldn’t push you away, was more than you could have ever hoped for. You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him, your arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate attempt to hold onto this moment, to hold onto the safety and comfort he was offering you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest as you tried to control the sobs that threatened to overwhelm you. “I’m sorry for crying… I just… I’m not used to this. To someone caring.”

Severus tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you against him as he whispered, “You never have to apologize for your feelings, not with me. And you deserve to be cared for, love. You deserve to be treated with kindness… with respect.”

The words sent another wave of emotion crashing over you, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs that shook your body, the raw, unfiltered emotion spilling out of you as you finally allowed yourself to feel the depth of what you had been holding back for so long. Severus held you through it all, his arms wrapped around you, his hand gently stroking your hair as he murmured soft words of comfort, his deep voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you exhausted and drained, you pulled back slightly, looking up at Severus through tear-streaked eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. “Thank you for… for being so kind. For caring.”

Severus gazed down at you, his dark eyes filled with a warmth that took your breath away. “I care about you more than you know,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “And I will always care. You’re safe with me… always.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how much his reassurance meant to you, how much his presence in your life had changed everything. Instead, you simply leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, pouring all of your gratitude, all of your affection, into that one, simple gesture.

Severus returned the kiss with a tenderness that made your heart swell, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate care that made you feel cherished, adored.

When the kiss finally ended, Severus rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered, “You’re incredible, love. So strong… so beautiful. And I’m honored that you’ve allowed me to be a part of your life.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he spoke those words as if he truly believed them, made your chest tighten with emotion. No one had ever spoken to you like this before, had ever made you feel so valued, so loved.

“Severus,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you looked up at him, your eyes shining with tears. “I… I love you.”

For a moment, Severus didn’t respond. His dark eyes searched yours, as if trying to discern the truth in your words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was filled with a quiet, almost reverent awe. “You love me?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you repeated the words, letting them hang in the air between you. “I love you, Severus. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Severus closed his eyes, a soft, shaky breath escaping his lips as he let the words sink in. When he opened his eyes again, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that took your breath away, a raw, unguarded emotion that he had never allowed you to see before.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, almost desperate sincerity. “More than I ever thought possible.”

The words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the wounds left by your past, filling the empty spaces in your heart with a warmth that you had never known before. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as you buried your face in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your ear.

And as Severus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, comforting embrace, you knew that this was where you were meant to be. In his arms, in his heart, in his life. And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly, deeply loved.

#alan rickman x reader #alan rickman #severus snape x reader #severus snape #harry potter

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bestruction · 1 month ago

Text

Flower's language

Summary: How you two stared to secretly date

Warnings: None

@enouche

Following his release from prison, Sasuke finally had the time to focus on the Uchiha district, a place abandoned and forgotten by time. At first, he couldn’t bring himself to face that place alone, so he called you for help. And how could you say "no" to him knowing everything that happened there ? Little by little, you found yourself drawn into the work, getting lost in the process of restoring what was left behind. After all, he had once been your friend— even more than that. Not that it mattered anymore.

Part of you was still hurt after everything that had happened, but another part understood what he went through. For all the good memories you shared, you promised to help him make the house more... livable. After that, you hoped to finally let go of the feelings you refused to admit you still had for him.

By morning, you were ready and made your way to the district, just as you had every weekend for the past few months. The main house—his house—still exuded a haunting stillness, as though frozen in time. The grandeur of the Uchiha clan lingered in its bones, but the absence of warmth and life was palpable. Each creaking floorboard and the faint rustle of wind through the broken windows echoed the loss and tragedy of the clan that had once lived there. It was a place both beautiful and melancholic, a physical embodiment of Sasuke’s memories and grief.

Today, you two had agreed on cleaning the garden and planting a few vegetable seeds that could be useful for him.

It doesn't take long until you find him in the back of the house. You left your backpack on a bench and knelt beside Sasuke, your hands quickly brushing the earth as you worked to clear the area, pulling out invasive plants and cutting away dead branches.

You look around noticing how the once-meticulously groomed garden had succumbed to nature's reclaim. Stepping stones lead to a koi pond, now murky and overrun with algae. A stone lantern leans precariously to one side, and the bamboo fountain no longer flows. Wild wisteria and ivy climb over stone statues of Uchiha symbols, and the air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay.

Sasuke wasn't much to talk but he seemed particularly off, his broad shoulders stiffed while he focused on the task he was doing.

“Do you know what this is?” you asked trying to save him from whatever was happening in his head.

He looks at the small sprig of something you’d found struggling to grow amid the chaos “A flower?.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s lavender. In the language of flowers, it symbolizes calm and peace. Your mother might have planted it here for that reason.”

Sasuke paused in his work, his gaze flickering to the delicate sprig in your hand. “The language of flowers?”

You nodded, smiling faintly. “Every plant has a meaning. For example, the camellias over there—represent admiration and longing. And the wisteria near the gate is a symbol of endurance and devotion.”

He looked toward the garden as if seeing it for the first time, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t know you were an expert.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not. But I’ve always liked the idea that flowers can say things people can’t"

He looked at you wondering if his mother thought the same. He remembered seeing her in the garden many times but the reasons for it now were blurry and lost in his head. Sasuke didn’t respond, but you caught the way his shoulders seemed to relax slightly as he returned to clear the weeds.

"What does this one mean?" He asks pointing at a single tulip he had found in the middle of the invasive herbs. You got closer to see it better, thinking to yourself it was unusual to see such a delicate flower in a wild scenario.

"Love," You say looking at it. It wasn't grown and its petals were suffering from the lack of care, but it still had the charm only a tulip could have.

"I thought roses were the flowers for love," He said looking at what, in his eyes, was just a plant.

"Roses and tulips," You said caressing the dry petals "Roses represent love and its nuances, but tulips represent it as a whole"

His dark eyes were fixated on you and when you looked at him again, and in that short second that followed you gulped thinking he had grown into a handsome man. You coughed pushing away that thought and quickly said "Did you buy the vegetables seeds that we talked about?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna grab it"

You drummed your fingers on your legs, waiting for him to come back while telling your stupid heart to stop beating so fast.

He came back and the two of you set to work planting the seeds, side by side. The quiet companionship that had grown between you was something you cherished, but it was still fragile like stepping carefully over thin ice. As you dug into the soil, your hands brushed his. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you. You froze, glancing up at him, only to find that he was already looking at you.

"You didn't have to help so much"

“I know,” you said with a small shrug. “But I wanted to.”

Neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a taut string. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Sasuke leaned closer, his dark eyes searching yours. His long fingers brushed the dust on your cheek but not just that, he was testing the waters, and once you didn't move away, he let his fingers hold your chin before putting his lips on yours. It was tentative, almost unsure.

His lips were unsteady as if he was uncertain of how to give or receive this kind of tenderness. He placed his lips on yours, feeling the texture and taste of your toothpaste. You closed your eyes and his hand found its way to the back of your neck while his tongue finally entered your mouth to quickly meet yours.

Fuck, did he have to taste so good?

You hold his shirt pulling him closer, making him smirk in the kiss while you wrap your tongues again and again until the world seems to slow down its rotation just to make it last longer. You felt the soft scrape of his teeth against your lower lip, a gentle bite that sent a shiver down your spine. A low sound escaped you, barely audible, but he heard it. And god, if you were gonna whimper like every time he kissed you, he would do it until your lips were swollen or both of you were naked.

You break the kiss reluctantly, needing to breathe. Sasuke gives you a few more pecks, loving the way your mouth is wet, before pressing his forehead to yours.

"This..." You whisper not opening your eyes but you can feel his gaze burning on you "Doesn't change anything, hm?"

"Doesn't it?" He asks pressing his lips on yours shortly once more

"Sasuke..." You lean back, trying to create space between you and him but grabs your waist, anchoring you closer "You are not being fair to me"

The Uchiha's house wasn't the only thing stuck in time after he left, you were stuck in time too. Lock in the feelings you had for him and unable to move on. Then why the part of you that hated him was so easily folded?

"I know" He whispers knowing he is being selfish by not letting you put an end to this cycle "We can take things slow, huh? See if it still works out between us and if it doesn't..."

You want to say "no" but your head shakes in a "yes" before your lips can open and you hate yourself for feeling so damn hot at the way he holds you close now, nearly pulling you on his lap "No one needs to know, okay?"

"Sure" He nods, eager to make you stay "Anything you want"

You stayed there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his touch, your heart warring between reason and desire. The garden seemed to hold its breath, as though the ghosts of the Uchiha district were watching, bearing witness to this fragile new beginning. Sasuke's grip on you loosened just enough to let you step back, but not enough to let you go. No matter how much you tried to tell yourself otherwise, you weren’t ready to walk away from him, and not from the chance that, just maybe, some things were worth saving.

#sasuke uchiha #sasuke x reader #Sasuke #Naturo #Naturo x reader #sasule uchiha x reader

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 21 days ago

Text

For Rome - Chapter 2

Summary: When those three days pass, he's back to see you and talk about things most important to him.

Pairing: General Marcus Acasius x F!Reader

Warnings: a description of injuries (I'm not a doctor or do not have any medical education so apologies), angst, some fluff if you squint, a not-defined age-gap. English isn't my first language so apologies for all mistakes.

Words: 4 300

N/A: The story is not really canon, but I still hope you guys will enjoy it ;)

Marcus Acasius never imagined a woman could take up so much space in his thoughts. It was absurd, really. He was a Roman General, a man forged in the fires of war, and yet he felt like a boy—a foolish, inexperienced boy—mesmerized by something he couldn’t shake from his mind.

As he sat in the quiet of his chambers, the world outside his door dimmed by night, his thoughts betrayed him once more. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. The memory of your gentle touch on his scars lingered like a phantom, your soft voice echoing in his mind, and those eyes—those beautiful eyes so full of care—they almost broke him. You made him feel strong, and yet so painfully vulnerable all at once.

Every night, as per your orders, he applied the oil you had given him. The act itself was mundane, yet it felt anything but. The subtle, calming scent reminded him of the peace he had found in your presence. Whether it was the oil itself or the thought of you that brought him relief, he couldn’t be certain. What he did know was that the angry red scars were beginning to fade, the pain that had once been constant now a dull memory. You were skilled, undoubtedly so, and he clung to that explanation for why you haunted his thoughts.

Yes, it was your talent. It had to be.

It couldn’t possibly be you.

He had traveled far and wide, seen beauty in every corner of the empire. He had shared nights with women whose allure could make poets weep. You were lovely, of course—adorable, even if he were forced to describe you. But he was no stranger to beautiful women. Unlike the younger men under his command, he had long since lost the naïve infatuation with a pretty face. He had experienced it all before, knew it well, and yet here he was.

And so, when he summoned one of his men to gather information about you, he told himself it was out of curiosity for your skills, nothing more.

The report was straightforward enough. You were from a lower-class family, though your roots hinted at something more complex. Your father had once been part of an aristocratic lineage, but when he married your mother—a woman of modest means—he was disowned. Together, they built a humble life, known for their generosity and compassion.

The tragedy of their deaths, claimed by illness, had left you alone. But it also explained much about you. Your father’s education had clearly been passed down, and your mother’s kindness was etched into every fiber of your being. It all made sense now—the deft way your hands worked, the calming air you carried, the unwavering patience and joy with which you helped those in need.

He found himself smiling at the thought of you. Even your stubborn refusal to address him with the formality his title demanded brought a strange warmth to his chest. It was improper, yes, but it was honest. It reminded him of how deeply you valued people—not their titles or their rank, just their humanity.

So when the third day finally arrived, Marcus Acasius was more than ready to see you again. He had spent the past two days drowning in reports, orders, and the endless bureaucracy of war, but the thought of you lingered like a quiet undercurrent. Of course, he told himself, this visit was purely about your skills. Your talent for healing was unparalleled, and any admiration he held for you stemmed entirely from professional respect. Or so he insisted.

---

You were exhausted. More so than usual, which was saying something.

Helping people was your calling—it gave you purpose and joy—but the demands were relentless, and lately, sleep had become a luxury you could scarcely afford. Last night, a frantic knock at your door woke you at three in the morning. A small family needed your help; their young son was sick and vomiting, and his parents were in a state of panic.

You had gone to them immediately, carrying your bag of remedies through the cold, quiet streets. After examining the boy, you reassured the worried parents that it was likely something he’d eaten. You gave him a dose of your homemade stomach drops and stayed long enough to see his color return before heading back.

But the day didn’t stop there. As soon as the sun rose, more patients arrived, each with their own ailments and needs. It was nearly nightfall when you finally sat down, the ache in your feet a dull reminder of the hours you’d spent moving from one task to the next.

Your eyes fell on the small bag of coins sitting on your table. The one the general had given you three days ago. It remained untouched, unopened—a symbol of your stubbornness. You had told yourself you didn’t need it, that you could manage without it.

And yet, as your gaze lingered on it, a small pang of disappointment stirred within you.

He hadn’t come back.

You frowned, pressing your lips together as if to stop yourself from admitting the truth. But it was no use. You wanted to see him again.

Who were you kidding? You liked him.

Marcus Acasius was a mystery to you—a man shaped by war and hardship, yet possessing a depth of kindness you hadn’t expected. The way he spoke of his men, the gratitude in his voice when he thanked you, it was like listening to a father speaking of his children. It had been endearing, yes, but it had also made your silly crush on him all the harder to ignore.

Couldn’t he have been just handsome?

But no, he had to be charming too.

And handsome he was. The image of him lingered in your mind—his broad shoulders and strong, weathered hands, his sharp jawline and the lines etched around his eyes from years of experience. His dark brown hair, streaked with just the faintest hints of silver, framed a face that seemed carved by the gods themselves. His piercing gaze, often shadowed with the weight of command, had softened when he looked at you, and the contrast was enough to make your heart race.

He reminded you of a hero from an epic tale, though he carried himself with far more humility. The ruggedness of his features, paired with the quiet strength in his voice, made him nearly impossible to ignore.

And those moments when he smiled? They felt rare, like a secret treasure, and you found yourself wanting to be the cause of it again.

He was older than you, of course, that much was clear. But the years had been kind to him, sculpting his physique and demeanor into something almost otherworldly. He had the physique of a seasoned warrior—broad and powerful, but lean, every muscle honed for purpose rather than vanity. The way his tunic clung to him when he moved was enough to make your cheeks flush just thinking about it.

So, was it foolish to hope he might return? Maybe. But hope was a stubborn thing, and tonight, it clung to you as tenaciously as the exhaustion in your limbs.

And as you sat there, staring at the unopened bag of coins and willing yourself to move, a part of you couldn’t help but glance toward the door.

Almost as if you had summoned him, the soft creak of the door and a quiet knock broke the silence. You stood quickly, brushing your hands on your apron as you approached the door, but the sight on the other side made you freeze.

It was him. The man who had occupied far too many of your thoughts these past days.

“Apologies, my lady. I am late,” Marcus Acasius said, his voice carrying that deep timbre that you hadn’t realized you’d missed. A faint, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. “But it seems that just because I’m off the battlefield doesn’t mean I’m free of its demands.”

The joke was awkward, and yet it disarmed you completely. The tiredness that had weighed on you moments ago seemed to lift as if by magic. You smiled, stepping aside to let him in, your voice softer than you intended. “Don’t apologize, General. I’m just glad you listened to me and came.”

I’m glad you came. The words lingered on the tip of your tongue, but you bit them back, forcing yourself to remain composed.

“And I told you not to call me a lady,” you added playfully as you waved him toward the chair by the hearth.

He chuckled, a sound that warmed the room as much as the firelight. You lit the remaining candles, bathing the space in a soft glow, and poured him a cup of wine. His gaze drifted as he accepted it, landing on the small bag of coins sitting on your table.

“I see I’m as stubborn as you are, my lady,” he said with a raised brow, emphasizing the title with deliberate mischief.

You followed his gaze and sighed, rolling your eyes as you poured yourself a cup of water.

“It’s hard for me to believe you don’t need the funds,” he added, his tone light but firm.

“I don’t take money from my patients,” you replied, your voice tinged with the stubbornness he was quickly coming to recognize. “They come here because they know I don’t expect anything from them.”

He leaned forward slightly, the light catching the curve of his jaw as he spoke. “It wasn’t meant as payment. It was a gesture of thanks.”

His words were gentle, but the glint of amusement in his eyes didn’t escape you. He seemed almost entertained by the pout that had formed on your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might laugh.

Instead, he set his cup aside and began to remove his tunic. You turned instinctively, pretending to busy yourself with your tools, but the sight of his bare chest caught you off guard when you glanced back. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you cursed the warmth that betrayed you.

Marcus raised a brow, catching the faint flush in your face. Adorable, he thought to himself. Absolutely adorable.

You apologized softly for your cold hands as your fingertips brushed against his skin, working methodically to check his healing wounds. You peeled back the bandages carefully, your touch light yet deliberate. Each scar you examined showed clear signs of improvement, and the satisfaction that lit up your face was undeniable.

“I’d like to take the bandages off completely, if that’s alright,” you said, glancing up at him.

His deep voice rumbled with a simple, “Alright,” and you thanked him with a smile so sweet it nearly undid him.

As you revealed more of his healing skin, your excitement grew. The bruises that had once been dark and angry were now fading to muted shades. You pressed lightly against the edges of one to test for tenderness, and though he winced slightly, he barely flinched.

“Forgive me,” you murmured, pulling your hand back quickly. “I needed to see if it was healing properly.”

When you looked up at him again, your expression was so full of joy that it made his chest tighten.

“It means you’ve been following my instructions,” you said with a pleased smile.

“More like orders,” he teased, unable to resist.

You shot him a look, but the playful glint in your eye made him chuckle.

“That oil you made is fascinating,” he admitted, his tone softening. “For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like retching while using medicine.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “The nose is a powerful instrument. Humans are naturally drawn to things that are pleasing, even when it comes to healing.”

He nodded thoughtfully, though he wasn’t sure if it was the oil or you that had been so alluring. No, he told himself firmly. It was the oil. You were just... a curiosity.

Handing him a small bottle, you said, “Three more nights of this, and you should be fine. After that, keep the area dressed for another week to ensure complete healing. And please,” you added, your tone soft but serious, “make sure you rest. Rest is as powerful as any medicine I could make.”

You placed your hand lightly on his freshly dressed ribs, your fingers lingering just a moment too long. When you realized it, you pulled back quickly, your heart racing as if you’d been caught doing something improper.

Marcus noticed, of course. But instead of teasing you, he simply smiled—a quiet, knowing smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “For everything.”

You nodded, your cheeks warm as you turned away, focusing on tidying your supplies. But as you moved, you felt his gaze on you, steady and unwavering.

“Actually…”

The sound of your name on his lips made you freeze. It wasn’t his usual voice—the commanding tone of a general accustomed to giving orders. No, this was different. It was hesitant, almost fragile, like he was about to confess something he wasn’t sure you wanted to hear.

“I came to ask you something. A favor.”

Your heart skipped, the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice sending a ripple of unease through you. You forced a smile, trying to ease the tension that seemed to thicken the air between you. “What is it, General?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze fell to the floor, his hands flexing and releasing as if grappling with the weight of his own words. You stayed quiet, waiting, though every second of his silence felt heavier than the last.

“This will likely be my last campaign for a long time,” he said finally, his voice quiet and measured. “The emperor is preparing to marry, and with any luck, he’ll have his hands too full with his new bride to concern himself with war.”

The faint bitterness in his tone made you smile despite yourself. It was rare to hear him speak so plainly about the emperor, and it felt oddly comforting to know he shared your unspoken frustrations.

“It’s a critical mission,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment before flickering away again. “Not for Rome, but for my men. Their morale is fragile, and I want as many of them to come back as possible. They deserve that much.”

There was a heaviness in his voice that made your chest tighten. You nodded softly, silently urging him to go on.

“What is it you need from me, General?” you asked gently when the silence stretched too long.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly filling the room in a way that made it hard to breathe. Your heart stuttered as he moved within arm’s reach, his broad frame towering yet not imposing. It wasn’t his size or rank that overwhelmed you—it was the way he looked at you, as though searching for an answer he wasn’t sure you could give.

“Of course you’d want to help,” he murmured, his voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver through you. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

The words caught you off guard. Your lips parted to respond, but no sound came. Before you could compose yourself, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

It was such a small gesture, but the tenderness in it left you frozen. You could feel the warmth of his hand lingering on your skin long after he pulled away.

“I want you to come with me,” he said simply.

His words felt like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of your lungs. You blinked, staring at him in disbelief. “I’m… I’m not sure I heard you correctly, my Lord.”

“You heard me,” he replied, his tone steady but lined with something raw. “You’re the most talented healer I’ve ever met. You don’t just treat wounds; you give people hope. You make them feel seen, cared for—like they matter. That’s something I’ve never seen in the ranks of the Roman army.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and for a moment, you felt like a child again—small and unsure, standing in the shadow of something far bigger than yourself.

“The medics I take with me,” he continued, his voice quieter now, “they’re soldiers first. They’re efficient, but they’ve seen too much, and it shows. My men—they trust you. They look to you for more than just healing. I want them to have that on the battlefield, too.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “I’m tired,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “So damn tired of burying boys who never got the chance to live. Of hearing mothers wail when they learn their sons won’t come home. Of hearing wives weep for the husbands they’ve lost.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his words seeming to bear down on him. He turned away, walking to the window, his hand resting on the frame as he stared into the darkness outside.

“I’m asking for a lot,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were the only one who could give them what they need.”

His words hung heavy in the air, wrapping around you like a storm cloud.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m just a girl from a low-born family. I mix oils and make stomach drops. I wrap bandages. I’m not…”

“You’re more than that,” he interrupted, his voice rising with conviction. “You’ve done more for them than anyone else has. You’ve given them hope, kindness, a reason to believe in something. Including me.”

Your breath caught at his last words. He turned back to you, his eyes searching yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your chest ache.

Tears welled in your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. The vulnerability in his face, the rawness in his voice—it was too much.

“My lady…” He stepped closer, his tone soft, almost pleading.

“I’m no one,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I help them because they come to me already half-healed. I don’t do anything special…”

“You do more than you know,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “And I don’t expect miracles. I just want my men to feel cared for. To know there’s someone who sees them as more than soldiers.”

He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I want them to feel like they have something to come back to. And I don’t want to wait until they return to Rome to give them that.”

The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of the fire. You stared at him, his words sinking into your chest like stones, heavy and unrelenting.

“I have people here who depend on me,” you murmured, the words faltering as they left your lips. Your eyes darted anywhere but to his face. How could you look at him, knowing the weight of what he was asking? It felt impossibly heavy, pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“What you ask of me, my Lord, it’s too much…” you trailed off, your voice barely audible. The truth was clawing at your chest, but you didn’t know how to give it words.

You stood abruptly, needing movement, needing something to ground yourself. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Your fingers moved to the jars on your desk, rearranging them out of habit, though they didn’t need fixing. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, crashing into one another with relentless force, refusing to settle.

“I’m more than honored,” you said, though the words felt hollow. They weren’t untrue, but they weren’t enough to explain the tempest inside you.

You paused, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as if it could keep you steady. “Gods, this is why I hate Rome!” The words burst from you, sharp and unguarded, as though ripped from the deepest part of your soul.

The moment they escaped, regret surged through you like a tidal wave. You froze, your breath catching, your chest tightening with panic.

Behind you, you felt his attention shift, his presence suddenly sharper, heavier.

“Do you really hate Rome?” His voice was calm, but the question cut through you, leaving you bare.

You turned slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. Did I say that out loud?

His gaze met yours, unwavering. It wasn’t cold or accusing; it was something worse. Understanding. He saw you, and in that moment, it felt as though he could see everything—your doubts, your fears, your anger, and the tiny flicker of hope you’d long tried to smother.

“I…” you stammered, your throat dry, “Forgive me, General, I have misspoken.” Your words rushed out, desperate to cover the mistake you couldn’t take back.

“You haven’t,” he said softly.

The gentleness in his tone startled you, and when he stepped closer, you instinctively stepped back, your hands gripping the desk tighter.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “it’s not Rome you hate. Perhaps it’s the Rome we have now—the one ruled by men who care nothing for its people.”

Your breath hitched. His words were dangerous. More dangerous than anything you’d dared to think aloud. And yet, they resonated so deeply within you that you couldn’t push them away.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a quiet plea. “Tell me about the Rome you dream of.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. How could you speak of the thoughts you’d buried so deep, even you were afraid to confront them?

When his hand cupped your cheek, the warmth of his touch startled you, grounding you. His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, and for the briefest moment, the noise in your mind stilled.

“My parents dreamed of a Rome that belonged to its people,” you began, your voice trembling. “They dreamed of a place where corruption didn’t rule, where the public had the power to choose their future.”

You paused, the weight of those memories pressing against your chest. You could see your parents so clearly, their faces illuminated by the flicker of the candle light as they whispered of a better world.

“But I don’t think their dream was enough,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “It was… too far away, too focused on what could be. The Rome I dream of needs to start here, now.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. He watched you, his expression open, patient.

“It needs to start with the wars,” you said, your voice growing stronger. “Ending them. No more death, no more pain, no more conquering. We have to stop trying to claim the world when we can’t even take care of the people we already have.”

The words poured out of you now, a torrent you couldn’t hold back.

“There are people starving, suffering, dying right here in Rome. How can we talk about a better future when we’re losing the present?”

Your chest heaved as you finished, your heart pounding against your ribs. For the first time in your life, you had spoken the truth of your dreams aloud, and it felt like tearing open a wound.

“And do you believe that’s possible under Geta and Caracalla?” he asked, his tone gentle but edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

A bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“They don’t know how to build,” you said, the anger in your voice surprising even yourself. “All they know is how to destroy. Every day, I see what their vanity has done to the city I love. I try to help, but it’s never enough. I can’t undo the damage they’ve done.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and this time, you didn’t bother to fight them.

“Tell me, General,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both anger and despair. “Do you know what it’s like to hear the cries of the dying? To see the fear in someone’s eyes as they realize it’s over? Do you know what it’s like to hold someone’s hand as they take their last breath?”

Your voice cracked, and the sob that followed broke free before you could stop it. Your knees buckled, but before you could fall, his arms were there. Strong, steady, pulling you against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

The warmth of him enveloped you, his steady heartbeat grounding you as your emotions spilled over.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve held the hands of boys who will never grow old. I’ve listened to the wails of mothers, the sobs of wives. It’s why I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. His thumbs brushed away your tears with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“It’s why I need you to help me help them,” he continued, his voice steady, filled with conviction. “Help me build the Rome we both dream of.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with promise and hope. You stared at him, your heart warring with your mind. He believed in you, in your dreams, in a future that felt impossible.

And somehow, against all logic, you believed in him too.

You nodded, the motion small but certain.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to hope—not just for the Rome you dreamed of, but for the man standing before you.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius gladiator II #marcus acacius x you #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fic #general marcus acacius #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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goldenseresinretriever · 6 months ago

Text

Subject To Change: Prologue

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: It’s been five years since you’ve been back home and when life brings you back to your hometown you find that while some things have changed, others have stayed the same. Your brother still has his head in the clouds but the cowboy currently sleeping in your childhood bedroom is definitely a new development. You’re trying to avoid falling into old patterns but maybe some of them aren’t so bad after all.

Chapter CW: Angst, swearing

Word Count: 0.8k

A/N: Here we goooooo!!!

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

The cab driver gives you a dirty look that you try to avoid as you tip him generously for coming out to drop you off where every other driver refused. The ride had already left a sizable dent in your wallet, but finding a driver willing to drive so far from the airport was a miracle. If anyone understands underappreciated miracle workers, it's you. He wastes no time in pealing away back down the dirt road, blowing up a cloud of dust behind you that kisses the end of your slacks, holding onto you like a homecoming hug as you finally turn to face the dusty path up to your parents’ farmhouse.

It's been years since you’ve been home but in a split second, you’re that little girl with pigtails, kicking up a cloud in her wake as her tiny feet pounded up the drive to your country castle. Now it feels like you’re walking against the wind of your past decisions as you make your way up to the dark porch, and the last of summer's sun creeps past the horizon. When you make it to the porch, your stomach clenches in guilty protest as you step onto it. Suddenly you’re a teenager again, out past curfew as muscle memory guides your hands to the hidden spare key, and before you know it you’re turning the knob, stopping just before the tell-tale squeak that’s given away your entrance more times than you’d care to admit.

It feels wrong, you think, that the house looks the same as the way you left it. You try to ignore the fact that it seems frozen in time like you never left and never looked back. There’s a light on in the kitchen like there always has been. The most replaced bulb in the house, a lighthouse, a beacon for everyone who’s passed through these four walls and it seems to whisper to you that it’s alright and you’re welcome when you know that logically you’re anything but. You tear your eyes away as your feet carry you up the stairs, stepping this way and that to avoid old creaks and discovering new ones worn in by the pattern of avoiding the old ones. Your eyes find the darkness under your parents’ door and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You’re not ready to face them.

When you make it to your door, you take a deep breath as you turn the knob and swing the wood open. Your eyes refamiliarize themselves with the shadows that haunted your childhood nights and you feel at home with the ghosts of your past. The narrow silhouette of the full-length mirror. The hulking form of the antique dresser made by your grandfather’s worn hands years before you were even born. The elegant spires of your four-poster bed, another gift of your grandfather’s, but this time accompanied with memories of you dancing around the barn as he works the wood to your childish whims. You sigh and kick off the heels that have your toes aching and let them dig into the raggedy scruff of the carpet. You cross over to the dresser, swing it open, and locate your pajamas easily even with the cover of darkness. There’s something final about turning on the lights, like you’ll be revealing your arrival to that little girl who’s been waiting in her ivory tower for you to come home.

The exhaustion has caught up with you and you let yourself trudge towards your bed, shoulders slumped to match the state of your mind. You collapse onto the bed, forgoing the covers, too exhausted to pull them back but instead of the comfortable embrace of your time-worn mattress, your body collides with something hard and you feel the air knocked out of your lungs as you gasp in a silent scream. The hardness under you stirs and then it shifts and your body is shifting on top of it, and you’re so frozen in shocked confusion that you don’t think to scramble to grab at the blankets for purchase until it’s too late, and as quickly as you’re falling, you hit the group and the air is punched out of your lungs yet again. A bare foot lands by your head and then you turn it to look up the attached leg to the man that’s blinking sleepily down at you.

From this angle it’s hard to see much, especially since the room is dark, at least until the lamp on your bedside table snaps to life as the man jerks the short chain, flooding the shadows with a warm glow that silhouettes the shirtless man sitting up in your childhood bed. His dark blonde hair is sticking up in various places, and he’s blinking down at you. A thousand emotions are running through your head, fear, shock, confusion, and finally anger. You manage to collect your limbs enough to sit up, ignoring the way your hair is falling over your face in disarray from being thrown unceremoniously off the bed as you glare up at the mystery man.

“Who the fuck are you?”

A/N: AAAAA and we’re off!! I’m so excited to share this story with you all!! Happy Twisters Tuesday!!! 🤠🩵

#subject to change // goldenseresinretriever #stc // goldenseresinretriever #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #Tyler Owens x you #no use of y/n #twisters tuesday #twisters 2024 #twisters

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sorceresssundries · 4 months ago

Text

Sanctuary

Pairing: Gale/Female Tav

Warnings: Nightmares, mention of trauma, sex, NSFW

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: After what happened at Baldur's Gate, it's no wonder Elspeth Dekarios is still haunted by nightmares. Luckily, she has somebody to look after her and chase the bad dreams away.

A/N - a happy birthday gift to the wonderful @elspethdekarios!

The place that had once been the centre of Gale Dekarios’ universe had condensed down to one singular point, the side of the bed where Elspeth slept. These moments of stillness were his sanctuary, when the city was quiet and the window was open to the moon and stars, and the soft froth of the waves rhythmically brushed the shore, singing serene songs from faraway places. Their music had once been his only bedfellow, but it no longer soothed him to sleep the way it used to. The sea could keep its solace. His peace was wrapped up in the woman lying beside him.

In these delicate, moonlit hours where tomorrow was still deciding what it would become, Gale would watch Elspeth dream. Her body, softened by the gentle tug of slumber, was the most sacred figure he’d ever worshipped.

This was a mortal intimacy he could once only have dreamt of. The flutter of her eyelids hinted at some distant dreamworld beyond his reach, and her lips were slightly parted, as though ready to whisper some secret she had discovered there. Gale liked to imagine he was still a part of her even in her dreams, that perhaps the memory of his mouth moving over her skin lingered in her consciousness. He hoped his touch—whether the gentle brush of his fingers over her back or the heat of his tongue moving inside her—was too sweet, too intense to leave behind, and so she carried him with her, even into the faraway fantasy of her dreams.

Sometimes she would moan; the most delectable, breathy incantations that left him melting and enraptured. He would lean closer, wanting to press his mouth to hers and catch those dream-born sighs between his teeth, to steal her breaths like a thief, to consume her utterly, the way he did her body on those slow, sultry nights when they had all the time in the world and his lips traced every one of her curves and hollows.

She was magic. A Goddess made flesh, a wish granted, and he was the fool who had stumbled upon an enchanted lamp and had been bestowed the impossible.

It broke his heart that not every night was this peaceful, that he could not always protect her the way he wanted. Gale had taken to being extra vigilant during the hours when the rest of the world seemed to fade away. She suffered nightmares, of course she did, It was a crushing inevitability. Even someone as tough and resilient as Elspeth Dekarios could not prevent the smoke of long-smouldered fires from wisping through her mind and clouding her light.

He knew the past knotted the silk of her heart, and the storms she had weathered would always linger, echoing the boom of voices long gone, and the flashes of lighting splitting apart skies she thought had cleared.

He would give anything to take it all away from her; crowns and kingdoms and magic. All of it, everything - just to make sure no nightmare ever found her again. He wanted her to know only gentle peace. But, he was only human, and her mind was her own. So… Gale would watch and comfort and love her, the way only he could.

One night while she slept, deep and secure, he had left her to work on some correspondence at his desk. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there for, long enough for the candle to burn down and for ink to stain his fingers, when he heard a cry from their bedroom. He had never moved so fast in his life. She was sat up, breathless and shaking, so wracked and gripped with fear that even her tears were too frozen to fall.

“You were gone.” She had gasped, clutching the bedsheets between her fingers as though they were a lifeline. “You were..”

“Hush, love.” He was wrapped around her, her head tucked beneath his chin, his hand rubbing her back. The ink stains smeared deep blue across her starlit skin, but neither of them noticed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered between kisses. His words were full of gentle comfort, assuring her that he was here, he was safe, she was safe, and that he loved her more than anything.

He promised her he would never leave again.

He took his time, holding her and talking to her. Offering her simple truths and silly stories which coaxed out smiles and sighs as he held her against him. The pads of her fingers brushed through the hair on his chest, and followed the trail of it along his body, making him shudder as her slender, harpist hands stroked his skin.

Slowly, the peppered kisses became slower, deeper. His lips trailed down her neck, soft and love-filled, meant to ground her, to reassure her. “I’m here,” he whispered again, his mouth against her shoulder now, down her back. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to melt the fear from her bones and replace it with something else—something solid, something certain.

Elspeth’s breath hitched, but it wasn’t from fear this time. His kisses travelled further, down to the curve of her stomach. He took his time, savouring the feel of her beneath his lips, the way her body responded to his touch. Her fingers threaded into his hair as his lips moved lower, coaxing her away from whatever nightmare had held her captive.

By the time his mouth found the warm heat of her core, molten and waiting, all the tension had left her body. Her breaths came in soft, stuttering gasps and her legs parted ever so slightly as he pressed his mouth to her. He worshipped her in the way only he could, his tongue moving in slow, languid strokes, tasting her, feeling her. Every moan she made was a step away from those towering heights, back into the safety of his arms. He wanted to make gentle what had been sharpened, bandage and balm each unseen wound, the way she had done for him - countless, precious times.

He didn’t rush, didn’t push. He was thorough and patient, his tongue slow and loving, promising her in every possible way that he was here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. His hands held her steady as his mouth worked to bring her the kind of peace only he could give.

Ever since that night, when Gale loved her until dawn broke, he kept his promise. He never left her again.

He watched over her now, as her sleepy sentinel, and his soft, heavy, love-filled eyes began to flutter and drift as he lay his head beside hers, counting all his favourite things about her: the full ripeness of her laughter, the furrow of her brow when she was lost in a book, the magic in her fingers as she...

.. played the

harp…

…or..

th…

It didn’t take long for sleep to carry him away. His breathing fell into the same rhythm as hers; as easily and thoughtlessly as the entwining of fingers. He drifted off to the steady beat of her metronome heart.

Elspeth awoke startled and cold. Her bedsheet had abandoned her, the only thing covering her skin was the breeze from the open window. The whistle and gust of it had picked up from across the sea and crashed into their room like a stranger whilst she slept. Her nightmares clung to her, cloying and sticky, fogging up that sensitive place right behind her eyes where light scattered. There was no light there now, only darkness and crackles of terror. Memories held under the lens of her lingering fears until they swelled into something too big to hide away.

She couldn't tell which world she was in. She was lost, and she couldn’t find her breath. Gale’s arms were not around her… where was he.. Oh Gods what if he were…

Before the panic could take root, his voice broke through the haze, thick with sleep. "El, love, I’m here."

His voice pulled her back. His arms wrapped around her from behind, strong and warm, drawing her into safety. His breath was slow, still heavy with sleep, as he curled himself around her. He hadn’t fully woken, but even in his half-conscious state, his first instinct was to hold her, to protect her from whatever haunted her dreams.

Always guarding her, even in his sleep.

Elspeth let out a shaky breath, her pulse gradually slowing as she leaned back into him, settling into the warmth of his chest against her spine. The weight of him anchored her back to this world—their world.

He pressed his lips lazily against the back of her neck, more instinct than thought. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum, “I’ve got you.”

And he did. He always did.

Elspeth danced in the delicate space between sleep and wakefulness, her thoughts swirling and mingling in that hazy realm where they were neither dreams nor memories, but something gentle and in-between. She could feel Gale’s hands cupping her breasts, and her drifting desires envisioned his dedicated lips against the peaks of her nipples. Instinctively, she arched and stretched, caught in the soft fuzz of her thoughts.

“Elspeth…” His voice was more rumble than speech, followed by a low, heavy moan as the plush of her ass pressed back against him.

How many times had she heard him say her name? It had left his lips wrapped in the sweet peel of his laugh, it had bounced around the walls of their home when he called her for the second he got home from work, it had been sighed, shouted, murmured, mumbled… but this was her favourite. When it was the first thing he said after sleep. The way his tongue wrapped around the letters of her, like she was the first taste of summer fruit.

Sighing dreamily, she took one of his hands and moved it down to the soft curls between her legs, and the hard length of him pressed more firmly into the small of her back.

His breathing quickened, but it was still sleepy, heavy. There was no rush, just the steady, comforting rhythm of two lovers reacquainting themselves in the midnight hours. His hand explored deeper, stroking and teasing, each touch sending waves of warmth through her. Elspeth’s body softened, opening to him, her hips rolling slowly in time with his movements. She didn’t need her bedsheet any more, and the unwelcome bite of the breeze had turned into a relief against her sweat-soaked skin. The ice had thawed. She was heated. She was molten. He stroked her with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made her pulse race.

“Please…” she breathed, the sound barely a whisper, a plea woven into the quiet of the room.

He responded with a low groan, and his lips found her neck, his tongue pressing against her pulse point. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her even tighter against him, as if he couldn’t bear to let even the smallest sliver of space come between them. His erection pressed against her, and she instinctively pushed back, aching to be closer, as close as a wave to the shore.

The room was filled with the rhythm of their heated breaths, the rustle of sheets as their bodies shifted together. There was no need for words; everything was said with soft sighs and murmured sounds of pleasure.

He moved then, his fingers leaving her slick heat to wrap around her hip, guiding her as he positioned himself. She felt the deliberate press of him at her entrance, and she gasped, her body already responding, opening to him. With a slow, careful push, he entered her, and she let out a quiet moan, the sensation of him filling her warm and perfect.

They moved together in the moonlight, the pace slow and deliberate, savouring every minute of it. There was no urgency, no rush to the end - just comfort and pleasure.

Elspeth felt the world outside fade away until there were only the two of them. She swelled like the steady rise of a tide, but she wasn’t in a hurry. Neither of them were. Gale took his time with her, looking after her, using his fingers to play and stroke as he moved inside her. His tongue pushed and pulsed against the back of her slender neck in the same rhythm he was using to fuck her.

His breath became more ragged, his movements more deliberate as his own need grew, but still, he remained gentle, holding her close, not letting himself unravel before she did.

Elspeth orgasmed not with a crash, but a slow undoing. Every coil had unwound into loose string. She had come apart, and had no desire to be put back together again any time soon. What was frantic was now calm, what was close was now distant, and to Gale’s complete delight… With him still inside her… Elspeth began to snore.

His heart swelled with love and amusement. His sweet, sexy, snoring sanctuary.

He stayed there, not wanting to break the delicate spell, his lips brushing the back of her neck as he laughed gently against her.

He wasn’t long before he followed her into sleep, the same way he would follow her anywhere.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #gale fanfic #bg3 fanfic #gale x tav

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aldryrththerainbowheart · 6 months ago

Note

HIIII OMG I LOVE YOUR WRITING. Its so comforting but also quite accurate to the character’s personality.

I wondered if u could make a part 2 of Drunk, with Adrian and the reader.

Be free with your imagination i am sure it will turn out great!

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hi anon, sorry it took me so long to answer but I had no ideas what to write for this request. 😳

My writing has changed a little since I wrote part 1 of this. Hopefully, it'll be still up to standard.

Days after the incident, Adrian was still haunted by the things he had said and might have said while inebriated. It seemed rather silly, considering you haven't mentioned anything about that night, kind as you were. However, the son of Dracula was shaken after exposing himself to you, in more ways than one.

At the memory of him practically showing his naked chest in your face whilst rambling drunkenly about his loneliness, he could feel his face warming up. He undoubtedly has that unflattering shade of pink on his right now. Adrian lifted his chin from his steepled fingers, pressing his forehead against them instead. Instead of moping behind the wooden table, he should be making dinner as he watched bits of dust dancing in the last rays of evening sun streaming through the Tudor windows.

At this moment, you're probably getting both their beds ready for the night. Pulling back the bedspread and making a fire in the fireplace. You made a habit of slipping a stem of lavender from the garden and putting it under the pillows. He can hear you fussing about it, even though you're one floor higher. The dhampir's senses were finely attuned to your every breath and every movement. It came to the point where it was torturous. He wasn't just trying to dull away the pain of his past, but these pressing feelings as well.

Damn him, again and again, he's becoming attached to people only to be left every time. No doubt you will leave too, once you're able to. He'll be nothing but a fond memory...

"How's the dinner? I hope there'll be someplace left on the stove for teap-"

He's dragged away from his gloomy thoughts by the sudden sound of your voice nearing the door. You stopped mid-sentenced when you saw him sitting at the kitchen table, instead of working at the stove. He felt an immediate pang of guilt.

"Apologies I've seem to be a bit addle-brained today."

Adrian offered an apology as he started pulling the cutlery from its hooks. Hopefully with his back turned and his hands occupied, you won't notice his rather obvious fluster.

"Ah, it's alright," you waved him off in a placating manner as you rounded the table towards him. "Head still spinning from the vine, I see." you teased him as he made a fire in the stove, almost making him set his brows on fire.

As you walked past him, you gently put your hand on his back to make him step away. A whisper of a touch, yet he was tingling all over, his heart beating irregularly.

He clutched the edges of the stove, ignoring the rising heat. It can't go on like this. He has to do something.

You prepared the dinner in relative silence. You chopped mushrooms as he prepared pastry into small pans. Soon, bulky savory tarts were pulled out of the stove. He watched you wolf down four tarts in the row, while his plate was left neglected, safe for the few pokings with the fork.

"Adrian?"

His head snapped to you at the sound of your voice. He noticed you were looking at him in concern.

"What is it? You've been spaced out for days now." It was your turn to study your plate as you mumbled, "Is it...about the kiss?"

He was definitely blushing now. Adrian took a generous gulp of water from his chalice as he contemplated his answer.

"Yes and no."

You looked at him in confusion and he sighed in resignation.

"I'm sorry...my friend. The thing is..." He caressed the grooves in the ground glass. Would she even understand? What kiss meant to him?

"There have been several attempts in my life. There have been people who stayed in this castle pretending to be my friend and then turning on me as soon as I became vulnerable."

Adrian closed his eyes momentarily, chasing away the tainted memory of their hands coiling around him like vines of a poisonous plant. The pleasure, and the pain. So, so much pain... He opened his eyes and there were your eyes, filled with some much tenderness he had to suppress the urge to look away again.

"But last night, you didn't... and you could, easily so."

"I'd never-"

"I know, I know," he gently cut you off by putting his hand over yours. Your palm was much warmer than his, dainty fingers covered completely by his long ones.

"Believe it or not, but you singlehandedly restored a great deal of my hope in humanity. What once had been destroyed..."

He hasn't allowed his mind to wander to dark places, not this time.

"I don't mean to bring up such depressing subjects. But when one leads a life such as mine, you tend to... figure some things out."

"Things?" You carefully prompted, pity overrun by curiosity at last.

Adrian smiled in a self-deprecating fashion. "Well, for example, I have now discovered that in this entire world, I only have one close friend. You are my only solace, the only person that I can talk to regularly."

There was Trevor and Sypha, of course, but they found solace in one another, something deeper than friendship. Adrian understood now, what those feelings meant. His next words were full of emotion.

"I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know if more demons will come and I'll be forced to fight them off. I don't know if the world will end tomorrow... and that used to not bother me. I used to not mind the idea of death. To slip into the quiet sleep..."

He trailed off, and you squeezed his fingers in encouragement. He squeezed yours right back, so you know he's not spiraling again.

"However, whatever courage I have towards that cause always sours at the thought of what comes after. What does come after do you think?"

You looked over his shoulder in contemplation, you traveled places far away from here, no doubt. Thankful you're entertaining his silly musings, Adrian patiently awaits your response.

"I'd like to think it's a place where I meet all my loved ones once more." You gave him a warm smile.

He chuckles at that. "Interesting response."

"What about you? What do you think?"

Adrian shook his head, golden locks tumbling over his shoulders, "As I said, the fear of not knowing that is the only thing that kept me alive for quite some time. But now, now that I've spent some time with you, it allowed me to clear my mind of that sort of dangerous thought. I think I may have an answer, maybe not a very good one but..."

He gingerly trails his hand from yours to the curve of your elbow and you let him. He leans closer, tone bordering on a soft whisper as he looks into your eyes.

"It doesn't matter what comes next, that shouldn't dictate our actions while we are still here. If you want something, chase it." He puts the other hand on your cheek, making his intentions clear with his actions and his words. Carefully, so you can pull away at any time.

Please don't.

"You have allowed me, to come to this mindset," he sighs. "The thought that what I want is worthwhile to pursue. So I will pursue that which I want. I will pursue... you."

It is evident that his words left you speechless. You stare at him with your mouth slightly parted. Adrian lets out a small breathless chuckle.

Is it really that shocking? After our lips have already become acquainted?

"I know...I know that I'm... half human, half vampire, so at the very least I know it can work, but it's up to you, really." His thumb caressed your cheekbone, "I will continue to pursue you for as long as you allow me."

He can see your eyes glistening with emotion, and he hoped his words touched the part of your soul he wanted them to. However you still haven't said a word and Adrian needs you to voice your desires, or lack thereof, directly.

"I bid you command me now. My devotion is solely placed at your feet. I truly cherish you. Every step you take and breath you breathe."

You close your eyes and choke back a sob as he places one small kiss on your forehead.

With a voice clogged up with emotion, you finally release him from his torment.

"I... would love... nothing more... than to be pursued by you." You say as you give him a watery smile.

He lets out a relieved sigh as he presses his forehead to yours.

"Then pursue you I shall."

It takes only a moment for the atmosphere to change around you. With hunger, you never saw in his eyes, he whispers to you hoarsely.

"Come here, you..."

The kiss is devoid of any sweetness the first one had. This one is full of fire and blood and passion that takes your breath away. You don't have time to react as he pulls you to his lap. His kiss goes down your throat and settles in your belly like a fine liquor.

#adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian tepes #castlevania alucard #alucard #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes x you #alucard x reader #alucard x you #castlevania #adrian tepes fanfic #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania romance #mushroom pastries are original medieval recipe from France #if someone even cares #adrian likes to mope too much #needs someone to pull him away from it

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hyypnotix-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.

One perfect night.

That’s all it took.

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since.

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.

It's not that you haven’t tried.

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right?

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you.

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.

It was just one night.

It was one perfect night.

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.

“What?”

Oh ..maybe she is!

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?”

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?”

“Do you find every woman attractive?”

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?”

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?”

“No. Not once. Why?”

“Never ever?”

“Y/N!”

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.

“About women?” She queries.

“About ..why women. What it is about them.”

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.

“Stop doing that!”

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!”

“I need your help.”

“I don’t care!”

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.

“Nothing. I was just—”

“Thinking about women?”

“No!”

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.

“Why? For a man?”

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.”

“..and ..was it?”

“Mhmm.”

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.

“Y/N?”

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?”

See what I mean? What the hell?

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.

Did you?

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?”

“..we broke up.”

Shit. She would make this all about herself.

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.”

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.”

“Well, thank fuck for that!”

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!”

“She was horrible!”

“You could’ve said.”

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.”

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?”

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.

“Where are you going in Spain?”

“Barcelona.”

“Why?”

“Football.”

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.”

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.”

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.”

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.”

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.”

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.

But what if it’s a sign?

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.

“You’re still going with that?”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.”

“I hadn’t met her before.”

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.”

“I don’t mind doing that.”

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh.

What’s the worst that can happen?

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.

Mm.

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.”

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.”

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects.

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.

It’s her. It has to be her.

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.

“….Hi.”

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from.

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.”

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?”

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.”

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.

“What are you doing here?” She questions.

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face.

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck.

“Mhmm.”

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.”

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare?

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?”

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.”

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.

Alexia.

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again.

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it.

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else?

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.”

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.”

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?”

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?”

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.”

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”

“Uh oh!”

“What?”

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..”

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.”

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!”

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.”

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!”

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.”

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.”

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?”

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?”

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?”

“Hm?”

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—”

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.

“I really missed you too.”

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other.

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit!

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head.

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.”

“Just don’t let her burn it!”

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!”

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.”

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her.

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.

“Long day?” You ask.

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?”

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm.

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.

“I was given it.”

“By?”

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.”

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.

“What do you mean?”

“Going for the best player on the team.”

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.

“..What do you mean?”

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible.

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.

No.

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you.

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.

“Who is Alexia Putellas?”

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.”

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele.

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all.

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.

She really is absolutely everything.

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!”

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.

“You can’t wear it!”

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.”

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?”

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.”

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine

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