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whytheylosttheirminds · 2 months ago

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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 9 (part three)

(Rafe Cameron x reader series, 9.6k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter content warning: descriptions of blood and violence, drinking and overconsumption, side characters make mentions of noncon but it does not happen, this chapter is 18+ MDNI, please read this disclaimer before reading!

Rafe was dying inside.

Actually, no, Rafe was dead inside. The dying had already been done, it happened when you said you hated him. Now he was just a ghost, walking around in some guy’s body and playing golf like he hadn’t already breathed his last breath.

It was hard enough keeping his gaze off of you when you came downstairs to load into the shuttle, having to literally close his eyes on the ride to keep from searching your face for any sign you were ever going to speak to him again. Then you changed into yet another dress that made him forget how to breathe, one glance at you and the way the crisp white fabric gripped your body and he could feel his brain cells dying out from lack of oxygen.

He tried to mask his slow, painful death in politeness, saying “have a good game” with a casual smile as fake as a halloween mask. He might as well have been wearing a costume the way he felt like he was living someone else’s life, his own had ended in your bedroom when you said the worst three words he’d ever heard.

It’d be better just to avoid you, he figured, turning his attention toward his golf game. He’d never been a huge fan of the sport, but growing up with money and country club memberships, his exposure to it was inevitable. He was good at it too, the same way he was immediately good at everything. Everything except for being with you, apparently. A game he’d lost in record time. Maybe he should just forfeit, maybe he should leave Miami on an overnight bus like the teams that lose the Superbowl.

So he kept his eyes off of you, a feat akin to not staring directly at an eclipse, and played through the pain.

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“I’m in love, I’m in fucking love, and I’m drunk.”

The second fact was made even more obvious by the fact that the audience you were currently confessing to was a family of ducks.

It was silly, but you were so far gone you didn’t even realize you were speaking out loud. Then the laughter came. Clutching the railing to keep from falling over, you burst out into manic cackles. It was all so ridiculous - of course you were in love with him, you always had been, but this new realization was about something else entirely. It was about the permanence of it. Because, let’s be honest, if these feelings hadn’t gone away after four years and this insane fucking week, then nothing was going to shake them. God, you needed another drink.

And like an answer to your prayers, Ryder and Chad showed up at just that moment, a fresh, ice cold vodka cranberry in tow.

“There she is,” Chad smiled at you, handing you the drink.

“What’s funny, beautiful?” Ryder asked, cozying up to your side, a little closer than you would’ve liked, but your brain was just fuzzy enough not to care.

“Oh, y’know, just like, life,” you smiled at him before taking a long sip from the little plastic straw and continuing your way across the bridge, the boys following close behind.

You finished this drink off faster than any of the ones before it, officially crossing the line between tipsy and drunk.

Somewhere, somehow, Ryder and Chad had scored themselves a golf cart, convincing you to climb in the bed in the back and ride with them. You yelped as the cart flew, going way faster than the little speed limit signs along the cart path allowed for.

The thirty minutes following that drink were a blur. You only remembered flashes of the course, stopping every so often to catch up with your group before Ryder and Chad would whisk you away on the cart again.

“They were supposed to be my caddies,” Sabrina grumbled when you got the group’s attention by letting out a loud chorus of giggles. “I’m so getting my twenty bucks back.”

The group had reached the thirteenth hole, and you were punching your number into Ryder’s phone, though you couldn’t really remember why. Carter followed Sabrina’s gaze over to you, frowning when she saw you grab Ryder’s arm for stability, the boy giving his friend a smug look when you touched him.

She was trying her best to give you space, which you so clearly wanted. She didn’t know why on earth you were hanging out with these fuckboys, but she was your sister, not your mother, and she figured she’d done enough criticizing of your decisions this week. Plus, she had her hands full with Topper, who was now so far past drunk she was basically carrying him through the course.

But when she realized you were handing out your personal info to these scumbags while happily accepting another drink, she decided she had to step in.

“Hey, think maybe it’s time to switch to water?” She suggested gently, stepping in between you and Ryder.

“She’s good,” Ryder told her.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Carter said, turning towards him and getting in his face. “Who the fuck even are you? You think it’s funny, messing with her while she’s clearly drunk?”

“I’m not drunk!” You protested, though your stumble forward completely betrayed you.

Carter turned back to you, grabbing you before you tripped over your own feet. “Okay, well maybe we can go get a coffee or something, yeah? How about -”

“Oh fuck I’m gonna be sick,” Topper interupted her with a groan, running away from the group and towards a patch of trees in the distance.

Carter watched him with worry, and you nodded in his direction, “you should go after him.”

She hesitated, looking back at you with worry, torn between your need for her and the very real potential that Topper was in even worse shape.

“Carter, go, I’m fine,” you urged her.

She sighed and shot Ryder an absolutely menacing look as she called Rafe’s name, waving him over from his spot behind the tee. He approached nervously, looking between her and Ryder, who was grinning like he’d somehow won this little interaction.

“Can you watch her, please? Do not leave her,” Carter passed your arm to Rafe like she was handing off a crying baby, taking off in Topper’s direction once he’d taken over her grip on you and given her a reassuring nod. As much as she despised Rafe, she knew there was no universe in which he’d leave you drunk and alone with these assholes.

He gave the two boys a glare, towering at least a few inches over each of them, and they stepped back, though they didn’t go far.

“I don’t need a chaperone!” You griped, pulling your arm from his gasp, hoping he didn’t notice the goosebumps already blossoming from where his hands brushed you.

In your attempt to separate from his touch, you pulled your arm away too quickly, making yourself stumble, your pink tinted drink sloshing from the glass and splattering all over Rafe’s baby blue polo.

“Yeah, clearly,” he took in the stain with a sigh.

“That was an accident,” you said with unnecessary defensiveness.

“What else would it be?” He huffed.

“I’m not trying to get you to take your shirt off,” you insisted, as though anyone had accused you of such.

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up in amusement, smirking down at you as you deepened the hole nobody asked you to start digging. It was like the words were flowing out on their own volition, the invisible security guard who usually keeps your thoughts locked inside was dead. You’d drowned him in Smirnoff.

“And I am not thinking about how you look with your shirt off,” you couldn’t help but smile at the way he was smiling now, your grin giddy and sloppy, like a toddler laughing at a puppy.

Whatever runaway train of thought your words had been chasing had long left the station, you stepped towards him as he continued smiling, tripping just a little, Rafe catching you by the elbows for stabilization, his eyes twinkling with pure amusement as you reached up and bushed a line along his jaw with your pointer finger.

“You’re pretty,” you whispered.

“Mmm?” He tilted his head, “and you’re drunk.”

“No ‘mnot,” you shook your head, the action making you dizzy. “I’ve always thought you were pretty. Pretty blue eyes, pretty smile. I love your smile.”

“Love, huh?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Mhm, love,” you leaned in closer, but his arms slid up to your shoulders, pushing you back a little as he helped you stand up straight.

“You used a different word this morning,” he reminded you, making you frown at the memory of a time when your head wasn’t so delightfully swirly and numb, when things could hurt you and your words actually meant something.

“Don’t remember,” you lied with a bite of your lip.

“You will,” he said, the amusement completely gone from his tone now. “Drink some water.”

After that, Rafe didn’t talk to you for a bit. The group played through, the middle section of the course more challenging than the beginning, longer walks between holes and more sand traps and lakes for you to avoid as you walked in zigzag lines.

Chad and Ryder were more than happy to help guide you around them, their hands on your lower back as they played gentlemen. What you couldn’t see were the looks they’d give each other when you’d grab their arms with drunken giggles, thanking them sweetly for their help.

They kept bringing you drinks from the cart girl, never saying no when you asked for another. They’d ask you questions and laugh smugly at the way you fumbled to answer them. After a few more sips, you realized there was something about their attention you didn’t like, but in your tipsy state you couldn’t figure out what it was, or muster the words to tell them to leave you alone.

Plus, as long as they kept bugging you, you knew Rafe would stay close, his eyes trailing back over to you every few seconds, nostrils flailing when one of the boys said something a little too close to your ear. After a whole afternoon of him ignoring you, finally having his attention was almost as intoxicating as the vodka in your glass.

After your fourth drink, you watched him stride over to the cart girl, leaning forward on her small counter as he said something to her you couldn’t hear. Ryder was leaning over you, asking you something about what you were doing after this, but you blocked out the annoying sound of his voice as you watched Rafe with a furrowed brow.

Why was the cart girl smiling at him like that? He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her. A slip of paper maybe? Was he giving her his number? He tapped her counter as he said one final thing to her, nodding with a grin in her direction.

Your stomach churned, a twisting pain that had nothing to do with your blood alcohol level. You raised an arm to push Ryder away, but he just came right back, buzzing around you like a gnat you couldn’t shake. You held your head in your hands, you were officially no longer having a good time.

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By the fifteenth hole, you were having trouble walking in a straight line. Long gone was the bubbly euphoria of the first few drinks, now a foggy nausea washed over you as the flat coastal horizon swirled in the distance.

“Omg, she’s totally sloshed, that’s so tacky. Like, she can barely stand straight,” a distant female voice who’s owner’s name you couldn’t quite remember whispered behind you.

“Well she better not bend over too far, her skirt is already barely covering her ass,” a male voice, somehow equally catty, replied.

The whispers continued, you brought your hands down to tug at either side of your skirt for the thousandth time, knowing damn well it wasn’t going to do anything to make this ridiculous outfit cover you any better.

Having already taken their shots, the others moved onto the next tee, all except the two caddies who’d been getting increasingly forward and sleazy with their flirting and fawning over you, and Rafe, who’d been watching the whole thing closely.

“Here’s your driver, gorgeous,” Ryder smiled smugly while handing you the club, eyes trailing down your body again as Chad chuckled in the background.

His eyes lingering on your chest made something turn in your stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Over his shoulder, your eye caught Rafe, his hands resting on the back of the golf cart as he sneered at Ryder’s back, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the cart’s bed.

Just drunk enough to justify it to yourself somewhere in the back of your mind, you forced a giggle, brushing Ryder’s hand purposefully as you took the club from him.

“Thank you, Ryder,” you fluttered your lashes, hoping Rafe caught the way you flirted with Ryder after seeing him flirt with the cart girl.

You made your way toward the tee, wobbling a little with each step.

“Woah there,” Ryder caught your elbow with a chuckle, his other hand resting on your lower back as he led you to the tee.

“Sorry ‘m just a little dizzy from the heat,” you slurred, fooling no one.

You could barely swing, but when you did, the end of the heavy driver clipped your ball and sent it flying directly into the swampy woods at the edge of the course. You frowned as you watched its disappointing trajectory.

“Shit,” you groaned, knowing it would be a whole ass journey to go fish it out of the woods, and you could barely walk on the trimmed putting green.

“Don’t worry, angel, Chad and I will come with you,” Ryder shot Chad a suggestive look as he started to guide you toward the secluded woods.

That was the last straw.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Rafe stepped in, striding over to where Ryder had his arm swung around you and pushing him off. “You two aren’t going anywhere with her.”

“What’s your problem, man?” Ryder snapped, your eyes flying between them before you got dizzy and started to sway a bit. Instinctively, Rafe held out his arm for you to grab, which you did without really thinking, just grateful to find some stability.

“You’re my problem, asswipe. You think I’m fucking blind? Time for you two to stop circling her like fucking vultures and go find someone else to bother,” Rafe scolded them.

“I think she’s having a good time, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Ryder reached out his hand to you. “C’mon baby, who would you rather go with, me or him?”

You didn’t even have to think about it, your whole body recoiling at the sight of him reaching toward you until you were practically hiding behind Rafe, “I wanna go with Rafe.”

Ryder actually looked surprised, dropping his hand in disappointment.

“Alright, alright, whatever the lady wants…” he stepped back, setting your bag of clubs down and hopping in the cart, motioning for Chad to join him. “We’ll catch up with you later, alright gorgeous?”

“Yeah don’t fucking bet on it,” Rafe called after them as they started up the cart and pulled away, leaving you standing by his side, still clinging to his arm for balance.

Once they’d disappeared across the horizon, Rafe turned to look down at you.

“You good?” He asked, brushing a stray hair off your forehead and tucking it behind your ear.

“No,” you shook your head, and Rafe frowned at your sad sounding answer, before you could follow-up with, “My ball’s in the woods.”

He smiled, which made you smile, and said, “we’ll go get it. First let’s stop at the drink cart and get you some water, yeah?”

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“Rafe, we’ve been looking forever,” you whined from your seat on a big rock you’d found in the marshy woods.

Rafe sloshed through the muddy brambles, effectively ruining his shoes as he searched for your long lost golf ball. He smirked at your remark, “we’ve been in here for like three minutes. Just drink your water, alright?”

“Yes sir,” you grumbled, taking another swig from the large bottle of water he’d bought from the cart girl, who you no longer considered your bestie since she was clearly flirting with Rafe while he ordered it, despite you standing right next to him.

Rafe smirked again at the nickname, turning quickly to hide his reaction from you. You sighed as you watched him continue looking around for the small white ball, his brow furrowed as he searched. Rays of golden hour sunlight poured through the cracks in the trees, landing in glowing stripes across his handsome face. Your heart ached for him.

The water was helping bring you back to earth, the world coming back into focus, but you still had enough liquid courage in your system to ask him something that sober you would never dare to.

“Sasha’s really pretty, don’t you think?”

“Who?” Rafe didn’t even look up from his search.

“The cart girl, Sasha,” you told him, watching him like a hawk for any sign that he had in fact given her his number earlier.

“Oh, I dunno,” he shrugged.

“I mean you have eyes though,” you snorted, annoyed at how nonchalant he was acting, as if the most important thing right now really was finding your stupid fucking golf ball. “She’s obviously pretty. Not as pretty as Cassie though.”

This finally got his attention, he looked up from the ground and turned toward you, his head tilting in disappointment as he sighed, “what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” You asked innocently.

Rafe just responded with your name, lilting it slightly at the end, like he was scolding you.

“Ray-f-uh,” You mirrored his tone, stretching his name out like he had yours.

Rafe just shook his head at you with an incredulous grin, ignoring your teasing and going back to his search.

His apparent indifference toward you today was officially pissing you off. How could he possibly act like nothing that happened in the past few days had happened? The two of you were alone in the fucking woods for god’s sake, and he was still acting like everything was totally normal.

You stood from your rock, your balance returning to you a little as the water and your determination to get a response from him worked in tandem to sober you up.

“Did you give her your number?” You asked, approaching him slowly, your nearing voice making him turn toward you in surprise.

“Who?” He asked, his tone getting shorter with each second you were pushing him.

“Sasha,” you said, like he should be caught up to your line of questioning by now. “I saw you hand her something and she smiled at you.”

Rafe just looked at you for a second, his face unreadable.

“It’s okay if you did, she is really pretty, I can see why you would like her,” you started rambling as he stepping closer to you, stopping just in front of you so you had to crane your neck to look up at him, Rafe nodding patronizingly as you stumbled over your words.

You kept rambling until he finally spoke, once again merely having to say your name to take your breath away.

“Yes?” You breathed, trying and failing not to sway into him a little as you looked up at his sparkly eyes. The world was swirling again, and this time it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“I did hand her something…a twenty,” he explained. “I was paying her to stop serving you and those fucking goons drinks. I was worried about you.”

“Oh.”

It sounded so small and silly slipping past your lips, but it made him smile at you, which made you smile back, and your world was back on its axis.

“Now can we find your ball and get the fuck out of this swamp?” He requested.

“Oh, it’s right there,” you pointed to a spot a few feet from you, where your ball sat atop a little pile of leaves and twigs.

“Wh - I - when the fuck did you find that?” Rafe gasped in disbelief.

“Oh like five seconds after we got over here,” you shrugged.

His mouth fell open, “then why the hell were you letting me stumble around like an idiot looking for it?”

You giggled at his aggravation, “because I liked watching you. It was cute.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Before you could hit him with some flirty comeback, Rafe started walking toward your ball, calling over his shoulder, “can’t believe all I had to do to get you to forgive me was make you jealous.”

Your jaw dropped to the floor at his words, arms crossed firmly over your chest as you stomped after him.

“First of all, I was not fucking jealous,” you kept walking until you were standing toe to toe with him, nearly kicking your ball out of the way. “And who said anything about me forgiving you?”

“I dunno, this morning you wouldn’t even talk to me and now you’re luring me into the woods so you can watch me like a crazy stalker so…” he matched you by crossing his own arms. “And you absolutely were jealous.”

“Okay, maybe I was, like, a little jealous, but I didn’t lure you anywhere,” you bargained. “And the only reason I wanted to be alone with you is because you’ve spent the whole day acting like nothing happened, you didn’t even notice me until you saw Ryder getting close.”

Rafe’s arm’s fell, as did his smug smile. His eyes were suddenly sympathetic, shaking his head at your words.

“You think I didn’t notice you?” He scoffed. “I’ve spent the entire day forcing myself not to stare at you because I thought that’s what you wanted. It’s been like fucking torture keeping my eyes off of you.”

His words caught you off guard, the whole fuzzy day suddenly coming into focus. All of his walking ahead of you and dedication to his game, it was because you’d told him it was over. Now with him staring down at you, so close you could feel his increasingly ragged breaths fanning across your face, you couldn’t for the life of you remember why you’d said it.

“Do you remember now? What you said earlier?” He asked quietly.

You just nodded, not seeing a reason to tell him that you’d never really forgotten, that you’d been playing the words - I hate you - to him over and over in your head, the regret ringing so loudly in your ears you had to put away six drinks just to drown them out, and even that couldn’t make you stop wishing you’d never said them.

“Did you mean it?” He asked, his voice cracking with vulnerability.

You took a deep breath, shaking your head just slightly, “not even a little bit.”

“Maybe you should, after everything I’ve put you through,” he reminded you, wanting to be sure this was you taking it back, and not the alcohol.

“Maybe. Probably. But I just don’t. I could never hate you, Rafe.”

He nodded once, lips parted to take a deep breath, relief sweeping over his face. You blinked up at him, eyes running over his soft pink lips, so glad to get that off your chest and missing the feeling of his hands on you.

“Fuck, I…I just -” you whispered before rising up on your toes to meet his lips with your own.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him, trying to make him understand, your fingers gripping the back of his polo and bunching it up under your grip. His hands hesitated at his side for a minute, kissing you back, but only slightly.

Eventually, his palms landed on either side of your face, holding firm as you deepened the kiss. But when you slipped your tongue between his parted lips, he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours and his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his own primal instincts.

“I…we shouldn’t,” his voice quivered, like he was trying to convince himself, not you.

“Why not?” You frowned as he pulled your arms from around his neck.

“Because you’re drunk,” he explained, stepping back like he had to physically restrain himself from you. “Believe me, if you weren’t…”

“But ‘mnot! Not anymore, I’m completely s-sober right now, swear,” You insisted, though the way you fumbled over the syllables gave the obvious lie away. Even though you were certainly feeling a bit more clear headed, you definitely would not pass a breathalyzer right now.

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Really, swear. Just please, I need to …please Rafe,” you searched for whatever words would bring his lips back to yours, though you knew that fact that your inhibitions were low enough to actually beg for it was just further proof that it’d be wrong for him to give in to you.

“Tell you what,” he looked around before locating your club, which he’d propped against a tree a few minutes ago. He retrieved it and held it out to you, keeping his distance as if getting too close to you would snap his restraint. “If you can line up the shot and actually hit it out of the woods, then I’ll believe you’re sober.”

You took the club from him defiantly, locating your ball, still waiting in its spot atop the leaves. You stood behind it, trying to square your shoulders and recall something, anything, from the golf lessons your parents had forced you to take as a kid. But as you looked down, the club was splitting in two, blurry in your double vision. You took a deep breath and tried to line it up again, but looking down was making you dizzy, and you stumbled a little.

Looking up at Rafe with a pout, your shoulders sagged as you admitted, “I need help.”

“Knew it,” he teased with a satisfied smirk, laughing at your pitiful stance.

“Raaafe,” you grumbled, only making him laugh more. “Please. I’m dizzy.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you just look so cute right now.”

He made his way toward you, and you started to lift the club, thinking he was going to take it from you so he could take the shot himself, but instead he circled you and approached from over your shoulder. His hands came to rest over your own, wrapping you in his arms so he could assist you in making the shot. And goddamn if it wasn’t the hottest thing anyone had ever done to you.

Your body relaxed back into his, your back flush against his chest, and his head lowered until his lips were an inch from your ear. The proximity flooded your senses, forcing your eyes to flutter closed briefly.

“Can’t believe you thought I could actually ignore you today,” he whispered, low and slow, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “As if I could pretend I didn’t see you in this fucking dress. As if it hasn’t been driving me absolutely insane. I thought I was gonna have a fucking meltdown trying not to snap and take you in the middle of the fucking golf course.”

God, him and that fucking mouth. You nearly whimpered at his words, and at the heat curling in your belly as he made you impossibly more desperate for him, but before you could react, he lifted your arms up, twisting with you to bring them back down in a perfect swing, the club sending your ball out of the woods with an echoing thwack! that forced your eyes to fly open.

Rafe released your hands so you could drop the club, but he didn’t let go of you, keeping his word and not kissing you, but just holding you. You turned in his arms and wrapped your own around his waist, hugging him back. His chin settled on the top of your head and you sighed contently as his arms squeezed you a little tighter, your body enveloped in his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” You asked.

“For dropping your hand, for everything,” he explained.

It took you a full minute, but you said it with your whole chest.

“I forgive you.”

You stood holding each other in silence for a long time. Rafe brushed soothing circles into your back when he felt a single tear roll down your face onto his shirt, dampening the same spot where you’d spilled your drink on him a few hours ago.

After a while, he tucked his chin to drop a soft kiss on the top of your head, smiling into your hair. His voice was muffled when he confessed, “I’m glad you chose me over that fucking punk kid.”

You smiled, pulling away from him just enough to look up at him with a smug grin, “aha, so maybe you were the one that was jealous!”

He smacked his lips, looking away from you to try and fight back his smile, finally resigning, “okay, maybe a little.”

“A little!” You scoffed. “You looked like you were about to fight them.”

“Nah, I don’t do that anymore,” he admitted bashfully, voice lowering to add, “I don’t think my therapist would be too happy with me.”

Your head tilted in intrigue, “your therapist?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Needed a little help… to grow up, you know?”

“Rafe, I think that’s great,” you told him, giving him one more squeeze. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“I want…I don’t know,” he pulled away from you, scratching the back of his neck. “I want to tell you everything, you know? Like when something happens to me, good or bad, you’re the one I wanna tell. I just didn’t think you’d want to hear it.”

“I do,” you reached out and squeezed his hand to reassure him. “I want to hear it all.”

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Emerging from the woods, mud splattered up to your knees and giddy smiles painted on your faces, you slipped your hand into his. You thought maybe you should give him some excuse about how you were still drunk and you just needed to hold his hand for stability, but you didn’t have it in you to lie.

As you walked, you thought back to a few minutes earlier, when you’d clung to him to avoid Ryder’s touch. How he’d appeared by your side when you needed him and you didn’t even have to think twice before saying you wanted to stay with him. How it never crossed your mind that it’d be a bad idea to go into those woods with him, because for the first time, you really truly trusted him.

When you were young, Rafe was a storm. He brought an uneasiness with him wherever he went. Being around him always made you feel a little unsteady, knowing the wind could shift at any minute, but never knowing what kind of emotional havoc it could wreak when it did.

But now, he was different. This wasn’t a violent, unpredictable boy, but a steady, trustworthy man. And it washed over you like a dream - once a hurricane, Rafe was now your safe harbor.

And you’d never felt so sure the storm had really passed.

Yes, Rafe had hurt you in the past. That was true, and it couldn’t be undone. But you trusted him not to hurt you now, and you loved him. Both things could be true, and you finally felt ready to live with that contradiction, finally felt strong enough to face your own emotions, knowing you’d have him to hold onto for support whenever the world swayed under your feet. You squeezed his hand at the thought.

It was a long, quiet walk back to the clubhouse, but there was much said in the silence.

The two of you stood outside the locker room doors, your hand still in his as he looked down at you with an adoring grin.

“So I’m gonna shower, and maybe get some coffee,” you laughed softly, looking down at your mud caked legs. “And then maybe we could go somewhere and, I dunno, talk? Or something?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his voice soft as it fanned over your face. “We’ll talk. Or something.”

“Maybe you can tell me more about therapy?” You said with a cheeky glint in your eyes, wondering how much of his inner life you could convince him to spill to you before the day was done.

He laughed, “Sure. I’ll tell you anything, whatever you want to know.”

“Good. No more secrets?” Your smile cracked a bit at the question, just a tiny bit of lingering distrust left in your heart.

He eased it with a kiss to the back of your hand before letting go of you slowly.

“No more secrets,” he promised.

And you believed him.

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Rafe watched you go until the locker room door swung fully shut behind you, his heart and mind soaring somewhere in the clouds.

He hadn’t felt this good in such a long time. In fact, he may have never felt this good. He stood on the patio for a long time, just watching the pink-purple clouds of the swirling sunset and wondering how he got so fucking lucky.

The rest of the group slowly returned from the eighteenth hole, Cassie and Sabrina arriving just before Carter and Maddie.

“Topper?” He asked Carter, suddenly remembering his friend, who had been in bad shape the last time he saw him.

“Jack and Tom took him home in a company car,” she explained. “He’s good, just not gonna let him drink again, like ever.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Rafe said, surprising both himself and Carter with his sincerity. She gave him a look that was half confusion, half unexpected friendliness before following Maddie into the locker room.

Kelce showed up last, struggling to carry multiple bags of clubs, which Rafe could only assume meant the girls had somehow conned him into carrying theirs.

“Dude,” Kelce panted. “Where the hell have you been? You should’ve seen me at the eighteenth, hit a fucking birdie man.”

“Bullshit,” Rafe ribbed him as he helped him unload the bags off his shoulders, Kelce taking a deep breath once he’d finally unloaded their weight.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here man,” Kelce suggested. “We should go downtown and get fucked up.”

“Nah, man, I don’t do that shit anymore,” Rafe shook his head. “Plus I got plans tonight…with my girl.”

Kelce’s eyes widened, breaking into a goofy grin as he shook Rafe by the shoulders.

“No shit? You finally locked it down, huh? Never thought you were gonna pull that shit off, man!”

Rafe smirked despite himself, “yeah, yeah, alright. Only took me fifteen fucking years man.”

The two slipped into the men’s locker room, heading towards the rental lockers where they’d stored the clothes they arrived in.

“I need details, bro,” Kelce pressed him. “I mean after the way she was acting this morning, I thought you’d blown it for good.”

Rafe opened his mouth to explain that he too thought he’d ruined his chances with you, but before he could, the door to the locker room swung open. From their spot behind the wall of lockers, they couldn’t see who was accompanying the voices that were in the middle of an entirely too-loud conversation, but Rafe recognized them immediately.

“Dude, you’re fucking crazy, she’s at least, like a nine, nine point five. You don’t have a chance,” Chad scolded his friend.

“I don’t care what she is, as long as she stays fucking faded,” Ryder laughed.

“Seriously, she was a fucking mess, she’d be so fucking easy, dude.”

Rafe’s whole demeanor changed at the sound of their conversation. His eyes flicking over Kelce’s face for just a second as his jaw clenched tight. Kelce watched him anxiously, neither of them needed to wonder who Chad and Ryder were talking about, after they’d followed you around all afternoon, coping as many sneaky feels as they could before Rafe stepped in.

He thought they’d gotten the message when he told them to back off, but apparently they hadn’t.

“Got her number, she invited us to her beach house,” Ryder informed his friend with a conspiratorial grin.

“Fucking perfect,” Chad slapped him five like he’d just won some kind of trophy. “You keep the drinks flowing and I’ll make a move.”

“No fucking way,” Ryder protested. “I’m the one who scored the invite, your perverted ass can watch while I seal the fucking deal.”

“Ah, you’d really diss your brother like that?” Chad whined.

“You know what, you do the job correctly and maybe I’ll let you have a taste when she’s finally blacked out, yeah?”

Forget protective, this was enough to send Rafe on a full fucking killing spree. He was almost too infuriated to move, but that last remark sent him reeling around the corner of the lockers in a path of destruction no one could stop, not even Kelce, who was close behind him in an absolute panic.

“Rafe, don’t man, they’re not worth it,” he warned, trying to catch up.

But he was too late, Rafe was already barreling toward Ryder and Chad, who looked up in shock when they realized suddenly that they weren’t alone.

Rafe lunged toward Ryder, grabbing him by the collar of his club issued uniform and slamming him up against the lockers. His forearm pressed into Ryder’s neck, pinning him up helplessly.

“I thought I made myself fucking clear.” Despite his aggressive stance, and the air slowly leaking from Ryder’s crushed throat, Rafe’s tone was smooth, his lips twisted in a terrifying smile that had absolutely zero joy behind it.

He looked over at Chad, who was watching, and cowering, in horror. “But you two fucking morons didn’t seem to understand, did you? So let me phrase it in a way even two shit-for-brains like you can grasp, yeah? Say one more fucking word about her or ever even breathe in her fucking vicinity again, and I will fucking end you. Got it?”

Chad nodded rapidly next to Rafe, his wide eyes pleading for mercy. Rafe pressed hard on Ryder’s neck one more time, grinning menacingly at the pained cry he let out before releasing him, his body slumping back against the locker as his hands rubbed over his sore neck.

“Good,” Rafe smiled again, patting Chad’s cheek patronizingly, smirking at the way he flinched in fear.

He turned from them, back toward Kelce, who looked relieved it hadn’t gone any farther, knowing what Rafe was capable of from his many drunken fights in high school. And considering this grown-up Rafe was even stronger, Kelce said a silent prayer Ryder and Chad would just keep their mouths shut.

God apparently wasn’t listening.

Chad pulled Ryder toward the locker room door as Rafe stood over the sink, white knuckling the edge as he tried to get control of himself, repeating some mental mantra Kelce couldn’t hear. They’d almost made a clean break of it, before Ryder pulled himself from his friend’s desperate grasp, turning around to taunt,

“Can’t help it if the slut is asking for it, man.”

Rafe looked up slowly, meeting Kelce’s terrified eyes in the mirror.

“Rafe, man, they’re just kids, alright?” He reminded him, his voice begging for Rafe to regain control of himself.

Rafe turned slowly, stepping towards Ryder, who was doing his best to stand tall and square his shoulders, despite the way his whole body was obviously shaking in fear. Rafe absolutely towered over him.

“Just a kid, huh? How old are you guys?” Rafe asked, his voice confusingly friendly in a way that disarmed Ryder slightly.

“Just turned eighteen,” he said proudly.

Rafe nodded casually, looking down at his hands and adjusting the solid gold ring on his forefinger with a grin.

“Good.”

Rafe’s fist met Ryder’s jaw with a crack!

The cool metal engraving of the Cameron family crest on Rafe’s ring split his lip like a knife, blood immediately running down his face as his neck snapped backward with the force of Rafe’s punch. Ryder stumbled backward, Chad cowering away and letting his friend fall through the swinging locker room door and stumbling into the lobby.

Rafe followed after him, Kelce’s shouting voice somewhere far, far away as he zeroed in on Ryder’s hunched over body, clutching his face in pain and panic. Kelce was begging him to stop, but Rafe couldn’t hear it, all he could hear were Ryder’s words, all he could see was your face, your body, the things they were planning to do to it. At that thought, his arm cocked back again, knocking into Chad, who was fruitlessly trying to pull him back.

Rafe’s fist collided with Ryder’s face again, and again and again, until he couldn’t tell skin apart from blood, until Ryder was flat on his back and Rafe was hovering over him, unleashing the full force of his anger.

Nothing could stop him, not Kelce’s pleading, or Chad’s, not his own conscience, screaming from the back of his mind that he needed to calm down, that he was gonna fucking kill this kid if he didn’t stop soon.

And he would’ve too, if the door to the women’s locker room hadn’t swung open, if you hadn’t come running out of it, tears streaming down your face and Carter’s voice calling after you. You stopped dead in your tracks and looked down at him in sheer shock and horror.

“Rafe! Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing?!”

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The steamy cascade of the shower felt so nice, you sighed aloud as the warm water rushed down your back to your mud caked legs, dragging clumps of the swamp down the drain with it. You hummed a little happy tune to yourself as you washed. When you’d entered the locker room, you were the only one in it, having your pick of showers and choosing the biggest one. Your eyes closed as you breathed in the steam, feeling the rest of your sobriety return to you, eyelashes fluttering open again excitedly as you remembered Rafe was just on the other side of this wall, waiting for you.

Your mind wandered pleasantly to all the possible things this evening could have in store, using a second pump of body wash at the thought, your stomach full of butterflies. As you washed the day off, you let your mind wander even farther, past tonight, past this week, when the trip was over and it would be just you and Rafe, facing the summer together. You’d help him with his summer class, as much as he needed, be there to cheer for him when he graduated. Surely, he’d have to start working once he got his diploma and you’d have to go back north for your last year of school, but he could come visit you on the weekends, and for once in your four years away, you’d actually look for reasons to return to the OBX instead of avoiding it at all costs.

The future, which usually made your stomach twist in anxiety with all its uncertainty and vastness, seemed to glow now, shining like a star in the distance with the knowledge you’d reach it with Rafe by your side.

Part of you mourned that you were just now claiming this life for yourself, all the wasted time between you and Rafe seeming tragic now that you knew what it was like to be with him. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t waste any more time being sad about that, thinking instead of what Rafe would look like on one knee in front of you someday, a vision that for the first time in your life, was completely real and in reach.

The door to the patio squeaking open interrupted your reverie, two familiar voices in mid-conversation robbing you of your once private locker room experience.

“So uncomfy actually, she was such a mess. Like why are you sloppy drunk in the middle of the day? That’s just sad,” Sabrina’s voice carried under the shower curtain. You knew she couldn’t see you, but you still turned away toward the shower wall as you listened in as if you were shielding yourself from her. Clearly, she was talking about you, but to who?

“I don’t know, maybe she just needed to blow off some steam. We’ve all been there,” Cassie deflected.

Once again, you were shocked by how kind Cassie was being, weirdly kind of touched at how quickly she’d come to your defense.

“Since when are the two of you the best of friends?” Sabrina snapped back, clearly embarrassed that Cassie was taking the high road while she was talking shit like a teenager.

“We’re not, I just don’t see why you need to drag her down all the time when she’s never actually done anything to you,” Cassie pushed back.

It took everything in you not to shout “exactly!” from your shower stall, biting your tongue as you waited for Sabrina’s response.

“Okay maybe not to me, but she’s done shit to you. Sorry that I’m being defensive over my best friend,” Sabrina reasoned.

You were baffled, literally scratching your head as you tried to think of one bad thing you could’ve possibly ever done to Cassie of all people.

“Okay, well it’s not like she knew she was doing it, Rafe never told her.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Rafe never told her. Completely sober now, you still had to clutch the wall to stay standing straight.

“Maybe Carter did though,” Sabrina reasoned. “Those two are like freaky close, even for sisters.”

“No, I don’t think she would’ve,” Cassie explained. “Rafe said it was like an unspoken agreement between them. Like if he ghosted her sister, Carter would leave Rafe alone and stuff. I don’t see her admitting that they made some weird pact to keep her in the dark like that.”

Your body was so still, the shampoo you’d just lathered into your hair was running down your face and into your eyes, and you didn’t even care. You were numb, no feeling where it was stinging your eyes as you blinked it away, frozen in shock.

If he ghosted her. Keep her in the dark. An unspoken agreement between them.

Your mind was spinning too fast to fully make sense of it, but just fast enough to conjure an image of Carter and Rafe in high school, shaking hands as they made some kind of deal over you. Then a flash of you, in the weeks that followed, sobbing into your pillow as Carter sat at the edge of your bed, assuring you that Rafe was just some guy who ghosted you and you’d get over him eventually. And Rafe, in his own bed a few streets over, ignoring your texts and justifying the way he’d pretend like he didn’t even know you when he saw you in the halls at school.

It was all part of some fucking pact? You were sick to your fucking stomach.

Before you could start retching, the door swung open again, the unmistakable sound of Carter’s laugh wafting in with the evening air. Maddie laughed alongside her, mumbling something about Kelce looking out of breath. Your nausea quickly turned to absolute disgust at the thought of Carter laughing without a care while you were reeling from the news of her betrayal and swallowing the taste of shampoo.

You slammed the shower handle to the left, shutting the water off with a squeak of the faucet. Grabbing your towel from the hook and just barely taking the time to wrap it around yourself, you stormed out of the showers and into the locker room, beelining past a shocked Sabrina and Cassie and straight toward Carter, who stopped mid-joke to take you in with surprise.

“You made a fucking pact?!” You spat at her.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, the remnants of a smile still lingering on the corner of her lips.

“You and Rafe, in highschool. You made a deal over me?” Your mind was racing so far ahead of you that it was difficult to string the words together. But the way Carter’s face fell and flooded with panic told you she knew exactly what you were referring to.

“You said he was just showing his true colors, you said he was ghosting me. But you fucking told him to? How could you do that to me?” Your voice cracked as you accused her.

“I was protecting you!” She defended herself.

“By fucking lying to me?”

Her eyes skittered around, trying to figure out what to say, eventually landing on your neck. In an instant, her face shifted from panicked guilt to cold anger.

“You wanna talk about lying? Nice necklace you got yourself there,” she pointed to your exposed clavicle, uncovered by your towel.

Your stomach dropped, not needing to look in the mirror to know everyone in the room could see the hickies that were scattered across your collarbone.

“Nothing happened, huh?” Carter repeated the words you’d sworn to her over and over when she’d pressed you about what happened when you disappeared with Rafe the other day. “Or did you get those hickies from those fucking caddies?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” you told her, your hand coming up to cover the marks as though that would make everyone forget they’d seen them. “You’ve been lying to me for years. And I only lied about hooking up with Rafe because for once in my life I didn’t want to hear your fucking judgemental opinion.”

The rest of the girls stood back, completely frozen in fear as they watched the completely unprecedented event unfolding before them. No one had ever heard you and Carter speak like this to each other, mainly because you and Carter never had spoken like this to each other. It was terrifying, having no blueprint for what was going to happen next, no idea how low the two of you would be willing to go.

“Maybe I give you my opinion on everything because you can never do anything by your fucking self,” she crossed her arms. “I mean, hell if I hadn’t pushed you to come on this trip you never would’ve even spoken to Rafe again in the first place. But now, he’s what, the love of your fucking life?”

“You’re right, Car, how would I make it through life without the opinions of someone with the emotional intelligence of a fucking toddler? You can’t even tell someone you love them without having a full blown panic attack on the bathroom floor.”

“Oh you wanna talk about emotions? You cried over him every night for twelve fucking years,” she shot back. “And you’re supposed to be the ‘emotionally healthy’ one? Give me a fucking break. He kissed Cassie one time and you acted like the whole fucking world had ended, what the fuck was I supposed to do? You helped him fucking prom-pose to her for god’s sake, and I couldn’t say anything about it. I wasn’t gonna sit back and let them keep hurting you like that.”

Heat rushed to your face, unable to keep your eyes from flicking over to Cassie, who looked away quickly, as if she could spare you the sheer mortification you were experiencing at the sound of Carter revealing one of your dearest secrets right in front of the person you least wanted to hear.

Carter knew she’d gone too far, eyes flashing with regret, almost wincing at her own words.

“I’m sor-”

“Save it,” you pulled your towel tighter around yourself, rushing over to the locker where you’d stored the clothes you came in. You pulled them on quickly, ignoring Carter as she rushed to try and apologize.

“I shouldn’t have said that in front of her, okay? I’m just- you’re not giving me a chance to explain. It was a long time ago and it’s complicated. Please, let’s just talk, I wanna talk about this.”

Once your clothes were pulled back on, you turned to her.

“No, I’ve been listening to you talk my whole fucking life, and I don’t even know if I can believe what you say anymore.” Tears finally slipped past your lash line.

You brushed past her and headed for the door, not sparing a glance to the other girls, who were still standing back near the showers, pretending they couldn’t hear every word you were saying.

“Wait, no, please wait!” Carter called after you as you ripped open the door to the lobby, but you didn’t hear her, too stunned by what you found on the other side.

Rafe was kneeling above a bloodied and beaten Ryder, his arm cocked back for another in what must have been a long series of blows. His eyes were wild, like an animal attacking their prey. His own face had flecks of blood scattered across it, that you surmised wasn’t his own.

He looked up at you, his pupils blown wide and his entire body consumed by rage.

And there it was: the storm of him. The one you had just been so sure had passed, breaking again right in front of you.

You trembled, more tears slipping from your eyes, as Ryder groaned from under Rafe’s hold, too battered to fight back.

“Rafe! Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing?!” You screamed in terror.

Carter and the other girls came running out at the sound of your shriek, all their jaws falling slack at the sight.

“You’re gonna fucking kill him!” You cried, noting the way Rafe still hadn’t let Ryder up off the floor. “Why are you doing this?”

“They were talking shit,” Kelce jumped in to explain, Rafe too consumed with chaos to form the words.

“I don’t care what they said, that doesn’t give you the right to break someone’s skull in,” you screamed at Rafe, praying he’d lower his fist before he did anymore damage.

“He was saying he was gonna get you wasted and pass you over to his buddy once you were too blackout to realize,” Kelce clarified.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?” Carter snapped, looking toward Chad, who was white as a ghost as she stormed toward him.

Before you could react, Carter had pulled back her own fist, crashing it into Chad’s face with a thud. The rest of the room gasped, even Rafe whipped his head toward her in shock.

“Ow, fuck!” She screamed and shook out her knuckles, some of them surely broken after that punch. At the same moment, Chad stumbled backward and crashed into a large, expensive looking vase sitting in the middle of the lobby, which rocked back and forth a few times before crashing to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.

The sound echoed throughout the lobby, and the desk agent came running from the employee break room toward the commotion.

Chad cried out, holding his nose as it began leaking blood, and the front desk agent barrelling around the corner, his eyes going wide at the scene in front of him.

He pulled a walkie talkie from his belt and spoke quickly, informing someone on the other end, “call security now. And tell them to get the real cops.”

“Oh fuck,” Kelce groaned, his hands flying to his head in worry. “Rafe, fuck man, I love you but…I can’t be here right now.”

With that, Kelce ran through the lobby, jumping over Ryder’s limp legs to make his escape. Sabrina grabbed Cassie’s hand and dragged her after him, Maddie hesitating for just a minute before looking sympathetically to Carter, who was doubled over in pain.

“Sorry,” Maddie said. “I just got into med school.”

With that excuse, she ran after the others, stepping in some of Ryder’s blood and trailing footprints across the glossy marble floor.

As the front door to the club closed behind her, two security guards arrived, huffing in their tight uniforms, clearly having run here.

“Nobody else better fucking move,” he warned, holding up his knightstick as he gasped for air. “The police are on their way.”

The other guard hurried to pull Rafe off of Ryder. With his eyes still pinned on you, Rafe finally climbed off of him, slumping back against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest, his blood soaked hands resting limply on top of his thighs like they hadn’t just beat this kid within an inch of his life.

“You,” the heavily breathing guard pointed at Carter while his partner checked Ryder’s eyes to make sure he was still conscious. “Against the wall, too. Now.”

Carter obeyed, following his instruction to sit next to Rafe, her knuckles red and swollen as she held her hand up pathetically.

“You two better have a good fucking excuse when the cops arrive,” the guard scolded them. He looked at you for any sign of your own involvement, “unless someone else wants to take responsibility?”

You just looked down at Rafe and Carter, never in your life having seen a more pitiful sight than the two of them slumped on the ground, looking at you like you were their last hope.

“Nope,” you shrugged. “These two got here all on their own.”

Careful to avoid getting blood on your own shoes, you turned your back on them and left.

(to be continued)

no author's note. there will be no explanation, there will only be reputation.

please note the new taglist for this series is currently closed. for updates when I post, please follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

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lostinlovingrevery · 1 month ago

Note

Thinking about OldMan!Logan putting reader in the strongest, horniest matting press ever until she cries and begs him to slow down

You Make Me Feel So Young

Old man Logan X F! Reader

Logan's feeling feisty

A/N: I imagine Logan bursting into readers room like that big bird gif. You'll see what I mean.

Warnings: SMUUUT! MDNI, sexting/nudes, mutual masturbation, unprotection PiV, Logan gets a tad rough, and then a lil mean and teasing, mating press :), creampie

He hadn't felt this good in ages.

What was causing his sudden heightened mood, burst of energy, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he actually ate breakfast this morning, or the sunlight from earlier today and warm brush of wind that signaled Spring was here, or maybe it was because he has a pretty little thing by his side. All starry-eyed and eager to take care of him, make him happy.

Since you've come to his life, he has no excuse to stare down the bottom of a bottle every night. He doesn't skip meals anymore, because you won't let him. Even if he tries to tell you he's not hungry- you'd pout,

"You're really going to let me eat this all alone?"

And shit, he can never resist the way you stick out your bottom lip and look at him pleadingly with those stunning eyes. So he'll eat a few fries off your plate, finish off your sandwich. sip on your water with you.

What do you know, eating actual food, drinking water, it does make you feel better.

The aches and pain still come. The fits of coughing. The pain of his wounds healing themselves slower than they used too- yet still faster than an average man. Instead of bleeding to death like most men would with injuries he has sustained, he sits in some type of purgatory, not healed, but not dead either.

You're always there though. There to soothe the aches and pains. To rub his back when it gets too much. To clean him up and stitch what hasn't healed yet. You do it with a smile and a kiss.

He hasn't told you he loves you yet, but he's pretty sure you know.

It's not all about what you do for him though. Just who you are. Wonderful, full of life. He sees a future with you. When before, all he wanted was to take that last breath, finally be pretty to rest in the cold dirt; Now, he has reason to keep going, everyday.

The Chrsylers door slams shut, as he watched last of the bachelor's party drunkenly stumble back into the hotel. Normally he'd getting irritated chuaffering around a bunch of drunken fools but he couldn't deny that he was amused by them tonight. In a way, they reminded him of his young self. Bold, arrogant, didn't take life that serious.

As he watched the last nearly nosedive into the glass doors of the hotel entrance, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Pulling out his phone and glasses, he tucked them on and unlocked the screen where he saw your name popped up.

Busy night?

His expression softened at your name and text. Always checking up on him. It's late, you should be asleep. You like to wait up for him despite his pleas for you not too. One of you should at least have a full nights sleep. He looked back at the hotel entrance, making sure none of the bachelors have passed out in the foyer in their own vomit, before returning to the drivers seat.

Once seated, he texts you back.

Got a few jobs

He set his phone on his lap, waiting for you to text back while he stared out the window. The phone buzzed and he quickly grabbed it.

Should I expect you late, or do you think you'll come home soon?

Another text from you came in just as he read the first one

I miss you <3

A faint smile stretched across his face. He responds back to you.

I'll see what I can do. Miss you too baby.

He exits your chat, going to the app where he gets his jobs and communicates with customers. The next pickup isn't for an hour. He grumbles to himself, as he felt eager to join your company. He as scowled at the time of the job- your name popped up again.

He clicked on the chat.

To keep you company ;)

Below your text, was an image. An extremely delightful image to grace Logan's eyes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He let out a soft gasp, eyes growing heavy as he observes the curves of your figure in the dirty picture you have sent him. Your hand strategically placed to block what he really wanted to see.

Fuck

His cock throbbed in his trousers and he quickly palms it with his free hand. He stared at every detail, every single pixel- as if he hadn't already committed you to his memory. He squeezed himself through his pants, a small groan escaping him.

Another picture came in, from another angle.

He swiped the chat away. Quickly going to the work app, he canceled the job. Fuck it if he loses some money- all the blood in his head has rushed down to his second head, he's not thinking straight anymore.

Once the cancellation was confirmed, he put the limo into drive, checked his mirrors and quickly pulled off onto the road, driving towards the highway.

Meanwhile, you're in bed, concerned by a lack of response from Logan. It's marked that he's seen it- and he usually responds. Sometimes you'd get a phone call from him, leading to some phone sex as you get yourself off to the sound of his voice. Never have you received nothing from him though. It made you worry if he got into some trouble.

It's not till you heard the familiar sound of doors opening and shutting that you sat up from bed. You held a blanket over yourself, still nude from the pictures you've taken, and listened to the sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom.

The door opened, and Logan stood there- looking flustered as hell.

"Oh-" You blinked in surprise, "Lo, honey what are you doi-"

Before you could finish, he was on you faster than you could blink. His hands tore your comforter off you, as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you towards him with a yelp, him kneeling onto the bed and slotting himself between your legs and his lips crashed onto yours.

You moaned as he licked into you mouth. He grinds into your core, you could feel his hard cock through his trousers. Your arousal was soaking the cloth of his pants but he didn't care. Your hands clenched at his shirt, desperately grabbing onto him, onto something because he was moving so damn fast you could barely process it.

"Logan!" You gasped, tearing yourself away from his kisses. "Baby- what's got into you?"

"You." He says, lurching forward again, his tongue pressed against yours. His hands explored your figure. Cupping your breasts and rubbing circles into your nipples. He slid them down your curves, pulling you flush against his hips as his kisses trailed down your neck and between the valley of your breasts.

"Mm-" You tipped your head back, arching into him as his tongue ran over your skin, becoming hot and sweaty from Logan's incessant grinding. You pushed him up, sitting yourself up in his lap while meeting him in a heated kiss.

Your hands pushed off his jacket, and worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Once you reached the last button, he pulled it off, discarding it to the side. You helped him pulled off his white tank. Revealing his torso, littered with hair and scars. You pressed open mouth kisses over his chest, running your tongue over a nipple- a deep moan from him gracing your ears.

He pushed you back onto the bed, and you watched him quickly undo his belt, unzipping his pants and pushing it down to his thighs.

"Those pictures really riled you up huh?" You smiled.

He looked down at you, and grinned. His smile sent warmth through you- and a little worry. Almost devilish in how he looked at you.

His thumbs hooked into his briefs, pulling them down to join with his pants. His cock waved at you in the air, and you couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you at the sight of it.

Reaching your hand up, you grasped his girth. Your thumb ran along the thick vein that ran from his hip, down to the tip of his head, red and swollen- leaking pre-cum that you used as a lube as you stroked him slowly, watching as his expression melted into something pleasurable.

He wasn't going to let you have all the fun though.

He leaned down over you while you jerked him. His free hand reached down between your thighs, finding your clit. His calloused fingers rubbed circles into you- at the same pace that you stroked him.

His lips brushed over yours, but he didn't fully kiss you. Only a teasing touch as he circled your clit, making your hips squirm. Every time your hand pumped him faster, his own hand worked you faster- until your panting, barely able to focus, your hand moving him on autopilot as you focused on your impending finish.

Only-

He took his hand away. You felt your pleasure melt away, leaving your core aching and needy.

"Logan-" You whined,

"Hush baby." He grumbles, bringing his hands to the back of your knees and pushing them up to your chest. "I got you-"

You angled his cock to your core, as he carefully thrusts into your folds, bumping your clit that elicits a harsh gasp from you each time. Then you felt his tip push into your cunt, and your head fell back in relief as he buried himself in you- inch by inch.

He barely gave you time to adjust- not wanting to waste another second of his burst of energy, he began pounding into your pussy. A moaned scream escaped you, as your hands reached to grab onto his wrists- where he still held your legs to your chest.

"Lo-!" You cried out. The bed shook underneath you, his thrusts coming in powerful droves where his hips slammed against yours.

"Taking me so damn well darling-" He says through gritted teeth, as sweat beaded his forehead, and his face becomes more flushed.

You never seen him like this before. While you and Logan had a fairly active sex life, his stamina and energy wasn't always there. Still better than anyone you ever been with though- the man can make you cum as many times as he desired, completely wreck you.

This, it was almost too much.

He was fucking into your harder and faster than you were used too. It felt so good, but so much. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't catch your breath. You're pretty sure the mattress is going to break soon under the power of his thrusts.

Breathless, you tried to say his name- to tell him to slow down but you could barely manage it. The buildup in you was intense. Your nails dug into his skin. Logan's grunts filled your ears, and you could only focus on the sound of him and the feeling of his cock splitting you open over and over and over.

He leaned down, his chest and hips flushed against you. Your legs hooked over his shoulders and he wrapped his arms completely around you. His pace didn't falter, in fact he seemed to get faster- using you as leverage to slam into you harder.

His knees spread farther and buried into the mattress, his heavy breath hit across your face. He tipped his chin up, staring down at you with parted lips- watching your every expression.

He never admitted to you how he wished he'd met you in his prime. Where he could go multiple rounds without breaking a sweat. Sure, his game is still considerably better then most men, but nothing like how he used to be. He can put you to sleep, happy, satisfied and filled with him to the brim. He always wants to give you more.

This? This was just merely a fraction of what he could do to you. Whatever this burst of energy he has, he's using every bit of it.

"Lo-" Your lips formed into that pout he always thought was so cute. "I- I-!" You whined, unable to form words. Each thrust knocking them out of your head.

"What sweetheart?" He grunted. You moaned, your head falling limply to the side, tears welling up in your eyes as exhaustion threatened to break you.

"Slow down!" You managed to cry out, before moaning when he hits that sweet, honey spot inside you.

"What's that baby?" He asks, clearly having heard you- but he wanted to hear it again. It may be awful, but fuck it fills him with pride to hear a young thing like you to beg him to slow down.

"Please- Slow, slow down?" You whined,

He obliges, pacing himself slowly in and out of you. It felt good, you could catch your breath- but now he was being painfully slow. He rutted deep into you, the coarse hair that sat above his cock brushed over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you that made your legs tremble- but it wasn't enough to push you over that edge you needed so badly.

"That better baby?" He coos, a teasing edge in his voice.

"You can...Go faster than that-" You mumbled lazily.

"Slow down, go faster, can't make up your mind now can you?" He taunts. He stops himself, buried inside you, but unmoving.

"Logan!" You cried. "Move!"

"Oh, that's not good enough either huh?"

You huff, opening your eyes to look at him- to be greeted by a cocky grin. Almost youthful in the way his eyes sparkling looking down at you. You realized he loved every second of this. He always teased you a little bit, but this was something different.

You like it.

"Please- Please you can do whatever you want just-"

You gasped when he picked up his brutal pacing into you again. Angling himself to pound into the sweet spot, that had you seeing stars. You've become mindless, just taking everything he gives you.

He could feel the way you clenched around him, the look in your eyes told him you were close. Contrary to his brutal thrusts, he softly pressed his lips over yours, gentle and loving. He whispered,

"Cum for me baby."

You let go, waves of pleasure rushing through you, seemingly never-ending as Logan fucks you through it. Your throat was hoarse from screaming his name- you didn't even notice.

Logan slammed into you one last time, as you felt his cock twitch inside you. With a loud grunt and locked jaw, he filled you up- just as he likes to, his messy way of claiming you all for himself.

His face buried into your neck when he finished, the both of you out of breath, covered in sweat.

"Lo..." You sighed sleepily. "Mm, that was nice."

"Yeah." He replies, before pushing himself up and pulling out of your carefully. Your legs were sore, and numb from being in one position for so long. To your surprise, he flipped you onto your stomach. "We're not finished yet, darling."

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #old man logan smut #old man logan x reader

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solxamber · 8 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Please Let Me Live - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think? Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

Series Masterlist

You'd avoided it for so long. For months, your best friend had been pestering you to read the shoujo isekai novel of the year. According to them, it was the epitome of romantic drama, the kind that would "turn your heart into a mess of feelings" and "change your life." So, finally, after a particularly grueling week, your willpower hit rock bottom. You caved. You bought it, poured yourself a drink, and figured, "How bad can it be?"

Turns out, really bad.

You’d barely made it past the first few chapters before your brain began to leak out of your ears. Every overused villainess plot point imaginable was crammed into the story like a contest of "how much nonsense can we fit in here before the reader gives up?" The evil fiancée everyone inexplicably hated? Check. The perfect cinnamon roll male lead everyone adored even though he had the personality of wet cardboard? Double check. The heroine who was so pure that even her sneeze would be enough to unite warring nations who also happens to be the saintess? You had to put the book down and take a moment when she gave a speech about friendship that was so saccharine, your teeth hurt.

Grumbling and filled with regret, you got up to refill your drink… only to slip on bubble wrap you swore yesterday that you were going to pick up later, fall face-first into the kitchen counter, and began to bleed out.

It was a comically stupid way to die. You knew that as you lay there, watching the light fade from your vision, your last thoughts being, This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And then, darkness.

You woke up with a groan, your head pounding. As your vision cleared, you noticed you were lying in a very, very fancy bed. Silk sheets, gold trimming on the canopy, the works. And you were dressed in something frilly, layered, and far too complicated for someone who just woke up from a near-death experience.

"What the…"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze as the realization hit you. This was not your bed. This was not your apartment. This was… Oh god, no.

You whipped your head around the lavish room, recognizing it from the novel you’d been hate-reading just last night. The massive mirror above the dresser, the tapestry with an overly detailed family crest, the obnoxiously large bouquet of roses that smelled way too sweet.

You’re in the book.

Panicking, you scrambled out of bed and rushed to the full-length mirror by the wall. The reflection staring back at you was not your own. Instead, you saw an unfamiliar face—her face. The one mentioned once, maybe twice, in the whole novel before being discarded like an old shoe: the betrothed of the villain.

The fiancée who dumps him for the male lead. The fiancée who gets themselves killed in the process.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, slapping your forehead. “I’m the villain’s betrothed? I’m that idiot who leaves Vil Schoenheit because I fall for the human incarnation of a sugar cube?”

But there was no escaping it. You were now stuck in the body of a side character so irrelevant that even her death was treated as an afterthought. The one who leaves her handsome, ambitious, gorgeous fiancé for… Neige.

No. No, no, no. You were not about to die over a soggy cinnamon roll.

Determined to change your fate, you gathered your wits and opened the door to leave the room. But of course, you ran headlong into a tall figure, knocking you both back.

“Oof! Careful there!” a smooth, yet stern voice said. You looked up—and froze. Standing before you, looking like something straight out of a high-fashion magazine, was Vil Schoenheit. The man whose heart you were supposed to break, the villain who would later descend into madness after you ditch him.

And wow. In person, he was even more stunning than the novel had described. His golden-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, his purple eyes were as sharp as they were beautiful, and his posture screamed confidence.

You blinked up at him, utterly dumbfounded. You’re supposed to leave him? For Neige? You nearly gagged at the thought.

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your wide-eyed staring. “Is something the matter?”

You gulped. Right. You were supposed to be cold and dismissive toward him, weren’t you? But how? This man looked like he could make the heavens weep with his beauty. How had your character ever even considered leaving him?

“No, nothing’s the matter!” you blurted out, a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, everything’s great! You look fantastic! I mean, not that you don’t always look fantastic—because you do—but, you know, extra fantastic today!”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange.”

Abort. Abort!

You quickly cleared your throat. “Uh, I’ve just been… thinking. About us.”

His gaze became sharper. “About us?”

You nodded, plastering on your most sincere smile. “Yes! I’ve realized… I haven’t been very, uh, appreciative of you lately. And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. So from now on, I’ll be the most appreciative fiancée ever!”

Vil looked at you as though you’d just told him the sun was cold. He clearly didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude. “What exactly brought this on?” he asked slowly, suspiciously.

Time for Plan B. “Oh, you know, just… reflection! Self-improvement! I thought, ‘Why would I ever look anywhere else when I’ve got someone like *you* right in front of me?’ You’re… amazing, really.” You cringed internally at how corny that sounded, but Vil didn’t seem entirely put off.

“Hm,” was all he said, but his piercing gaze stayed locked on you, watching for any sign of deceit.

You were sweating bullets, but at least he wasn’t storming off. Yet.

You knew from the moment you read the back cover that this novel was going to be a dumpster fire of clichés, but you were not prepared for the sheer chaos of it all.

So, first off, we have the heroine—the Saintess—who has somehow never faced a single hardship in her life, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the kingdom’s beacon of virtue and a symbol of overcoming hardship. She’s engaged to the crown prince, who conveniently disappears on a diplomatic mission and dies offscreen, probably to make room for her new love interest, Neige LeBlanche. Neige. That sparkly ray of sunshine who is so perfect and pure that you feel like you need sunglasses whenever his name is mentioned. Because apparently, what’s more romantic than falling for a guy immediately after your fiancé kicks the bucket?

Then there’s the second male lead, the brooding Duke of the North, who checks all the boxes: tall, brooding, handsome, tragic backstory—yawn. Of course, he’s madly in love with the Saintess, and like any self-respecting second male lead in a trashy romance, he sacrifices himself for her later. Because nothing says “I’m irrelevant” quite like noble self-sacrifice.

And don't even get started on the heroine's best friend. She’s basically there to fawn over the Saintess and then inexplicably fall for Vil, the Grand Duke, after she pressures him into apologizing for insulting the heroine's dress. Like, why? Was his dress critique that alluring?

Now, Vil Schoenheit. The Grand Duke. The guy you’re currently stuck with as your fiancé. He’s actually a decent character—powerful, intelligent, not falling over himself to worship the Saintess like everyone else. But in the novel, he’s wasted. Why? Because he’s engaged to the character you’re now possessing—Miss Mean and Cold—who treats him like dirt because she’s too busy fantasizing about Neige. You know, the guy she has no shot with because he’s destined to fall for the Saintess. Then, when your character eventually dumps Vil for Neige, she dies in a freak accident. Vil, who actually loved her (for reasons no one understands), is so heartbroken that he turns into the main villain.

Yes, that’s right—this whole mess of a plot ends with Vil going full villain mode because the love of his life ditched him for the living embodiment of a children’s snowman and then died in a way that no one can explain. Cue the Saintess and Neige teaming up to defeat him and live happily ever after.

And that’s the story. A tangled web of nonsensical relationships, conveniently dead characters, and more emotional whiplash than you can handle. And the cherry on top? You're stuck in it, watching everything unfold firsthand. It's honestly a wonder the book didn’t end up as kindling.

A few days passed, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to keep up the act. Every morning you would wake up, still half-expecting to snap out of this bizarre isekai nightmare, but instead, you were met with Vil’s meticulous morning routine and the low hum of his voice offering helpful reminders about skincare.

And the more time you spent with him, the more baffled you became.

How the hell could the original character have messed this up?!

Sure, Vil was particular—okay, maybe borderline obsessive—about appearances. His lectures about proper sunscreen application could rival the length of the Odyssey. And yes, the daily inspections of your outfit choices felt a little like going through customs at a royal border.

But… he was kind? Like, actually caring?

Every meal was an event because he made sure you were eating properly and not just shoving random food into your mouth like the gremlin you clearly were before. He listened when you rambled about your day, offering advice with this gentle patience that honestly made you want to weep. How could anyone leave this?

You found yourself in front of a mirror one afternoon, pacing and gesturing wildly at your reflection, as if you could summon the spirit of the character you’d possessed. "What the actual hell was wrong with you?!" you hissed at the glass. “What kind of brain rot would make someone ditch a man like Vil?! Are you missing brain cells, or was your skull just a rental with nothing in it?!”

You paused, glaring at your reflection as if it could offer answers, but nope. It just stared back, helpless.

“Like, hello?!” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You had a golden opportunity here! He’s literally gorgeous! He’s got hair that looks like it was hand-spun by some ancient beauty god, his fashion sense could kill a lesser mortal, and he—*gasp*—cares about your well-being?!”

You slapped your forehead dramatically. “How did you mess this up? Were you allergic to good things? Did you wake up every day and choose to be a feral raccoon instead of, I don’t know, appreciating this actual masterpiece of a human being? What, did you look at his perfect face and go, ‘Nah, I’d rather yeet myself into self-destruction?’ Because clearly, that’s what happened!”

Your reflection remained silent, offering no help, which only fueled your rant further.

“You absolute donut! You ridiculous bottle of poorly mixed potion! You—” You stopped mid-sentence, running out of sufficiently creative insults to throw at the former owner of this body. Because seriously, what kind of fool would’ve thrown Vil away?

You gripped the sides of the vanity table, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your own reflection. "If I find out that you gave up on this because he once asked you to wear a face mask or told you to drink more water… I swear, I'm going to find a way to repossess you just to kill you again for making me deal with this."

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your self-directed tirade. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around to see Vil standing in the doorway, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his voice smooth but with a teasing edge. “You know, that’s usually a sign of stress. Perhaps we should revisit that meditation routine I mentioned.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, wondering how much he’d overheard. But then you caught sight of that soft smile he reserved just for you, and your brain short-circuited all over again.

Right. The original character was definitely an idiot.

The first major hurdle hit you when you least expected it.

It all started with what should have been a calm afternoon—a brief moment of peace where you and Vil could actually spend time together, no schemes, no weird confrontations, just enjoying tea. You were finally getting comfortable with each other, slowly building the trust that had been so fragile at the start. Finally, you thought, things were moving smoothly.

Then the overused villainess trope decided to rear its ugly head.

Vil was talking about an upcoming event he’d be hosting, his voice calm, his usual stern features softened just slightly by the moment of peace. You were finally letting your guard down.

That was until the door creaked open and in waltzed the heroine’s best friend, a girl with wide, doe-like eyes and a penchant for stirring up unnecessary drama. Behind her, looming in the doorway, was the second male lead—your eternal source of frustration from the novel. He was tall, brooding, and always, always popping up at the most inconvenient moments. A defeated looking Epel walked in behind them, with a look that screamed 'trust me I tried to stop them.'

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath, recognizing this scene before it could even play out. You knew what was coming, and you braced yourself for the utter absurdity of it.

Vil’s sharp gaze flicked from the two intruders back to you, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. “What is it now?” he muttered, already sensing the impending nonsense.

The heroine’s friend, ever the bringer of chaos, marched right up to your table with a dramatic flair that could only come from someone who believed they were the only purveyor of justice. “I can’t stay quiet any longer!” she declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Vil’s direction. “Vil, how could you treat the heroine this way?! You’ve been so cold, so distant—and it’s clear that you don’t truly care for anyone but yourself!”

You blinked. Excuse me?

Vil’s lips pursed, the irritation growing on his face. “And what, pray tell, did I do?”

“You know what you did!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms like she’d just delivered the most damning statement in history. “You’ve been ignoring her, brushing her off, and acting like she doesn’t even exist. She’s heartbroken because of you!”

You groaned internally. Oh no, this was that scene. The one where, because Vil once made an offhand comment about the heroine’s poor choice in dresses at a ball, suddenly he was painted as some cruel villain who was emotionally tormenting the delicate heroine. It was such an incredibly stupid misunderstanding that you distinctly remembered wanting to throw the book across the room when you’d first read it.

To make matters worse, the second male lead, standing silently but brooding in the doorway, was glowering at Vil like he was ready to challenge him to a duel at any moment. Because of a comment about a dress.

“Are you serious?” you blurted out, the frustration bubbling up before you could stop yourself.

The heroine’s friend gasped, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

“Let me get this straight,” you said, rising from your seat with a groan, “you’re upset because Vil, what, didn’t shower her with praise at the last event? And now you’ve decided to come in here, storming into our tea time, to complain about it?”

The second male lead’s brooding scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “Vil has been cruel—”

“About a dress.” You cut him off, waving your hand dismissively. “Vil made one comment about her dress. That’s it. And now we’re doing this whole song and dance like he’s some kind of evil tyrant?”

The room was already tense, the heroine’s best friend visibly fuming, but you couldn’t help it. The words just came out before you could stop them.

“And while we’re at it,” you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence, “let’s talk about that dress. You know, the one you’re all so upset about. I mean, I’m no fashion expert, but who in their right mind thought wearing that shade of mustard-yellow was a good idea?”

The friend’s mouth fell open, but you weren’t finished. “I mean, she walked into the ballroom looking like a sad banana trying to go to a high society function. I get it—saintess and all that—but there’s no reason to dress like the interior of an overripe cantaloupe.”

Vil made a choking sound next to you, and you dared to glance at him. His eyes were wide with shock, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with the crudeness, but he definitely wasn’t going to stop you either.

“And you,” you said, turning to the second male lead, who had been standing there like a silent, brooding statue, just staring at the two of you menacingly. “What’s your excuse? You came in here with all this brooding energy, acting like you’re about to duel someone over the fate of the heroine. But seriously, what’s with your whole tragic hero act? Is your personality just permanent raincloud or do you practice that in the mirror?”

Vil covered his mouth with his hand, and you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He was losing the battle to keep his composure, but he was trying—for dignity’s sake, of course.

Epel, on the other hand, had completely given up. The moment you’d said “sad banana,” he had fallen off his chair, doubled over in laughter, his face red as he clutched his sides. You weren’t sure if it was your insults or the second male lead’s thunderstruck expression, but either way, Epel was in hysterics.

“I—” the heroine’s friend sputtered, but you interrupted her again.

“Oh, and you.” You looked her up and down with a condescending smirk. “You really want to talk about fashion? Because I don’t know who told you that wearing ruffles with plaid was a look, but they were wrong. You’re out here looking like you got lost in a fabric store and fell into the clearance bin.”

This time, Vil snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was so out of place that it almost derailed your tirade, but you powered through, buoyed by his reaction.

The second male lead looked like he was ready to explode, his aura now bordering on murderous. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, can’t I?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Because it seems like all of you came in here with the intent to stir up drama over something as trivial as a constructive remark. If you’re going to go to war over fashion, at least wear something that doesn’t look like you picked it out with your eyes closed. Scratch that, I couldn’t imagine picking that up even with my eyes closed.”

By now, Epel was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “C-couldn’t pick it out… with your eyes closed!” he wheezed, slapping his knee.

Vil, despite himself, let out a low giggle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well,” he said, his voice steady but filled with mirth, “I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit.”

The heroine’s friend, now red-faced and flustered beyond belief, grabbed the second male lead by the arm and yanked him toward the door. “This isn’t over,” she spat, glaring at you. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the heroine—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved dismissively, “when the heroine what? Realizes she’s been pining for someone who can't tell mustard from elegance? Trust me, I’m not worried.”

With that, they both stormed out, slamming the door behind them in a huff of embarrassment and frustration. The second they were gone, you let out a breath and sank back into your chair, grinning at Vil, who was now openly smiling.

“You really didn’t hold back, did you?” Vil said, his amusement evident despite his usual calm demeanor. “I don’t approve of such… crude insults, but I must admit—” his lips twitched— “it was rather effective.”

Epel, still recovering from his laughing fit, managed to haul himself back into his seat, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was… that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps for air. “I can’t believe ya said that right to their faces!”

“Glad to be of service,” you said with a grin, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d actually said all of that out loud. But judging by Vil’s pleased expression and Epel’s ongoing laughter, it had been worth it.

Maybe surviving this trash novel wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You’d barely had time to process how bizarrely normal your life as the villain’s fiancée had become when the next absurd isekai plot point decided to rear its ugly, trope-filled head again.

It all started at yet another lavish tea party. Honestly, you’d begun to lose track of how many of these events you were forced to attend. They all blurred together into a haze of polite smiles, floral patterns, and far too much sugar.

This time, you were seated next to Vil, who, as always, looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance painting. You, on the other hand, were trying not to spill tea on the new dress he’d insisted you wear. The dress itself was lovely, of course—Vil had impeccable taste—but the whole setting made you feel like you were constantly walking on eggshells. Especially since she was here. The heroine.

Today, though, you were determined to get through it without any drama. Just smile, nod, and let the heroine do her thing. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Everything had been going smoothly, too. The heroine, in all her sunshiney glory, was seated at the table, surrounded by her usual group of admirers. You had been doing a great job of fading into the background until someone—the hostess, perhaps?—brought up your previous adventures.

“Oh, didn’t you once accompany the Grand Duke to deal with that bandit problem on the eastern border?” the hostess asked, fanning herself with interest. “What a thrilling ordeal!”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of too many eyes on you. “Well, I wouldn’t say thrilling exactly…” you began, trying to downplay it, but your nerves had other ideas. “I mean, the heroine here was probably off rescuing some poor lost puppy while I was just, you know, holding down the real danger.”

The air went cold.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. The table fell silent, save for the quiet clinking of teacups being set down. Every eye was on you. The heroine’s wide, eyes blinked at you, full of hurt and confusion. And across from you, the second male lead—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—looked like he was ready to leap across the table and strangle you on the spot.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Why did you leave your filter at home?

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could, the second male lead slammed his cup down on the table, the porcelain rattling ominously. “You dare insult her honor?!” he roared, rising from his seat like some kind of vengeful storm cloud. “I will not stand for this!”

*Why did I say that?* You cringed internally, face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I-it was a joke—"

“No,” he declared dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “I demand satisfaction! A duel for her honor!”

You were still too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. A duel? Over this? All you’d implied was that the heroine wasn’t exactly… battle-hardened. Surely that wasn’t duel-worthy? This man was acting like you’d called his mother a turnip or something worse.

The heroine, ever the epitome of grace, tried to intervene. “There’s no need for—”

But Mr. Broody wasn’t having it. “No! Her honor has been besmirched, and I shall defend it with my life!”

Vil, who had been watching this spectacle unfold with an expression of mild disgust, finally rose from his chair. His cool gaze swept over the table, landing on the second male lead with all the intensity of a snake about to strike.

“If anyone’s honor has been besmirched,” Vil said icily, “it’s mine. And I will not allow my betrothed to be disrespected by the likes of you.”

You blinked up at Vil, stunned. “Wait, you’re going to duel him? Yourself?”

Vil turned his piercing gaze to you, and though his face remained calm, there was a glimmer of something softer in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I would never entrust such a matter to anyone else. Besides…” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve put an upstart in his place.”

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Was it getting hot in here?

The second male lead, apparently unaware of just how screwed he was, smirked triumphantly. “Very well! Let’s settle this once and for all.”

The duel was set for the next day in your estate gardens. You spent the time leading up to it pacing back and forth in your chambers, wringing your hands in nervous anticipation. Somewhere along the way, you’d decided that you needed to do something—anything—to support Vil. So you had spent hours learning how to embroider a handkerchief, your fingers aching from the effort. By the time you finished, you were practically shaking, but you were proud of the result.

You didn’t expect Vil to be touched, let alone notice that you’d worked so hard. But when you handed him the handkerchief just before the duel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You made this?” he asked, holding it delicately between his fingers, as if it were some priceless artifact.

You nodded sheepishly. “I figured, you know, for luck. Or to rub it in his face after you beat him. Whichever.”

Vil chuckled, his usually sharp expression softening. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He then noticed the small needle marks on your hands and frowned. “You hurt yourself.”

You quickly hid your hands behind your back. “It’s nothing! I mean, I’m fine. Just a few pricks here and there.”

Vil’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he looked almost… touched. He carefully tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

You didn’t swoon. Well, maybe just a little.

The duel was, in a word, ridiculous.

The second male lead strutted around like a peacock, his sword gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he swung it dramatically for the small crowd that had gathered. “Prepare yourself, Schoenheit!” he bellowed, pointing his sword at Vil.

Vil, on the other hand, looked utterly unimpressed. He barely glanced at the man before calmly removing his coat and handing it to you. “Hold this, will you?”

You took the coat with a nod, trying not to pass out from how effortlessly graceful he looked even in the midst of preparing for a fight.

The second male lead lunged forward with all the finesse of a drunken ox, his sword clashing loudly against Vil’s. For a moment, it looked like a real duel—until Vil, with a single fluid motion, disarmed the man in one clean strike. The second male lead’s sword went flying, landing in the bushes several feet away with a pathetic thud.

The crowd gasped, and you had to stifle a laugh. It had barely been five seconds, and the duel was already over.

The second male lead stood there, stunned, his hand frozen mid-air where his sword had been. He blinked once, twice, then turned bright red with embarrassment. “W-what?!”

Vil, ever composed, didn’t even break a sweat. He sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold, dismissive look. “This duel is over. Consider your demand for satisfaction... fulfilled. Now, kindly leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as the second male lead sputtered and tried to come up with an excuse, but it was clear to everyone that he had been utterly humiliated. Even the heroine, standing off to the side, looked like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

As the second male lead stumbled off, defeated, Vil turned to you and offered his hand. “Shall we go?”

You took his hand, still trying to process how easily he had won. “You were amazing,” you blurted out, your heart fluttering as you gazed up at him. “Seriously, that was… wow.”

Vil smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Of course I was.” He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I expect a proper reward later for defending your honor.”

Your face went beet red, and you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Yep, you thought as he led you away, his hand still in yours, surviving this trash novel might not be so bad after all.

It happened at one of those overly extravagant banquets the royal court liked to throw. You spotted Neige from across the room, all bright eyes and an innocent smile. He was the epitome of purity, as if his very presence could summon woodland creatures to frolic at his feet.

And you hated him on sight.

You watched in disbelief as everyone around him melted into puddles of admiration. He was practically glowing, and his overly cheerful, squeaky voice was grating on your ears.

The overly saccharine male lead stood there, looking like a cross between a baby bunny and a sentient cupcake. Everything about him screamed "pure-hearted." You nearly gagged on your drink, hoping no one noticed your grimace.

Vil noticed your sour expression and leaned in. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s him, isn’t it?” you said through clenched teeth. “The one I used to follow around?”

Vil followed your gaze, and for a moment, his lips twitched in the faintest show of amusement. “Yes. That’s Neige.”

You snorted. "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would prefer him over you."

Vil's lips curled into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice was silky, dangerously low, but you could see the flash of satisfaction behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you muttered, still glaring in Neige's direction. “I mean, look at him. He’s so… good. And not in a ‘wow, what a decent person’ way. It’s like he’s one bad haircut away from sprouting fairy wings and breaking into song.”

Vil let out a low chuckle, right next to you ear, (Lord, have mercy) the sound sending shivers down your spine. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way about him. You’ve been fawning over Neige for as long as I can remember.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up. “That was the old me. The dumb me. I mean, have you seen you?” You gestured dramatically toward him. “How could anyone even look at Neige when you exist?”

Vil was quiet for a moment, watching you intently. His violet eyes glinted with something unreadable, but you could tell he was pleased. Oh, he was very pleased.

“You certainly have changed,” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. “And I must admit, I find it rather… delightful.”

Before you could respond, a very familiar voice rang out from behind you. “Ah! What a beautiful reunion this is! A moment filled with l’amour, sparkling like the stars in the sky!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Rook Hunt appeared seemingly out of thin air, his hands dramatically clasped together as he beamed at you both. “I have seen many couples in my lifetime, but none quite so radiant as you two.”

You blinked, trying to recover from his sudden appearance. “Rook… were you just… hiding in the curtains again?”

Rook, ever the dramatist, placed a hand on his heart and smiled wistfully. “Ah, but how could I stay away when the beauty of your love draws me in like a moth to a flame?”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “Rook, you’re not helping.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Rook insisted, twirling in place with a flourish. “I am merely basking in the glow of what is surely a love for the ages! The way your eyes meet, the subtle tension in the air—it is magnifique!”

You sighed, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but chuckle at Rook’s antics. Meanwhile, from the other side of the ballroom, Epel was watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. He caught your eye and shot you a grin, raising his glass as if to say, Good luck with this.

But the fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Neige, the human embodiment of a children’s choir, started making his way toward you. As he approached, his bright eyes locked on yours, his smile so innocent and wide that you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.

Almost.

“Good evening!” Neige greeted you, his voice as sweet as sugar. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to properly meet.”

You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

Neige blinked, clearly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm. He probably wasn’t used to people not immediately falling at his feet. “It’s truly wonderful to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You squinted at him. “Mm-hmm.”

Vil, standing beside you, looked positively elated. You could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of him. He wasn’t even hiding his smile anymore.

Neige continued, oblivious to your complete disinterest. “I’m so glad we’ll have the chance to spend time together in the coming months! I hope we can—”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” you interrupted, turning away and pointedly ignoring his very existence.

Neige blinked again, looking like a lost puppy. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Vil, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. His arm slipped around your waist, his touch gentle. “I must say,” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ve never enjoyed one of these balls quite so much.”

Yup, maybe this novel isn't that trashy after all?

Everytime you think this novel might not be that bad, it manages to prove you wrong.

The day had finally arrived: the Founding Day Ball. The event to end all events, where the kingdom’s most distinguished were honored in a grand ceremony. And, of course, at the top of the list of honorees was Vil, who might as well have been carved into the actual history of the kingdom itself with how perfect he was.

As his partner for the evening, you were dressed to the nines, dripping in elegance you didn’t even know you were capable of. When you caught your reflection in one of the massive ballroom mirrors, you had to do a double-take.

"Who is that?" you whispered, eyes wide. "Oh. It’s me."

Honestly, if there was a chance of impressing anyone here, you were impressed with yourself.

The ceremony went as expected. Vil was awarded the highest honors, his name met with thunderous applause as he gave a speech that left the crowd swooning. You found yourself half-clapping, half-gawking, wondering how this man kept getting more perfect. Like, was he actually human?

But as the evening progressed, the dreaded scene you despised the most crept into the evening, like a bad smell at a gourmet dinner.

After the ceremony, it was time for the opening dance. Naturally, Vil, being the epitome of grace and nobility, was the prime candidate to lead it. You were fully expecting him to ask you, but before he could even turn in your direction, the heroine — yes, that heroine — appeared out of nowhere, like she was materializing straight from the pages of the worst romance novel ever written.

“Vil,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey and broken promises, “I trust you’ll grant me the honor of the first dance.”

You blinked. *Excuse me?*

She said it so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion, like she was used to the world revolving around her whims. It was the equivalent of someone just cutting the line in front of you at the store and expecting applause for their audacity.

Vil, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression was as cool and elegant as ever, but you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice smooth and polite, “I already have a partner for the first dance.”

The heroine’s face froze in a way that almost made you choke on your own breath. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, as if her brain couldn’t process the fact that someone had just told her no.

You, too, were a little stunned, for a seperate. Was she actually planning on throwing a tantrum right now? In public? At a literal state function?

“B-But you always dance with me,” she stammered, voice rising in disbelief, her face turning an alarming shade of pink. “I’m supposed to be your first dance!”

You physically had to stop yourself from snorting. Always? He has never even looked at her for longer than five seconds! You couldn't recall a single time Vil had given her anything beyond basic pleasantries. The only reason she’d be in his line of sight was because she was constantly putting herself there.

Vil’s lips twitched slightly, though whether it was out of irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “I don’t recall ever dancing with you,” he said calmly, as though she were discussing someone else entirely.

The heroine blinked, clearly taken aback. “W-What?”

Vil’s voice dropped to an even icier tone, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “In fact, I dislike the very idea of it.”

The heroine made a strangled sound behind you, like a baby bird trying to scream.

You looked around the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to pop out, because this had to be a prank. Who acts like this?!

And as you floated onto the dance floor with Vil, you couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute insufferable nature of the scene you’d just witnessed. This was, without a doubt, the moment that solidified your hatred for the trash-tier novel world you’d been trapped in. People like her actually existed here?

Behind you, the heroine stomped her foot like a petulant child, completely ignored by the crowd. It would’ve been almost sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

And as you twirled under the chandeliers, feeling Vil’s warmth beside you and the heroine’s tantrum echoing faintly in the background, one thing became crystal clear:

This novel may have been trash, but at least you were the one dancing with the prince of perfection.

It hit you like a ton of bricks one day—completely out of nowhere. You had been sitting in Vil’s study, watching him work. He was meticulously going over some documents, his brow furrowed in concentration, his golden hair falling perfectly in place despite him having been there for hours. You were supposed to be reading through some kingdom protocol book, but instead, your gaze kept drifting over to him.

He’s so… beautiful.

You blinked, the thought suddenly snapping you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

Wait…

Your eyes widened. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

You slammed the book shut, startling Vil from his work as you stood up abruptly. “I-I need some air.”

Vil raised an elegant eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden panic. “Something the matter?”

“No! Nothing’s the matter!” you said, far too quickly, your voice an octave higher than usual. You stumbled over your chair in your haste to get out of the room, nearly tripping on your own feet. “I just—need to—um—fresh air, yes, exactly!”

Before Vil could say anything else, you bolted from the study and down the hall, your heart racing as though you’d just run a marathon. You darted into the nearest empty room and pressed your back against the door, your mind swirling with confusion.

Am I falling for him?

You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified by the realization. “No… no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m in love with a character from this awful, brain-numbing novel?”

You slumped against the door, groaning as the full weight of the situation sank in. How could this happen? How could my first true love— you gagged at the phrase —be from this trash novel?

There was no escaping it now. The butterflies in your stomach every time Vil looked your way, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled, the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be close to him… it was all painfully obvious.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of embarrassment in this ridiculous world.”

And the worst part? It wasn’t even one of the good isekai novels. You’d somehow gotten stuck in what could be considered objectively the worst one, and yet here you were, head over heels for a character who—against all odds—turned out to be the most amazing person you’d ever met.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself, sliding down to the floor, your head falling back against the door with a thud. “I'm in love with Vil. I’m doomed. Completely doomed.”

“Mon Dieu! What a revelation!” a voice suddenly rang out from the shadows.

You yelped, whipping around to see none other than Rook Hunt—perched in the corner of the room like some kind of overly dramatic bird of prey, his hat casting a mysterious shadow over his eyes. His entire being radiated excitement, and you swore you saw actual sparkles in the air around him.

“Rook?! How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough, my dear,” he said, voice hushed with reverence, as though you had just confessed your deepest, most tragic secret. “Ah, love! The torment, the longing! The exquisite despair you must be feeling!” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm. “But fear not, mon ami, for I, Rook Hunt, shall be your faithful cupid! Together, we shall make Vil see the truth of your affections!”

You blinked, stunned. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s—"

“Ah, but you must!" Rook declared, swooping down to kneel dramatically before you. “Love, once realized, must be pursued with all one’s passion and determination! Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers like sand in the wind! I shall assist you!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sheer intensity of his expression made you falter. Rook was looking at you like this was the most important mission of his life.

Honestly, what did you have to lose at this point?

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Help me, Rook.”

Rook’s grin stretched so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Excellent! This will be an adventure for the ages!” Before you could even process what you’d agreed to, Rook leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “But we will need more help. A certain someone with a youthful spirit and just enough mischievousness to add that je ne sais quoi to our plans.”

Oh no.

Cue Epel.

“What the hell are you ropin’ me into?” Epel grumbled as Rook dragged him into your predicament not five minutes later.

“I have volunteered you for a most noble cause, mon petit pomme,” Rook said, not even breaking stride as he swept Epel into the room. “Our dear friend here is head over heels for our Vil, and we are going to help them win his heart”

Epel paused, blinking at you in disbelief. “Wait, Vil? That Vil?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Vil’s office was.

“Yes, that Vil,” you said flatly, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this point.

Epel gave you a dubious look. “And you agreed to let Rook help you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, fine. I’m in.” Epel shrugged, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it big.”

Thus began the most absurd, over-the-top, and borderline catastrophic schemes in an attempt to prove your love to Vil Schoenheit.

It started innocently enough. You wanted to make Vil his favorite tea. Simple, right? But Rook insisted that it couldn’t just be any tea. No, it had to be presented with an air of mystery and allure.

“Bring it to him while reciting a sonnet of devotion!” Rook suggested. “Declare your admiration with each step, so that he understands the depth of your feelings!”

“I’m not reciting a sonnet, Rook.”

Epel, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. “Or you could just… write him a note and leave it with the tea?”

That seemed normal. Rational. You’d take Epel’s advice. So, you snuck into Vil’s room, left the tea and a note on his desk, and slipped out before anyone noticed.

The next morning, Vil eyed you suspiciously over breakfast. “Did you leave tea in my study last night?”

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I see. How thoughtful.”

Then came Operation: Compliment Vil at Every Opportunity.

Rook, of course, insisted you be poetic. “Tell him his beauty rivals the very stars in the sky!”

“I’m not saying that.”

Epel chimed in with a much more straightforward approach: “Just tell him his hair looks nice. It’s always nice.”

But Rook’s enthusiasm was contagious, and before you knew it, you found yourself blurting out, “Your radiance is blinding today, Vil! Truly, I must shield my eyes from such ethereal beauty!”

Vil, who had been in the middle of inspecting his reflection, froze. His eyes darted to you, and he gave you a strange look.

“Are you… feeling alright? Did you perhaps get bitten by a stray Rook?”

You shook your head vigorously, your face heating up from how ridiculous you sounded. “Totally fine! Just… appreciating your beauty! Yep. Normal stuff.”

Vil didn’t say anything, but you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused—and maybe a little pleased—but more than anything, he seemed confused.

At least he didn’t think you’d lost your mind. Yet.

You were convinced this novel had it out for you from the beginning, but this? This was a new low. The memory loss trope, the final attempt to make your life as ridiculous as possible, had arrived—right on schedule.

You knew how it was supposed to go. You’d hit your head (a complete accident, obviously), wake up with no memory of Vil, and immediately make the worst decisions possible, like falling for that knockoff prince, Neige. Cue dramatic heartbreak, public humiliation, and eventual abandonment. Classic trashy novel shenanigans.

But apparently, the universe—or whatever cosmic force was in charge of your suffering—had decided to take a vacation after all the work it had been putting in. Because when you opened your eyes and saw Vil leaning over you, worry etched into his perfect face, instead of forgetting him, you were… immediately smitten?

What?

And it didn’t stop there. When he took your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles in that heartbreakingly tender way, it was like a light switch flipped. Your memories came rushing back, completely bypassing the whole convoluted plot about amnesia and bad decisions.

Because of course in this disaster of a novel, the solution to everything was true love's kiss. The most overdone, eye-rolling cliché in the history of romance, and yet here you were, living through it.

You almost laughed out loud. Of all the tropes this novel had thrown at you—evil fiancées, jealous heroines, duels for honor—this had to be the funniest. It was as if the universe had taken one look at your situation and said, “You know what? Let’s skip the suffering and go straight to the ridiculous happy ending.”

True love’s kiss. Really. This novel is mocking me at this point, you thought, fighting the urge to scream. But hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with more drama. And as Vil’s concerned gaze softened into a relieved smile, you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this was one trope you didn’t mind after all.

You'd almost given up on confessing. Maybe you'll just live like this forever, your fate was sealed. The novel clearly doesn't want you to tell him how you feel.

But there was another ball (because apparently that's the only place that nobility had be at in this novel. What was this? the 108th ball of the year?) You'd decided that you'll ask him for a stroll under the moonlight and just tell him.

Of course, the novel is not on your side. What's new?

The ball was going well—well, for you and Vil, anyway. You’d just finished dancing, and he looked absolutely stunning, as usual. You were basking in the afterglow of all the whispered praise and envious stares. That is, until you overheard someone bad-mouthing Vil.

Of course, it had to be the heroine’s best friend, who was apparently using this grand occasion to air her grievances.

“I just don’t understand why Vil is always so cold to her,” she whined, loud enough for everyone within a three-mile radius to hear. “She’s the saintess! She deserves kindness and adoration, not disdain.”

Cue the dramatic gasps from the crowd. Ah, here we go.

You shot Vil a look, but he merely shrugged, rolling his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to start any trouble. But you? Oh, you were about to flip the table on these idiots.

“Excuse me,” you began, stepping forward, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as you made your way over. “I couldn’t help but overhear your incredibly loud complaints about my fiancé.”

The heroine’s best friend froze, clearly not expecting you to get involved. You smiled sweetly, but your eyes were throwing daggers.

“Let me set the record straight. Vil isn’t cold to her because she’s the ‘saintess,’” you air-quoted the title, “He’s cold to her because she’s an insufferable brat who’s so used to getting her way that she throws a tantrum every time someone says ‘no.’”

More gasps from the crowd. You could see Neige stiffening across the ballroom, already sensing where this was going. But there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me started on you,” you pointed at the best friend, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re out here defending her honor like you’re some knight in shining armor when, let’s be real, you’re just as bad. You fawn over her like a lost puppy, expecting her to shower you with praise when all you do is enable her delusions.”

Vil, somewhere behind you, was probably trying not to laugh. But you weren't done.

“And as for your precious Neige over there?” you tilted your head toward the prince-wannabe, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “He’s not some perfect angel either. He’s just a guy with an unsettling talent for showing up at the most convenient times, with that same doe-eyed, clueless expression, making everyone feel sorry for him.”

You didn’t stop at Neige.

"And as for you," you said, spinning toward the brooding Duke of the North, the infamous second male lead, who had been leaning against a pillar, looking every bit the tall, tormented, handsome cliché. “You’re not fooling anyone either. You’re the king of melodramatic entrances. Always lurking in the shadows, trying to look mysterious, but really, you’re just sulking because no one’s paying attention to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you brooding? Again? Let me guess, you’re thinking about some dark secret that you’ll drop at the most inconvenient moment to make things worse for everyone, right?” You mimicked his deep, serious voice. “‘It’s the burden I must bear… alone.’” You threw your head back in mock agony, hands dramatically placed on your chest.

He straightened up, clearly offended, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And stop pretending like you’re some tragic hero,” you added, lowering your voice with a sharp edge. “You’re just a guy with commitment issues who sacrifices himself because you can’t handle the fact that the heroine doesn’t want you. Let it go.”

There was dead silence. You half-expected a chandelier to drop just for the dramatic effect. Even Vil had to look away for a moment, probably to hide the fact that he in tears, about to burst out laughing.

The heroine was slack-jawed, her best friend looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, and Neige… well, Neige just looked confused. As always.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and turned back to Vil, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe, as if he’d just witnessed some divine intervention.

You let out a satisfied huff and turned to leave. "Come on, Vil, I can't stand to be in the same room as these second-rate characters any longer, let's bounce"

Once outside, you saw Vil was still recovering, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think you may have traumatized half the ballroom.”

“Good,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “They deserved it. Especially that brooding Duke. ‘I sacrifice myself for the greater good.’ Ugh, give me a break.”

Vil chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. "Still, you didn’t have to go to such lengths for me."

You stopped in your tracks, spun around, and looked him dead in the eye. “Of course I did! I love you, Vil. I couldn’t just sit there and let them trash you like that.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. Oh. Well. There it was.

Vil’s eyes widened, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in your words. Then, without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, soft but sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had.

When he pulled back, his smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You love me,” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, a bit breathless from both the confession and the kiss. “Yes, Vil. I love you. Even with all your ridiculously high standards and obsession with skincare.”

Vil laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Vil pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist, and asked with a quiet, almost teasing tone, "Well then, since you love me so much... should we get married?"

You blinked, your brain taking a second to catch up. "Wait—what? Married? Like, right now?" You stared at him, heart racing, before suddenly, an idea lit up your face like a firework. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it. Let’s get married ASAP. Like, today. Right now. Do we even need a ceremony? We can find an officiant and—boom—done. Just tell me where to sign!”

Vil’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “Are you… serious?”

You grabbed his hand, absolutely buzzing with energy. “Of course, I’m serious! Why wait? This dumbass universe keeps throwing garbage tropes at us, and honestly? Getting married right now is the perfect way to flip the script! Take that, fate!"

Before Vil could respond, an overly excited voice erupted from behind a nearby pillar. “Oh là là! Mon cœur can hardly handle this romance!” Rook leaped out from the shadows, practically sparkling with joy, as if he had been waiting for this very moment all his life. "The passion! The declaration of love! And now, a spontaneous wedding? Magnifique!”

“Rook!?” Vil’s voice was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying?” Rook gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Non, non, Vil! I was merely ensuring your well-being as any devoted friend would!” He gave a wink, clearly pleased with his role as an unintended audience.

“Me too!” Epel poked his head out from behind another pillar, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, who’d wanna miss out on somethin’ like this? Y’all are gettin’ married!”

Vil let out a long, tired sigh, but you could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you said, grabbing his arm again and dragging him forward. “We’re doing this, and it’s going to be the best wedding in this entire stupid book, Rook, Epel, you’re both invited. Wait, scratch that, you’re both in the wedding party now!”

“C’est incroyable!” Rook twirled dramatically, hands clasped together, already imagining his outfit for the occasion. “I shall be the most loyal and stylish groomsman! Oh, l’amour!”

“And I get to wear somethin’ fancy, right?” Epel asked, already envisioning something much cooler than his usual attire.

Vil was now fully grinning, his initial surprise turning into genuine amusement as he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You really are something else.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be your something else forever.” You beamed up at him, still holding onto his hand like you might drag him to the altar yourself right now.

“Well then,” Vil sighed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get married.”

Before you could even start plotting where to drag Vil to find someone to officiate, Rook suddenly gasped, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Mon dieu! How could I forget? I am more than prepared for this moment!"

You and Vil exchanged puzzled looks. "What are you talking about, Rook?" Vil asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Rook grinned, remviong his hat and and dramatically pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Behold!" he announced, waving the paper with a flourish. "A certified license to officiate weddings. I took the liberty of acquiring it long ago, knowing that one day I’d be the one to unite you and your beloved. C’est le destin!"

“You’re… licensed?” Vil blinked, looking at Rook like he had officially lost it. "And you're walking around with the license in your hat?"

Rook nodded with a dazzling smile. “Why yes, I’ve been preparing for this glorious day! Every flower petal, every gust of wind, every glance of love I’ve witnessed between you both has been leading to this fated moment!” He struck a pose, the parchment still dramatically held aloft.

You stared at him, then back at Vil. "Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but honestly? This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I kind of love it. Let's just let him do it."

Vil put a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Are we really doing this?"

“Yes!” you declared, squeezing Vil's hand. “If we’re going full chaos, we’re going all the way. Rook, officiate the hell out of this wedding!”

Epel, watching the entire spectacle, burst into laughter. “Only in this house, I swear…”

Rook practically sparkled with joy, bouncing on his feet. “Oh là là, it will be my greatest honor! I’ve been rehearsing my officiating speech in front of the mirror for months”

“Months?” Vil repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his tone.

“Mais oui! Every day, I’d wake up and say, ‘Today could be the day!’” Rook sighed dramatically, already tearing up. “And here we are. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Now, shall we begin? I have the vows prepared, unless you have your own?”

You leaned into Vil, barely holding back laughter. “I have zero regrets about this. Absolutely zero.”

Vil sighed again but couldn’t stop smiling. “Only you could make something this absurd seem perfect.”

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Okay, this became way longer than I expected it to be but to be fair, i was on an extreme caffeine high and i'd just finished an assignment that had been beating my ass

also sorry for the neige slander, I don't hate him but vdc broke me

#Vil x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #au: nobility #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #trash novel chronicles #fem reader

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imnotshua · 1 month ago

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progress report: i am missing you to death - jww

٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2006 - you and wonwoo are better off as lovers ٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships, mutual pining. idiots in love. my babies are flawed and that's okay because so are real people. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid regular things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. they are both down bad. occasional use of pet names (baby & pretty), no use of y/n or other variations, plot and smut, mention of historical bullying, but nothing graphic or extreme. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses (lots), fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f & m receiving), no condoms but reader is on BC, sloppy, soooo much hand holding, sex!!!!!, hickeys, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 17.7k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: this work is the main instalment from my series sorry every song's about you. it’s complete on its own and can be read without the others. there’s a prequel already posted, it’ll be linked at the end and can be found on the series masterlist linked above. you choose the order you want to read them in. future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boy’s I slept with someone in Fall Out Boy and all I got was this stupid song written about me. I have a playlist linked on the series masterlist if you happen to be into that. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for reading this in fragments, over and over again until i got it right. jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate and love you both beyond belief. to @c-oupsie thank you for catching my errors and shouting at me about these two idiots in my dms, i love yelling, i appreciate you. to @daechwitatamic thank you for encouraging me, i appreciate you and your shouting too! to everyone who reads, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

January 2006

Wonwoo got the last choice for film night. He’d put on some period drama to make up for the torture he put you through earlier (another horror movie), one that’ll make you cry very soon probably, and sets the re-filled popcorn bowl between your legs. You pass him a bottle that he opens with his teeth, because for some reason you always forget to bring an opener from the kitchen, and once you’re tucked up in the blanket, with his thigh pressed against the side of yours, it feels too wrong to move.

It’s routine. It’s good. It’s been this way since school. Every Tuesday is reserved for taking up each other's space. Tuesday– because who else makes plans on Tuesdays? Watching movie after movie in his apartment until it gets too late to go home, and you sleep here. Can’t get interrupted on a Tuesday. (The only time you press pause is when either of you are dating someone, the last was Siyeon several months ago. You liked her, but Wonwoo never really talked about why he ended it.) You have a half hearted fight over who takes the sofa, but you always win out in the end. Wonwoo brings you pillows and pyjamas that smell like his laundry powder. It’s fine. It’s nice.

The problem is that lately your feelings have been running away with themselves again. You’re not sure how it started anew, or if they ever even fully went away, but the affection you have for him swirls, neglected and nameless, in your stomach. All Wonwoo has to do is smile in your direction and you melt. Made worse tenfold every time he holds your hand. It’s not often. Just when a particularly horrible scene comes on, and your spine goes rigid and you hold your breath, he’ll reach over, wrap his fingers around yours and use his thumb to work the tension out of your knuckles. He’s so good like this. You’ll take all the horror movies he wants for these soft moments, even though they make everything worse. He’s your best friend, and you’ve tried this two too many times. You never properly talked about the last time, the second time, four years ago.

(It’s like these feelings come in cycles.)

The end began with a sickness bug that stretched several days, and ended with a clipped voicemail, Wonwoo’s quiet contemplation obvious through the tinny sound of the recording, saying he wants to just be friends, saying he didn’t want to ruin what you have. That he cares about you so deeply that your friendship needs preserving over everything else. Yes, it hurt. God– it hurts. But you’d rather have him in your life in these half measures, than not at all.

His hand is on his leg now. You could touch but you won’t. What’s happening on screen isn’t the right kind of scary for holding Wonwoo’s hand. Just Laurie telling Jo he loves her, and Jo telling him she doesn’t. Not in that way. You sink onto your side, hardly watching the screen through fuzzy eyes. Wonwoo chuckles softly as he looks over.

“Are you crying?”

“No–” you say, voice thick.

“Oh you are,” he says, leaning over to stroke your hair.

“Don’t touch me right now, Wonwoo,” you warn. “I’ll bite you.”

“Freak.” He laughs and pulls his hand back. “Shit–”

“What?”

It’s obvious what. Wonwoo has knocked over the mostly-full bottle that was tucked between you, and it’s soaking into the seat.

You jump up to grab some paper towels from the kitchen, and when you come back Wonwoo is stripping the covers from the cushions. “Fuck, it’s soaked. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you ask, patting the excess liquid from the cushions. ‘It’s your sofa.”

“Yeah but it’s your bed.”

“Who says I was even gonna stay?” you joke.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll call a taxi.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It’s one AM, you’re not going home now.”

You laugh. “And where, pray tell, am I going to sleep?”

“My room,” he says, without any idea how the thought of that has been floating through your mind for weeks. You haven’t slept in there since– since– “Hansol’s on the night shift, I’ll take his.”

You chew on the fat of your cheek. “Okay, sure. That works.”

There’s a knock at the half open door an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo whispers. “I can’t sleep.”

“Does it smell again?”

“It’s like something died in there. And there’s crumbs in the bed.”

Okay. Okay. It’s fine.

Wonwoo slips into the bed next to you, pulls the sheets right up to his shoulders even though he must be boiling in those pyjamas. Maybe he’s feeling strange about this, too. You turn on your side to find him watching your face already, cautious eyes and words unsaid on his lips.

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Is this too weird?”

“Not weird,” he says. A pause. “A little weird. It’s been a while.” He reaches for your hand and you let him take it. Dummy.

“Do you think Jo and Laurie should’ve ended up together?” Wonwoo asks, after a minute.

“She didn’t love him.”

“Wouldn’t it have been a better story if she had?”

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been them then, right? Jo and Laurie in love would’ve been different people entirely.”

Here he is, fingers entwined with yours and much too close. Here you are, four years older and not at all wiser. You are Laurie, pathetic and yearning, and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to get that he’s Jo, and that sometimes his tenderness makes you ache.

“Goodnight, best friend,” he says.

Some things shouldn’t change even when they do.

“Goodnight, best friend,” you say.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol opens the bedroom door at just past six AM. He clocks the bed, the lump under the sheets, the just visible hair, face hidden by Wonwoo’s shoulder. He locks eyes with Wonwoo, who has been laid wide awake for the better part of an hour, trying not to move lest he wakes you too, and mouths Who’s that?

Wonwoo mouths back your name, and Hansol’s jaw hangs open. He makes a crude gesture with his hands, and raises curious eyebrows. Wonwoo gives him the finger.

A little later, while you’re attempting to rush out the door for a seminar, Hansol is shovelling cereal in his mouth, and Wonwoo is sitting at the table with a coffee. Hansol asks around a mouthful of Frosties– “so, are you two fucking again?”

“What? No.”

Hansol swallows loudly, frowning confused. “What’s the wet patch on the couch?”

“Ew– it’s beer, you weirdo.” You’re staring at Hansol in disbelief. “Even if we were hooking up I don’t fuck on shared furniture.”

Wonwoo suppresses a choke on his coffee. You throw him a pointed look, lips twisting with the effort of trying not to laugh.

(You and he did, once, on the aforementioned sofa.)

“Why did you sleep in his–” Hansol gestures with an accusing spoon at Wonwoo. “–bed, then?”

“Because it smells like a skunk shat in your room, Hansol, maybe you should wash your arsehole once in a while.”

“I’m squeaky clean, buddy.”

“I doubt that, pal.”

Hansol laughs. He’s loving this. “You need to get laid so badly, shall I help find someone big and strong to pull that gigantic stick out your a–”

“Oh my God, please shut up,” Wonwoo interrupts. “It’s so weird you two are related, who talks with their cousins like this?”

“Second cousins,” you and Hansol correct in unison.

“Just to clarify– you’re not together again?”

You roll your eyes so hard all Wonwoo can see is white. “We weren’t ever together,” you say, exasperated. “We’ve been over this before.”

Wonwoo rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You’re going to be late,” he says to you.

You look at your watch. “Shit– bye best friend, call me tomorrow. Smell you later, Hansol.”

You’re already halfway out the door, and Hansol is calling after you, “Gonna find you a boyfriend! That’s a warning!”

When the door clicks closed, Hansol turns on Wonwoo. “You’re donezo, I guess?”

Wonwoo sips his coffee. “Never started-zo.”

That sounded less stupid in his head.

Grinning wide, Hansol says, “You won’t mind if I introduce her to Minghao, then?”

Wonwoo presses his forehead against the table and tries to consider how much Hansol’s parents would miss him if he were to flush their son down the toilet.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

February 2006

Wonwoo hovers his cursor over the Submit button. He hesitates. Could remove one of the options, the long shot, and replace it with something more achievable. He’s not going to get it, and if he did he’s under no obligation to take it. It’s more for his ego than anything else, he tells himself. But Professor Lee had insisted he throw his hat in the ring, so he does, and tries not to panic over having made a horrible error of judgement once he clicks submit, because now it’s too late– it’s in the ether.

You turn over in your sleep, uncomfy in the ball you’d tucked yourself into before drifting off, and your leg unfurls over him, seeking warmth and closeness. Wonwoo sets his laptop on the nightstand, and shifts down carefully next to you. It’s nights like these that Wonwoo is convinced that his life isn’t really real. Because isn’t it some funny joke that you’re here next to him like this, and you’re both still worlds apart. Touches are considered and well-mannered, despite how they used to be. But here you are in your ridiculous Pompompurin pyjamas and he wonders if you ever think about the last time you wore these with him. Probably not. It wouldn’t be considered memorable to anyone else, he thinks. Just a late breakfast in bed, that turned into non-stop talking, that turned silly, peppered kisses into lazy, deepened ones, forgoing lunch in favour of laying together, just close, in ways not completely unlike you are now. In some parallel universe, in some other life, this could still be happening in the way it was meant to.

Wonwoo considers how well he really knows you now, if it’s less than before, if your favourite colour is still the same as it was when you were children together. There are some questions you don’t think to ask your best friend of twenty years, because it’s expected you’ll already know. Unfortunately, Wonwoo knows nothing of the things inside your head, and someday you’ll find out. Tomorrow he’s going to ask what your favourite colour is, and hopefully that someday won’t be anytime soon.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo surprises you when he picks up the phone on a Friday evening.

“Oh– hello. I was preparing to leave you a message. Aren’t you playing WoW?”

“Runescape,” he says. “Just getting snacks. What’s up?”

“Mum called, said I’ve got a letter there about our class reunion next month, the eighteenth.”

“Ah yeah, Jihoon mentioned that it was coming up.”

“You wanna go? I could rent a car.”

“Oh so you’re volunteering me as the driver?” You can hear Wonwoo’s smile through the phone. “When are you planning on getting your licence?”

You pout, even though he can’t see you. “Come onnn, won’t it be fun? I promise I’ll be good company.”

Wonwoo laughs. “How good?”

“I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Uh huh–”

“And I’ll burn three new CDs.”

“Four.”

“And I’ll burn four new CDs.”

“Okay, getting closer.”

“And, uh– honestly that's all I had.” You wrack your brain and come up with nothing of substance. “I’ll uh– I’ll hype you up in front of that girl you had a crush on. Whatsername? The cheerleader. God, it’s on the tip of my tongue–”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The girl– that girl you liked once. The one with the hair–”

“I genuinely have no idea who you mean.” He does sound confused, actually.

“Damn,” you say. “That’s all my bargaining chips.”

“Damn,” he echoes, with a click of his tongue. “Guess you’ll have to take me to dinner if you can’t remember who my mystery girl is.”

“So you’ll drive us?”

“Rent the car.”

“Thanks dear, you’re a real friend,” you sing-song. “Love you, see y–”

“Wait,” he says. “Wanna come over and play Mario Kart?

“Right now?”

“Yeah, you can stay the weekend. If you want.”

There was a phrase Wonwoo’s dad always used to use for the pair of you. Birds of a feather flock together. You’re flocking so often you hardly have to think about it. Just comes naturally. Nothing else is going on, and a weekend playing games and eating out of Wonwoo’s fridge instead of your own is a decent offering. Maybe he’ll have rented that film he talked about last week. The Descent? You’ll tolerate it, if he’ll squeeze your hand through the awful parts.

“Sure, okay. I’ll pack a bag.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

March 2006

The last weeks of winter feel too long, but today there is a breath of warmth in the air and it feels good good good. March is always the best time of year for dreaming, you think. Feels especially good when you’re watching 28 Days Later, and Wonwoo holds your hand through the whole thing. It’s not even as scary as the others he’s had you sit through, but holding his hand feels nice. Every Tuesday since Little Women has ended in his bed. Feels like old times, without any of the touching and all of the one sided angst.

When it’s your turn, Wonwoo groans at the sight of the Sense and Sensibility box, but it’s gently done.

“You cannot complain when we’ve been watching horror every week lately,” you admonish, pointing at him with one of your fries. He bites at it and you throw the remaining half at his face. “You know I hate them.”

Wonwoo grins. “You should complain more, then.”

You hum your agreement. “Well it’s because I’m so selfless that I don’t, you see.”

“Sure, sure,” Wonwoo laughs. His laugh is so lovely. “That’s why you’re taking up my entire bed every Tuesday night.”

You scoff. “I sleep very mindfully, actually. I even curl into a little ball so your giraffe legs have enough space.”

“Is that so?” Wonwoo tugs at the material of your (his) pyjama bottoms. “Then explain why I’ve woken up with your legs draped over me every time?”

You blink. Can feel the heat on your ears. Thank God it’s dark. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise.”

A pause.

“I don’t mind,” he says. Quiet. Suddenly too serious. You can’t look at him. “You’ve always slept like that.”

“Movie’s starting,” you say. And that’s that.

Later, Wonwoo squeezes in beside you in his tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. He bumps his hip into your side, smiles at you in the mirror, and it feels so horribly domestic you might actually throw up. It doesn’t make sense what you’re doing.

When you finish brushing your teeth you look down the hallway to the sofa, think briefly about taking it, but Wonwoo steps out behind you, tugs on your sleeve and asks if you’re coming to bed. There’s toothpaste on the corner of his lip. This time four years ago you would’ve wiped it away. Now you just tap at the corner of your own, say got something there and let Wonwoo sort himself out.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s a rare Tuesday that Hansol is home. He takes Wonwoo’s usual spot next to you, showing you pictures of some guy on his laptop while Wonwoo is fetching drinks and snacks from the kitchen, and when he comes back in the room he blinks, surprised that he’s been relegated to the armchair. He leans over the arm of the sofa to peer at the Myspace profile loaded on Hansol’s screen.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Hansol here is trying to get me a date.”

“Am not,” Hansol rebuts. “Though if I were, is he the sort of guy you’d be interested in?”

“Uh–”

Wonwoo’s sharp laugh sounds like a bark. “No, Soonyoung is not her type.”

You swat at him. “What would you know about my type? None of my exes have been remotely similar. He’s hot.”

“Sure, but he’s not for you,” Wonwoo insists. “He’s not serious about anything–”

Hansol sighs, dejected. “We’re never gonna get him laid–“

You stare at the screen. “And apparently he’s a virgin–”

“Don’t shame him,” Hansol says flatly.

“I’m not! It’s just surprising, that’s all!”

“Okay, fine, what about this guy–” He’s already closing off his profile and loading another. It’s all grunge and dark compared to the neon green garishness of the previous. He’s tall, long dark hair, painted nails. That’s all you get to see before Wonwoo is snapping the laptop closed.

“I’m putting on the movie now, guests choice first.”

“Who pissed in your cereal?” asks Hansol.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just flops into the chair opposite, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the title screen on the TV.

Pride and Prejudice begins, and no less than five minutes in, Hansol sags against the back of the sofa. “Borrrrring. Can we watch Shrek instead?”

Wonwoo glances at you, and you shrug. Hansol takes that as a yes, and disappears off to his room to dig out the DVD from underneath the mess.

“We can watch it another time,” Wonwoo offers. But you don’t care about that. You’re wondering if Wonwoo is keeping his secrets again. If Hansol knew much about your past, more than the hooking up, more to do with the depth of the feelings you once had for each other, would he be trying to set you up with his and Wonwoo’s friends, right in front of him?

Later, you lay in Wonwoo’s bed and ask why he isn’t dating anyone. He’s on the verge of sleep, can hear it with how low his voice is, how soft.

“Don’t wanna,” he hums, eyes closed. “M’happy as I am.”

Ah.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Dating someone.”

“Well I’ve got terribly high standards, you see.”

Wonwoo laughs, grins lazy and sweet. “Not high enough. All your partners have been awful.”

“Not all of them,” you argue.

“Name one.” His big brown eyes open just enough for him to level you with them.

You could say anything. Anything. You could say what you really mean, and it could be okay. It could not, too.

“Remember Park Sungkyu? He was pretty great.”

Wonwoo tickles your middle, and you yelp, swatting at him and suppressing a giggle. “Boys from when we were six don’t count.”

“He gave me a crown for my birthdayyy!” you sing-song. “He called me his Princess.” Wonwoo tickles you again and you jolt.

“Okay, okay, you’re right! I have terrible taste! Now stop torturing me, you freak.”

“Whatever Her Majesty desires.”

You kick him in the shin in exaggerated outrage but all Wonwoo does is smile wide, grossly pleased with himself. He’s beautiful like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s the weekend and you’re watching Pride and Prejudice from Wonwoo’s bed. Hansol has taken over the living room with a group of friends, and their yelling is so loud it feels like they’re right outside the door. It’s the final game for something or other, you didn’t really listen. It’s unseasonably warm, and though the window is thrust open the air hangs still and heavy in this room. You’re laid shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sheets pushed down to your feet. Occasionally, his thigh brushes yours and it’s nice. His hand twists, palm up, and his thumb strokes your wrist. You like how it feels deliberate.

It gets to the part where Elizabeth turns down Mr Darcy’s proposal and Wonwoo sniffs. You near snap your neck to look at him. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

“You are. Your eyes are all watery.”

He gestures at the screen. “This is fucked up. They could just talk to each other.”

You shrug, turning back to the screen. Elizabeth finishes up her speech, Mr Darcy looks at her lips, they lean in and hold back. The desperation in his voice, his breathy please, has your chest knotted tight and uncomfortable. “Without a little miscommunication there wouldn’t be any story at all,” you say.

“Love doesn’t need to be a story,” says Wonwoo, flat. “It could just be.”

“But then we wouldn’t have films, my dearest friend. And all this yearning makes me feel alive.”

Wonwoo knocks his foot against yours, and you nudge him back. More cheers from down the hall.

“I hate yearning. Makes me feel sick.”

You laugh then, rolling onto your side and looking over at him. Your heart is thumping so loud he can surely hear it. Don’t say it. Don’t push. “What have you ever yearned for?”

Fuck. What a stupid thing to say.

He doesn’t look at you. Rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and clams up. “Nothing. Nevermind.” And there it is. He’ll touch on his terms and won’t give the feeling a name. He pushes up from the bed. “Want ice cream?”

“No,” you grumble, slipping down flat on the bed and stretching out your arms, eyes fluttering shut to tuck up the feeling in them. “Wanna sleep. This weather makes me tired.”

“Let's sleep then,” he says. “We can finish the rest in the morning.” He shuts off his laptop and makes to take off his t-shirt, but stops, clearly thinking better of it.

You poke his arm. “I don’t mind if you want to sleep without it. It’s boiling.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah. Nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.”

His shoulders go all stiff for a second. Stupid.

“Aren’t you warm too?”

Yes. The sweat is starting to make your shirt stick to your skin. “No, I’m okay.”

Wonwoo shrugs off his clothes, tosses them to the chair (keeps his underwear on even though he usually wouldn’t, as some attempt at consideration for the blockades between you ever since– since before) and lays down. Your eyes meet in the half-dark for a moment, and there is something unwritten in his expression. The backs of your hands brush, and it’s still not the right kind of scary to make this touch okay. You can feel the warmth beaming out of him, and you almost tell him how lovely he looks with his skin all flushed and shiny like this. But then he turns his back on you, whispers goodnight, best friend to the wall, and you hold your breath for a moment, while you sink into the depths of your wanting.

You can’t be the one to bring up the possibility of you, together, again. It’s too humiliating. You should let this go.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Thanks to traffic the drive takes longer than expected. It doesn’t matter. Despite burning six CDs, and stealing four from Hansol’s collection, Wonwoo has you play From Under the Cork Tree twice in the first half of the drive. For the first two hours you talk non-stop, the next is taken up speculating on and placing bets on the lives of the classmates you haven’t already reconnected with on Facebook. You spend the fourth half-snoozing, while Wonwoo hums along to Snow Patrol. He’s gently singing the wrong lyrics to Set Fire to the Third Bar, when Jihoon calls your mobile.

“Hi Jihoon,” you murmur, and then holding up the phone to Wonwoo’s ear– “Say hi.”

“Hi Jihoon,” says Wonwoo obediently. “We’re still two hours away– shitty traffic.”

You take the phone back, and say, “Are we meeting you there tonight or do you guys wanna come pregame with us and Wonwoo’s parents?”

Jihoon laughs. “How much pregaming are we talking?”

“I need at least two drinks before I set foot in the same room as Choi Hwangyu.”

“Haven’t you let that whole mortal enemies thing go yet?”

“Never,” you assert, crossing your heart. Wonwoo laughs. “It’s a mutual hatred that will last for all eternity.”

“You know– ‘all eternity’ is a redundant phr–”

“Oh my Godddd.”

You settle on the plan for the evening quickly. You and Wonwoo will have dinner with his parents, change into something that smells less like rental car and chilli Doritos, and Jihoon and Iseul will meet you at the pub before heading to the venue near your old school.

You flip the phone to end the call, and Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your knee.

“You gonna be okay? Seeing him?”

It started off as just a bunch of guys being dickheads, nothing too worthy of note. Hwangyu took it further. Snapping your bra strap in the middle of class, spilling drinks over your shirt in front of the entire lunch hall, spreading baseless rumours about boys you’d supposedly hooked up with. Once he started telling people you blew him in the chemistry lab during lunch break, Wonwoo and Jihoon stopped taking notice of your asking them to not intervene and “had words” after school. Wonwoo didn’t walk you home that day– had his friend from the year below, Mingyu, walk you instead. Jihoon told you not to ask so you never did, but just like that Hwangyu stopped giving you grief. Even back then you hated the fact that it took other guys to get him to leave you alone. Patriarchy rules even at the turn of the twenty-first century. How gross.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I looked him up a few days ago. Guess what?”

“He’s divorced?”

“Divorced thrice.”

Wonwoo laughs. “We’re twenty-six, how does someone find the time to get married to and divorced from three different people?”

“We could’ve been married already had we not spent eight years fucking around at university.” You’re laughing until you notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows pinch in the middle, a weird lopsided smile on his face, and you realise what you just said. You cough. “Not we. You know what I mean. My question was more how did he find three separate people who want to fuck him?”

“Urgh, I’d rather not have that visual, thanks.”

Snow Patrol wraps up, and you dig out the CD case from under your feet. “Okay, what next? Arctic Monkeys or My Chemical Romance?”

“Can we have Fall Out Boy again?”

“Oh my G–”

“I really liked that fifth one.”

You fiddle taking Snow Patrol out the player and popping Fall Out Boy back in, trying not to scratch their bottoms.

“Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner? Yeah, it’s my second favourite.”

“What’s your first?” asks Wonwoo.

“XO, the last one.” You tip your head back against the headrest, close your eyes, listen to Wonwoo sing, and wonder if it’s him or the music that makes your heart beat faster.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s fun, really. Catching up with all these people you haven’t seen in eight years, and Jihoon and Iseul, who you last saw seven months ago, and Wonwoo, who you see all the time. After your first rounds, the four of you huddle at the table on the furthest edge of the room, Iseul tells you about how her job is having her relocate to your city, and could you show her around (you will—of course you will. The idea of your old friend being there in your home makes you giddy, and Wonwoo laughs when you clap your hands in excitement.), Jihoon tells you all about his latest projects, and you and Wonwoo catch them both up on your studies. Eventually the group breaks off, Wonwoo to the bathroom, Jihoon to the bar, and Iseul spots another friend across the room, and darts off with a promise to be right back.

You take the moment of quiet to check your texts. Mingyu and Seokmin have heard you’re in town, they want to hang out tomorrow. Your mother wants to know if you’re staying the night with her or your father (neither, you’re staying with Wonwoo’s parents, who were far more glad to see you than your own parents would be), and Wonwoo, who has messaged from the bathroom.

Wonwoo: You’re taking me for dinner after this btw.

You: Wash your hands before texting me, you pig!

There’s a clearing of a throat behind you, and you turn, half expecting Wonwoo there saying something smart in reply, but it’s not.

“Oh. Hello.”

Your voice is anything but friendly. It seems Hwangyu still has the same unwarranted self-assuredness that pissed you off back then, because once addressed, he settles himself into the chair just vacated by Iseul and leans into your space.

You lean back. “Can I help you?”

“Did you come with Jihoon?’

You blink stupidly. He must not recognise you.

“No.”

He smirks, lazy, out the side of his mouth.

“Good,” he says, slow. “Can’t stand that guy.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’ve grown into your looks, haven’t you? Nice dress.”

There goes that hopeful theory of him not recognising you, but what in the God awful fuck is happening? Is he trying to pick you up? No apology, not even a pleasantry to speak of, just headfirst into some backhanded compliment and a sleazy smile. These men should only exist as fictional villains, not out in the real world.

You’re trying to gather your words. The planned retorts in your head don’t work in a situation where this is the angle he’s taking. Shit.

“I looked you up,” he says, not looking at you. Eyes darting, nervous almost, across the room. You spot his usual friend group, they’re all looking over like hyenas. “A few weeks ago.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Wanted to see if you were single. I always liked you, you know.”

The sound of your laugh takes you by surprise. Comes out more like a bark. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

He doesn’t have the good grace to look contrite. Instead he drums his chewed up fingers on his knee, and says, “Got your attention, though.”

There is stale air around him, hair already peppered at the sides. He looks older than his years, and affected. The hate isn’t eternal, because you just feel something like pity for him. Not so much that you’d forgive the way he treated you, but enough to let it go. Enough to be able to sit here and think that at least you remained kind, and three separate women divorced him before he got within touching distance of thirty. What a sad little life.

“Are you still Jeon Wonwoo’s girl?”

You roll your eyes. About to say no, the truth, because not wanting him has absolutely nothing to do with Wonwoo, and he should know that– but a hand on your shoulder stills you. “Yeah, she is,” says Jihoon, from behind you. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. I am,” you echo, because you’re not going to let Hwangyu call your friend a liar.

Much too slowly, Hwangyu makes his exit. Exchanges stiff pleasantries with Jihoon, and tries with Iseul who doesn’t return them (she’s a wonderful friend), and slips away to his old friends across the hall. You watch– they clap him on the shoulder, jeer at him, make faces like a twelve year old would. Some friends.

Jihoon and Iseul sit back down in their respective seats. Exchange a look, and you heave a frustrated sigh, just before Wonwoo returns from the bathroom. His eyes flick between you, catching the smell of the tension, and sinks slowly into his seat next to yours.

“What did I miss?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingyu and Seokmin are playing pool, badly. You can hear their yelling from all the way over here. Someone has started playing Boyz II Men on the jukebox. Jihoon is drunk, sings along to the words. His voice has always been pretty. Iseul joins in, and hers is less so, but it’s so fun to watch them together.

‘I know the colour of love

And it lives inside of you

I know the colour of truth

It's in the image of you’

They’re another set of friends who could have been, but didn’t. It’s a shame they could never figure it out. You and Wonwoo clink your bottles together, take a sip, and Wonwoo lets you lean against him. His arm rests on the bench behind your back, his hand on your shoulder. He’s a little drunk, as are you, and it’s nice to be home and in all your old haunts.

You rest the back of your head in the crook of his neck, and ask him what he thinks the colour of love is.

Wonwoo hums in thought, runs his thumb along the length of your shoulder blade. “I don’t know, I’ll need to think about it. What do you think it is?”

“It’s pink.”

“Why?”

Blush pink, soft, and subtle, and sweet. The colour of his cheeks when he’s shy. The colour of the soft sweater he wore one time, while you were walking along the river and he was happy and goofy and lovely, swinging your clasped hands high in the sky. The colour of the flowers he buys for your birthday, the same kind (your favourite) every year without fail. His corsage on prom night. The fuzzy feeling you get in your stomach when he laughs is pink. Painted clouds at sunset, lovehearts, strawberries, the Milky Way, cherry blossoms. Pink is the colour of hopeless romantics, and the colour of the Wonwoo shaped hole in your heart.

He taps you, gentle. “Get distracted?” he asks. You nod. “Drunk?”

“Getting there.”

“Why pink?”

It’s too much to say. “Valentines Day. Duh.”

Britney Spears comes on the jukebox. Iseul squeals loud and drags you up to dance. Wonwoo watches you, his smile beaming, and you can hardly look at him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, when Wonwoo lays in bed (the air mattress on the floor of his childhood bedroom), he’s still mulling over your question. Your arm is hanging over the edge of his old bed, fingers close enough to touch. He doesn’t. You’d fallen fast asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Wonwoo thinks about when you were children. Digging in the grass, plucking leaves from trees (Biggest one wins! Wins what? I dunno, a promise?), the first shoots of the tulips you and he planted in your grandfather's garden. He’s had so many shared firsts with you. There was no obligation, no forced time spent, just two kids who chose the comfort of one another over everyone else. It’s really something that you’ve still stuck like glue, all these years, as you’ve grown and reincarnated into several different people. Every time, you’ve chosen each other, even when it didn’t work.

The colour of love is green. It’s in all those moments he felt most free. Like anything could happen. Like everything is fresh and new and an adventure to be had. It’s in the wig you wore for Halloween one year, and you made him laugh so hard he cried. It’s in the way you ground him when his heart is racing, when you drag him outside to stand in the park, make him kick off his shoes and socks and stand on the grass to feel the earth beneath his body. He always feels silly until it works. It’s in the bauble you painted for his parents when you were eight, tucked away for safekeeping in the attic, brought out every December to hang on the tree. It’s the colour of the blanket his mother knitted you years ago, that you still keep, spread out on top of your bed. His colour is in the dress you wore the very first time, and in another one, more sensible and grown, that you wore last night. His colour is all his moments with you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 2006

“If I have to move to Busan you’ll come visit me, right?”

You purse your lips and hum loud for dramatic effect. Wonwoo throws a cushion at your face, and you laugh, swatting at him and missing by a mile.

You’re laying down with your bare feet in his lap, while Wonwoo balances his laptop precariously on the arm of the sofa to check on his applications. The news trickles slowly, only a few people have heard back, so far. You’re almost done with your program, and Wonwoo is just about to start. People have called him a late bloomer before, but he just takes a little while to come around. Needs it to be a sure thing before he gets his head out of the sand. He’s starting to realise that in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters.

“Say yes.”

“I’ll have to get my drivers licence,” you say, thinking possibilities out loud. “But sure, I’ll get the train in the meantime.”

You push up and lean over him to peer at his screen, place your hand on his bicep for balance. Wonwoo tries not to think too much about it.

“Where else did you apply?” you ask, scanning the page.

Wonwoo lists off. “SNU, KNUH, PNU–”

“Cambridge?” Your voice is small, and he hates it. “I didn’t know you still wanted to go.”

Wonwoo shrugs. He does. Cambridge had been a fantasy for a while, all his adult life and then some, and the research fellow for the Keros Project couldn’t be a better opportunity. Six months in Greece, five in England. But also he doesn’t. Both because you’re his constant, and this is new ground. What if he leaves? Even if it’s just Busan– if he leaves this city, would you still be birds?

He won’t get in.

“I won’t get in.”

“But you applied?”

“Professor Lee insisted,” Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed and already sick of hearing himself talk about it. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t try. Seriously though, they only take a few applicants. It’s not going to be me. It’ll be Busan for me, most likely.”

You’re quiet for a moment, hand still on him like you’ve forgotten all about it.

“Cambridge would be stupid if they didn’t take you,” you say, smiling tiny and false. “Not sure how often I could visit though.”

Wonwoo’s skin feels all hot. Would crawl out of it, if he could.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hansol’s friend, Minghao (the one from Myspace) is in the arts. It suits him. He talks at length about his various projects– painting, interpretive dance, a four man performance he’s directed that will soon be playing at some hole in the wall venue (that he asks if you’d like to see. You would.) and it’s nice to be around someone that shows their interest in you so clearly. He asks about your studies and seems genuinely interested when you talk about the impact candlelight vigils have on policy making. How the government consistently underestimates its people. It’s a rare occurrence that a date takes interest in your work. Wonwoo talks with you about it all the time, of co– but that’s not– he’s not–

It’s just different when it’s a date.

He’s perfectly polite. Buys your coffee and holds the door. Walks on the road side of the footpath, even. Minghao would be easy for you to like. He’s funny, and thoughtful, and takes notice. He’s bold. He’s a welcome distraction.

But Wonwoo is still there.

He’s pressed into every crevice of your mind. He’s your past and present and only God knows if he’s in your future. Later, you call, but of course you get the answerphone– he did say yesterday that he’d be in the library all weekend.

“Hey, Wonwoo, it’s me. Listen– will you come over when you hear this? Doesn’t matter what time. Use your key. Okay. Okay. Bye.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s late when Wonwoo lets himself in. Heard your message just after two and walked straight out the door, rode his bike all the way here.

The apartment looks like it always does. He’s hardly spent much time here in recent years, save for the occasional lingering in the living room before heading out somewhere neutral. Doesn’t feel right being in your space anymore, not after how it all ended last time, with water brash in his mouth. He still thinks about that. It’s why movie night is only ever at his place. So when you called and asked him to be here, to use his key, he knew something was awry.

Seoyoung, your new-ish roommate, is in the living room, sitting on the ledge and blowing smoke out the window. She moved in about four months ago and you’ve quickly become good friends. She looks up at Wonwoo and waves, mouths she’s asleep and Wonwoo acknowledges with whispered “ah– thanks.”

Wonwoo knocks on your half open door, but you don’t stir, in too deep a sleep. You don’t notice the door clunk closed louder than Wonwoo intends. The mattress dips under his weight and still you don’t move. It’s only when he squeezes your hand that you blink the sleep from your eyes, puffy cheeks and always lovely. You stretch out like a cat, willing the fatigue away with a sigh that turns to a yawn, and Wonwoo feels immense guilt for having kept you waiting. More still for waking you up, but you wouldn’t have asked him to come if you didn’t want to talk right away.

You pat the space next to you in silent invitation and Wonwoo hesitates.

“I’m in my outdoor clothes.”

“One of your t-shirts is in the bottom drawer,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes and pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard.

Wonwoo changes in the bathroom. Washes his face and thinks about the last time he used your sink. The feelings haven’t changed, just bottled. Matured. He has a similar unease in every fibre of his body. Feels like static energy on his fingertips and he needs to rub it away.

The silence stretches when he sinks down into the empty space of the bed. You draw patterns onto the sheets with a fingertip and stare down at the dimples you make. He wants to still your hand, to turn it over in his and ask why you called him over. Doesn’t, because you’re working up to it, can tell you’ve got tightness in your chest just by the sound of your breathing. You lean into him, sagging against his side and head tipped to rest on his shoulder. He has to stop himself pressing his lips to your crown.

“I’m sorry I kept this,” you murmur, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Wear it to sleep, sometimes.”

He remembers it wasn’t in the bag of things you’d handed him, a couple of weeks after he left you that message on your answerphone. He figured it’d just been mislaid, didn’t occur to him that you’d tucked it away for yourself.

“I don’t mind.” Always looked better on you anyway.

You loop your arm around his.

“I went on a date today.”

Oh.

“Minghao?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo nods. He could see that working. You’ve always wanted something romantic. Someone who could have nineteenth century novels written about them. Minghao seems like that type.

“He’s asked me out again.”

“Okay.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, feels like he knows where this is headed because you’ve both dated people since last time. It’s never had to be a conversation though. Movie nights become strictly group activities, any day of the week is fine. It’s okay. It’s out of respect, or whatever.

“Should I go?”

“It’s your room,” Wonwoo deadpans.

“On the date, idiot.”

He swallows. “I don’t know. Do you like him?”

You shrug. “I could.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Wonwoo–”

“We don’t talk about stuff like this.”

“We need to,” you insist. “What are we doing?”

There it is. The question he’s been dreading. The question he hoped you wouldn’t ask because he doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know how to take the feelings in his chest and wrap them neatly into words. All he wanted to do was just let it happen, if it were to happen at all, on your terms. Except now you’re asking him to give it a name, and his throat goes dry. He’s doing it again. Despite how he’s tried letting you go, despite keeping a respectable distance, he’s still managing to slip his way back in like this. Lately, Wonwoo has been wondering if he’s a narcissist, since he doesn’t even realise he’s manipulating the situation until it’s too late, and you’re saying what he can’t. You’re so much braver than he is. It wasn’t until week five (six?) of holding your hand that he realised he was choosing horror movies deliberately so he’d have a reason to touch you. It got to the point when the background music would feature its first minor key of many, and your palm would turn outwards, just waiting for him to clasp it in his and hold you through the scene. He’s given you a Pavlovian response. Isn’t that completely fucked?

“Wonwoo,” you plead. His heart jolts. “I won’t wait for you forever.”

He tips his head back against the headboard, eyes closed because he can’t bear to look at you while he admits it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “What I’ve been doing?”

“Nothing you do makes sense to me.”

The silence feels all thick and pliable.

Quietly, he confesses. “I don’t want you to date him. Anyone, really.”

Feels as though he’s sinking into syrup. Hard to move, hard to breathe. Hears your jagged inhale and steels himself for the ripping of the plaster.

“What do you want, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo is a poorly knitted scarf. All slipped stitches and fast forming holes. One tug on a loose thread and he comes apart.

“I want to be yours.”

He doesn’t expect your touch, let alone your kiss, gentle and loving on his shoulder. When he looks at you, your eyes are big and sad.

“I don’t want to be your secret,” you whisper, in a tiny voice, against his t-shirt.

This is his undoing. Wraps his fingers around your wrist and insists you’re not. You’ve never been that. It’s just– he wants to keep this private, not that he loves you, but how he shows it. Feels like it should be something sacred. You blink, startled, completely taken aback.

“You love me?”

“God. Yes,” he breathes. “Didn’t you know?”

“I thought you might– I didn’t know.” You’re crying. Silent tears spilling over, fingers plucking at a hangnail on your thumb and this is the worst. His heart aches. “You’re so quiet, how could I know anything for sure? How long?”

“I–” He fucked up. Oh, he fucked up so badly. He rags his hands over his face, pushes his hair back while he searches for the right way to say it. “Too long.”

“After Siyeon?”

Wonwoo sighs. His thing with Siyeon wasn’t anything real. It started as a one time thing that stretched into semi-regular hook ups. She was in love with someone else, and he was pretending he wasn’t. The whole getting over someone by getting under someone else thing doesn’t work on a heartache as sour as his, and fuck anyone who said it would, actually.

“Before?”

“Before.”

You suck in a breath. “Oh.”

“Since we were kids, really,” he says. “Since before we ever–”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

Wonwoo laughs ruefully. “Is it? I feel like I was plain as day. The guys at school used to tease me for it.”

“I hate this,” you say after a moment, voice thick and sad. You rub at your face. Push away the still falling tears. “It should feel nice, shouldn’t it? You saying you love me and I just feel sad about all the wasted years. And now it feels like I forced it out of you, before you were ready. I love you too, you know. Have all this time.”

Wonwoo feels too big for his body. Like he’s full of hot air and could float right out of the window high high higher until he burns up in the atmosphere. Even still, there is that small voice in the back of Wonwoo’s mind, telling him he’s self-centered for getting what he needs, that he’s cruel for making you feel like this, selfish for wanting you just for himself. Stupid, for having wasted time. The alarm goes off– he doesn’t deserve it, your kindness, your patience, your love. When it comes to you he is, and always has been, a coward. But you’re still here grounding him, head resting against him, arms still linked, and you’re making no moves to push him out the door.

“How can I make it better?”

You sniff. “You can tell me again when I’ve stopped crying. You can stay.”

“Can I hold you?” Like you’re his, he doesn’t say.

You chew on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

Wonwoo shifts down, turns on his side and lifts the duvet for you to move into the space in front of him. You take his glasses, fold them carefully and place them on your nightstand. You slot in next to him, back to his front, his body curls around yours and you press into him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and he starts to let himself hope it could be okay.

“Have you stopped crying yet,” he asks softly, after a while. His hand is splayed across your cotton clad stomach, one finger toying with the hem. Yours is tracing figures of eight on his forearm.

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For a long time, you’ve imagined it would feel like fanfare. A marching band size confession if there were to ever be one. But that’s not who he is, and it’s not what you really want. It’s better like this. Whispered sweet things. His breath warming your skin. His fingers on the soft skin of your stomach, lips on your neck.

It feels honest.

It feels real.

Wonwoo turns you on your back, leans over to kiss the skin beneath your eyes. One– two– Wonwoo has always had so much love in him. It’s just quiet. You place your palm over his cheek and he leans into it. Turns to press a kiss to the centre, to your fingertips, one by one. Everything feels soft and pink and fragile.

“Wonwoo?”

He makes a soft, curious noise. Lips still pressed to the tip of your ring finger.

“Kiss me?”

Every time holds meaning, but now it’s morphed, reincarnated into something new. Wonwoo loves you properly, and this time he’s said it out loud. The way he kisses makes everything go hazy and light and it feels like sunset. Slow and deliberate and feathered across your skin. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, kissing him open mouthed, and his body goes molten against you. The weight of him is exquisite.

Wonwoo loves like moonlight. Comes in cycles, and yes, this time it’s clearer than others, but it turns out he’s always just there even when he’s not, even when it goes dark and things turn ugly, he’s still there holding your hand. There is moonlight in his eyes, now, shining and shimmering. With tenderness, Wonwoo runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek, your bottom lip, the pulse point on your neck. You slip a hand beneath his t-shirt, touch the skin there and sigh over the way he presses against you. Your hand moves down and he stills you.

“This is embarrassing,” he murmurs. “I didn’t bring any–”

“I don’t need one if you don’t,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill now.”

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Okay.”

“Don’t you want to?”

Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, you can feel his eyelashes tickling your skin. “I always want to.”

“Then touch me.”

He does. Works deft fingers over your middle, watches the way the goosebumps raise as he takes your warm body from your clothes. Soothes his big hands over your skin to warm you. You don’t tell him you’re already burning. He mouths over the swell of your breast, pebbles the nipple between his fingers, asks if it’s okay, like this. It’s okay. Anything he wants is okay. You tell him that– that he can do anything he wants to you, that you’re his to do as he pleases with, and he groans, a small disbelieving sound.

“Don’t say things like that.”

You don’t ask why. Wonwoo has always been possessive, but it’s not something he likes about himself. Hates to share but doesn’t like to take either, feels some kind of shame about it. Wears the word selfish like a chain around his neck. And so he doesn’t take at all, tries to stay content with nothing. You tried to tell him once, it’s not selfish to want things. It’s not self-centred to have your needs met. You deserve good things, too, Wonwoo. And he looked at you, both forlorn and skeptical, said something about how caged birds can forget how to fly. He never seemed to get that he’d only ever imprisoned himself. Tonight you’ll give him your body, push his shame away with your hands and your mouth, and let him have this.

You fist your hands in his hair, drag him up by it just to crush your lips against his to kiss him messy. He groans again, a little louder, and it’s this you’ve missed the most. The way he forgets himself when he’s touching you. The way he lets go. You wiggle underneath him, let his body shift so he’s caught between your legs and you can feel how he presses against your core. You nip at his lip, toy with the waistband of his underwear. “Off,” you say, and Wonwoo complies. The t-shirt follows straight after, and his body is back on you, looking at you like you hung the moon.

He brings a hand between your bodies, taps you almost where you want him, asks if he can touch you. Please. A finger dips inside, an open mouthed kiss, his length, hard, pressed into your thigh. Wonwoo likes things wet, and sloppy. You like whatever he likes. He gathers up the wetness inside you, smears it over your clit, brings his fingers to his mouth, closes his eyes as he tastes you on his tongue. God, what the fuck.

“Missed you,” you say, and he kisses you deep. Licks into your mouth, pushes two long fingers back inside your slick heat, and curls them over the sweetest spot. You pull off his lips to gasp.

“Can we keep doing this?” Wonwoo whispers against the corner of your mouth. “Will you kiss me anytime you want? Baby, say yes.”

You nod, head hazy, swimming in the moment. Baby. The ache in your chest, once dulled but never gone, is pounding.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo holds you like you’re about to disappear, grips your waist tight with his free hand, fucks into you slow and messy with the other. You whimper as he plays with your clit, spread your legs wider so he can see, if he wants, but he’s watching your face, watching your mouth form a silent o. You’re so pretty, he tells you. So pretty always but prettiest like this, when it’s just the two of you. Watches your eyes go glassy, watches you come apart for him, feels your pussy clench around his fingers and commits the way your body shudders to memory. He doesn’t wait for it to pass before he kisses you again, takes your whines in his mouth and eats them. They taste saccharine sweet.

He slots between your legs, rests his cock against your core, pressing languid kisses to anywhere he can reach without moving from this spot. Nips at your collarbone, laves his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck. Will leave a mark there, one day, when you’re his. A small part of him says that you’re his now, always have been, but it’s not really true, is it? Wonwoo needs the conversation, needs the lines drawn and the expectations laid out. Needs you to be sure that it’s him you want. Needs to know he’ll be able to give you what you need. He hasn’t, always, and that was part of the trouble. Wants it to be different, this time, because being with you is one of the few things that makes him feel whole in his own skin.

Right now he wants to feel you like this, chasing friction and needing more. He’ll give it to you, would give you anything in this moment, just wants you needy first. It starts with you wrapping your arms around his back, running your fingertips down his spine, lighting little fires in their wake. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his jaw, and tell him you need him inside. That you want him to fill you up. Fuck, if he could do this forever–

He wraps long fingers around your ankle, bends your knee to press your thigh to your chest, gives him better access like this, and it’s then he rolls against you, his cock dragging along your clit. He’s always loved the way you sound. Loves the way you get wet for him. Wonwoo loves you. So much.

“Love you, too, Wonwoo.”

He groans as he slots a hand between your bodies, fists his cock and slides into your slick, tight heat. It’s agonising, he thinks, the way you tighten around him. Wants to go to sleep this way, wrapped up in each other like this. He knows if he asks you’ll let him, but he wants you to want it too. Maybe another time. This time there’s going to be more. He knows it.

“Need you to move,” you sigh. “Move for me.”

He does. Fucks into you slow, shit, baby, you feel so good. He gets in deep, feels the tension burning in his guts, gasps into your kiss when your cunt goes impossibly tight and wet around his cock, loves when your nails dig into his skin, when your moan comes out muffled and broken.

He pulls out to look down at his cock slipping inside you, pushes in as deep as he can again and you arch your hips to meet him. He rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit. His body is alight, the perfect amount of heat and pressure and you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice rasps. Your lips are pink and swollen. He wants them back on him. “So wet for me.”

The pressure of his hands on you– it wavers. Digs in hard in one moment and become the ghost of a touch the next. It’s like he loses himself and then remembers that you’re a flower, soft, and delicate. You won't break, because you’ve never been the least bit fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hurt. More so he doesn’t want to let himself claim you. Can’t let anyone know he knows you like he does.

“Leave marks on me, Wonwoo,” you say, reading his mind. You run your fingers over the top of his, where they rest upon your middle. “I like it.”

He did once, at the end of the first time. Sucked a deep, purple bruise beneath your neck for everyone to see. And he loved it, loved knowing he put it there in the dark, and loved how it deepened into your skin a day later, knowing that every time you looked in the mirror you’d be reminded. Loved it– until the brakes were slammed on, and he had to watch it deepen still. Watched your friends tease, asking ‘who’s loverboy?’ just for you to say oh my god, no one, shut up. The next day you’d covered your mottled skin with make-up, so like you he pretended nothing happened. And all too soon it faded, much faster than all the rest of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all, had he known he was no one.

But now you’re telling him to. Wanting clouds his judgement. It’s a dream, maybe, but dreams have never felt like this, you were always just out of reach. He’s all shallow thrusts and quickened breaths, and you take his hands to show him where you want his mouth.

“Here,” you say, pressing his palm over your breast. Here is good, he thinks, as he mottles the flesh with his lips. Private, just something for the two of you. He’ll ask for a picture in a few days, jerk himself off over it, probably. You thread a hand through his hair, pull on it (his cock twitches inside you, embarrassing) to angle his head up your body. You look so happy, smiling soft, and watching him through your eyelashes. God, why didn’t he get his shit together before?

“Here, too” you say, directing him to your collarbone. Wastes no time leaving a small mark. He likes it, looks a little like a love heart. There’s still a chill in the air this April, you could easily cover it if you need to, he wouldn’t mind this time. But then you say here, and this time you’re tipping up your jaw to give him access, pressing his fingers to the column of your lovely neck. He stills inside you, and you make a small noise of discontent, and angle your hips to draw him in deeper.

“Please, Wonwoo,” you beg, eyes big and shining. You touch his bottom lip, wet with spit. “Need it on me. Wanna be yours too.”

He uses teeth, this time. Sinks into your body and groans against your neck, you press kisses into his hair as he fucks you. Hard breaths, sloppy thrusts, the sound of wet skin and your broken noises. Wonwoo whimpers into your neck as you pulse around him, sucking the deepest bruise, fuck fuck fuck. “Gonna come,” you breathe. “Are you close?” He nods, laves a soothing tongue over the ache, makes it shine.

“Harder,” you plead, pulling at his hips to drag him against you. “Make me sore.” And it’s fucked up that he wants to. Has this morbid, fascinating thought of you feeling him for days afterward as you go about your life, a heavy, aching reminder that he did this to your body– but maybe it’s okay, if you want it too? He feels the pressure on his skin, in his bones, of your need for him. He thrusts deep and fast without warning, even the breath he takes is sharp, and the noise– fuck, the noise is obscene. You come with a gasp, eyes fluttering like you want to keep them open but can’t, too lost in the feeling. He whispers sweet praise in your ear as he comes too, and you kiss, lazy and open mouthed, at his cheek. His sticky release seeps out of you around his cock, and he fucks it back in, head clouding and body taught with overstimulation.

After a moment, when he’s caught his breath and your body goes molten, he shifts his weight and starts to pull out, but you drag your listless limbs over him to hold him there. “Stay,” you ask quietly, all gentle and loving and shy. “Just for a little while.”

Words are inefficient, here. Can’t tell you all the ways in which he loves you. Just places those feelings on his lips and presses them to your temple. Hopes you know what you mean to him and hopes he means the same to you. Wonwoo welcomes this arrow through his heart.

When it’s quiet, and the air in the room is all still and heavy, you murmur against his sweat-sheened skin, “It’s never like this with anyone else.”

No. Nothing could ever be like this.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

May 2006

You’re home for the weekend, and today you're taking a day trip to Dadaepo beach, the south side of Busan. Wonwoo is driving and the windows are down and you’re listening to music and you’re in love. For real, this time. No second guessing, no wondering if he loves you back, because it’s out in the open and it’s tangible. He holds your hand all the time, and it’s so nice not to have adrenaline coursing through your veins before he knots his fingers with yours. He’s driving like this, hands clasped together in your lap.

Iseul and Seoyoung got close so fast, and they’re singing old songs together in the backseat. Mingyu’s too long body is squished between them, looking utterly perplexed at how he ended up in this car with these strange, loud women.

Later, you lay out the picnic you’d packed. The others are in the water, in the distance you can almost hear Iseul and Seoyoung shouting happily at Mingyu, and him yelling back. Wonwoo lays stretched out on the blanket like a cat, half dozing in the sun, face covered by the book he was reading earlier. He’s stroking your knee absentmindedly.

“Talked to my dad earlier– he asked after your applications,” you say.

“Should find out the rest soon,” he replies. He’s already been accepted at KNUH, but that’s his back up.

A couple of seabirds soar high overhead, can hear them calling to each other, flying so close their wings almost touch. They go like that together, far out above the ocean, and you watch them go until they’re just specks in the hazy blue.

“It’d be nice to live here,” you muse, looking at the way the sunlight dances on the water. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo smiles soft, half-hidden under the book. “Yeah it would.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Happy birthday,” Wonwoo whispers into your skin. He’s half-asleep still. Breath warming your neck and fingers slotted into the waistband of your pyjamas. Not to go further, just to touch.

You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, more alert, having been awake a little longer and waiting for him to stir. “Thank you,” you whisper back, smiling wide. “When do I get my flowers?”

“Patience is a virtue,” he mumbles.

“One I don’t have,” you say into his cheek.

“Liar.”

“Did you hide them in the bathroom?” You shift, ready to go get them yourself, but Wonwoo holds you tighter, dragging you back in.

“You’re not getting your own flowers.” Wonwoo pushes up from the bed. Hair messy and face all scrunched up. God, he’s lovely in the mornings. “Stay there.”

You suppress a giggle, touching his bare thigh just to touch.

“I like when you’re bossy.”

He kisses your forehead. You put his glasses on for him, wonky because he just looks so cute like that. He grumbles.

He pulls on his grey sweatpants from the night before, doesn’t bother with a shirt, to fumble his way out of his room in the barely-there morning light. He comes back in about five minutes later, singing the birthday song, voice soft and slow with sleep, tray in hands, two coffees, a bowl of fruit to share, a funfetti cupcake with one pastel green candle, blush pink tulips pretty in a vase.

He makes you blow out the candle, sets the tray on the nightstand on your side of his bed, and flops back in beside you. He curls into your side, arm over your middle and drawing you close, eyes already shutting. You smile, touching the petals and making birthday wishes that all of this carries on, even as you get old.

“They’re pretty, thank you, Wonwoo.”

“Pretty flowers for my pretty girl,” he says simply, like it doesn’t make your heart sing. “Your real present is later.”

“You already got me my present,” you protest.

“S’different now,” he says through a yawn.

You grin. Things are different. There still hasn’t been a conversation, nothing defined– you should do that, soon– but it feels like you belong to each other, more so than any other time before. The two of you are swimming into open sun-dappled waters, and it feels warm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

June 2006

Wonwoo sits on the edge of his bed, the envelope thick with papers lying forgotten on the floor. He drags his free hand over his mouth, reads the letter again in disbelief, because it can’t be real. It shouldn’t be.

“I shouldn’t have applied.” His voice is strained. Hurts to hear.

Of course he should have.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I’m not going.” He meets your eyes, stricken, and you know he’d mean it if you even gave him an inch.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” you sigh. “You’ve got to. It was made for you.”

The letter is crumpling in Wonwoo’s fist. He’ll want to save it, probably. A memento of the start of his new chapter. He should save it. You take it from him, smooth out the creases, pull a heavy book from your shelf and press it over the paper. You won’t cry, not here in front of him, but your eyes feel too wet. He’d only feel some awful boundless guilt and it’d just make everything worse. You rub at them.

Wonwoo moves close. Tugs at your belt loop to bring you between his legs, presses his forehead into your sternum, and you cradle his head in your arms.

“It’s okay,” you insist, soothing a hand over his hair, reassuring yourself as well as him. “What was it your dad used to call us? Do you remember?”

He nods. You tug him by the chin to look up at you. “Tell me,” you say as you touch his neck, feel his pulse quicken, and his eyes flutter closed.

“Birds of a feather,” he breathes.

Wonwoo pushes up your top, presses open wet kisses up your middle, bunches the material under your arms and drags the cup of your bra down rough.

“That’s it,” you say, voice thick. “That’s it, Wonwoo. We’re birds.”

Takes your nipple in his mouth, makes it wet with his tongue, pulls off just to watch it pebble in the cold, slick with spit.

“You need to go,” you say. Your throat is dry. Deep in your mind, the cruelest part of you, says it was purposeful, him applying for something that’ll take him away from you, right on the precipice of it all. Before lines can be drawn, while the boundaries are still blurred. He’s not like that, really. It’s just your projection, you remind yourself. Doesn’t stop it from hurting because two short months isn’t enough, but you’ll never be the one to hold him back. Not when he’s been working so hard, not when he holds himself back more than anyone. You fist your hands at the nape of his neck. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

He pulls at your hips, fingers digging so tight they hurt. It’s good. It’s awful.

“I can’t do a distance like this,” you admit, carding your hands through his hair. “A year is too long. Might be more.” His clumsy, desperate hands fumble with the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs so you can kick them off. You slide into his lap, wrap your legs around his waist. His mouth moves up your body, clawing and aching and needy, teeth nipping at your collarbone, sucking purple into your spit-sheened skin. Slips a hand between you and hums pleasantly at the wetness on your underwear. Circles his fingers over your cotton-covered clit. “How long have we got left?”

“Three weeks,” he says, between bites. His eyelashes are wet.

You nod. Okay. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got three weeks, and then we’ll be friends again. We can do this.”

Wonwoo pulls your underwear to the side, slips a finger over your wet, wanting cunt. “Friends don’t do this,” he rasps, sinking his finger in, curling just enough to make you keen. He’s so hard, you can feel the denim-clad bulge against your body. “Friends don’t touch each other like this.”

“We can,” you sigh. “If we want.” He wrenches at your clothes and kicks them to the floor, leaves you bare and he’s still wearing too much.

You push him back on the bed, drag his hands from your body to pin them at his sides. He looks at you, wounded and desperately turned on. You turn your back on him, spread your legs over his body to let him see you, wet and needy, pull on his belt and shove his jeans and underwear away just enough to free his hard cock.

“You know I want more than that,” he admits, breath warm against your clit. He hisses as you take him in your mouth, whines desperately as you pull back and swipe your tongue over the head. Let the spit bubble between your lips and work it over him, because this is how he likes you, sloppy and messy and wet. He licks into you, all tongue and teeth and soft lips against your core, pressed deep, getting his face wet with you, drags your body down tight against his mouth, arms wrapped around your hips and fingers digging into your flesh. You moan, pornographic, around his cock. Wonwoo arches his hips, fucks rough into your mouth, chasing the heat.

Wonwoo is greedy, sometimes. You love this part of him, when he lets it out. Wants your release fast, it seems. He moves between sharp bites at your thighs, marks pressed into the juncture of them, secret and lovely, heavy sucks over your clit, all while working you open with long, thick fingers. Makes you come unexpectedly fast, shuddering over him and pulling off his achingly hard cock with a broken moan. “You’re so wet, baby. Wanna be inside you.”

You nod, dumb and lovestruck and hazy. He grabs at your wrist and tugs, pulls you back over him and tight against his body, kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue. You tug at his shirt, drag it awkwardly over his head and his glasses get pulled off with them, they clatter to the floor, but he’s pulling your breast to his mouth again and nothing matters but this, right now.

Right now, you sink over him slow slow slow, let him feel all your tight, wet heat before he gets needy, before he fucks up into you hard, like he wants to become part of you. Like he wants to crawl inside and make a home there. You watch his chest rise and fall, touch his skin as best you can between the lack of space between your bodies, lay your palm over his heart and feel it beat for you. He calls you beautiful, and you say it back. Says he likes the way your eyes roll back, that he loves how wet you get when he kisses your neck, when he calls you his pretty girl. Baby, fuck– you take me so well. He reaches behind your body, fingers splayed over where you join, feels the way your cunt hugs him. Groans as you grip his length with your pussy, hisses when you dig your nails into his chest as you come– everywhere, everything tight tight tight.

Wonwoo runs soothing hands down your back as you sag against him, tells you he loves you, asks delicate and concerned if you want to stop because you’re crying, and when you hold him closer, tell him no, you need this– he puts you on your back and fucks you hard enough to make you forget about it. Presses your body into the mattress and lays his entire weight on you. Wonwoo buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispers that you mean everything to him, and you nod, hold his body and let the fever set in. He comes with the deepest, most languid stroke, holds his cock tight inside and fills you up. Asks desperately if you can feel it. You can. Yeah, yeah I can feel you. Feels so good.

Much later, you lay facing each other in the quiet, tears already shed and conversation put on pause. It’s too hard to talk about being friends, just now. He kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips, and you let him. Too sad to move, too in love. Friends don’t mean I love you the way you do.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

August, 2006

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:13

Hello from Naxos,

I got here from Athens a few days ago. I stupidly left my laptop in one of the lecture halls (I think) and no one has handed it in to the office, so I didn’t see your emails until now. Sorry about that. I feel like I’ve been living in a daze since I left home. Can’t keep my head on straight.

I don’t know how to describe this place. It’s beautiful. It’s hot. My room doesn’t have air conditioning and the sweat makes the sheets stick to my skin even in the middle of the night. The air hangs still and it’s thick in my throat. I think you’d hate it. And even then I’m sure you’d want to be held to sleep while complaining about the heat. I’m in the internet cafe now, and it’s so nice and cool I might pay for an extra hour just to sit here and feel like a person again.

Tomorrow we’re visiting Keros for the first time, and I don’t know how to feel. Whenever I imagine stepping off the boat the roof of my mouth goes dry. Is that excitement? I don’t know. I do know that I’m not sure I fit in here with the others. They’re quite similar to you, in the coming from a well off family regard, but they’re completely unaware of how they sound. I don’t think they realise how they flaunt it. When I first got here they talked about taking ‘the boat’ down to Santorini and asked if I wanted to join them. I said I’d need to check how much the ferry costs, and they looked at me like I’d sprouted another head right in front of them. Turns out they took someone’s dads yacht for the weekend. I didn’t go. I think you’d know how to talk with them. You’d know how to relate to them in some way that wouldn’t come across awkward or fake. I mean that as a compliment.

You asked me what I’m thinking about and right now it’s that time you and I dug out those old coins in your grandparents garden. Do you think your Grandfather buried them there for us to find? I’ve often thought that that small thing brought me to where I am, to what I’m doing, and I wonder if it was real? I miss that garden a lot. I miss us in it.

Am I complaining too much? I am, aren’t I? I think it’s the heat.

How is your summer at home?

What have you been doing?

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 2nd August 2006, 21:18

Mum and dad say you’re welcome to visit them before you go back to the city next month.

I miss you.

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 4th August 2006, 18:52

Hello to Naxos,

I’m sure you’ll be in Keros by now, so I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. It looks lovely in the photographs on Google but I hope you’re taking some of your own for me anyway. I want some photos just for me, please, Wonwoo. I hope you’re looking at the sea and thinking that I’d like the colour of it.

I don’t know how much I’d enjoy the company of your colleagues though. They sound stuffy and out of touch. Is there anyone you actually like yet? Tell me about them.

I’m in the garden right now. I’m quite positive Grandpa buried the coins for us because there was mud all over his knees, don’t you remember? Granny scolded him for washing his dirty hands in the kitchen sink but she said the smile on your face made her forget about it. Just because it was engineered doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, you know? That your joy wasn’t real. Don’t you feel joy now, being exactly where you’ve wanted to be for the longest time?

It’s been almost two months since you left and you haven’t sent one single photo of a cat, and I know for a fact that Greece has many. Have you spent all your time off holed up inside? Go out for a drink. Make some friends. Stand on the grass with your feet bare. It’ll do you some good.

Summer at home is as it always is. I saw Mingyu and Seokmin at a bar a few days after you left, Mingyu said to say hi but I told him to do it himself and gave him your new email address, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Mother has been down, I think Dongho cheated on her again but she won’t say anything. I haven’t done much else besides sleeping and shopping and playing games. Don’t tell anyone I said so but it’s boring without you here.

I don’t think I’ll stay for the whole summer, actually. Iseul and Seoyoung are saying they want to visit the States. I’ll probably go with them. Iseul’s parents have a little place in California. I’ll take my laptop though, email me every time you think of me.

Tell your parents I’ll visit in the next few days, I’ve been craving your mum’s kimchi jjigae.

PS - I miss us in the garden too.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 7th August 2006, 19:36

Keros was definitely something. I worry I built it up in my head too much, you know? Thought I’d feel more moved than I did. One of the leads, Edward, from a village in Wales I can’t pronounce the name of, is walking us through the project for the next few weeks. If I could learn half as much as he knows for the time I’m here, I’m sure I’ll get by for the rest of my career. I stood in the ruins of what was a home built over 2300 years ago and wondered what the people who lived there must’ve felt about it. Were they happy? Did they think the island too small? Were they jealous their neighbour had a better view of the ocean? Did they start sleeping with their best friend (again) just before moving to a Mediterranean island hahaha?

Should we talk about us yet? I worry if we leave it any longer we’ll just start pretending it didn’t happen again.

I did take some pictures on the island. Shall I post them on Facebook? There’s this small cove you would’ve liked that had these tiny iridescent fish that swam up so close to my feet that I thought they’d bite them. There was one cat outside my window but it was dark and the one photo I got of it is so blurry it’s not worth showing. I’ll find more to take photos of.

Thanks for giving Mingyu my details, he’s already emailed me. He said you were looking well. I’m sorry about your mother.

I won’t go for that drink you suggest because all the would-be drinkers seem more interested in snorting lines off each other's chests, and I don’t have the spare cash for all that. I have met some people - Matteo and Emma. Matteo is from Naples and Emma is from London. Emma reads, and she said she’ll lend me her copy of The Little Prince when she’s done with it. I haven’t told her I’ve already read it.

California sounds like it’ll be fun for you. Knowing Iseul her parent’s “little place” has eight bedrooms, a tennis court, an olympic swimming pool, and a live-in chef haha. How long will you go for?

PS - on second thought I don’t know how you would’ve felt about the fish and the feet.

PPS - if I emailed you every time I thought of you then I’d hardly ever leave the cafe.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 8th August 2006, 17:52

Should I have brought it up?

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 9th August 2006, 06:28

Hello from LA,

Sorry for the slow reply, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

Wonwoo, I don’t know what there is to say about it all. Do you?

I’m trying very hard not to be pathetic but the fact is that despite whatever state our on and off hook up thing is in, I still want us to be in each other’s lives. I don’t think you’re going to be in love with me forever, are you? You’re my safe space and I like hearing your thoughts and I feel like being your friend makes me a better person. We have good sex, great sex, but we’ve never managed anything solid. I mean, I know that you left because of the fellowship and because I encouraged you to take it, but things between us always seem to end just as soon as it gets real.

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always going to be friends. You’re going to marry the girl next door type that doesn’t ask too many questions. She is sweet and knits you scarves for Christmas and prefers doggy style so you don’t see her face when she comes. She isn’t me– the selfish, obnoxious girl from three streets across, who beat you in the spelling bee when we were seven. You’re probably going to have three children, and definitely become very accomplished in whatever archeologists are accomplished in. And I am going to have at least four husbands, one child who’ll grow up rolling their eyes at me, and I’ll become infamous for whistleblowing the government for…. something gross and scandalous. Like listening in to everyone’s phone calls. We’ll holiday together and our children will grow up like cousins and when we get drunk and our spouses go to bed I’ll go “remember our last night before you left for Greece? Remember that night? You put your wet fingers in my mouth and told me ‘bite down when you come.’ I think about that all the time.” You’ll be so mortified your ears will go red. You’ll probably spill your drink.

I’m laughing my ass off just imagining it. Isn’t it funny that you’re only bold enough to say things like that when we’re in bed? It’s like you need to be cocooned up with someone in order to let your inside voice out. God, you’re so impolite when you fuck me.

But don’t worry. You were my best friend long before you ever touched me like that. Every time we do this you tell me you just want to be friends, right? So let’s be friends. I can do platonic if that makes it easier for you.

Anyway. The update is I visited your parents (they probably already told you) and your mum made the BEST japchae for me. They love me sooooo much, I’ve got no idea why. I’m sure you’re very jealous and that sustains me. Now I’m in LA for the rest of the month. Iseul’s place is only six bedrooms, actually! No tennis court or live-in chef but the pool is admittedly gigantic. Please see attached photo. I look great, right? I’m sure you’re nodding. Maybe while I’m here I’ll find husband numero uno. If I'm going to have four I should start working on that ASAP.

We’re okay, Wonwoo.

PS - don’t you dare upload those photos to Facebook, send them to me and me alone. Also send me one of you because you’ve been gone so long I’ve forgotten what you look like.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 10th August 2006, 20:39

Hello to California,

Is that really what you think? That I fall out of it so quickly? That we started sleeping together again, and you think I didn’t feel fucked up over leaving? I’m starting to wonder if it was worth leaving at all. I’m glad we’re friends but do friends kiss the way we do? Are friends allowed to do that with each other? Does it make me a bad friend if I looked at the photo you sent and thought how pretty you are and let my mind run away wondering how you’d look if you were in my room here. I almost thought about printing your photo off but is that perverted? You’re fully clothed but I feel like a pervert. You do look great. I love that colour on you.

I can’t imagine this life you’re dreaming up. I can’t imagine marrying some faceless person. Can’t imagine anything for me beyond what’s happening today. I can see you with four husbands though. I don’t mean that in any type of way, just that you find it easy to find people who love you even if they don’t exactly fit.

If you’re going to uncover some government spy operation let’s get started on the theories right now. If they’ve been listening to phone calls then it stands to reason they’re probably reading emails and texts too. Do you think they’re reading ours? Do we have our very own spy?

What is your first husband going to be like? The antithesis of me? Or maybe someone so strangely similar that all of our friends whisper about how weird it is? Don’t you think it’s messed up that we’re talking about this?

Please see attached a couple of photos of the island, one of me in my room, for your eyes only. Don’t go showing them to Iseul and Seoyoung. They’re not as good as the ones on my film camera but you’ll have to wait until I’m home for those.

PS - can you download Skype? Efraim, the guy who owns the cafe, is installing it on all the computers, he says we’ll be able to video call. I’m free on Sunday after 7PM, that’s 9AM for you. Are you free?

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 11th August 2006, 12:05

It was worth leaving because this is what you’ve been working for your whole life. And it doesn’t matter that we started again because as long as we’re both single it can pick up whenever we want. I know you care for me in your quiet way. I know you’d never hurt me with intent. It’s fun, and we’re young, and we know it’s easy with each other. It doesn’t have to be more than that. Maybe we shouldn’t have said the L word, though, don’t you think? I try not to think about it. It would have been more sensible not to. Hindsight blah blah blah.

We can be whatever kind of friends you want. I don’t mind that you think about fucking me. You did, right? When you saw my photo? I’d quite like it if you did. I like thinking about your cheeks getting hot and having to adjust your jeans in the middle of the cafe. Did you feel the need to hide your screen?

You’re probably right about the spies reading our emails too, I’ll note that down somewhere offline. Have you considered that our spy may be Efraim? After all, he has easy access to the computers you use every evening. Maybe you should consider getting a laptop of your own. It must be costing you a small fortune going to the cafe to email little old me every day. Dad is getting a new one soon, shall I ask him to post you his old one? Don’t be weird about accepting it, it’s just a laptop.

My first husband is so so so handsome. Grossly rich because of generational wealth, he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of being self made. I need to start strong, you see. A little shorter than you, so you’re not entirely emasculated haha. He probably knows how to sail. I bet he drapes sweaters across his shoulders like those guys in Ralph Lauren ads. I bet he’s played Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar and doesn’t realise how cliche it is. He’s probably doing it right now. I hope he’s not conceited. That’d be unbearable. Though I suppose we’d need a good reason to divorce.

How are Matteo and Emma? What are they like? Did you tell them anything about me?

Seoyoung says hello. Iseul said she thinks you need a haircut (sorry, she peeked over my shoulder when I read your email) but I don’t. I think you look hot with long hair. Send me more photos of you? Take a shower first and think about me. Leave your clothes off. Shut your eyes and imagine I’m with you. I’ll open them in private.

We’re going to a party in Malibu on Saturday. Iseul’s cousins (Joshua and Kevin– they’re cool, you’d like them) are family friends with some big shot Hollywood producer so maybe I’ll meet some celebrities! Maybe I’ll meet my husband! If you send me a photo before then just know I won’t look at it, I need my head in the game. I’ll call on Sunday morning and tell you all about it.

PS - don’t open the attached photos in front of Efraim. It’s okay if you print them.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 12th August 2006, 22:47

God. You’re right about getting another laptop while I’m here (I’m not taking your dad’s one, I’ll save up for one by myself) because I had to wait until Efraim went to the bathroom before printing your photos. I nearly broke a sweat wondering if he’d come back too quickly and see me holding them like some kind of sick freak. You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Your husbands won’t know what to do with themselves.

Yes, I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Do you think about it too? I’m guessing by your photos that you do. Did you think of me eating you out when you touched yourself? You probably won’t read this email for another twelve hours but just know that I failed miserably not getting hard in the back of the cafe. I had to spend ten minutes catching up on the news back home just to stop remembering being inside you, how wet you get when I kiss your neck. What am I, a teenager?

You should’ve come here for your summer trip, rather than LA. Why are you going out tonight looking for someone else when you could have been here. I’m jealous. I miss you.

I’ll send you your demands before we call tomorrow. I want to see your face when you open it.

Matteo and Emma are great. They’re funny, and well read, and they know more mythology than I do, if you can believe it. Matteo is a good cook. He made lasagne for dinner the night I last emailed you and it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I wish you could try it. If he ever wanted to open a restaurant he absolutely could. If you wanted to take him as one of your husbands I wouldn’t be opposed. It’d give me more reason to have dinner at your house. Emma has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard.

They both know about you. We work together here a few nights a week, so they’ve seen me writing you. I told them we’re best friends, that you’re a little bit insane despite being one of the most level headed people I know. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth. I told them that you’re smarter than I am, and that you’ll probably take down several governments one day. I told them that you miss me terribly. And that you understand me better than I understand myself, and that I can hardly understand you at all.

Emma asked if we were ever together, and I didn’t know how to answer. I almost said not really, but I don’t know if that’s true. Is it true? Matteo changed the subject before I could answer anyway. He wanted to know who bowser80 was. On that note I’m begging you to choose a more sensible email address, if only so Efraim doesn’t think I’m sending vaguely horny emails to a Super Mario character. He probably has the wrong impression of you.

I’m really looking forward to speaking to you properly. Your photos are- well they’re obscenely hot. But I want to see your smile.

Talk soon. Don’t fuck your husband-to-be on the first night, he doesn’t deserve you.

PS - I’m not sure if Efraim is our spy, actually. I just watched him pick his nose and wipe it under the desk. I would hope someone trained in espionage would have better decorum.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 13th August 2006, 18:56

Don’t open these until we’re on the call.

Can’t wait.

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 14th August 2006, 09:08

I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been looking at your photos again since I woke up and I fear I’m never going to leave my bed.

Wonwoo, I’m being very serious when I say you need to get a laptop again as soon as possible because Efraim absolutely cannot read or hear the things I want to say to you. God, Wonwoo, I need to suck your dick inside out. I need you inside me.

How long have you got left in Europe? Is it forever?

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 14th August 2006, 17:31

I can’t stop thinking about you either. I forgot the sound of your laugh for a while and now after hearing it I’m worried I’ll lose it again. Let's keep calling, so we stay real for each other. For the sake of my sanity please say less about sucking my dick. It’s only Monday and it’s a personal goal of mine to make it through the week without rocking a semi in this cafe.

On the topic of buying a laptop, I’m picking up a part time job. The stipend doesn’t stretch as far as I’d hoped. Efraim is hiring, and I asked if working here means I can read everyone's emails and he looked so confused I was almost convinced. Perhaps he’s a better spy than we thought. Of course working here means more opportunity for talking to you, which sweetens the deal somewhat.

It does feel like it’ll be forever, doesn’t it? I won’t be able to come home to visit until March. I wouldn’t be opposed to you visiting me here during your winter break. Would you like to?

Say yes.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

December 2006

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 30th December 2006, 09:40

Hi baby,

My palms are sweating but I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just us, isn’t it? I haven’t been this nervous to see you since before school the day after we slept together. The first time, I mean. We were idiots, I know that much.

I’m borrowing Matteo’s car to come pick you up, I’m nearly ready. Please excuse the mess in it, he lives like a pig but he’s so endearing Emma and I forgive him anything. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him tonight. Emma can’t make it until New Years, she sends her apologies- I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’ll say it to your face.

By the time you read this, it’ll be tomorrow morning and we’ll have already had one whole day together. You’ll ask to use my laptop to check your emails, and I’ll still be half asleep in the bed next to you.

Have I kissed you yet?

I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you as soon as you get through customs. I’ve been playing out how it’ll go. I’m going to set your bags down on the floor and take your face in my hands and kiss you right there in the middle of the arrivals lounge. Even as I’m typing all of this out, I know it won’t happen like that. I’m going to wave awkwardly when I see you coming through the doorway. I’m going to be hit with a rush of nostalgia when I catch the smell of your shampoo when we hug hello. I’m going to look at your lips and think about the taste of you, but then I’ll feel the eyes of other people on us, and they’ll be wondering if we’re together, and then I’ll start thinking too much and accidentally leave it too late, and you’ll be handing me your bags to carry. I’ll feel foolish and thoughtless for not taking them from you in the first place.

I’ll kiss you without an audience. I hope you don’t mind.

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 31st December 2006, 06:15

Hi Wonwoo,

I like when you call me baby outside of the bedroom. Are you trying it on for size?

Don’t worry, you were a real gentleman at the airport yesterday. Took my bag and opened doors and everything. Five stars. It’s sweet knowing you were nervous. You didn’t look it at all. I thought how confident and self assured you seemed, like you knew all the answers to every question ever asked. I’m kind of in awe of you. The way we talk online has me forgetting what you’re like in person. How quiet you go, how the comfortable silences have me wondering what you’re thinking, how deliberate you are with your words. You say sometimes that I understand you better than anyone but I don’t think I do. You must think that your expressions give away your every emotion but they don’t, Wonwoo. You have this huge inner world I know nothing about and your emails give me a peek at what’s inside. You’re a mystery to me, the same way everyone is a mystery.

Even now, you’re fast asleep (I’m sorry I didn’t wake you to ask to use your laptop, but you don’t mind, do you? I wanted you to rest.) and I have no idea what you’re dreaming about. Is it me? I hope it is. I like how you sleep next to me, did I ever tell you that? You’re like a koala. I like how you reach for my hand when I think you’re already sleeping and draw lazy figures of eight across my palm, with your chest against my back. I like the way your hair is even longer now. Messy and soft. Wonwoo, you’re so so so handsome. You look like an artist. You look like someone Jane Austen would write about.

I liked that you kissed me in private. I liked that you kissed me at all. I liked that you held my hand when you introduced me to your friends, even though you were quiet as ever. Were you feeling shy?

I’m looking in the mirror now and I like the marks you left on my neck. They’re so dark! I’m going to need a vat of concealer to cover these up if we leave your room today. I’m going to steal your scarf. I should complain about the mess you made of me, but I like that you’re secretly possessive. Don’t tell anyone I told you that haha.

I like the way you touched me last night. The way you pressed my hips into the mattress and licked over my clit. The way you twined our hands together and rolled into me. If I close my eyes I can still feel it. Your teeth on my jaw. You, thick and hard, so deep inside me. Your skin felt good against mine. Were we always that good together? Is it better now because we haven’t seen each other for so long? I was so wet I’d be embarrassed if it were with anyone but you. Fuck, I want you again.

You don’t know that I’m wearing your t-shirt right now. Would you be bothered? Would you like it?

Wonwoo, would you mind if I woke you up? I want you to fuck me in your t-shirt. I want you to open your tired eyes and be glad I’m in something that smells like you. Reach under the hem and find me without underwear, already wet and wanting. I want you to fuck me harder than last night. I want you to fuck me so deep I can feel you in my throat. I want to feel the vibrations of your groan against my chest. I want it to hurt so much that I still feel you there when I leave.

I’m going to send this email and wake you up. Sorry it’s so early, baby.

From: Wonwoo <[email protected]> To: You <[email protected]> Date: 31st December 2006, 07:53

Good morning,

You’re in the shower. I’m laying on my bed wondering how I’m going to survive this week. We’ve always been good together, I think. But I’ve never, ever seen you like that before. In a good way. The best way.

Baby, you know I still love you, don’t you? I’m going to say that to your face any second now, so you will already know by the time you read this. Do you love me too?

Keep wearing my t-shirts. Take that one home with you so you can wear it when we Skype, and I can remember the morning you ruined my life. That one looks better on you anyway. God. We’ve got five days left and I’m already hating the thought of you going home. Is it insane to ask you to stay longer? Probably. You’ve got work. Tonight I'm going to kiss you at midnight and make a wish.

I love you.

I hope you say it back.

PS - it won’t be too long before I’m home. Please wait for me. We can be birds again.

From: You <[email protected]> To: Wonwoo <[email protected]> Date: 1st January 2007, 08:29

I love you too.

Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always birds.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider telling me what you liked via a reblog so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you have any questions, please ask!! it gives me life to talk about these babies. ily, goodnight!

prequel: joke me something awful.

taglist: @noona-neomu-yeppeo @starmy-143 @haaruki @channieschubbycake @minahaeyo

@mingiboye @kkaetnipjeon @lleercy @itsnotnaomi @ateez-atiny380

@blvked19

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missadangel · 8 months ago

Text

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

I. Heal the Heart

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, nescio. Sed fieri sentior et excrucior. I love you and I hate you. Why I do this, I have no idea. But I feel it happening and I’m in agony. [Catullus]

Following the conquest of Egypt and its incorporation into the Roman Empire, there was a growing interest in its ancient culture. Over time, many in Egypt began to express a desire for greater autonomy and control over their own affairs. Dissatisfaction with Roman control over Egypt became part of the Egyptian psyche.

This is precisely why, immediately following the death of Emperor Septimius Severus, preparations for revolt began in Egypt. His emperor sons, Caracalla and Geta, were mainly focused on quarreling with each other, drinking, and enjoying themselves, while their subjects faced starvation. They organized games, watched gladiators fight, and took pride in their activities. Even when informed of the revolt in Egypt, they continued their indulgent ways, showing little care for anything beyond their own pleasures and daily pursuits.

The Egyptians were, of course, aware of their limitations; they knew they could not be as strong a soldier as their emperor father. They were confident that the day would come when, with the help of the Greeks, they would overthrow the Roman governors in Egypt. After all, they had been preparing for this since the death of Severus. Among them were also Jews, all eager to establish the sovereignty of ancient Egypt. However, there was one crucial factor they did not consider or pay much attention to.

General Marcus Justus Acacius.

They say, you can feel the ground shake when he walks on it. He makes his opponents feel certain of their own death at the very moment he draws his sword. A daring commander with few who could stand up to him. It is unclear whether this is an exaggeration or not, but it is still rumored that he cut a lion in half in the Colosseum.

A beast in every sense of the word.

More than that, he is a leader who manages his legions very well and spurs them on to achieve success during the war, a man who has not yet tasted a failure and has well-earned the title of general in every way.

Since it was obvious that no one else could succeed in suppressing the rebellion, he was immediately sent to the region with the intervention of his Empresss Julia Domna, the mother of the two emperors.

Just like she guessed, he had succeeded in putting down the rebellion; of course, no doubt, as soon as his name rang through, the rebels, along with all the inhabitants of Egypt, knew that they were already defeated.

Some were forced to surrender, those who resisted and fled were found and killed by the Roman soldiers, but not all. The general didn't kill the surrendered ones, he took them as captives which was pretty fair for a beast. In contrast to him, the ones who fled were not, they were so desperate that they didn't know what to do and they started attacking everything and everywhere like rabid dogs.

They even attempted to violate the laws of war and mapped out a plan to kill the General and his soldiers, and even all the medics, in the night at their camps. It was a suicide mission, but they were on the verge of success.

"Has anyone seen the General? He’s not in his tent!" A burly soldier entered, gripping his sword, which was stained with the blood of the rebel he had just killed. He quickly searched through all the tents, wearing a look of concern on his face.

The clinking of swords echoed in the darkness as the soldiers cut down the last remaining rebels to death with their swords.

Soon, the soldier ran to his General, relieved to see him, but he was wounded in the abdomen moments ago. As he gently pressed his hand to his injury, a small amount of blood emerged, shining like rubies under the moonlight as it dripped from between his strong fingers onto the grass. His attackers were no longer alive, they were all lying on the ground, were literally cut to ribbons. They attacked him in his sleep when he was wearing nothing but his tunic, catching him off guard. He nodded to the soldier, demanding assistance as his white tunic transformed into a crimson hue. He had been wounded many times before, countless times, but this was nothing like before and was undoubtedly the worst injury he had ever sustained. "I think I… got…," he groaned; it hurt much even when he spoke, feeling like beneath the wound, his blood was boiling. "…poisoned." These were the last words spilled from his lips before his enormous body slumping to his knees, collapse altogether to the ground.

The woman with waist-length with black hair was dragging you along with her as she walking across the meadow, you were struggled, couldn’t control your feet, as if the ground was sliding under. She had her hands outstretched at her sides, even though her back was turned, it was not difficult to see her smile by the sunlight reflecting the curve of her chin. She abruptly ceased her movement and bent down to gather a few herbs in a meadow. She plucked them, gathered them in her palms, and kissed them. You heard the whispers between her lips and the harmony of the wind rippling through your ears. It was clear that she was blessing these herbs. When she turned to you, you staggered backwards, hypnotized by her face, so beautiful, mesmerizing, her eyes hypnotizing yours, it was impossible to look away, no escape from them.

Perhaps even more surprising than anything else was that her face and eyes were identical to yours. It really was truly astonishing. She handed you the plants like they were rare jewelry. You could see her arms shone in the sun, and her skin looked like fine marble. It was impossible to believe that it could be human skin; it must have been that of a goddess, but why did her face resemble yours?

'Heal the heart, child,' her voice sang through the meadow like a gentle breeze. You couldn't move your lips, but she heard you anyway.

‘Heart?’

A warm wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman came closer, startling you. Her hazel eyes were turning green under the sun. As she slightly opens her lips, you locked your eyes on them and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘The heart of Rome,’ almost whispers, ‘Serve it,’ a little loud now like commanding, ‘Heal it...’ again whispers then gently puts the herbs on your hand.

A strong wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman danced with the wind. The sunny sky burst into a starry night as the wind embraced the silhouette and rose to the sky, to the stars. You felt the ground under your feet, but your eyes were drawn to the enchanting sky.

As the wind finally gave way to the silent night, you looked at the herbs you were holding in your hand. These kind of herbs you were used to seeing almost every day, but what you were not used to seeing was that they were sparkling like diamonds between your fingers. It was as if you could feel their healing power on your skin.

Abruptly, you heard the voice again, echoing across the meadow. Your ears were once more caressed, blessed, but this time, the words were different.

‘Cure him…’

You barely heard your name being called and your body was shaking, slowly opened your eyes, you saw a familiar but worried face.

‘Wake up, please, you need to get up now,’ the concern in the man's voice brought you back to reality, the effect of the dream disappearing like a cloud of dust between the stone walls and dissipating into the air.

‘Uncle?’

You had rarely seen this face of your uncle who had taken you in when you were an orphan, who cared for you, protected you and raised you well more than any other father or mother ever would.

You sat up from the firm mattress you were lying on, ‘I thought we were travelling tomorrow night?’

‘No, no, that's not why I woke you up,’ he put your big dark cloak over your head. ‘You need to hide.’

You were startled to hear shouting and footsteps coming from outside the wooden door of the room. This was not the sort of noise you would normally expect to hear in this Valetudinarium (hospital, clinic) at this late hour.

‘What is going on?’ You rub your eyes with your fingers, trying to figure out the situation.

Your uncle tucked your hair deeper into your cloak.

'The Roman soldiers are gathering all the medici (psychians). I have to go with them.'

'Roman soldiers? I thought they left after they put down the rebellion, and slaughtered thousands. Besides, they must have a medicus in their camps, why would they-?'

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his anxiety evident.

'I heard that some rebellious individuals killed the Medici in their tents, and then-'

A soldier's voice was heard from one of the nearby rooms. You both turned your heads in that direction, startled, and then looked at each other again.

'Their general was targeted. The rebels attacked him in his sleep. He managed to fight back, but he was poisoned. Now, they want me to save him.'

“Poisoned? But Uncle, he might already be dead! If you can’t cure him, they’ll blame you or punish you!”

“Don’t think about that now. You need to hide. Remember, as a woman, you aren’t allowed to be here. You have to conceal yourself and wait for my return.”

The soldiers’ voices were heard nearby.

"No, I’ll come with you. If it’s aspis venom (a venomous snake found in the Nile region), we’ll use the same techniques as we did with the boy last time. It would take too long to make the antivenom alone. Let me help you."

"It’s too dangerous for you, my dearest, to go among the soldiers. Even if you wear men’s clothes, we can’t hide the beauty of your face."

You walked over to the cauldron in the fireplace and ran your hands over the soot that had accumulated beneath it.

"It worked before," you said, rubbing a bit of soot on your cheeks.

"That was only at the market. This time it’s more dangerous. I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t protect you there."

"I was going to give this to you tomorrow, as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here."

You took the envelope from him with shaky hands. It had been sealed by the former emperor himself, and you wondered what was written inside.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you to ensure you understood the importance of the letter. "No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it; hide it as if your life depends on it. You'll understand why."

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard, tucking the letter into the bag hanging around your neck. You hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, causing them to rattle in the process.

"Aya, you’re going to have to choose," he said, looking at you intently before leaving the room.

"Choose what, uncle?"

"To run or to stay. It’ll all make sense when you read the letter," he said, glancing down the hall before grabbing your wrist. You were confused, but you knew you had to think about this later.

"We have to get out now; soldiers are outside. Quick!"

'I was going to give this to you tomorrow as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here.'

You took the envelope from him with shaking hands. The previous emperor himself had sealed it. You wondered what it meant.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you, making sure you understood how important this letter was.

‘No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it, hide it like your life depends on it, you'll understand why.’

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard. You tucked the letter into the bag hanging around your neck and hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, making them rattle in the process.

‘Aya, you’re going to have to choose,’ he looked at you before leaving the room.

‘Choose what uncle?’

‘To run or stay. It’ll make sense when you read the letter,’ he checked the hall and grabbed your wrist. You were so confused but you had to think about this later.

'We have to get out now, soldiers are outside, quick!'

The soldiers had gathered all the medici they could find at the army camp headquarters near the tents. There were seven of them, but they were unable to find a solution for the General's injury. As you and your uncle were next in line, a burly soldier of higher rank approached you both. You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact. Everyone was in a rush, nearly all mobilized to save the General's life. Your gender didn't matter to them at that moment. Just as you were about to follow your uncle into the tent, the soldier raised his hand to stop you.

‘Only the medicus.’

‘My aide, sir, let him in. He's as expert as I am.’

As your uncle is their last hope, he let you in but did not follow you inside, standing guard outside the tent. The General's squire stood next to him, looking at you with tears in his eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight. The sorrow had enveloped everything inside the tent, and you could feel it deep in your bones.

The General lay on a mattress in the west corner of the tent. He was unconscious, but you noticed his lips moving as if he were murmuring. You stepped forward to take a closer look at his face, which you had been so curious about.

His face was exactly as you had imagined, yet somehow different. He had numerous scars, as if he had been born with them, and his light brown skin embraced them. His mustache and beard were partially gray, and his nose and chin were perfectly shaped, as though Prometheus himself had spent extra time crafting this man. His face was stunning, causing your heart to race. You had never felt this way about any other man, though you had never had the opportunity to do so.

You were somewhat disappointed to see his eyes closed. You longed to know what they looked like and were eager to see his expression when he opened them. You were momentarily surprised by the desire to touch his face. For an instant, you forgot why you were there. Meanwhile, your uncle had picked up the sword with which the General had been wounded and was examining the blood on it. You moved over to help him, keeping one eye on the General, who lay there with his imposing build and half of the white tunic he wore stained red.

Your heart constricted with pain, and the dream you had came vividly to mind.

‘Cure him.’

"We need to check his wound!" Your uncle's loud voice startled you, and you squinted at him, feeling ashamed.

As your uncle gestured for you to come closer, you saw that the wound was not deep, but the skin around it was turning pale from the venom, and the edges were curling inward.

"He doesn't have much time. Let's start making the antivenom now," he said, swallowing hard. The situation was worsening, and you knew you had to cure him no matter what. Perhaps this was why the gods had shown you this in your dream; they had warned you in advance that your life depended on it.

The process of making the antivenom took slightly longer than you had anticipated, but you persevered admirably. Your uncle cleaned the wound to neutralize it while you sweated through your clothes. Finally, when the antivenom was ready, your uncle carefully applied the antidote to the wound, but he was exhausted, his fingers shaking. You stepped in to help despite feeling weary yourself. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you managed to see your task through to the end.

The soldier from earlier entered the tent to check on the situation. You bowed your head and stepped back.

"We've cleaned the wound, and once it's neutralized, we applied the antidote. We just need to wait now," your uncle informed him, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We need to give him some time and ensure he drinks water soon to avoid dehydration."

As the soldier examined the wound, you turned your head to look at the squire boy, who had been sobbing just moments ago but had now already fallen asleep. Poor boy, you thought.

The soldier then ordered you to leave the tent and wait outside.

You felt your arms and legs go numb with fatigue and collapsed to the ground, sitting cross-legged and trying hard to stay awake. Your uncle was in the same state, but he still struggled to resist sleep. In the end, he couldn't keep his eyelids from closing.

You woke up to the sound of soldiers shouting and arguing. Turning your head, you couldn't make out what they were disagreeing about, but their noise was overwhelming.

"You better go in and make sure the General drinks some water. He needs to stay hydrated," your uncle said firmly, likely keeping an eye on the soldiers outside.

The tent was empty except for the General. A soldier from earlier was outside, reassuring the other soldiers. You approached the General to check on him. His forehead was covered in sweat, and his body was fighting off venom. You quickly grabbed a damp cloth and pressed it gently against his forehead. Then you touched his lips with your thin, fragile fingers. An intense feeling grew inside you. As a secret medicus, you had touched the faces and bodies of many men and women to heal them. However, touching this man's face and lips felt different from the others.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself. This was nonsensical.

You opened his lips carefully and dipped a rag into the fresh water in a copper pot. You pressed it against the General's dry, pale lips, squeezing it gently through his mouth.

After doing this several times, you decided you had done enough. Just as you were about to withdraw your hand, the General's strong hand suddenly grasped yours with a firm grip. You were shocked and winced in pain, causing you to open your hand with pressure, and the rag fell to the ground.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you gazed at his face. He opened those eyes you had been so curious about and looked at you with a cold, calculating stare, squeezing your wrist so tightly that you felt it might break at any moment. You suppressed a scream and moaned in pain. 'Sir, I'm trying to help you!' You sounded as if you were crying, then he groaned in pain, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.The effort must have exhausted him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed quickly.

When he finally released your wrist, you threw yourself backwards for dear life, rubbed your wrist with your other hand and stroked it, praying to the Gods to take the pain away. You could have sworn to Jupiter that if he had squeezed your wrist any harder, you would have heard a cracking sound coming from your bones.

How could he possibly be so strong even when exhausted, so close to death?

As the pain receded, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. Your thin wrist was marked in red, like poppies, as if the shadows of his fingers were engraved on your skin.

You glanced timidly over your shoulder; he was still lying there with his eyes closed. But you had just made a terrible mistake—he must have heard your voice and realized you were a woman. Only the gods knew what he would do when he regained consciousness.

You had to leave immediately. Wrapping your wrist in a clean piece of cloth, you tucked the sleeve of your dress into it to hide the bandage. As you stepped out of the tent, your uncle grabbed your arm and pulled you behind it.

“Uncle, the general opened his eyes for a moment and heard my voice. He might remember when he wakes up,” you whispered, hoping no one had overheard you.

“Gods have mercy upon us,” he murmured, glancing down. Then he grabbed your shoulders. “It’s time to go. You need to leave now. Follow the path through the woods. Some soldiers are having a disagreement about something; I think they have found out—”

“You! Medicus! Come over here!” one of the soldiers shouted at your uncle. He gestured to you with his eyes, silently urging you to go.

“You too!” you gasped as you realized that the soldier was waving his hand at you.

“Sir, he should stay with the General…” your uncle interjected, stepping in front of you to protect you.

“I said come, both of you, now,” the soldier replied, his tone unmistakably commanding.

As you took tentative steps towards the group of soldiers forming a circle around your uncle, your heart raced as if it were about to burst. These were the soldiers who had just argued, fought, and you found yourself wondering whether they had been injured, but you could see no visible wounds on anyone.

On the contrary, they gazed at you with curiosity, and only at you.

“That’s nonsense, Dimitrus; this boy can’t be a girl,” said one soldier, pointing at you with a small knife in his hand.

Your uncle stood beside you, his worst fears realized, his face taut with worry. As the soldier, whom you guessed was named Dimitrus, approached, your uncle stepped in front of you. But the soldier easily overpowered him and shoved him aside. With a scrutinizing gaze, the soldier examined your body from head to toe. You bowed your head and clenched your fists, your heart pounding in your chest as your breathing quickened. He yanked down the hood of your cloak with his large hands, drawing the attention of other soldiers who now gathered nearby for a better look.

When he saw your hair tied up at the back of your head, his grin widened. He drew a dagger from its sheath, and as you caught sight of your uncle's worried face behind the soldier's formidable arm, you began to pray to all the gods.

Dimitrus grasped your bun and quickly cut the hair tie with his dagger, causing your golden-brown wavy hair to cascade over your shoulders. The soldiers laughed and whistled, while Dimitrus looked at them with a cocky smile before turning back to you.

“Such long hair for an aide boy, huh?” he chuckled.

“A girl, indeed,” replied another soldier, looking at you in disbelief.

“I told you I could smell a woman from a mile away,” he laughed, his voice booming.

“Please,” you pleaded, feeling powerless. A wave of despair washed over you.

“What is going on here?” The burly soldier approached, eyes wide with astonishment at your new appearance. Dimitrus grabbed your hair, pulling you closer to him. He then seized your chin and turned your face towards Octavius.

"Look at her! You didn't even notice that the medicus brought a girl with him, Octavius? In our camp? And you're supposed to be the general's right-hand man!"

You struggled to move, but he was too strong.

"Hey, I can’t see her face clearly!"

You closed your eyes tightly as someone threw wine in your face. Dimitrus roughly wiped your face with his big fingers.

“Gods, no ordinary beauty,” he said, looking at you like a hungry wolf. He leaned in closer, inhaling the scent of your hair, making you feel nauseous. You tried to look away, but your eyes met your uncle’s desperate gaze.

“That's enough, Dimitrus. Let her go. Is this what you all think while our General lies there, fighting for his life?”

You rushed to your uncle's side as his hands released your hair. "He's already dead; I've never seen anyone get up after being poisoned," he says, as if he were looking forward to his death.

Octavius unsheathed his sword with a sharp "schwing" sound. "How dare you! Say that again and I'll cut your tongue off!" he barked.

Dimitrus' followers drew their swords as well. Octavius looked at each of them with anger and disbelief. He had been betrayed. "You treacherous filthy rats! I'll kill you one by one!" He waved his long sword at them.

Dimitrus grabbed your uncle by the collar. "Start with this one then. Who knows what he gave the General instead of medicine?"

"Aye, he must be punished!" shouted one of them.

"Punish him, Octavius!"

They were all yelling at him by raising their swords, you were thinking a way out but there wasn’t any.

"If you won't, I shall," Dimitrus pointed the end of his sword at your uncle.

"No!" you shrieked, but your uncle stopped you, raising his hand.

Then, as Octavius raised his hand and was about to lunge at him to prevent him, Dimitrus plunged his sword through your uncle's stomach, the poor man groaning in pain and falling to his knees, and as you ran towards him, he drew back his sword, his blood splashing in your face with the force of the draw. Your body began to shake, and you felt paralyzed as you watched his lifeless body collapse to the ground.

"Dimitrus!" Octavius roared, ‘You've gone too far! What do you think our general will do to you when he awakens?’

You fell to your knees in shock, your body rigid and still, your face expressionless, yet tears streaming down your cheeks.

"General? You failed to save him; you let that medicus get into his tent; you must share his fate! I will let the emperors know that this is all your fault! And I think we must put the general out of his misery-"

Out of nowhere, an axe flew at Dimitrus, piercing his chest. His body shook as he reeled back, then collapsed to the ground, lying backwards and dying in a pool of blood. Everyone looked at him in astonishment and panic. Blood gushed from where his chest had been split open, and when he stopped breathing, he lay there as his eyes remained wide open.

They turned their heads to see who had thrown the axe and were shocked once again. The general could hardly stand near his tent, his eyes filled with rage and his gaze burning with fury. Octavius quickly ran to his side.

"General! Thank the Gods you're finally awake!"

"What's going on here, Octavius?" His voice was like a roar.

“Sir, Dimitrus and others have attempted to mutiny.”

Acacius shot a deathly glare at the other soldiers, who immediately kneeled with their swords turned upside down.

“No, sir, we did not.”

“Forgive me, sir, it was Dimitrus's doing.”

“Sir, please forgive me.”

You gently closed your uncle's eyelids with your fingers as they all pleaded for forgiveness. With your back turned to the General, you felt indifferent about your fate; you no longer cared whether you lived or died. It seemed to you that your whole life was already over.

"If any of you ever dare to do anything like this again," he said as he walked near Dimitrus’ body and pulled the axe from his chest roughly; you were startled by the crunching sound coming from his bones.

"I Marcus Justus Acacius, will make sure that he meets the same fate as this scum!"

He put them in their place, and they all nodded in fear. They stood up at his gesture while bowing their heads, unable to look him in the face.

“Now get ready; we must sail at dawn!”

“Yes, sir!”

They quickly sheathed their swords and hurriedly spread out.

Acacius staggered slightly as watched them move, his wound still painful, but he tried hard not to show it.

Octavius touched his arm. "Sir, the Gods have spared your life, but please rest a little longer."

"Who is this man?"

You were certain he was referring to your uncle, even though your back was turned to him.

"The medicus who cured you, sir. Dimitrus got mad and killed him because he thought he couldn't save you."

"As if we haven't lost enough healers tonight. He was clearly mistaken. This man managed to cure me, and I am standing here because of him." He turned to Octavius. "Make sure this man's body is returned to his family. Inform the governor about this; they should make all the necessary arrangements for the rituals."

Octavius nodded, "Yes, sir, I will."

They both turned their gaze toward you. "What about this one?"

Your body was frozen; you felt as if the time for your execution had come. You never expected your last moments to unfold like this.

"I think this is his aide or slave, sir. Dimitrus discovered she was a woman and that medicus was hiding her," one of them said, bowing his head in shame. You swallowed hard.

Acacius' pain returned, and he groaned. Octavius gently grabbed his waist. "Sir, please rest. You need to regain your strength."

"Sir!" Acacius' squire rushed over, placing his arm under Acacius' shoulder.

It was time for him to turn away from you.

"Since her master has died, take this girl to the other slaves. I don't want any more chaos or mishap," he said in a firm voice.

You wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand as their footsteps faded away. Two soldiers grabbed your arms and lifted you off the ground while others carried your uncle's body. As you turned your head and glanced over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the General's curly gray hair and well-shaped nose before he disappeared into his tent.

Your body was filled with rage. What you heard only heightened your pain and deepened your hurt. A slave? How could he say that? The one who had healed him was now considered worthy of being a slave?

As the mid-morning sun began to reflect off the walls of Rome through the haze that filled the harbor, the city was preparing to experience one of the most significant days in its history. Everyone who noticed the navy ships approaching from afar—citizens, subjects, foreign diplomats, merchants, civil servants, and porters—gathered at the entrance of the city. They were waiting to welcome General Acacius and the victorious Roman soldiers. On the deck of the large ship at the forefront of the fleet, the General sighed deeply as he looked out over his city, thanking Mars for his triumphant and healthy return.

The journey from the port of Alexandria to Rome took ten days, and it was a challenging experience for you, traveling alongside captives known as slaves. Most of these individuals were Greeks and Egyptians, and the joyous shouts echoing through the streets of the Roman capital meant nothing to them. On board the ship, they were repeatedly told that the slave market in Rome was quite prestigious. They were assured that young girls would be well cared for by certain families, urged to stop their tears, and encouraged to pray to Jupiter so that wealthy families would notice them and buy them at high prices.

You were not like those slaves; you were not a prisoner of war, and your family was neither enslaved nor poor. Your uncle was a renowned and esteemed medicus, part of an affluent family. He and his wife found you on the banks of the River Nile when you were three years old—that is what they told you. The gods had not blessed them with a child, so they loved you as if you were their own. You knew he wasn't your biological father or uncle, but you were very happy with your life and didn't ask too many questions until he revealed the letter the night before everything changed.

As an orphan, you were raised by your uncle, who taught you about Egyptian medicine. You assisted him in countless surgeries, helping to bring many people back to life, including the general himself. Through this experience, you gained enough knowledge and skill to become an expert in the field. However, no one would refer to you as a medicus because you were a woman. Your talents were too remarkable to ignore, yet despite sharing your skills with those on the ship, no one believed you. Even if they did, there was little they could do to change the situation.

As you looked through the small cracks between the ship's planks, your gaze drifted over the seemingly endless sea. You couldn’t shake the thoughts of the dream you had the night before.

‘Cure him.’

Wouldn't it have been better if you hadn’t cured him? Perhaps your uncle would still be alive. Maybe you wouldn’t be sitting on this ship now, resigned to your fate, wondering and worrying about what will happen to you. Is this your reward for healing the great Roman general?

That man ruined your life, and you only did yourself a disservice by saving him. Perhaps the gods were testing you, but what was the lesson?

You observed the shadow of the general’s fingers beneath the cloth wrapped around your wrist. The color reminded you of violets bathed in moonlight from days ago. Now, it was an unmistakably bright hue, and the pain had lessened significantly.

As the ship rumbled into port, you realized that it was time to accept your fate. In the dark and damp bilge of the ship, you and a girl close to your age called Decima took turns using the same swing as a bed, you liked each other and in desperation you became confidants, friends. She was in her early twenties and had a lovely charm about her, while you, in your late twenties, had a stunning beauty that really stood out. Her father was a rebel, probably killed by the General's men, and she was taken as captive. You told her almost everything except the letter that you’re hiding in your bag.

As soon as you stepped into the harbor, the discrimination began. The general and his men moved in the opposite direction, while the slave trader standing in front of you ordered you to go elsewhere.

You frowned as you caught sight of his face in the distance, peeking over the shoulders of the crowd. He looked healthy; his body had managed to overcome the venom of the past few days, and his wound had healed. You remembered how you had spent hours with your uncle trying to cure him and how you had struggled to create the antidote while your arms and wrists ached with pain.

Suddenly, the General's face lit up with a warm smile as he waved to his citizens. To your surprise, all your anger momentarily vanished. You turned your head away; looking at him would only cause you pain. He wouldn't recognize you because he couldn't clearly see your face, not just yet. Besides, to him, you were just a slave—nothing more.

However, Octavius recognized you from a distance. He was the only one who had witnessed your hard work. He was an honorable man, he disliked seeing you among the slaves, but he felt powerless, as it was the General's order.

In the evening of that day, after the slaves were taken to the baths and then to the market for sale, you and Decima were brought by the slaver to a separate cell. From outside, the lively sounds of the market could be heard, where slaves were being sold one by one. There was a great deal of interest in these new slaves from Egypt.

The slaver appeared at the door of your cell with a man who looked to be older and wealthy. Decima immediately stood up, but you remained still. The slaver gestured with his hand, turning Decima around in the center of the cell to show off her arms, face, and feet, while squinting at you.

“Look at these strong and beautiful young girls, sir. I wouldn’t show you any poor slaves; they are both virgins and very beautiful. The great Venus has bestowed her beauty upon them. They would fetch a lot of money in the market, but I thought I would show them to you first, sire.” He was being very flattering, but the man's eyes were fixed on you.

“Doesn't she have any manners? Why isn't she standing up?” “You're right, sir, she must be a bit sick from traveling. She will,” he gestured to you with his hand. “Come on, get up, girl.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, he squeezed your arm hard to warn you first, then did everything what he had done to Decima, opening almost every part of your body for the other man to see. It was incredibly disgusting, you felt like an animal being sold at the cattle market.

"The other one is younger, but this one is beautiful, a rare find," he said, grabbing your arm and looking at you hungrily. "How much do you want for her?"

Your eyes meet with Decima in a silent exchange, as it was time to go your separate ways.

"Eight thousand sesterces, sire."

He pursed his lips in thought, his fingers touching your hair while you closed your eyes, praying for a miracle.

"Ten thousand sesterces!"

A familiar voice of a man echoed through stone walls. You all turned your heads to that direction."General Marcus Acacius offers ten thousand sesterces for this girl!" Octavius appeared, his imposing figure clad in armor that clanked with every step. He tossed a large coin pouch to the slaver, who caught it, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Sold, of course," he said, counting the coins with a happy expression.

Octavius then firmly grabbed the other man's arm, which was still close to you, lifted it, and pushed it away. He frowned. "This girl now belongs to General Acacius, sir. You must not touch her," he warned firmly.

As the general entered the city in his chariot, the people shouted his name. He waved his hand to them, and the streets were filled with a great enthusiasm as everyone gathered to honour the general and his soldiers. The chariot carrying him soon passed under the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus and turned towards the Curia Julia, the Senate building, where the emperors must have been waiting for him. The general's smile faded. He was tired and not looking forward to seeing them, but he would not go to his villa before visiting the emperors.

As General strode purposefully up the marble stairs, Geta and Caracella leapt down from their golden imperial thrones in excitement. As soon as Geta saw him, he opened his arms wide.

‘How can I reward Rome's greatest general?'

'By letting him catch his breath first,' Caracella smiled widely.

Acacius stopped in front of them and nodded, 'My Emperors.'

'We have been eagerly awaiting for your arrival, general,' Geta clasped his hands together, looking at him with admiration.

'Speak for yourself, brother. My legs ache from sitting for so long,' Caracella said, then laughed loudly. 'But it was worth it, indeed!'

‘Indeed!’ They both laughed once more, but Caracella looking at his brother a bit strange way.

It was hard to tell if Caracalla wanted to embrace Geta or if wanted to take his life right then and there. The relationship between the two of them was quite distorted.

The general rolled his eyes, he was used to these two whiny emperors half of his age bickering at each other all the time, he sighed in frustration at having to put up with them when he could easily take both their lives with a single stroke of his sword. Unfortunately, this unpleasant situation had only just begun.

‘We heard that you were poisoned, how did it feel?’ Geta looked at him with wide eyes and smile.

The news must have reached the emperors before the general had even boarded the ship.

'Painful, your highness,' Acacius stated, a shadow passing over his brown eyes as he remembered the pain again.

'I'm sure it was, it must have been an interesting experience.’ Caracella crossed his arms; smiling just like his brother.

‘Cobra or viper?’

‘Aspis, highness, the viper type.’

‘Oh, I won!’ Geta jumped for joy and gestured to Caracella with his hand, imitating a snake.

Caracella ignored him looking at the General.

‘The rebels must have quite a sense of humour, poisoning a Roman General carrying Medusa on his chest with a snake, quite ironic,’ he touched Medusa on General's armor with his index finger.

Acacius frowned while looking at him, ‘They certainly do, they murdered all our medici mercilessly, fortunately the great Asclepius sent his help, my men brought another medicus from city was able to cure me, it is thanks to him that I can stand here in front of you, highness,’ Acacius remembered the memory when he was unsure whether it was a dream or not but he could not get out of his mind the fingers that touched his lips, the owner of those hazel eyes that came to his aid when his throat was dry from thirst. But it couldn't be medicus he thought, it had to be someone with thin fingers, someone with beautiful eyes he had never seen before. Maybe, since he was too close to death, it was a dream or a goddess has appeared to him, he couldn't be sure.

The first thing he remembers is opening his eyes and grabbing her wrist with his survival instinct. He thought it was a strange looking young man in a hood, maybe another rebel had come to kill him again, but then he heard her voice and thought his goddess had come to heal him. He was in so much pain and seeing hallucinations that he couldn't tell if it was a dream or not. But couldn’t get rid of those thoughts since days.

The emperors didn't seem to care much about the medicis the general was talking about, or how he had recovered, and Acacius seemed bored as they continued to joke with each other.

‘Mother,' Geta ran to her as he noticed the Empress approaching, extends his arm for her.

Julia Domna took his arm as she coming towards Acacius, whispering something into Geta’s ear, without taking her eyes off the General.

‘My lady,’ Acacius nodded to her.

Domna's smile was like Caracella's, you could never guess what she was thinking.

‘General, how good it is to see you return triumphant once more. Rome salutes you, and I embrace you,’ she approached him with open arms and put her hands Acacius’ board shoulders.

Caracella sat back on his throne, a bored look on his face.

‘My Lady, the honour is mine,’ the general said, bowing his head.

‘We shall sacrifice 1000 bulls to honor our triumphant mother!’ Geta clapped his hands excitedly, ‘Let's have a great feast tonight!’

‘Highness, let's give the General some time to rest, he must be tired from the battle,’ Domna removed her hands from the General's shoulders but kept her eyes on him.

Caracella let out a high, shrill laugh that echoed through the white marble columns. Geta sat on his throne and scowled.

‘Acacius, walk with me,’ the Empress turned round, gestured to him.

Acacius sighed, he didn't want to be alone with her, but he had to. Domna walked ahead of him, hands clasped behind her back, he followed her slowly.

‘My sons are glad to see you again, even if they have no idea how fortunate they are to have you serving them.’

'It is my duty to serve Rome.’

She paused and smiled, watching the water in the pool shimmer in the sunlight, the glow reflecting off her bright skin, her expression was difficult to read.

'I think you have a talent for survival.’

She sounded dissatisfied. 'After all, you trained under Maximus, you must have learned a lot from him.’

He looked away, 'I owe where I am today to the remarkable fighting skills he taught me, he was an honourable man, the greatest general Rome has ever seen,' Acacius' eyes were fixed on the great Temple of Venus between the eastern edge of the Forum Romanum and the Colosseum.

Domna looked at him with a feeling between admiration and concern.

‘He, like you, lived to serve Rome, even if he had to kill Commodus,’ she said, and even little children could catch the obvious implication in her voice.

Acacius held his ground, his eyes roaming the curves of the statue of Venus.

‘But unlike him, you are loyal to the emperors, I can be sure of that, can't I?

He turned his head towards her, but did not look at her. His eyes were now on the two spoilt emperors who were talking animatedly to each other between the columns. 'As long as Rome is prosperous for all her subjects, I will be loyal to them, my lady.'

Domna laughed loudly, 'Ah, that's why I want you in the Senate, how long will you refuse?

'I am only a soldier, politics is not my business, nor should it be. Consuls in the Senate -'

‘Those old foxes live in abundance and do nothing, the person who has done Rome the greatest service should be in the Senate.’ Domna glanced over her shoulder at her sons. 'I am concerned that Macrinus has no equal in the Senate and that Caracella dominates him, perhaps if you are in there, you will gain his trust.’

'Your Highness...' He looked at her shaking his head as no.

Domna looked at Acacius, this time with a serious expression on her face, 'For the sake of Rome you must be especially careful with Caracella, as her mother even I find it hard to get my way with him, he is not like Geta, he is a hard-headed child.’

Acacius looked at Caracella whose back was turned, of course he knew this very well, for a moment he thought that he was the real threat to Rome, not the enemy soldiers or the others.

‘Anyway, you should go to your villa and rest, you will have time to think about this alone,’ she said with a forced smile, then turned around to go to her sons.

After praying in the temple of Venus, Acacius walked out, and as he descended the steps of the temple, he felt a stinging pain where his wound had been, the poison had completely gone from his body, but it had left its trace behind.

Octavius was lost in thought as he has leaned against the side of the carriage waiting for him, quickly stood up when he noticed him.

‘Sir.’

‘I see you don't miss your home, as you're still here,' Acacius said as he descended the last step. He got into the carriage and climbed in to sit beside him. Acacius was quite tired so he lay down on the seat, the fact that he felt so comfortable with Octavius was because of their long friendship, he was his most trusted man, more than just a friend, like a brother.

'Are you going to tell me what's troubling you?’ Acacius covered his face with his arm, but he could feel the tension in him.

'Sir, the girl.’

'Oh, I see, a girl? Have you fallen in love with a girl?

'No, that's not it,' Octavius felt embarrassed as he remembered your face. 'That poor girl, It doesn't seem fair that she should be with those slaves, sir, you are an honourable man, but your order-'

Acacius lifted his arm from his face and looked at him, the cart swaying as it moved along the stony roads.

'The girl that medicus hid? Why do you care so much for her? Is there something I should know?’

'After all, they worked so hard together to cure you, perhaps you should have at least let her go home.’

‘Together? What do you mean?' Acacius sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

Octavius bowed his head.

'Sir, I made a mistake, it was my fault for letting them into your tent, I don't know how I could have been so careless even after the assassination, forgive me...'

Acacius raised his hand.

'Slow down, we will talk about your mistake later, you are saying that girl entered my tent and cured me? How?’

'I didn't look closely at her face and I didn't know she was a woman maybe because of her outfit but I made a terrible mistake, I should’ve known, forgive me sir.’ He bowed his head once more but it made Acacius more angry.

'You haven't answered my question, Octavius,' his voice was loud.

'Yes sir, she did her best to cure you, sir, the girl and Medicus worked hard to produce antivenom all night.’

Acacius was surprised when he realized that he hadn't dreamed that night. He was glad to learn that the owner of those eyes was a real person. But then he thought that she might be on the slave market by now, about to be sold to someone else.

‘Stop the carriage!’ He yelled.

The coachman immediately did as he was told and pulled hard on the horses' harnesses, the horses howling and stamping their hooves on the ground.

'Sir?' Octavius raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'Go and find the girl, I want to see her at my villa tonight, do you understand? Acacius tossed him a pouch full of coins.

Octavius smiled, ‘Yes, sir.’

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rodolfoparras · 8 months ago

Text

And for you, I keep my legs apart (and forget about my tainted heart)

Pairing: Unspecified Male character x Male Reader

cw: 18+, age gap, (older man x younger male reader), anal fingering, riding, subtop male reader, dombot male character, size kink

Thinking about an old man going for a guy like you who definitely isn’t his type, with your scrawny frame, short height that barley reaches eye level on him, and with a meek presence that couldn’t even scare away a stray cat if you desperately tried to do so.

Yet you’ve somehow managed to gather the courage to buy someone like him- a man that could probably be your father or something, a drink. At least that’s what he thinks you’re doing. It’s hard to tell when you’re talking so much - well nervously rambling that is, about the interior choices made for the dingy bar and the nutritious value of their menu (fuck who cares?)

But he listens to you anyway while his eyes trail along your lanky frame, eyeing your every little reaction to him (What ? He’s bored and he has no interest in the mind numbing football game playing on the television nor the group of rowdy men who look like they’re on a mission to drink themselves to an early death)

So he watches; watches how you jump when your fingers accidentally brush, watches how you avoid eye contract when he leans in close to your ear to ask you something, watches how you stumble over your words when he laughs or smiles at something you said.

At some point he watches you start squirming around in your seat and that’s when he notices the outline of your boner showing through your ill fitting jeans (Jesus Christ, this is what you’ve been hiding kid?) Despite being in a dimly lit bar he can tell you’ve opted out of wearing briefs, cockhead firmly pushing against your jeans and casting a dark spot that’s probably the reason as to why you’re squirming around in your seat

Now it’s his turn to jump as your knees knock together, gaze avoiding yours because how is he supposed to look you in the eyes when he’d been shamelessly staring at your crotch? and now he’s the one who can’t get through a sentence without stumbling over his words because all he can think about is all the ways he could cum with the help of your cock.

It doesn’t take much before he’s inviting you back to his house.

For a moment you look surprised by the invite, probably haven’t expected that and truth be told he’s surprised himself since he usually isn’t one for one night stands and if he were to do one it would be in a cheap motel not in such an intimate space like his place. But something about you has him acting like a horny teenager who’d just seen their first pair of tits.

You’re quick to accept the offer though, even thanking him for inviting you into his home (such a strange thing to do but somehow he can’t help but be endeared by the gesture)

Well at his place you continue your nervous blabbering, talking about his choice of decor or lack there of (fuck you love to talk don’t you?) while he continues thinking about all the ways he’s going to cum tonight.

Eventually he leans in for a kiss, swiftly cutting off your blabbering, tongue slipping past your lips to and tasting the sweet drink you’d been sipping.

A breathy sigh escapes your lips, hips bucking against his and he can’t help but notice the way your hard cock is firmly pressing against him.

“Christ, take this off kid,” he breathes against your lips and tugs at the belt you’re wearing, watches in amusement as you practically yank it off of your body along with the pair of pants you’re wearing.

Once you’ve complety stripped down he can finally see what he’d been eyeing all night and yeah he was right, you’re big, bigger than anyone he’s taken before, cock girthy and curving past your belly button, with an angry vein protruding to the side and a heavy set of balls hanging between your thighs.

And in that very moment he can’t help but thank everything under the sun for having decided to wear a plug to the bar, hole twitching in anticipation at the thought of all the ways he’s going to be skewed onto your cock.

Just as he’s about to tug his own shirt off, you go to speak before swiftly halting yourself.

“What? You’re not about to tell me you’re a virgin are you?” He says, in a joking tone something that quickly fades into something more serious as you continue to stand there staring at him without saying a word.

Suddenly he feels like he’s been splashed with a bucket of ice cold water and the first thing on his mind is to tell you take your clothes and get out because he’s not fucking a virgin tonight, that’s for damn sure. However just as he’s about to utter those words you manage to splutter out a response.

“Nonono I’m not but-,” you try to say, hand aimlessly flailing in the air before you continue speaking . “…I just I- won’t last long.”

That’s when he laughs, a long hearty laugh, that has his head tipping back, hand clutching onto his stomach and he knows he should feel bad for laughing so much but he just hadnt expected those words to come out your mouth

When he finally manages to gather himself you’re looking absolutely flustered, hands fisting your clothes and looking like you’re about to sprint out of here and he can’t help but want to take you out of your miserry

“don’t worry about it kid, just sit down for me yeah?”He says, nods his head over to his worn out blue couch: the one he usually sits in to drink his morning tea, the one he usually falls asleep in while watching reruns of some forgotten tv series , the one that is now adorned with a pretty boy with sugary sweet lips, cock hard and weeping between your legs, just patiently waiting for someone like him to come sit on it.

The thought itself is enough to kick him into gear and as he proceeds to strip the clothes off him he can’t help but notice the way your gaze follows him closely, an observation that stirs something foreign inside of him

It’s been a while since someone looked at him like this -like really looked at him, not with pity in their eyes because they know death’s patiently waiting at his side but with pure hunger, as you trail your gaze over every mark, every scar, every inch of skin he uncovers as he slowly takes his clothes off.

He can only take so much before he feels compelled to speak “Easy there, if you continue on like this you’ll finish before we get to do anything “

That seems enough to snap you out of your trance, looking absolutely flustered and once again he can’t help but be endeared by you (Christ, he really needs to get get it together)

“Still sure about this?” he says, and busies himself with rummaging around for the lube and condom he keeps in a drawer.

He only gets a meek hum in response and when he turns his head to look at you he sees your gaze focused on his lower half, probably eyeing the plug he’s got on.

The realization has his hole twitching in anticipation before he’s walking over to you with lube and a condom.

“Seriously has anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” He asks with a small smile on his face.

“‘M sorry-“ you begin to say before he leans down and cuts you off with a kiss, even hears a moan of his own escaping his own lips. He’s kissed many men before, that’s for sure. Some kisses had been snuck in dark bars others have been done in a drunken haze while in cheap motels.

But they’ve never felt like this- hungry, frantic almost leaving him weak at the knees as you thrust your tongue into him, sharp teeth nipping at tender skin , and hands wandering all over his body as if you can’t get enough of him.

It takes everything in him to break the kiss , and he hears a sound of protest escapes your lips, hand desperately clawing at his hips to pull him back in.

“that’s enough,” he says voice all firm but there’s nothing but warmth in his gaze as he peers down at you . “Got to save some of the fun remember ? Gonna let this old man ride your cock?”

“Yes yes yes please I’ll do anything just please-” you cry out, practically choking up on your words, while keeping a vice like grip on him.

“Shh easy there” he says, and gently nudges you back into the chair, before swiftly pulling the plug out of him.

A gasp escapes his lips as the cold air blows on sensitive skin, hungry hole now clenching around nothing. “Christ!”

Despite the strong desire to jump your bones- especially with the way you’re looking at him right now, he knows that he isn’t stretched enough for your cock.

So he tosses the condom your way before he opens the cap to the lube bottle and pours the content into his hand, fingers making quick work of warming it up for him.

It doesn’t take much before he’s got his slick finger pressed up against his rim, pushing it inside without much resistance as a soft exhale escapes his lips “you’re - ah you’re so big kid, can’t ah can’t take you like this”

He only hears a strangled sound escape your mouth as the words roll off of his tongue, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he works a second finger inside.

“Fuck me,” he breathes out, head tipping back, as waves of pleasure start running down his spine, all while you closely watch him the entire time.

And as a third finger joins into the mix he turns his eyes to look at you, noticing the way you’re looking at him all teary eyed, poor neglected cock weeping against your stomach and his voice is all hoarse as he says the words “you can touch yourself son it’s alright ”

You don’t waste a second wrapping a hand around your dick, erratically stroking from rot to tip as you keep your eyes glued to him. “Ah fuck! Feels - feels so good sir please ! Need- ah fuck need to fuck you please sir please”

“God you should see yourself kid, so pretty like this, so eager for an old man like me,” he breathes out, continues moving his fingers in and out, almost matching the pace of your own hand.

He wonders if this is how it would feel being speared onto your dick, fat cockhead nudging against his prostate with every thrust of your hips, his hungry hole taking your size as if it were nothing.

“Sir- going to cum please-“ he hears you cry out and the sound of your words snap him back into the present moment.

“Stop,”

A strangled sob escapes your lips, almost reluctant to pull your hand away from your dick but obedient as you are you listen to him.

Atta boy

He walks over to you on shaky legs, hand cupping your teary soaked face, slick thumb brushing over your cheek as he says “Want you to cum inside me, that alright with ya?”

You furiously nod your head in response looking so ridiculous he can’t help but chuckle before he turns around for you.

And as he stands there caged between your legs he can’t help but notice the warmth radiating from your skin, the smell of your cologne that’s biting at his nostrils, and the sweet sounds you’ve been making all night that are now trickling straight into his ear.

It’s only then he realizes how very real this is and how this isn’t just another dream his lonely mind had conjured up for him.

“Go easy on me alright? Been a while since I did this with someone,” he says, feels your cockhead circling his entrance before you slowly push inside of him.

“Jesus Christ!” He says through gritted teeth, face scrunching up, and nails clamping onto the couch as his body gets accustomed to the feeling of being stretched around your dick.

“Is this ah- is this alright sir?” You say, under a shaky breath, body quaking as you continue to sink inside of him.

“Going to tear me in half kid” he barks out, as the burn persist. Every nerve in his body is practically screaming as you continue to push your way inside of him but despite all of that there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Eventually he gets used to the stretch, the burning sensation dulling a bit as his body starts to relax “Fuck just like that, going to make me feel so good aren’t you?” He murmurs out, hands loosening their grip on the couch as he shuffles around to get more comfortable.

“Yes yes yes please want to be good for you god please I need-“ you slur out, and he feels your body violently shaking beneath him.

“Shhh easy there,” he coos out, voice a bit wobbly as you finally bottom out.

He makes a point to ignore the way you’re buried so deep he can feel your ballsack kissing his ass, and can practically taste you at the back of his mouth, just so he can help you out “Breathe in for me yeah?”

Without fail you do as he says “now breathe out for me okay?” Just like before you do as he says, body now much less tense and head relaxing in the crook of his neck.

He gives you a couple of moments to catch your breath before he slowly raises his hips and pushes them back down again. “Oh- oh mpfh fuck!”

“Go-god- so- so good sir” he hears you cry out as his hungry hole continues to swallow your cock.

And fuck if he doesn’t agree, feels as if the breath has been punched out of him with every thrust of his hips, knees already screaming in protest but being way too addicted to the feeling of your cockhead continuously jabbing at his prostate.

“Mhp! Feels so good kid, think- ah think I can feel you here” he grunts out, hand blindly searching for your own before placing it on the slick skin of his stomach. “Feel it,”

“Ah fuck! Sir please please want to make you feel good please!” You sob into his neck, unable to do anything but take it as he bounces on your dick.

“But you are,” he says, makes sure to puncture every word with a thrust of his hips “going to make me cum just like this,” and he really means it, doesn’t need a warm palm around his dick with the way heat’s already coiling in the pit of his stomach.

“Going to cum too,” you whine out, hips now meeting his thrust which catches him off guard.

“Fuck! Just like that, keep going,” he says through gritted teeth, the fire in his abdomen growing stronger and overtaking everything in his body as you continue to slam into him.

“Think I’m gonna” you splutter out, hips stuttering.

“Yeah you gonna come inside this old man? Come on then want to feel you,” he manages to say, as the world around him starts to blur out, ears ringing loud and before he knows of it you’re cumming , a loud moan tumbling past your mouth as you clutch onto him for dear life.

It doesn’t take much before he too reaches his orgasm.

“Ah fuck!” He cries out, body quaking in your lap as hot white ropes of cum spurt onto his stomach.

For a moment there are no words exchanged as the two of you take the opportunity to catch your breath but when you finally decide to speak the first thing you say is “so how about round two?”

His eyes widen in surprise before he bursts into laughter “you’re going to kill me you know that kid?”

2K notes · View notes

dearestzaychik · 2 months ago

Text

Our Forsakened Destiny.

[ Forsaken x Isekai'd Reader! ]

[ Gender Neutral Reader! ]

TW : Some Cursing then and there..

WORD COUNT : 6,092K words!

NOT PROOFREAD. Please do tell me if there was any mistakes whatsoever!!.. Because I'm not proofreading a 6,092k worded chapter..

Chapter 2

READER'S POV.

Knocking can be heard at the door, as you opened your eyes to the sounds. You didn't have to reply, As the figure that was knocking at the door started talking either way.

"..Hey, Elliot here. I just wanted to let you know that soon, the rounds start again. You slept for a hefty while, but we decided to wake you up early so that you'll be able to talk to the others. As well as to talk about your Abilities and Role. We'll be waiting downstairs!- No rush for you of course, but Builderman said he hoped you get ready as soon as possible."

Elliot mentioned, before footsteps were moving away until it was no longer there. It was still dark outside, as the realm never seemed to have the concept of day. It would be hard to know what to tell what time it was, but this was probably considered morning for them. You had no time to loose, so you got up and started to get ready. Even if you felt a bit anxious at your own situation, running away from it was not the wisest answer.

Before you headed out, you looked at your Stats and Abilities once more.. and they finally have something written down on them that's for sure.

ROLE : Support.

DIFFICULTY : ★★★★☆

HEALTH : 90

STAMINA : 90

ABILITIES :

Short-term Relief

- Bottoms Up and Cheers!

• This active ability allows the user to give out Pain Pills, making way for a new mechanic, TEMPORARY HEALTH.

If you need a quicker way to provide health, this is the quickest way you'll be able to get it for! This Survivor can share Pain Pills through out the round, and can even save a life in need if used right! It gives 65 health points that diminishes over time. Although.. One wouldn't recommend using it more than 1 time for each survivor.

If a Survivor manages to get their hands on another batch of Pain Pills after the first one.. They'll be inflicted with Nausea 2, and if they were to drink 3, Not only do they get inflicted with Nausea 4, The Health Points diminish faster as well as chipping off 5% of their actual health. This is not able to kill the Survivor, leaving them in 1% health if they were to drink a third time. At last, if the Survivor were to drink 4 or more, they will be lead to an Instant Death depending how lucky they are to live after each drink. The Cooldown is 35 seconds.

The Thrill of our Misfortune

- I don't like this chase, I'm out!

• This active ability allows the Survivor to gain access to three Adrenaline Shots, and is able to give them out or use it on themselves.

More on said, This Survivor not only carries Pain Pills, as well as 3 sets of Adrenaline Shots in which they can drop to share with other survivors or use it for themselves. The survivors are locked into an Adrenaline Rush, no longer fearing the Killer as they get a boost to get away. It can give Speed 2 for 5 seconds, as well as 45 health points that diminishes over time. Once all shots have been used, theres no other way to get these back so make sure you use it wisely. The Cooldown is 40 seconds when used, 35 seconds if dropped for another survivor.

Desperation.

- I don't belong here.

• This passive ability grants the Survivor Nausea 1 every 30 seconds and lasts 15 seconds when they aren't near at least 3 meters to a survivor, but gives Speed 1 for as long as they haven't encountered a Survivor nor a Killer, as well as 30 health points that diminishes over time when their alone and already injured.

This Survivor feels very uncomfortable even when not in a round, its best to provide them with Company to them to make sure they don't feel so.. out of place.

During Last Man Standing, due to the pressure this survivor is experiencing, Nausea 1 will stay for the remainder of the round, and Speed 1 will be given for only 15 seconds before the effect fades away, then 50 health points that diminishes over time will be administered to the said survivor after the effects are no longer present. Because of this, it leaves the Survivor very vulnerable when it comes to Last Man Standing.

Seems like Nausea will be your friend in the long run with the amount of Nausea status effects you can get in your kit. Your kit looked really complicated, hell you couldn't even seem to comprehend it right now to say the least. Whoever planned these abilities definitely wanted you to suffer.

None the less, there was now a Difficulty and your HP stats and stamina changed. It seemed balanced enough, but you still didn't get why you would be Difficulty 4 out of 5. Back then you were just a normal human being working a minimum wage job, nothing can be deemed special to your old life to have an entirely complicated kit like this..

Getting ready, you opted for a quick shower before changing into clothes that was exactly the same as your last pair before slipping on shoes and opening up your door, only to see a figure with a Pumpkin head opening their door at the same time as well.. Dussekar stared at you as you stared at him, having a minute of silence as both of you didn't move, before of course he took the intiative to break the silence.

"You must be the new survivor of this morning. You're presence will hopefully, be lovely."

Dusekkar stated, his legs never seem to touch the floor as he levitated off the ground. Honestly, you almost forgot he spoke in rhymes and riddles. Mentioning your presence, you remember how some survivors have different opinions of one another, as back then your friends mentioned about tensions and relationships between characters during the time you played..

"..Hello, Goodmorning."

You replied, even if it wasn't day at all outside the window, it seemed to be considered Morning for them. Dusekkar nodded in acknowledgment, holding their staff as he went ahead to the Lobby. You followed close by, fiddling with your hands. Soon enough both of you made it through the hallways, reaching the Lobby where the rest of the survivors are. Shedletsky and Builderman spotted you first, seemingly looking at something as Shedletsky raised their hand.

"Yo, Dusekkar and New comer! Over here!"

Shedletsky yelled out, signaling for both of you to come near. As you did, they seemed to have been looking at your stat and abilities. Seemingly investigating and looking at what you can do.

"It seems like they're a support."

Builderman blankly stated, looking at the stats as he seemed to have already figured out your kit faster than you did. Looking up at the message, there was something stated there.

NEXT SURVIVORS FOR THE NEXT ROUND...

Builderman

Two Time

Chance

Pharmacist

Noob

007n7

Shedletsky

Pharmacist.. That might be the title your called as. It seems like there were only 7 survivors playing this round, the others that weren't mentioned seem to get a break for one round at least. Its weird how you were called Pharmacist than your actual name, but its a decent title none the less. A Pharmacist, huh. Right, that was what you wanted to be when you grew up. But you never managed to suceed in actually following that career path, with that said.. There was indeed a reason why you wanted to be a Pharmacist back then, but you can't seem to remember why. Snapping you from your thoughts, Dusekkar, Shedletsky, and Builderman were looking at you, seemingly waiting for a Reply.

"Well?"

Shedletsky said, tapping the table as he waited for your response. Builderman shook his head, seemingly making up a decision for you.

"..They didn't seem to hear what you asked, but its fine. They can stick with me so that we can avoid that passive of theirs."

Builderman stated, glancing at you before he looked at your abilties and stats once more. He will most likely and definitely help you during this, considering he was a support as well.

"Also, This might be for you as well. It was in front of the front door earlier."

Builderman quickly added, seemingly remembering something as he picked up a Belt that had 3 adrenaline shots, as well as a container for Big Batches of Pain Pills.

"If that's one's case, then I shall take my leave. To prepare for the next round, is my current top priority."

Dusekkar said, patting you on the head as they seemed to have acknowledged your abilities.

"This shall be your first round, So one will wish you Great Fortune during this expedition."

Dusekkar wished you Good Luck, but in a somewhat fancy way.. None the less, he meant well that's for sure. Without waiting for your reply, they levitated away seemingly off to do their own thing as they weren't up for this round.

"Dusekkar is always so conservative, but I tell you he means well!"

Shedletsky said as he glanced at the Pumpkin figure gradually faded away from View. After Dusekkar left, he looked at you with a positive smile.

"There's still time until the round starts! Why don't you get along with the other members of the team? Off you go now!"

Shedletsky said, seemingly wanting you to interact more with the others as he gave you a little nudge that you needed to walk away. Giving you a thumbs up before talking to Builderman about the upcoming round.

In the actual Lobby, most of the Survivors were there. Even some of the survivors that you didn't manage to meet yesterday were there as well, all of them minding their own business or preparing for the next round. Elliot seemed to spot you as he waved, coming up to you with a bright smile.

"Hey, Have you met Builderman and Shedletsky yet? I heard they wanted to discuss your abilities. None the less, I won't be there to support you next round sadly.. But Im sure Builderman will find a way to teach you how to be a great support for the team!"

Elliot mentioned, patting you on your shoulder as they seemed to have hoped to teach you how things worked around here. A figure behind Elliot seemed to appear, looking behind him as they had a blue shirt and green pants.

"I-is this the new survivor..?"

They said, stumbling on their own words as they looked to be a bit afraid by your presence. Elliot looked behind him before smiling again, moving aside and showing the said figure. Noob jumped at the sudden movement Elliot did, but they still managed to stand still without freaking out at least.

"Meet Noob! Don't worry, They're nice."

Elliot stated, but the second sentence seemingly more so to Noob than for you. Noob looked at Elliot and then back at you as they didn't seem to know what to reply, after all they were described as Quiet and Withdrawn even after gaining more friends from this Realm..

"..Hello, It's nice to meet you Noob."

Deciding that you should take the first move this time, They seem to flinch as you offered your hand for a hand shake. After a moment or two, they took your hand and shook it lightly. Avoiding your gaze as they looked down.

"..It's nice to meet you too."

They replied, still a bit frightened but they managed to give a small smile. You took your hand away as you can feel someone staring at you, looking behind, you can see a pale-skinned robloxian with black scene-like hair. Just blankly staring at you as you stared back at them. It was a silent showdown as none of you seemed to speak up about the awkward staring contest between you both. Before of course, Elliot stepped in once again.

"..Ahh, that person over there is just Two Time. They might come off at the wrong glance at first but their decent."

Elliot stated, mentioning how Two Time is known for being a little bit insane in the membrane.. None the less, Two Time diverted their gaze in another direction as soon as Elliot is finished, seemingly off to their own little world once more. In another corner of the room, There seemed to be a person with a blue shirt, having a burger ontop of his head. But before you can even get any interactions with him, Noob patted your shoulder as they signalled you to look up, seeing that the timer's countdown was almost over.

"T-The round is almost starting.."

Noob said, stammering between their words once more as they seemed to be preparing themselves for this round even if they looked like they didn't want to participate any longer.

"..Good luck, You two."

Elliot stated, looking at you and Noob with a look of worry. You weren't even given time to say anything as your vision faded to black.

[ THE ROUND HAS STARTED. ]

Opening your eyes, You seemed to be in the Glass Houses map. Nobody seemed to spawn near you, so for the time being you were alone for now. What did spawn near you was a Generator, you might as well complete it to for the team and to not be completely useless.. While doing the Generator, there was seemingly a Menu you can open during the round, floating beside you as you can see the remaining time of the round as well as both your stats and your other teammates stats. This was definitely gonna be useful later on deciding who can get prioritized for temporary healing and actual healing later on.. A sudden feeling of panic eased within you, as your heart was beating louder and louder. Was this the passive ability you had? But it hasn't been 30 seconds yet, and you were just halfway done with the machine when Sudden Spikes appeared from the ground and blocked most of your exits besides the exit that you had to walk up through stairs to get out. Looking up, You could finally see the Killer as realization sets upon you.. John Doe was the killer. Probably from last round's events, the other killers were probably notified of your coming. And looking at his face, he seemed to look like he found the right survivor to toy with.. along with that, A sense of Nausea slipped within you, what a great timing of events.

"..So, This... is the New Comer."

John Doe managed to say, even though he was mostly mute in the actual game, in this reality you find yourself in he actually is able to talk but seemingly not much, showing how the Corruption affects him. Enough about needing to talk to the killer, You can do that any time. Right now, you didn't want to die. Especially the fact that you have not ever experienced death in this realm once, getting Impaled by a spike and ripped apart into two was NOT a pleasant way to die. Immediately shotting up to your feet, you quickly made your way up the stairs to the somewhat second floor of the building even with the Nausea you had during this. Looking down, you were steered away for a bit due to the height. In game, you were just playing a silly little pixel game. So the drop didn't seem much at first, but now that you're actually here.. it was steeper than expected. But John Doe was following close behind you, so you had no other choice but to Jump. Jumping off, you survived the jump successfully, but you lost balance as you landed and fell to the floor while at it. You swore you could hear John Doe's laughter up there, seemingly seeing your pathetic attempt to get away from him.

"You need to work on that landing of yours."

John Doe stated, easily following behind you as he jumped off so effortlessly and landed successfully as well. He was about to hit you with his clawed arm before..

BANG!

The sound of a explosion ran out through the air, pausing John Doe's movements as both of you looked at the side, seeing Chance who had a awkward grin, holding his now destroyed gun that exploded on him instead of stunning the killer.. Well, it did seem to stun John Doe at least from the sheer stupidity of the situation, so Mission Failed Successfully?..

Seeing the Opportunity at hand, You stumbled onto your feet, before running at Chance as you handed him Pain Pills before running off in another direction. John Doe seems to have scoffed at this action, before immediately changing targets as he chased Chance, who looked to be very grateful for your ability to say the least. After you deemed you've ran far enough, you stopped to catch your breath, noticing how your body trembled just based off of how much your hands shook. Right, all that you did was something you acted upon instinct. You didn't actually expect to be able to pull that off, especially knowing how Lazy and Carefree you were back then.. Clapping can be heard, as you looked up to the source to find Shedletsky, impressed by what just happened.

"Not bad at all for someone who just got here Yesterday!"

Shedletsky stated, before he suddenly got hit by a wrench as he winced from the pain. Stumbling back to the side, he revealed Builderman who was seemingly behind him this whole time.

"Talk later, Chance needs someone to distract that thing."

Builderman stated, behind him a Dispenser that he has built for the round. Shedletsky realized this as he checked the status, with Chance only having 67 HP left, and 30 of it was his actual health. Seems like he got hit once already, and with that Shedletsky quickly left, waving a quick goodbye as you were now left alone with Builderman.

"..I didn't manage to find you before your Passive activated, so I do apologize for that."

Builderman suddenly stated, checking the status of his machines as he noticed that his Sentry was down. Before you can even say anything in reply.

"You think ya' can handle being Alone for a bit? I just need to place down a sentry for these sentinels."

Builderman stated, looking at you as he adjusted his tool belt. You could only nod in reply, he gave a small smile and started walking away.

"Your work is much appreciated."

And with that, Builderman faded out of your view. Your left alone with the dispenser.. Oh wait, someone was near the dispenser and you didn't even notice until now. Not even Builderman seemed to notice him before he left, As 007n7 was near the Dispenser getting healed. It seemed that he just got here, having serious wounds as he was probably hit pretty badly by John Doe probably when he started chasing Chance, probably Body Blockeing so that Chance wouldn't die right off the bat. You didn't need to say anything else, remembering how Meos used to yap to you about 007n7's backstory to say the least.. if you were right, this man was the Adoptive Father of c00lkidd. 007n7 seemed to notice you staring at him, before he averted his own gaze.

"I understand if you do not want to interact with me in any way, but I do hope my presence and background doesn't dissuade you from helping someone like me.. But I don't blame you if you do of course..-"

007n7 stated, still looking away as an awkward tension fell before you two. You almost forgot, Almost every survivor disliked 007n7, especially knowing his misdeeds in the past. But you yourself didn't know much about him, only knowing about him being an Exploiter back then. None the less, he seemed to be trying his best to help the team with body blocking despite the situation. You didn't really know how to reply back to 007n7, especially with this heavy tension in the air. You could only look at the man before you with sympathy, before you dropped one of your Adrenaline Shots. While at that, 007n7 looked surprised that you even gave something. He hasn't done anything good for you, has he?..

"..Thank you for your work."

You muttered out, slightly repeating what Builderman said to you. 007n7 looked surprised as he looked at you with such shock. You stood back up and left him with the Dispenser, not bothering to look back as he himself didn't reply to you. Only grabbing the Adrenaline Shot you gave him as he stayed a little longer near the dispenser to heal up.

As you roamed around, with the machines being completed and picking up a Bloxy Cola along the way.. You happened to spot Chance once more, He doesn't seemed to be getting chased anymore, meaning John Doe went after a different target as he was sitting down leaning onto the wall while flipping his coin. He seemed to have spotted you as well as you went up to him.

"..Thanks for the Pills back there, It definitely made me see another day that's for sure. You think you can spare me an Adrenaline Shot at the moment?"

Chance asked, fixing his hat as he had a new gun that was fixed as well. With that, he stood up despite his Injuries as started flipping his coin once more.

"Oh.. Sorry, I can't give one at the moment. I just gave one to 007n7, and I can't give another one for a few seconds. But I do have this.."

You replied, taking out the Bloxy Cola that was hanging off your belt as you gave it to Chance. He only nodded and took the Bloxy Cola you gave him, not bothered by the fact that your Adrenaline Shot was currently unavailable.

"Oh, That Awkward Fella? Its all good, he deserves it for sparing me a hit or two. But Two Time on the other hand... wasn't so lucky to get away."

Chance mentioned, frowning at the thought. You didn't even realize Two Time was dead, looking at the Survivor's list and Two Time was indeed in fact dead. Every other survivor took a hit besides you and Noob, who was probably hiding and doing the last machines for this round.

"..None the less, I appreciate the gesture. Don't worry that fella got transported back to the Lobby and didn't actually die but... It might take you a while to get used to it so that's just a heads up for you."

Chance said, looking at you as he grinned once more. You could only wonder something that happened earlier, and your curiosity got the better of you.

"..Why did your gun explode on you?"

You asked, before a short silence filled the air. Chance's expression went blank, probably remembering the pathetic attempt at trying to stun the killer earlier. until it was replaced with a toothy grin, as he tried forgetting that ever happened.

"That's because I load extra gunpowder in it, nothing more, nothing less.. Its all good though, so you don't have to worry."

Chance stated, trying to save himself some dignity as he continued to flip his coin infront of you, but it always seemed to land on tails. Which seemingly made him more frustrated to say the least. Who wouldn't be?

"Now why would you do that..-"

Chance paused once more from your question, thinking about it before he shrugged, flipping his coin once more as it finally started landing on heads.

"..'cause where's the fun in that?"

He said with a proud grin, before he stopped flipping his coin as he finally got 3 charges. While at that, he started walking away once more.

"I would ask for more Pain Pills, But Shed needs it more right now. I'll go ahead and find either a Medkit or Builderman's dispenser somewhere here, but its best you go to Shed's aid."

Chance said as he left, leaving you more dumbfounded than ever by his own answer. So this little shit just loads in extra gunpowder for shits and giggles.. you could only sigh at his answer, before taking the initiative and got moving once more. After all, Shedletsky and the others still need your help. but you can't help but feel a bit guilty about Two Time's case. Even if you were a support that had healing abilities, your abilities were only there to give relief momentarily. You weren't paying attention to the Survivor Status as well, so you wouldn't even know that Two Time was dead if Chance didn't point it out. You remember how the whole entire fandom hated Two Time specifically, the intense backlash they gets due to their "useless" kit made everybody dislike them. You can't help but reminiscence on the times where Peanut tried to defend Two Time's horrible kit with their own life.

As you walked further and further from the direction you were once from, you could slowly start hearing yells and chattering amongst the silent night. As you got closer and closer, you could spot spikes from the ground. Your definitely getting close. As you ran, you could see John Doe still chasing Shedletsky due to the fact he had half of his health left. With your CD finally over, you used your ability as Shedletsky gained extra health temporarily as the Pain Pills quickly kicked in. John Doe seemed to pause from this, before he slowly turned to you, seemingly fuming with rage.

"..You annoying, little BRAT."

John Doe stated, before he suddenly started chasing you. This was most definitely your queue to run as John Doe followed close by, his anger seemingly reaching its peak from you healing the survivor he was chasing after. Who wouldn't be? After all, you yourself raged when an Elliot healed a survivor you were about to kill back when you were the killer.. Okay, that really shouldn't be the focus right now. Especially considering how close John Doe really was to you and the fact your stamina was running out.

It wasn't long before you felt a sharp pain at your back, being slashed by John Doe. His slashes were absolutely painful, but you weren't dead just yet at least. You got back at your feet as you looped around John Doe, going back to where you left Shedletsky. As you went back, you can see Shedletsky and Builderman with a sentry deployed right in front of them. Before you can even seem to get to them though, Spikes appeared from the ground as not only did it hit you, but blocked the pathway to them as well. Landing onto the ground, you couldn't help but wince in pain. Before you can even try getting up, you were kicked so that you wouldn't be able to. The very person that stood before you was John Doe, who definitely had intentions of murdering you with how bad his glare burned onto you. He scoffed, his spiked arm going under your chin as he forced you to look up to his Malicious Smile.

"..You're out of Luck, you bothersome fool. I'll make sure your first death will be a painful one."

John Doe said, as he was about to strike you with his other clawed hand once more.. Hah, You really fucked up this time, didn't you? Nobody and Nothing can save you now as you closed your eyes and waited for the inevitable until...

[ The Round has Ended. ]

[ Survivors Won. ]

JOHN DOE'S POV.

Seeing this New Survivor flailing around on the ground like a pathetic worm felt great. Especially after all the shit they pulled off as well. It was fun at first, but its starting to get irritating knowing this Survivor was another annoying support to say the least. But he couldn't help but Smile, seeing how frightened they really are. A taste of their own medicine, they said. This was just another victim for his own games, as he was about to strike them before..

Everything went black, he was back in the Lobby again. As he processed everything that was happening, he felt his anger rising once more. Grabbing something and throwing it across the room, that very item that was thrown being a Sword. And the person right across him was 1x1x1x1, almost getting hit by the said Sword but none the less remained Unphased as she stayed quiet. What a weirdo.

"..Seems like the new Survivor got under someone's nerves pretty quickly..."

A voice rung out from the room, with c00lkidd stating the obvious. Scoffing from his statement, glaring at the child as c00lkidd immediately put their hands up and shutted up, not wanting to make him angry even more. Jason didn't seem to be present in the main room, probably off to do their own thing. John Doe didn't have any more business done here as he went back to his room, his spiked arm dragging across the floorboards. He only managed to kill 1 survivor from the 7 survivors last round.. He'll make sure he'll wipe them all next time.

"..H0w B0th3rs0m3 1nd3ed."

1x1x1x1 stated, agreeing at John Doe's last statement as he looked up at a screen that was broadcasting the round as the screen only shown a Pain Pill left on the ground before the screen itself finally went away.

READER'S POV.

You waited for the inevitable to happen, expecting something painful yet.. nothing seemed to happen. Opening your eyes, your back to the Survivor's Lobby as you were sitting on a Table with the other remaining survivors. You actually survived that, and your injuries seemed to be gone. But where it was felt sore and a bit painful if touched to say the least, but what matters was that you survived. Your hands were shaking once more, but this time you couldn't tell if it was from fright because of the experience or if it was from the sheer happiness that you managed to actually survive. Some of the other survivors like 007n7 and Noob seemingly got up from their seats and went away, probably to have either some alone time or back to their room.. or both. Chance got up as well, walking up to Elliot and asking for a Pizza. Two Time was no where to be seen, and Shedletsky and Builderman stood up as well, but seemingly looking at you as they seemed to be relieved.

"..You did well, I'm honestly surprised how ya' managed to survive that

Builderman stated, his accent seemingly slipping in as he looked at you with a furrowed expression. Although his words were definitely sincere, his furrowed expression was practically screaming the fact that he seems to want to scold you for your reckless actions, but didn't as you were new after all, its common for this to happen..

"I wonder how Lucky this New Addition can get.. I swear, you might be even more lucky than Mr. Exploding Gun over here."

Shedletsky stated, mentioning the failed attempt of a stun from Chance as he probably was looking at each survivor status during it to find out what was happening.. Chance came back, with pizza in his hands as he scoffed, frowning as he didn't want to remember that once more.

"..That was only one time during the round...-"

The other survivors started chatting amongst themselves, With Shedletsky and Chance seemingly teasing and making fun of eachother's misses as Builderman just seemed to watch like a disappointed parent while Elliot watched as if he has seen this multiple times already. Everybody seemed to be so well connected already.. well, most of them at least. But something felt off, and you couldn't help but wonder yourself.. Will this Peace last forever? Who knew. But right now, enjoying this moment felt like the right thing to do.

Your enjoyment was definitely short-lived though, as you felt someone pull you away, unable to see who it is as they pulled you away from everybody and out the Cabin without anybody noticing. Looking behind you, you could see Two Time who stared blankly at you. You couldn't help but feel uneasy again as their stare was off-putting to say the least.

"..Oh, Hello... Do you need anything?--"

You asked, looking at them as you noticed they had a few bandages around certain parts of their body where John Doe probably slashed them at. before you can even finish your sentence though, Two Time cutted you off as they were quick with their words.

"007n7 never told you their name during the round, and I'm sure you didn't interact with him earlier.. How did you manage to know and mention his name when you spoke with Chance earlier?"

Two Time stated, mentioning the fact that you slipped up and said 007n7's name when talking to Chance earlier. They were really observant, and you felt like if you lied they wouldn't buy it. You were forced in a tough spot to say the least, this turned out far more worst than expected. Someone is already managing to figure you out and it hasn't been even a week yet. You couldn't help but feel frightened once more, a cold shiver went down your spine as your face to face with Two Time who wants answers. You know that whatever you will plan to answer, there will definitely be consequences for each one.

WARNING :

Major Decision Making up ahead.

Surprise! Interactive Choices appear! It seems like someone already got suspicious of you, and it was Two Time none the less. Whatever you choose WILL affect on how the story would go, so choose wisely!

TAGLIST

@takingnap55 @vyn-nn @g4tyjust4tw0 @ilikedrinkingsoda @subspacekisser1 @m-just-call-me-that @yukinaabutlazy @ms-sh0rtcak3 @no-hearts-included @agenteighter @bombcake @jawzwix

[ If your tag is white, for some odd reason I can't seem to tag you! (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠) ]

[ If you want to be apart of the Taglist, don't be afraid to ask! ]

NOTES

AAAAA... VERY SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT!! I've been busy since I'm currently undergoing my last few weeks of the School Year and is heavily bombarded with school work.. Next chapter might take a while to upload considering I still have to finish up every single one of my works, but none the less I'm kind of glad I got this out of the way.

The reason why Reader doesn't maintain their Injuries because of the little headcanon I have where Survivors that DO survive the round will have the luxury to not experience any wounds, while Survivors that do perish in the round are forced to deal with the wounds until all the rounds that are prepared for the day are completed. Then they can actually rest then pray to spawn that it heals up quickly before the next round of 'games.' I thought of this headcanon because I wanted a Punishment for 'failing' to survive the rounds and also because I see Spectre doing this to the Survivors to make them suffer more.. this is further more shown when Reader is faced with Two Time which they had bandages around them, as well as in Chapter 1 with Guest 1337 themselves having bandages around their body when the Reader met them after the round was over.

For this series, theres a lot soon to come! But right now, things are definitely getting more serious. There will still be some silly moments then and there, but there will be more decision making sitiations in the future! I think thats all I have to say for now. Thank you for your patience!

EDIT :

NGL GANG.. I ALMOST LOST THIS FIC!.. ITS OKAY PROBLEM IS SOLVED BUT OH MY DAYS THIS WOULD'VE BEEN A LONG CHAPTER DOWN THE DRAIN..

#forsaken #forsaken roblox x reader #forsaken x reader #roblox forsaken x reader #★ 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓼

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23xfgg · 1 month ago

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YANDERE! BATFAM x DRUG USER/SOBER! READER

(Ch. 1)

Ch. 2 <-

(Ch. 3)

An // this is part 2 of drug user / sober! Reader and I would like to thank you guys for actually liking the last one even though it wasn’t great. I do want to clarify that there won’t be any speech in this as I’m terrified of writing dialogue sorry <3

Again I’m sorry if this sounds messy and disjointed

I will also try making a tag list (max 10 or 20) that would be included at the end of the chapters.

TW// death, drugs, depression, drinking

It has been a couple of months since you stumbled across the drug party and met Adam. Your friendship with him started as aquenences who know nobody else but each other at the function to becoming quite close. You obviously had no way to contact him other than when you see each other at the “drug pit”.

Sometimes there would just be people popping pills, drinking, smoking, snorting, etc with only a few words being shared here or there. Other days it’s like a full blown party. The place is cramped, people are rubbing their bodies on others, coke lines on a random girls chest, mixing all kind of substances together and of course music blasting so loud people outside can hear it. This place feels like a second home to you. The first being your life with your mother and never including the manor.

Thinking about that place just gives you more reason to down another shot and buy a lollipop from a suspicious man in the corner.

Your addiction was a slow start, from turning up at the alley once a week to only smoke weed and gradually increasing to popping pills, drinking along with smoking. And your presence there increased from once a week to now almost every other day. Your frequency to turning to those drugs only ever increased when Damian just has to remind you that your existence will never amount to anything and you might as well save the whole family a favour and just disappear.

Honestly, even when you tried to ignore it his words did have an effect on your mental health, making you feel more depressed. And the depression will lead to grief as you just wish your life was normal before your mom died. You missed how she will hold you when you felt sad. She knew words had little effect so she just let her presence comfort you. Feeling safe in her arms surrounded by her floral perfumes gave you a sense of security. A security now lost because she is gone. She’s not there to hold you and comfort you. So now you resort to crying out on your pillows and popping a few pills whenever you smell the slightest trace of her clean floral perfume.

To keep your “family” off your back about your actions (which wasn’t that hard) you had a simple routine after school to keep any suspicion off you. After school you spent some time in your room, changing into a hoodie and ripped jeans, telling Alfred you will be with a friend and not to say any dinner for you and then you’re off.

Off to have whatever fun you want without any of the judging eyes you would get from the bat family. Whatever fun you want without having to avoid eye contact with your “father” Bruce and his disapproving glare. All the fun you want without a tiny body big attitude gremlin (who is sadly you half brother) telling you how much of a disappointment and a failure you are to the Wayne name.

It was so easy to hide you habits from them when they themselves don’t notice you. You take little care in making sure the spotlight of their attention was not on you. Not like it was hard to begin with. They were always buys with some shit regarding themselves.

You knew all the best hiding spots around Gotham. Including the manor. So you hid your stash based on importance/ how offer you would reach for it. Your pills and week you keep in a shoebox place under creaky floor boards in your room. The slightly harder stuff you have them hidden behind loose bricks, abandoned buildings and in alleyways. And some extra cash in all those spots. Heck, you even have thoes shoes that have compartments in the hell to hide your stuff in when the manor gets a little to risky to leave stuff alone.

You have taken (not) every necessary steps to ensure that the rest of them don’t find your little part time hobby, even when you know they won’t pay enough attention to notice (or will they…). But still as long as it stays with you in the shadows it will be easier as the days go by.

You have thought about quitting. But that was just a brief thought. The high and comfort was just too much for you to leave. It helped you cope. It helped keeping you out of your own dark thoughts. You never had to think of anything regarding your life when you’re high.

All you need was just pills and a joint and you are almost as happy when your mom was alive.

Almost…

An // ahh this chapter is shiiiitt. I srs don’t know what to do here 😭😭😭

I have plans for more chapters that may or may not come just be patient and ignore the mess that is my writing.

Tag list (if I have forgotten you I’m sorry pls just comment and I will add you in the next one) : @welpthisisboring @vanessa-boo @shycreatorreview @jsprien213 @1abi

Bye bye now 🤘

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twilightau · 1 month ago

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LOVE VIRUS 2; L.DH

synopsis — you finally left the ER department, but why do you keep popping up in Haechan’s life and mind?

genres — first love au, co-workers-to-lovers, doctor au

pairing — general surgeon!lee donghyuck x nurse!fem!reader

warnings — language, mentions of death, incorrect medical descriptions, fire accident, lots of HC going back and forth with his thoughts, medical setting, lot of pov changes

word count — 7,6k (part one) 5,6k (part two)

author’s note — this fic is based off the j-drama ‘an incurable case of love’! but besides some events and the premise, they aren’t similar. i also added doses of other k-medical drama moments in the work, mostly because i am far from medically educated so i apologize to any of you who are reading this.

a/n part 2: this part switches focus between haechan and y/n a lot. whenever it’s haechan-focused, he will be referred to as haechan (in y/n-focus he is referred to as donghyuck).

HAECHAN: all the voices say the same thing.

There was no turning back. As much as people like to think that he is socially stumped, Haechan wasn’t. Being socially aware, but not acting upon it is a choice, and it was always the most time-efficient choice in his opinion. The opinions of others don’t matter, everyone knew he had the skills to match his attitude, so why bother being likable when a doctor’s job is to save people?

His nth consultation ended with another pair of wary eyes looking at him. He told them exactly what the surgery was and what their chances of survival were, yet the patient only turned away once the rookie nurse added some sugar-coated words to his story.

It’s so stupid how people let themselves fall into meaningless words of hope. They’d be ready to fight Haechan over well-formulated diagnoses with realistic predictions, but once you pitch in with some sentimental words about healing, they are always easily satisfied. You throw in one of your sweet and kind smiles and the patient is sold.

It frustrated him how much of those smiles he has been seeing lately. Somehow, after he revealed that he remembered you, it was him who became hyper-aware of you. He can’t even properly criticize your work anymore because it did actually improve, and you knew it because you have been flashing proud little smiles at him whenever he didn’t tell you off on something he did before.

Haechan was sure that the thoughts of you would quiet down after you finished your ER rotation and continued on to other departments. But it really didn’t help that you ended up at cardiology and Mark was somehow so fond of you that he always mentions you whenever the surgeon went out for a drink with the cardiologist.

(“Nurse Y/N baked some cookies for the team today, they were crazy.” Mark told his friend while stuffing his face with another piece of chicken. Haechan sipped his beer, trying to focus on anything but the image of you smiling brightly with a tray of cookies.

“She even made a special version, which Jeno approved to give to his patients.” The surgeon hummed with indifference – at least he tried to. “Yo, are you even listening?” Haechan’s eyes flick to Mark with annoyance.

“Well, sorry that I don’t want to hear about Y/N and Jeno being some sort of charity towards their patients. I’m not exactly invested.” Mark gaped at his friend, who grabbed his glass to take a huge sip. “No way, you are into her, dude.” And the surgeon spat his drink all over Mark with zero guilt.)

Even worse, you keep showing up in his barely-there free time as well, present in his house, talking to his cousin like you’ve known her for years when it has been literal months. The two of you are always watching some cheesy rom-com whenever Haechan looks over at the living room from the open kitchen, which he only entered for some water by the way.

Tonight was one of those nights where you came over while your roommate was out with her friends. Karina brought home some fried chicken and the two of you were enjoying your meal with an episode of Perfect Match a background noise.

“Girl, I can’t believe it's only been three months since you started here. You already received a request to start in the cardiology department which is very impressive.” This news was unknown to Donghyuck, he sits up a little straighter, his laptop and work long forgotten on the kitchen island.

You shake your head profusely, “I only got the offer because the team thinks I do well with the patients. Besides, the majority of the team already knew me before I started.”

It was true, the cardiology department was where your roommate Minjeong was stationed. It would be no surprise if she recommended you, as well as Mark, although he would have done it for different reasons.

“So what?” Karina stretches out the ‘a’ for dramatic effect, “Wasn’t it Jeno that turned in that request?” She continues to press the topic further, and Haechan knows his cousin. She was trying to get on his nerves. He directed his gaze to the living room to confirm that Karina was indeed eyeing him. The conversation the cousins had once resurfaced.

(“I think you should try dating again, Haechan.” His cousin casually dropped while they were having dinner. Haechan scoffs, pointing his fork at his cousin accusatory. “Just say you want me together with your little friend and be done with it. Don’t beat around the bush.”

“Okay, fine, let me be honest. Y/N is a great girl, and if you don’t act on it fast, she will be taken in no time.” Although Haechan saw you in a professional light most of the time, he was still a man who could objectively confirm that you were attractive. But you were so different from him that he couldn’t imagine himself with you.

“I doubt she is that popular, Karina. You are overreacting.” He tries to play it nonchalantly, if she notices, she doesn’t mention it. The two ate their dinner with small bickerings on random topics, but the thought that there was someone in the cardiology department didn’t sit right with Haechan.)

At least he didn’t need to ask Mark about it anymore now that his cousin had revealed the name of the guy. Haechan absolutely refuses to ask his best friend even remotely about any female, knowing he won’t live it down if it comes to Mark Lee. It was however quite surprising that Jeno requested you to join the cardiology department, after all, Jeno wasn’t much of a social butterfly compared to his co-worker Mark. But his sweet smile and mellow nature made him popular amongst the female staff of any department.

It wasn’t jealousy – he knows for sure (no he doesn’t)– but wonder? A small piece of him was kind of proud that you managed to establish a steady image of yourself that became well-liked by the cardiology department. He wasn’t jealous, really. Part of the rotations is to see which team would fit best for each rookie nurse. Haechan also knew that there were very few nurses who ended up applying for the emergency department, feeling an overwhelming responsibility to work hard and fast under very unappealing circumstances.

Haechan is about to open his mouth to throw a teasing comment your way, itching to see how you’d react, but his phone goes off. An emergency alert.

He looks up to see the same expression on Karina’s face, the two cousins stand up in unison and rush to get their stuff. The surgeon notices you walking toward him as he packs his laptop into his bag.

“What happened?”

“Emergency alarm, all available staff are asked to come and help out.” He doesn’t look up, rushing into his room to grab his remaining necessities before exiting and walking toward the door. You stand there with Karina, the head nurse looking at Haechan, her eyes asking for help.

“Y/N wants to come, too.” Haechan frowns, frankly speaking, he didn’t have time for this as he should be rushing to the hospital, but he somehow still finds time to argue with you on this.

“When I said all available staff, I meant the ER and related staff. General surgery is always called in for these things. The cardiology staff on shift will cover what they need just fine.” He waves you off, putting his shoes on and opening the door, already rushing down the hallway to the elevators. But if Lee Donghyuck had spent just as much time with you as Yu Karina had, he’d have known how persistent you actually are, strutting into the elevator with Karina.

You don’t even spare the man a look, a smug smile on your face while you wait for the elevator to reach the ground level. Haechan hides his forming smile behind a scoff. “Did I lose your respect after you rotate in other departments, Nurse Y/N?” You turn around to face Haechan with a smile, and the man forgets to keep his composure for a second, but snaps back before you – or his cousin – can notice.

“In case you didn’t know, I am free to apply for any department now that I’ve completed the obligatory rotations. Besides, there are people out there who need help right now Dr. Lee. I don’t think refusing to help hands is the efficient choice right now.” Haechan rolls his eyes, not missing the detail of your word choice.

♡

The accident site wasn’t far from your apartment complex, Haechan had to make the quick decision of sending Karina off to the hospital as head nurse and took you with him to the accident site.

“Hello, this is doctor Lee Donghyuck from general surgery. I’m going on-site to assess the situation. Please send over one medical unit and extra emergency kits.” Haechan pauses for a moment to look at you, “I already have one nurse with me.” He informs the emergency response center before taking a sprint.

This wasn’t his first time on an accident site, he knew the drill but repeated it nonetheless for you. “Make sure to stay close to me. You are here to assist me, and I am here to assess who we can and cannot treat. Nurse Y/N, what you are about to see will be upsetting, but I need you to stay clear-minded, okay?” His voice was more gentle as he spoke the last part, but he knew the moment the two of you set eyes on the site, that your heart must be heavy and racing just like his.

Haechan was shortly informed on the phone that a fire broke out in a neighboring high school; he already knew that there would be a lot of injured students. But knowing never softens the blow. The sounds of crying, coughing, and screaming students momentarily freeze the surgeon, but the moment he looks at you, he knows he has to stay strong to keep both of you afloat. He grabs your hand, telling you to follow him towards a temporary set-up tent where paramedics are already busy dividing tasks.

“I’m doctor Lee Donghyuck from Neo-Seoul Medical Center, this is Nurse Y/N L/N. What can we do to help?” A tall paramedic turns to the two of you, his face looks strained but he manages a polite smile and shakes your hands. “I’m glad help could come this fast. I’m the captain of unit A, paramedic Johnny Suh. We are currently waiting for the clear sign to enter the building and look for survivors. It’s best that you two start with labeling all the students who managed to get out already. You know the codes?”

“Yes,” Haechan answers curtly, it wasn’t unusual that people underestimated him because he looked young, but he didn’t waste much time on the thought and rushed to the first students he could find.

He checks the pulse of a still-laying male student while a female sits next to him on the ground, crying. You assist Haechan with all the tools he needs to check on the non-responding patient while he asks the conscious female a few questions.

“Give her a green label and him an orange label,” Haechan instructs before standing up and looking for the next patient. He hears you tell the girl that orange means the boy will be fine and the girl cries out louder, thanking the two of you.

♡

Y/N: that fire that burns dangerously.

What felt like hours went by while Donghyuck and you checked patient after patient. Yangyang and Sion joined the scene to help lift part of the burden as on-site medical staff. You tried your best to keep up with Donghyuck while trying to keep your head cool. There were so many students, and young lives that will hold this disaster as a tainted memory for a long time.

You knew you’d been here way too long, the fire wasn’t completely out yet and the paramedics did warn you to take precautions. The mask on your face started to feel suffocating and it was obvious that both Donghyuck and you needed a break before you exhausted yourself in these extreme conditions. Your hand reached out to call him, but you froze at a familiar cry near the two of you.

“Somebody, please…” A weak female voice calls out between coughs, you whip your head around and run without warning Donghyuck. Her voice was something you wouldn’t forget. You have laughed with that voice, cried with that voice, and screamed with that voice at one of the scariest moments in your life: it was Minnie’s voice.

“Minnie.” Her name leaves your lips with a gasp, she is dirtied with soot and trembling. You rush to her side and hug her tight, just relieved that she is alive. You feel her take a deep breath for a moment before she breaks out in coughs again. She pushed you off her with frantic eyes, trying her best to tell you something, but you were too close to the smoke and you didn’t doubt that she had been for a longer time.

“R-riku oppa–.” She forced the words out between coughs before you signaled paramedics to take her away. You jump on your feet, and a slight dizziness clouds your vision momentarily when you look around you. If Minnie has been so certain to not flee any further, it must mean that Riku was within reach. You try your hardest to see through the fire, unknowingly walking closer to the building, too desperate to save another child. The sight breaks your heart like a stone through a glass wall; Riku lies unconscious near the exit, a large object on top of his upper body, making it impossible for him to escape.

It wasn’t instinct, nor was it reflex. The complete opposite snapped in you, all the care for your own safety flew out the window the moment you saw the teenage boy. Your legs weren’t yours, your strength wasn’t yours, everything was automatic and with no thoughts. The object was heavy, likely a fallen piece of the ceiling, but you managed to lift it just a bit.

You shut your eyes and focus all your strength on removing the object, not even realizing that a group of paramedics and Donghyuck himself have found you and are helping out. Only after you felt like there was no strength left in you did you open your eyes, the object was off Riku’s body and Captain Suh was performing CPR. Donghyuck looked at you with concerned eyes, but his words didn’t register in your mind as exhaustion seeped into you. The last thing you remember is his arms around your body and the impact of something hard.

♡

HAECHAN: between you and me.

Haechan saves lives. It was one of the most normal things to do for him, hell – he was a professional after all. A general surgeon working in the emergency department, he was used to seeing people in very bad shapes and situations. These weren’t limited to the ER, but also on the accident sites. Haechan has always been the few doctors that were dispatched the most often whenever a disaster broke out. Thanks to his expertise, he knew exactly what and where the injured could go for the best treatments. He was also well aware of the procedure at the sites. Never would he call himself a sucker for rules, but he knew the importance of protocol and why they existed in the first place.

Yet he didn’t hesitate to run after you when you were obviously breaking any and every point of the set rules. Yet he even helped you out with your ridiculous quest to save a student that you were not capable of doing on your own. Yet he risked his life to push you out of the way because you were too caught up in the situation to stay aware of your surroundings.

Doyoung expected a lot of things from Haechan, but to tell him off on something he had done perfectly for so long was a surprise.

“This report doesn’t make sense, Donghyuck. You were supposed to be the best of the batch, but you’re messing up your entire fast track with a rookie mistake?” Doyoung rubs his hand over his face in frustration. Haechan was not a promising resident anymore, he was already at a similar level to some of the senior surgeons. If he had to be honest, Haechan might be better at certain surgeries than Doyoung himself.

It’s stupid, that’s what it is. Haechan made one mistake and the board jumped on the opportunity to humble the cocky surgeon. Haechan knows it’s unfair, probably anyone with a little more insight on the situation knows that this was a personal attack on him. But even as Chief of General Surgery, his power knew limits.

“Listen, I can’t get you back on track soon. But the good side is that the kid you saved was a close relative of the paramedic team on the scene. You might have temporarily lost your chance at promotion, but at least you got a paramedic team on your beck and call.”

Haechan didn’t speak much, just listening to Doyoung’s rants and nagging before leaving his office. He opens the door to catch you sitting in the waiting area. He knows he has to leave as soon as possible before you catch him, but his lingering gaze delays his moves and you look right up to his walking figure.

“Dr. Lee!” You shout through the hall, Haechan’s body freezes, allowing you to run up to him and hold his sleeve. A feeling of deja vu rises in Haechan, along with other things he is not ready to identify. “I need to talk to you, please.” The surgeon takes a deep breath and turns to you, a stoic expression hiding his uncertainties.

“Is it true that you lost your spot on the fast track?” Haechan rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny anything, too focused on not looking into your eyes. “Why?” You ask with a crack in your voice. If Haechan was too nervous to look in your eyes before, he is now terrified to catch your gaze. He is afraid of all the things he will say, and all the things he won’t say.

“Nurse Y/N, you should worry about your own conversation with your superior. Leave my business alone. Hell, leave me alone for once” Haechan snaps, misplaced anger in his words as he shrugs your hand off his sleeve and walks away. He didn’t look at your face, but he pictures your pained expression in his head, and he hates it.

Just like that, the two of you didn’t speak for weeks. You ended up choosing cardiology and were currently in Dr. Lee Jeno’s OR team. Maeda Riku was in fact one of the latest patients you assisted in Jeno’s OR, and due to the complicated surgery ending successfully, the entire team was invited to a conference to share the experience.

Haechan was a bit proud – or a lot – of your growth throughout your time at Neo-Seoul Medical Center. You still seemed a bit clumsy, but you were definitely quicker on your feet and managed to soothe the hearts of many cardiology patients. The general surgeon can act like this is all information he heard from Mark who seems to think Haechan needs weekly Y/N-updates (Haechan is kind of curious, he won’t lie), but deep down he already knows that even without Mark, Haechan will always look out for you from a distance.

“I’m telling you, dude. Lee Jeno is going to confess to her in Busan and you will end up single for the rest of your life!” Mark rubs his face in frustration, and his friend slash colleague’s passive behavior is ticking him off. Haechan’s face remains neutral, he grabs another strip of meat and puts it on the grill, he shrugs after seeing the cardiologist unmoving staring at him. “What does that have to do with me?”.

He’s feigning ignorance and he knows it. Haechan is still foolishly lying to himself that he doesn’t know about your… affection for him. You liked him silently, innocently, like anyone would feel about first love. But your little crush wasn’t the problem here, it was his growing love for you. While you just rekindled your previous crush on him, you set Haechan's heart ablaze in the most unsuspecting manner. One day he thought of you as the annoying new rookie in his department, preparing himself for any mistake you could make. But the next, he would be going home in between shifts, ‘resting’ and wondering whether you’d come and visit his cousin.

Suddenly, your mistakes weren’t annoying anymore and your care for patients softened his expressions. Suddenly, he didn’t mind having to eat your slightly sour food when you decided to cook Karina and his dinner. Suddenly, every extra mile you went for the people around you warmed his heart. And suddenly, that warmed heart became yours.

He doubted it at first, his feelings. Maybe he hadn’t met a fanatic rookie in a while – although Yangyang’s rookie days were also quite eventful. But Haechan knew for sure that you weren’t just a temporary infatuation when he ran into a burning building for you. He knew the consequences, the risks, but he didn’t care.

It felt unfair to you, who was just starting a career and exploring the medical world, to be tied down to a man with a bad reputation with colleagues who might affect your future.

“You’re telling me you aren’t going to fight for her?” Mark pushes, clearly his friend was hiding something but needed something to switch him on.

“I’m telling you she deserves better.” And Mark Lee was quiet about it, because Haechan was many things, and arrogant was at least in the top three words anyone would use to describe the surgeon. To have his colleague and long-term friend admit that he might not be the best option was out of the world, and so must his love for you be as well.

♡

Haechan sighs, swirling the champagne in his glass as he watches his colleagues and fellow medical professionals socialize. Through Mark’s effort, Haechan managed to get a few days off to join the conference in Busan, and now he is forced to come because Doyoung thought a conference was the perfect way to torture Haechan for his misbehavior.

He was right, it did feel like torture for Haechan. But it was because he was in a room filled with pretentious people, or because the catering was way too healthy and he needed something sweet.

It was torture because you were the most beautiful person in the room, and it was Jeno Lee who stood by your side. You wore a simple maxi dress which could have looked dull on anyone who didn’t glow like you. Your kind smile was given left and right and you laughed at all Jeno’s dry jokes. Haechan hated everything, but he loathed himself the most for not being the man next to you.

He goes outside and looks for his lighter, hoping that a long good smoke will help him escape. The surgeon spots Mark’s approaching figure and sighs again. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You smoke again?”

Haechan tries to flicker the lighter again but fails. “What else am I supposed to do in this situation? Fucking go and tell her? Ever since she entered my life, she has been prying open that shitty door that I didn’t know existed?” Haechan drags a hand through his hair, throwing the lighter away in frustration. “I can’t do that, Mark. Whenever I picture myself next to her, I can only think of myself as a medical mentor. I don’t have anything else to offer. I pale in comparison to her shining nature and it’s making me sick that Lee Jeno is going to walk away with her tonight.”

“But what about your own happiness, though?” His friend asks him. Haechan fakes a dry laugh. His back is still turned towards his friends as the general surgeon stares outside. “I could never put myself before her. I think I’ve known since that high school fire that it will always be her before me.” It sounds so cliche, too sickly sweet for Haechan to say, but if he won’t confess, the least he can do is tell his friend what has been clouding his heart and mind for months.

Haechan was frustrated, anyone could tell by his shaking shoulders. Lee Haechan felt like a loser, but he was too hopeless to do anything about it. A soft hand caresses his back to comfort him and the voice he had missed was finally speaking to him again. “Everyone deserves happiness. And everyone should move on from the past.” Your words were so simple and genuine like they always were. Haechan turns around in shock to find you standing next to Mark – who is wearing a smirk with only slight hints of guilt in his eyes for letting you listen to a highly personal conversation.

♡

Y/N: don't ever let it die.

The banquet went by in a daze, and your mind drowns in thoughts of Donghyuck. For which reason was he here, miles and miles away from the hospital, in Yangyang’s spot at an event he deemed a waste of his time? A room filled with greed-filled people and flashy decor, chit-chat, and food that wouldn’t satisfy his picky palate. But on the other hand, this was exactly where he was supposed to be, between the powerful and skilled.

Your untouched glass received a soft cling from Jeno’s glass. He gives you his ever-so-sweet smile. “Y/N, if you need to go, you can. I can handle the rest of this event alone.” You think back on the words that Winter spoke to you right at the beginning of your intro week at the hospital. How Donghyuck was far from your type. Lee Jeno was your type: he was hard-working, loving, and honest with his heart in anything he did. Even right now, in one of the most important moments of his career, he was willing to let you go because you wanted to.

“They haven’t called out your name yet, Jeno. I can’t miss your spotlight of the night.” He looks down, and the corners of his lips falter. “Y/N, I don’t want one of my biggest nights to also be the night where you make one of your most regretful mistakes.” He still avoids your eyes. A few moments of silence pass between you two while you search for the right words to say.

“I’ll be okay, you can go now, Y/N.” Even though he maintained his body language perfectly fine, you knew deep down that he was hurting too. You stand up, his body flinching ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry, Jeno.” Jeno Lee would have been your answer in any lifetime, but this is that one lifetime where your heart called another name.

♡

You saw the scene unfold in front of you. Donghyuck’s back was facing Mark and you, Mark was telling him things you knew bits and pieces of thanks to the talkative hospital staff. Haechan was crying, his lighter abandoned, and his words losing their firmness as he slowly crouched down. Mark doesn’t comfort him, instead, he turns around and looks at you. His eyes told you enough and you walked towards Donghyuck with caution.

“Everyone deserves happiness. And everyone should move on from the past.”

Your heart was almost beating out of your chest, all hopes shattering as you kissed him, but he wasn’t kissing you back. Your mind was a mess; did you read everything wrong? You were sure about him, but was he still doubtful about you? You push him away, embarrassment and anger fill you as you jump on your feet and flee the scene.

You didn’t need to guess who was chasing after you when you entered the elevator. A heaving Donghyuck stops the elevator doors right before they close by forcing his hand between the tiny gap. You frown at him, “Surgeons should be careful with their hands.” He clicks on the 7th floor and only starts speaking once the doors close and the two of you are alone.

“Why did you leave the event?” He is asking the question because he selfishly wants to hear you say that you still like him. After everything that just happened, Lee Donghyuck still needed more confirmation.

“Why did you chase me here?” You fire back, hiding your embarrassment behind a thin veil of anger. He didn't answer, his actions and words were making you scoff. “If you can’t decide what you want. You shouldn’t have come after me, Dr. Lee.” The doors open and you hurry out, Donghyuck just one step behind you.

“Y/N, wait!” He stops you from closing your hotel room door, his brows pinched together as he tries to open the door, but you refuse. “Dr. Lee, don’t waste your breath on me.” The door doesn’t move, you know he’s still holding it in place, not pushing it open unless you allow him to, but not letting it shut him out because he knows this will be his last chance.

“Don’t talk like that.”

Your grip on the door loosens and Donghyuck pushes the door open entirely, his body suddenly way too close.

“What?”

“Don’t talk so negatively about yourself, I don’t like that.” He says, two beats of silence pass before you stammer another noise of confusion.

“And why should that matter to me? Why should it matter whether you like the things I do or not?” The back of your leg hits the edge of the table and you put your hands behind you to realize the table is stopping you from escaping him.

Donghyuck doesn’t answer your question and takes half a step back and suddenly, you see him. He is furrowing his brows in frustration, and rubbing his sweaty palms against his dress pants. He is nervous to screw this up. He is nervous to screw up his chance with you.

Lee Donghyuck always held the rope in his hands. He is prideful and arrogant, talented and intelligent, structured and always in control. It was time to see if he would rather have his pride and control, or you.

“Did you mean what you said downstairs?” You ask him, mustering all your courage to act confident.

“I did, I do.” He answers immediately.

“What else did you tell Mark that should have been said to me?”

“Being with me will be hard because I still don’t know how to be thoughtful towards others. I still don’t know how to take care of someone instead of fixing them physically. Heck – I don’t even know how to talk about my own emotions properly, but please listen to me when I say this Y/N. Are we very different from one another? Yes, and logically that should stop us from already. I will probably upset you more than make you happy. But whenever I think of my future and my dreams…” Donghyuck stops his rant to take a deep breath.

“I know you are part of each and every one of them.” His eyes were searching for some sort of answer in yours. Darting left and right, looking for a glimpse of hope between the two of you. It took you all your willpower to suppress your smile.

“I don’t deserve to beg you to choose me. But if there is even a small percentage of ‘like’ left for me.” His eyes are shining with all his emotions. Bare and raw. He is laying out all his cards – his feelings – out for you to take or leave.

He takes a deep breath, “I will take it. I will cherish it because you are my Sun, Y/N L/N. And even if you only allow one single ray of sunshine upon me, I will gratefully bask in that warmth and light forever.” His hand comes up to your face to wipe away your tears and you smile, bursting out in laughter at his words.

Never did you expect Lee Donghyuck to talk like a poet, let alone a very desperate one at that. Having the upper hand was something you had wished for from day one when he oh so confidently smacked your mistakes in your face, but it has become clear to you that he had placed the rope in your hand a long while ago.

He musters an uncertain smile on his lips after you’ve been laughing for some time. “Please Y/N… say something to me.”

“When did you realize you liked me?”

“I realized I liked you when I started doing things I never did before. And I knew I love you when the thought of not having you around started to annoy me more than when you make basic mistakes.”

“Gosh, where did that cold jerk go? You sound so sappy.” You tease him, hands trailing up his forearms.

“If I were ever to hear all of the things I just told you, I might die from embarrassment.” You nod in agreement, face nearing his neck as you speak. “Don’t give me ideas I might use against you.” He smiles down at you, “I’m ready for any challenge you give me, I will prove myself.”

“Alright, we will see about that. First challenge; replace our first kiss from downstairs with one I won’t forget.” And he didn’t need to be told twice to oblige.

SEQUEL SNIPLET ♡

"Dude, you literally cannot ask me to run your ER while you're on your honeymoon. I cannot manage my duties in cardiology and emergency at the same time!" Mark complains, signing off another form head nurse Karina handed him a few minutes ago.

"Remember when you tricked me into confessing my feelings for my wife at that conference in Busan? I consider this payback." The cardiologist can already imagine the stupid smirk on his friend's face.

"I literally helped you get laid and get a wife?"

"In the most embarrassing way I've ever imagined. She literally still laughs in my face whenever she sees a lighter. Besides, both Doyoung and Jaehyun signed it off already. You can't go back unless I am back, and I am not back until my wife had enough of me." Mark rolls his eyes at his friend acting all smitten.

"Such a simp." Haechan laughs at the other end of the phone.

"See you in three months!" The cardiologist's eyes grow wide at those words. 3 months?!

taglist: @jaeveil, @lanadreamie, @pinknini7, @undomielsql, @yxnghyxck, @hyuckysunflower, @ypoom151999, @tinyzen - thank you for your patience!

any like, reblog, comment and feedback is appreciated! if you'd like to be on the taglist of this fic, let me know through an ask or comment on this work ♡

#nct dream x reader #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan x reader #nct au #jeno x reader #lee jeno #haechan angst #haechan fluff #nct dream imagines #nct fluff #nct angst

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rafesbabyg1rl · 6 months ago

Note

You were asking for reqs for rafe x reader, if you are taking them, I have one in mind. In which rafe is extremely possesive of bsf reader, and gets easily jealous. One day she was at a kook party, and a guy approached her and they started to talk and that sh*t went down, rafe got aggressive and almost beat the guy to a pulp. Reader is like a shy cute innocent, bimbo type. And smut after the scene if you write it.

Summary: Innocent!reader X possessive!Rafe, bestfriend!reader X bestfriend!Rafe. Summary is basically the anonymous ask!

Warnings: Rafe is possessive of reader. Established friendship. Rafe almost beats a guy to death. Mentions of drugs (no actual drug use), alcohol consumption. Lots of smut; p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, SLIGHT degradation (some praise too). The classic 'what are we' at the end. The L word.

Word Count: 6.1k

Author Note: Hello Beauties! Thank you for the support and kindness you've all shown me. And thank you for this ask, I really enjoyed writing it. I hope I did your idea justice. Sorry that this is a bit long, it just sort of happened. Also, I hope you all enjoyed the holiday yesterday, well those that celebrate. I'm hoping to finish part four of The Watcher soon so I can get it out, life has just been so exhausting. Anyways, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!! Stay freaky y'all.

Your best friend, Rafe, had asked you to go to a party with him. Well, more like he had told you to go. Although it’s not like you’d ever miss the opportunity to party with your best friend. So, here you are; walking around the side of Topper’s house, looking for Rafe. You two didn’t come together, he got here before you. He knows you don’t love being around his ‘friends’ and their various illegal substances, even though he says he’s clean, he likes to have time with them before you get there.

You round a corner, now entering the Thorton’s backyard. You look for Rafe as you work your way through the loud and busy crowd. You hear a friend call your name, you turn your head to her, and she waves you over. You approach her and a few others with a smile. You greet them.

The other girls chat amongst themselves as your friend speaks up, shouting over the music. “Hey!” She’s over enthusiastic per regular, probably a bit drunk too.

“Hey!” You shout back.

She begins, “Oh my god! I have to tell you something. Guess who I saw—”. Usually, you’d want to hear all the gossip she’s about to ramble to you, but not right now. “Do you know where Rafe is?” You shout over her, cutting her off.

“What?” She asks, stepping closer to you so she can hear you.

“Do you know—” You’re suddenly interrupted by some guy standing beside you. You turn to face him.

“Hey.” He says, his tone confident. A cocky grin spreads across his face.

“Hi.” You smile politely, “Do I know you?”. You say hurriedly before turning back to your friend. She looks between you and the guy a few times before facing you and giving you a knowing smirk. You know what that look means and before you can say anything, she walks away. Leaving you alone with him. You roll your eyes at her playfully, although you really are annoyed that she didn’t tell you where Rafe is.

Slowly, you turn your head back to the guy, flashing him another fake smile. He grins again before speaking, “No…no you don’t.” He pauses, stepping a bit closer to you so he doesn’t have to shout over the music as loud. “I’m Devin.”

Your fake smile is getting awkward, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about talking to him right now. “Nice to meet you, Devin. B-but I need to–”

Devin cuts you off, “Let me get you a drink.”

You laugh shyly, “Oh...I-I’m okay, I actually have to…”

“Let me just get you a drink, it’ll only take a second.” He moves closer to rest his hand on your lower back for a slight moment, to get you to turn toward the drinks.

Rafe was on the back patio sitting on one of the couches when someone had mentioned to him that they saw you. He went to go and find you, which is when he spotted you laughing with some guy, who moments later put his hand on you. Rafe’s already had a few drinks tonight, so his judgment clouded even more than usual, especially when it comes to you.

As you walk towards the drinks, Devin’s hand falls and he follows close behind you.

After a moment, you hear a mix of gasps and ‘ooohh’s’ from everyone. You turn to look behind you where everyone seems to be gathering. You find that Devin isn’t behind you anymore.

Immediately your eyes land on some commotion in the crowd, you squeeze through the ring of people forming around the area. Shit. You run forwards, pausing just before the fight.

Devin is flat on his back, Rafe straddling him. Rafe has Devin’s shirt clenched in one fist, holding his head off the ground as he repeatedly drives his other fist into Devin’s face.

“Rafe!” You shout. Keeping your distance, not wanting to get too close while he’s out of control. You’ve seen how he can get. In the years that you two have been friends, you’ve had to calm him down from countless fights, since nobody else can ever seem to do it. But, when nobody else steps in to try and stop the fight, you step closer, knowing something has to be done. “Rafe, stop! Stop it!” You scream.

Devin’s completely unconscious, his nose is probably broken, but you can’t really tell; his face is a swollen mess of blood and bruises. You can’t stand here and watch anymore, and nobody seems to be listening to your cries for help. Because nobody is stupid enough to get in Rafe’s way while he’s like this. You step behind Rafe, putting your hands on his shoulders. You try to pull him back all the while trying not to get punched.

“Rafe! Look at me! Look at me, Ray!” Rafe turns his head to the side, momentarily stopping his actions, letting Devin’s head rest on the floor. You put a hand up to cup his cheek. Speaking quietly now as you plead to him. “Rafe…c’mon, that’s good, h-he’s had enough…”. Your tears slow, but your breath is still erratic as you look at the unconscious man.

Rafe turns back to the guy, your hand falling from his face. Rafe pulls Devin’s head up, like he was going to punch him again. Instead, he lets go, letting the boy's head hit the floor. Rafe stands up without a word and grabs you by your wrist, tugging you away.

Before you know it, you’re being shoved into your best friend's truck. His random mumbles don’t make much sense to you, talking about ‘he got what he deserved…Should’ve fuckin’ killed him…yeah, should’ve fucking killed him for that. Touchin’ what’s mine…’

When you get to Tannyhill, Rafe wastes no time pulling you into his room. You sit on his bed stiffly, waiting silently as he paces the room.

“Rafe?” You call out softly. “You okay? What happened back there? What was that?”

“He touched you.” Rafe states. His tone is low and rough, sending a chill down your spine. Even after all the years you’ve been his best friend, you still never know how to act when he’s like this.

“Barely. He barely touched me.”

Rafe completely disregards what you say, shaking his head and blowing out a jagged breath as he continues to pace across his room, a bit slower now. “Why was he even talking to you? You were supposed to be with me. I told you to go to the party, not him.”

You take your chance to get a word in as he spews out angry nonsense. “I was looking for you and he started talking, ‘wanted to get me a drink. I was just being nice; I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t even want to talk to him, I was looking for you, Rafe. I don’t even see why that matters–”.

He pauses, looking over at you. His movements are sharp as he strides over to you. “Don’t see why it matters…?” He repeats your words, more for himself than to you. “It matters because you’re mine.” His words are sharp, definitely directed to you that time.

“Rafe…you almost killed him…because of me? I don’t get it Rafe; I don’t nearly kill all the girls you fuck.” You state.

Rafe lets out a breathy chuckle before speaking. “Still don’t get it, huh?” Rafe laughs. “God you’re so innocent. So naive.” He pauses, stepping closer until he’s standing in front of you, looking down at you as you sit on his bed. “I need you, y/n. I can’t…god, I can’t even fuck anyone else anymore without thinking about you. I can’t let anyone else have you, got that? You understand now?” He asks harshly as he runs a rough hand through your hair.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat. You look up and nod weakly, causing Rafe to flash a devilish grin. “Yeah?” He asks quietly, his voice coming out low.

“Yeah…” You mumble back brainlessly, too shocked by your best friend's confession. You had always thought Rafe saw you purely as a friend. Although thinking back, you don’t know how you ever thought that with how he acts, especially lately.

No time is wasted as Rafe quickly leans down, capturing your lips with his. The first kiss is hesitant, and you don’t kiss back. But when he pulls away to look at you, trying to gauge your emotion, you lean in. Your best friend takes that as a sign to continue. His lips quickly find yours again. When he feels you start to kiss back, he escalates things. Kissing you more roughly now, acting as though he’s a starved man and your lips are his meal.

His hand moves from the back of your head to your throat, lightly squeezing. At first you don’t even realize, too distracted by the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth. But when Rafe squeezes your neck even tighter, you move your hands to reach up and wrap around his wrist in an attempt to pull it away. Your mouth still occupied by his, the kiss is too fucking good to break. It feels like everything you didn’t know you needed. He’s giving you what nobody else could, because only he knows exactly what you need and exactly how to give it to you. Your lack of breath reminds you of your situation and you pull away from the kiss momentarily.

Rafe’s grip loosens as he pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Tell me you want this.” He mumbles breathlessly.

You search his eyes as you catch your breath. Nodding, you finally speak up. “I want this.” You say definitively.

Not even half a second later, Rafe’s body crashes down onto you, pushing you down so that you’re laying on his bed. Rafe has one arm beside your head, holding himself up as his other remains on your neck. He hovers over you, one knee pressed between your thighs. Rafe leans down, his lips attaching to your neck, kissing and sucking frantically at your skin. He’s been waiting so, so long for this.

His lips find your ear, softly biting at it before whispering. “Let me take care of you, baby. You want that, hm?”. While waiting for your response, his free hand traces down the side of your body until it reaches the hem of your skirt. He moves his face to the other side of your head, giving some attention to your other ear. “Need your best friend to help you feel good…give you what you need, yeah?” His hand slips under your skirt, slowly gliding up your inner thigh, sending shivers through your whole body.

“Yes–” A moan escapes your lips, interrupting you. Your eyes meet his before you continue. “Please Rafey…need you…”

His lips meet yours at the same time his hand meets your clothed cunt. He kisses you sloppily, exploring every part of your mouth with his tongue. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, your touch sending shocks through him. He rubs you through your panties. He can feel as you grow more needy, the wet spot on your panties getting larger.

He can’t believe this is actually happening. He’s wanted to do this to you for so long; he’s dreamt of this moment happening in almost every way possible, but this…he never could’ve imagined this feeling. “Fuck…you’re so wet f’me already.”

“Ray…please…” You can’t help but rut your panty-clad cunt against his hand, searching for friction. Usually you’re never this bold, but you’re comfortable with him. You always have been, he is your best friend after all. You just pray that he understands what you need.

Except Rafe doesn’t respond in the way you had hoped for. No, instead he pulls his hand out from under your skirt, eliciting a whine from you. He presses a genuine, wet kiss against your parted lips before moving down your body. Rafe slides down, kneeling onto the floor in front of the bed. He grabs you by the back of your knees and tugs you down towards him until your ass is at the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, he swiftly removes your skirt. He spreads your legs, making them bend so your heels are on the edge of the bed. Eagerly, he presses wet, sloppy kisses up your inner thighs, his eyes trained up on you.

The sight of him like this between your thighs, doing exactly what you need…it drives you crazy. You lean your head back, letting out a moan as Rafe mouths at your entrance through the fabric your panties.

It’s not long before he’s peeling back your panties as well, sliding them off of you completely. Your legs threaten to close from insecurity, but your best friend is sure to hold them open.

“Fuck…this pussy’s even prettier than I imagined, baby. Soaked…just for me.” Rafe leans in, his mouth hovering just above your core. He silently asks for permission.

Being your best friend, Rafe knows that you’ve never done this before. No guy had ever wanted to date you while Rafe’s your best friend, they could see that you’re his, even if you couldn’t.

His breath is hot on your bare center, he watches as you squirm and clench around nothing. Eagerly you nod, giving him permission. And within seconds his mouth is on you.

At first, he’s slow; gentle as his eyes continue to meet yours. He licks a warm stripe up your center, briefly pulling back to watch your reaction. Your head falls back, your mouth parted, and eyes closed as you experience this new sensation that your best friend is so generously giving you.

Rafe begins to lick and suck at you. His tongue circles your clit as he looks up, knowing you’d like it. A moan slips past your lips as your hand flies to the back of his head, the other gripping onto the sheets beside you.

“Nnnghh…f-fuck, Ray…” You whine as his tongue fucks you relentlessly. He only mumbles against you in response, sending vibrations through your core. This felt even better than you had ever thought it would. When you heard people talk about sex, you didn’t think it could actually be this good. Though maybe that just has to do with the fact that Rafe’s your best friend, and he knows exactly what you need.

“Yeah?” One of his hands leaves your leg and moves to grope your tits through your clothes. “You like this, huh? You’re just a slut for your best friend, hm? Letting me have you like this…”

“N-need you…” You mutter, grieving the loss of his tongue on you. He stares at you with a devilish glint in his eyes.

“I know, baby. I know.” Rafe’s mouth continues to work on you. His tongue gathers some slick from your entrance and brings it up to your clit, circling it with his tongue a few times before repeating the process.

The feeling in your lower stomach is starting to build. It’s getting hard for you to sit still for him. It’s even harder for you to stay quiet. A plethora of moans escape you as Rafe’s mouth stays busy between your thighs. Your hand holds his head down, your other grips the sheets underneath you.

“Rafe…please. S’too much, I can’t—” You whine.

“Ah ah ah…stop running, baby. I got you. I got you.” Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you in place. “God,” He mutters breathlessly. “You taste…you taste so fuckin’ good. Hiding this from me all that time, hm?” He leans back down and continues his ministrations on you.

Your toes start to curl, the band in your stomach threatening to snap. Suddenly he stops and before you get the chance to look down to see why, one of his fingers is prodding at your entrance. “Gotta stretch this pretty little pussy out, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You nod, allowing one of his thick, long digits to slowly slide into you. You almost scream when he starts to move it, his mouth working on you at the same time. Rafe adds another finger, now thrusting two in and out of you.

“Fuck baby, you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good. Jus’ gotta get you used to this, hm? You gonna let your best friend be the first to fuck you?” Rafe asks. You nod in response, agreeing to his words. Rafe’s fingers spread apart inside you, stretching your hole, preparing you for his cock. His tongue pauses again as he looks up at you and correct his previous statement. “The only one to fuck you.” Rafe puts his head back between your thighs, his fingers fucking you mercilessly as his tongue sucks at your bud.

You nod again, followed by a whine. “F-fuck…Ray. I-I think I’m gonna…”

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby? Hm?”

“Mhmm…yes, fuckk–” You respond, your fingers fighting to grasp onto the little hair he has. Your thighs begin to squeeze around him, causing him to pull his head up against the force of your hand on him.

“Just a little more, baby. You can take it. I know you can. You gonna let me help you finish? You wanna cum?”

“Yes! Yes! Please Rafey…please let me cum.” Your begging makes him chuckle briefly before going back down on you. His tongue moves with precision, working on you with a purpose; to make you cum.

Without warning, the band in your stomach snaps. You scream out his name as his tongue circles your sensitive bud and his fingers pump in and out of you slowly. Your best friend continues to work you through your first real orgasm. You’ve never felt anything like this. Why the hell did you wait so long to do this with him?

“God…baby. You’re so fuckin’ perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those pretty sounds.” Rafe carefully slides his fingers out of you, making you clench around nothing at the loss of him. He gets up from his knees, standing over you again. Rafe’s face glistens with your slick. His hand moves up to brush your hair back while he brings his free hand up to your mouth. “Open.” He orders. You oblige and he pushes two digits into your mouth. “Taste that? Taste how fuckin’ good you taste?” He pulls his fingers back, immediately moving down to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips. Rafe climbs on top of you, his mouth finding the sweet spot behind your ear. He whispers, “You okay?”

“Mhm…better than okay.” You reassure him. Your legs are still shaking with the aftershock of your orgasm.

“Good.” He mumbles against your skin. “‘Cause I’m not even close to done with you, baby. We’re just getting started.” He doesn’t wait before he’s pulling off your shirt, kissing down your chest. Soon after, he unclasps your bra with one hand, pulling it off of you and tossing it onto the floor somewhere.

His lips are vicious, attaching to any and every bit of your skin. His hands gently cup your breasts, his mouth finding and attaching to one of your nipples. His eyes stay trained up on your face, he likes seeing how you react to his touch. He pulls back, straddling your lap. Your hand shoots out to grab the hem of his shirt, trying to tug it upwards. He smirks and quickly does it himself, tossing it aside. He watches you like prey as your eyes skim over his bare chest.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, you have, many times. But no matter how many times you see him like this, you’ll never get used to it. You’ve never seen him in this way though. It’s different, more intimate. You’ve never shared this kind of intimacy with anybody before. And you’re glad you’re doing it with your best friend, whom you’re comfortable with.

The low light of his bedside lamps reflecting off of his toned skin, damp with sweat. You let out a slow breath as you take in the sight. “Fuck.” You mutter.

Rafe leans down, kissing and nipping at your earlobe. He whispers, “Like what you see?” He laughs.

You nod your head eagerly. “Mhmm…”

“Use your words baby, you’re a big girl, aren’t you?”

“I…y-yes.” You whine as you wriggle underneath him, trying to squeeze your thighs shut in search of some much-needed friction.

Rafe knows what you need. He knows that you’re ready now; ready to give him everything, let him take your innocence, your virtue. He uses one hand to prop himself up as the other works at his belt. Once you realize what he’s doing, you try to help him out, eagerly unbuckling his belt as he kisses you passionately, like he’s never kissed anyone else before you; like you’re the only girl on this fucking planet.

Once his belt is off, you work at his pants. He leans up so he can tug them off, throwing them aside with the rest of the discarded clothes. All that’s left between the two of you now is the thin fabric of his boxers. You can feel his hardened form pressing into your leg as he kisses you, practically devouring you. Without thinking about it, you find your hand tugging at the waistband of his boxers. You beg. “Please”, your lips whisper into his ear as he bites at your neck. “Rafey…”

He leans back again, this time getting off of you and standing at the side of the bed and in front of you. You can’t help but touch yourself as Rafe frees himself from the constraint of his boxers. You watch as his hard cock springs up, hitting his stomach when it’s finally freed. He smirks, leaning down to remove your hand from yourself.

“I got you, baby. I got you. I’ll take care of you.” He mumbles, moving his hand over your core again. His strong fingers circle your clit. Your breath hitches as you watch him touch you, his other hand holding the base of his cock.

“Rafe?” You manage to ask through your cries.

“Hm? What is it?” Rafe says your name softly, encouraging you to continue.

“Will it hurt?” You’ve heard that the first time can be uncomfortable. And judging by Rafe’s size, this was going to be more than just uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to back out of the situation, you need this. You need him.

Your best friend’s expression becomes more serious as he looks at you. His hand comes up from your core to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “It might, baby. It might be a little uncomfortable for a moment, but I’ll do my best to make it feel good, yeah? I’ll go slow. And if you don’t like it I want you to tell me. You’re okay, baby. It’s just me, your best friend. I’m gonna take care of you. M’kay?” You nod in response, his eyes darting between your eyes to get a sense of what you’re thinking. Rafe clicks his tongue. “Ah, ah. Use your words, pretty girl.” His hand reaches out for your chin, tilting your face up towards him.

“Please Ray…”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me…” The words sound so vulgar coming from your sweet, innocent mouth. He’s never known you to speak this way, but he’s not against it. He pumps his fist over his cock a few times, his head leaning back as he lets out a groan. “Please Rafe…I-I need you in me…”

Your words snap him out of his amazement. “Atta girl.” He replies. You can feel his tip gently rub against your slippery entrance. Your warm juices on his cock feel better than anything he’s ever experienced. You’re like a drug to him. A drug that he can’t get enough of.

He pulls back before you can get used to the feeling of him. He leans over you, reaching into his dresser drawer. When he moves back over you, you see the shiny square wrapper in his hand.

You place your hands over his as he tries to open the condom. “No…”

His head snaps up at you. “No…? No what?” He asks, confused. “You don’t want to do this?”

“No…Rafe, I-I want this. I just…I want to feel you. No…no condom.” You explain.

“Fuck, y/n. Are you sure?” Rafe’s disbelief and shock is very apparent in his tone.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m on the pill.” You confirm.

“God, how much more perfect can you fuckin’ get?” He chuckles, making you huff out a quick laugh.

Soon his lips are back on yours as he uses his hand to guide his glistening, pink tip back to your puffy cunt. Slowly, he pushes into you, just so that the very tip of his cock is inside of you. He looks up to your face, pending your reaction.

“F-fuck…Rafe.” Your hands move to his hips, pushing him further inside. Rafe gives in, pushing another inch into you. “Mnghh, fuck…Rafe.” Rafe settles there for a moment before giving you another inch or two. Each time he moves, he looks to make sure you’re still enjoying it, giving you a minute to adjust each time. When he finally bottoms out, you feel so…full. The pain is there, but it doesn’t last long, fading into a light discomfort as your soft walls mold to his shape. You involuntarily squeeze around him.

“Shiiiitt, baby…Squeezin’ me so tight.” He pauses to kiss you, his lips soon finding that soft spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. “M’gonna move now, alright?”

“Mhm…please…” You whine. You hook your arms under his, bringing your palms up to grip onto his back. Rafe continues to kiss all over your neck and chest as he slowly pulls out of you, until only the tip is left inside. Without warning, he pushes into you a bit quicker this time, with a bit more force than before. But you’re not complaining. You cry his name out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He begins to move at a slow, steady pace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. “F-fuck…” You yelp, gripping onto him even harder.

“Fuck, baby…your nails, they hurt.” He mumbles amusedly into your ear as he nips at it. Immediately your grip loosens. You feel terrible but can’t manage to muster up an apology since you can’t think clearly with how his cock is repeatedly kissing your cervix with each thrust.

“Faster.” You beg, pressing your forehead into his arm. He listens cautiously, carefully picking up the face. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. The new position allows him to hit an even deeper spot inside of you. When his digits start to circle your clit you almost let out a scream, making him chuckle.

“Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?” He laughs as he fucks you senseless.

“Fuck…Rafey, no, I…I can’t. Can’t take it.” You moan, throwing your head back as your eyes squeeze shut.

“You can and you will.” He speaks emotionlessly, overtaken by pleasure. Rafe’s hand moves from you clit up to your throat again, he applies a bit of pressure. Your hands leave his back and wrap around his wrist. Your eyes stay shut as your face contorts into that of pure bliss. His thumb slides into your mouth and you suck and bite at it, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming feeling of him fucking you. You don’t see how you can ever stop; this feeling is…unlike anything else you’ve felt before. “You got this baby. M’almost there. You can let go, baby. Just let go f’me.”

Sooner than later you feel the newly familiar feeling of pressure building in your lower stomach. When it snaps, your body tenses up, a wave of moans escape your mouth as the band snaps and pleasure washes over you. Rafe continues to fuck you slowly, his movements becoming more sporadic than strategic.

“Fuck, where do you want it?”

“My pussy, please Rafey…fill me up?” You ask, eyes wide with tears as you look up at him. “Please?”

“Shit, you sure?” Rafe groans, barely able to hold on any longer.

“Y-yes...I’m sure.” Only seconds later you can feel his warm seed spurting out inside of you. Your gummy walls soaking him in as they squeeze around him, milking him for all that he’s got.

“Fuckk y/n. Do that again.” As he thrusts into you without any specific rhythm, you obey his words, squeezing tightly around his length again. Rafe lets out a guttural moan, tossing his head back for a moment before looking at you again, watching how well you take him, as if you were made for him. The way he fills you up you is like pieces of a puzzle, just meant for one another. “Shiiitt…you’re so fucking tight. Squeezin’ ‘round your best friends cock so good.”

After you’re both worked through your orgasms, he pulls out of you. You groan at the loss of him, feeling a big opening left where he had been. Rafe leans down to press a deep, meaningful kiss to your lips. He pulls back, wiping your hair and sweat from your face with a proud smile.

“God, baby. You did so good, so fucking good. That’s a good girl. My girl, yeah?” He leans down again, pressing a kiss to your neck. Rafe whispers in your ear. “m’so proud.” Before pulling away completely, he presses a kiss to each of your cheeks, your nose, and one final kiss to your forehead.

You turn on your side to face him as he lay on the bed beside you. “Rafe…” Your voice shows your exhaustion, but also your hesitancy.

He turns on his side to face you as well, propping his head up against his hand. “Hm?” He says with a smile. He can’t help it, it’s impossible for him to see you and not smile after what you just did.

You flop back down onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s too hard to say this while looking at his beautiful smile. “That was…”

“Incredible?” He interrupts, his fingers lightly tracing up and down your arm.

“What was that?” You blurt out, scared that if you don’t say it now then you never will.

Rafe’s smile fades quickly, he props himself up on his elbows, staring down at you with furrowed brows. “Woah woah, woah. Hey. What? What d’you mean?”

You give a light shrug, his fingers no longer moving over your skin. You avoid looking at his pretty eyes. “I mean like…what happens now?”

He sighs, laying back down next to you, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, you’re my girl now, yeah? I thought that was obvious.”

“Your girl? The Rafe Cameron I know doesn’t do girlfriends.” You say lightly.

“That’s because I never wanted one. I never…needed one, I’ve got you.”

“So…we’re friends?” You ask, attempting and failing at trying to hide your emotions.

“We are, aren’t we?” Rafe responds, not knowing what his words imply or how they’ll make you feel.

“Yeah…yea we’re friends.” You say dryly.

He turns his head to face you. “Hey. Y/N. What’s wrong? Hey…hey, talk to me.”

“Nothing, Rafe. I’m fine.”

“Jesus, no you’re not. C‘mon baby, what is it?”

“Nothing!” You snap. You’re angry about your own reaction, feeling stupid once the words leave your mouth. Grabbing the sheets, you cover yourself up.

“Did I do something? What’d I do?” Asks Rafe, making you feel worse about yourself. It’s not his fault you feel like this. “Is it what we did? Look, I’m sorry if—“

You cut him off, not being able to listen to him blame himself. “I just…I don’t think friends do what we just did.”

“Jesus, y/n. Look…” He trails off, cursing himself. “Do you not wanna be my girl or something? ‘Cause I can—“

“No, Rafe. I just…I don’t get what you mean. Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He says, confused.

“Like…your girlfriend? Dating? Us?”

“Fuck. Yes, baby. My girlfriend.” Rafe says the word as though it’s a pain to say it. “Will you be my girlfriend? Please?” You could tease him about the way he’s practically begging you.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” You joke, not being able to resist. Rafe laughs, glad to hear your usual self.

“Well, I’m kinda hoping that I’m your…boyfriend, now.”

“Hmm…let me think…” You say, tapping your chin as if this is something you need to contemplate. You can see his demeanor sadden from the corner of your eye, causing you to look over at him. “What’s in it for me?” You add, a smirk threatening to appear on your face. You can barely hold back your laughter at this point, but he still looks so sad, like a puppy who can’t have a treat. “Jesus Rafe, I thought you’d never ask.” You don’t even give him enough time to respond before you’re on top of him, his lips immediately seeking yours.

“Yeah? You mean it?” He asks between kisses, almost nervously.

“Of course I do, Rafe. ‘Promise.”

You always know just what to say to him to calm down his mind, he loves that about you. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. God, I fuckin’ love you.” Your eyes widen at his confession, you look down at him. He’s almost just as shocked as you are. He didn’t even know he felt that way. The words just slipped out, but they felt so right. “Fuck, no, I meant—“ Rafe starts, but you cut him off. You kiss him again, passionately. This kiss shows him exactly how you feel, somehow being more intimate than having sex with him was.

“I love you, Rafe. I promise.” You know how he can feel like everybody is against him, so you try to reassure him as much as you can. You’re the only one who’s ever made him feel cared for; he just never wanted to fuck things up with you. “Please just…can you promise me that you’ll stop beating up random strangers who talk to me? ‘Cause I don’t care about them, Rafe. I care about you.”

This is all so new, talking to each other in this way. But it’s how you’ve both always felt. “But y/n, he-“ Rafe pauses, reconsidering his words for you. He sighs and then mumbles, “Yeah…I’ll try.” He looks back at you, you with a stern look in your eyes. “I will. I promise.”

You smile, leaning down for a kiss. Quickly, things start to escalate again. Rafe flips you both over so he’s on top. He leans down to kiss your neck, sucking and nipping at it as he works his way down, kissing every inch of you.

“Mnmh…fuck…” You moan.

Rafe smiles against your skin. “Yeah, baby? That feels good huh?” You only nod eagerly as a response. Rafe takes hold of his already hard cock, using his fist to pump over himself a few times, letting out a low growl. He rubs his dewy, pink tip over your sticky hole.

You let out a moan, still being sensitive from your previous orgasms. “F-fuck…Rafe, m’too sensitive, s’too much.” You whine.

“Shh…shhhh baby, it’s okay. I’m not gonna do nothin’, jus’ wanna show you how proud of my girl I am.” His mouth works it’s way down, landing back between your thighs. Your boyfriend softly bites at your inner thighs, his eyes staying trained on you as your face contorts in pleasure. Eventually he finds your soaking core, lapping up the mix of your juices. You feel his fingers gather some of your arousal, mixed with his cum. Before you know it, those fingers are deep inside your throat. “Taste that, baby? Hm? Taste how fucking good we are?”

You nod, whining when his mouth finds your core again. His tongue flicks at your most sensitive bud, making you jump. Although Rafe only holds onto harder the more you try to run. “Baby, it’s okay. Let me take care of you; clean you up.”

It doesn’t take long until you’re yet again, a shaking, crying mess underneath him. When his mouth works it’s way back to yours, you can taste both of you on his tongue. “Fuckin’ love this pussy. I fucking love you.”

You smile a weak, tired smile at him. He rolls off of you, flipping you both on your side so he can spoon you. He kisses your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing mindless shapes into your skin. “I love you too.” You respond as you drift off to sleep in your boyfriend's arms.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave more asks, I will most likely get to them at some point. Thank you!

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chansdoll · 4 months ago

Text

현진 ─── the night we met

♡ pairing ៸៸ fratboy!hyunjin x afab!reader genre ៸៸ fluff, angst(ish) ៸៸ cw ៸៸ college!au , mentions of roofies (one is slipped but not consumed), kissing happens later in the story , jake is a meanie (not enha jake, an oc) ♡ synopsis ៸៸ your friends drag you to a frat party. little did you know, you'd make a new friend that night. [ 7.4k words ] a/n ๑ i hope u guys like this , i started writing this after hyunies buzz cut but never got around to finish the first part. part two here ♡ masterlist

ordinarily, parties like this wouldn’t even cross your radar. but tonight was different, thanks to your friends, karina and yuqi, who had practically dragged you out of your cozy dorm. if it were up to you, you’d be holed up with your textbooks, preparing for midterms. instead, you found yourself being strong-armed into attending zeta nu’s pre-winter break bash. they were adamant about going, and equally adamant that you come along. why? you couldn’t fathom. it wasn’t like they didn’t know you were a die-hard introvert. you weren’t exactly a sparkling conversationalist, especially with your anxiety making it nearly impossible to hold a conversation for more than a few minutes. and when it came to talking to guys? forget it—it was a whole new level of nerve-wracking.

this party wasn’t just intimidating because of the social setting; it was who was hosting it. zeta nu wasn’t just any fraternity—it was the fraternity, packed with campus heartthrobs. you’d always had a tendency to lump frat guys into one category: loud, shallow, and hopelessly clueless. and while some of the zeta nu brothers certainly lived up to the stereotype, there were a few you’d noticed around campus who seemed to have some semblance of normalcy. still, the thought of mingling in a house full of them made your stomach churn.

despite your reluctance, you did put some effort into your appearance. you weren’t about to freeze to death in a paper-thin dress like some partygoers. instead, you opted for practicality without sacrificing style: a snug black sweater, thermal tights, and a cute black skirt. it wasn’t extravagant, but it was warm and cute—perfect for braving both the cold and your nerves.

the party was as stereotypical as they come—music blared through the house, its bass vibrating the walls, while couples made out or grinded on each other in dimly lit corners. the kitchen was no exception to the chaos, packed with people eager to fill their cups with whatever concoction was closest at hand. you weren’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse, but your friends had already vanished into the crowd. karina and yuqi were likely off flirting with frat members or losing themselves on the dance floor—activities you had no interest in partaking in tonight.

left to your own devices, you made your way into the kitchen, thinking that maybe a drink could help calm your nerves. standing in front of the counter, you eyed the variety of liquor bottles scattered across it. vodka, whiskey, rum—it was all there, unopened and glaringly intimidating. after a moment of hesitation, you sidestepped past a couple making out aggressively against the cupboards and found your way to the punch bowls.

pouring yourself only the bare minimum, you sipped cautiously. you didn’t want to overdo it—just enough to take the edge off the knot of anxiety that had been sitting in your chest since you walked through the door. cup in hand, you lingered near the wall, keeping to yourself while observing the crowd. occasionally, you nodded your head in rhythm to the music, trying your best to blend in.

a sudden wave of cheers and hollering erupted near the kitchen entrance, drawing your attention. your curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced over to see what all the commotion was about. and there he was.

hyunjin.

the heartthrob of the campus strode into the room with effortless confidence, his presence magnetic. nearly every girl at school had some kind of infatuation with him, and it wasn’t hard to see why. he was tall, his honey-toned skin glowing under the dim lights. his features were impossibly striking—full lips, a perfectly sculpted nose, and eyes that seemed to hold an entire galaxy. you’d always thought he was stunning, but the recent buzz cut he’d gotten made him look even better. the new hairstyle, lighter in color, somehow emphasized his sharp features and perfectly complemented his skin tone.

“how are you late to your own party?” felix, one of the frat members, called out to him with a laugh.

“had something to take care of,” hyunjin replied vaguely, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise as he made his way to the kitchen island where the liquor bottles were displayed.

as the frat guys gathered around him to take shots, the kitchen grew even more crowded. someone jostled you, and you stumbled, bumping into a girl who looked far too drunk to be standing upright. she turned her bleary but sharp gaze toward you, her expression immediately souring.

“watch it,” she hissed, her tone dripping with disdain as her eyes gave you a once-over. she lingered on you for a moment longer, clearly unimpressed, before staggering off toward the living room without another word.

you sighed, shrinking back toward the corner, feeling as out of place as ever. the night wasn’t going as planned—not that you’d had much of a plan to begin with.

the confrontation with the girl must’ve thrown you off more than you realized because, for a while, the world around you faded into a dull hum. it wasn’t until a sharp whistle cut through the noise that you even blinked, but even that barely registered. a light tap on your shoulder, however, finally brought you back to reality.

you turned, lifting your gaze from the floor to the person standing behind you. he was tall, with tousled blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that sparkled in the dim kitchen light. his smile was easy, almost disarming, and there was a casual confidence about the way he stood.

“hey,” he started, his eyes flicking over you briefly, though not in a way that felt invasive. “are you okay?”

you blinked at him, fumbling for words. “no, um, yeah—i’m okay. thanks,” you stammered, your fingers tightening nervously around the cup in your hands.

he chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered state. “i’m jake,” he said, gesturing broadly to the space around him. “i’m in zeta nu.”

“y/n,” you managed to reply, your voice a little steadier now. but as the conversation unfolded, a wave of anxiety washed over you, making you hyperaware of every little movement. your hands suddenly felt awkward, like you didn’t know where to put them or what to do with them. jake seemed to pick up on your nervous energy and smiled, a warm, easy expression that somehow put you slightly at ease.

“what’re you drinking?” he asked, leaning slightly to peek into your red solo cup.

you gave a soft laugh, shaking your head as you held up the cup. “just some punch from over there,” you said, nodding toward the bowl on the counter.

jake raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful grin. “punch? nah, you need something stronger. look at you—your shoulders are practically glued to your ears.” he stepped past you with a light chuckle, weaving through a cluster of his frat brothers to grab a bottle of tito’s from the counter.

he unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up, giving you a questioning look. “what do you say?”

your heart thudded nervously in your chest, but you found yourself nodding. “um, sure.” you extended your cup with a slightly shaky hand, watching as he poured a generous splash of vodka into the punch.

“thanks,” you muttered, glancing down at the cup, as though measuring the alcohol now mixed in.

“go on, down the hatch,” jake said with a playful nudge, raising his own cup to his lips. his smirk was small but somehow endearing, his eyes watching you expectantly.

you hesitated, the tangy smell of alcohol wafting up to you as you brought the cup to your lips. taking a tentative sip, you winced at the sharp burn that clawed its way down your throat. the sensation settled in your stomach, leaving a faint warmth in its wake.

“atta girl,” jake teased, grinning at your reaction.

you gave him a shy smile in return, bringing the cup to your lips for another sip. the taste wasn’t any better the second time, but at least it wasn’t as much of a shock.

“careful,” jake warned, his voice light but genuine. “you don’t wanna drink too fast. trust me on that.”

as the night went on and the alcohol loosened your inhibitions, you found yourself growing more comfortable around jake. the two of you had been chatting and laughing, the drink in your hand slowly dwindling with each passing minute. what you didn’t notice, however, was the pair of sharp eyes watching you from across the room.

hyunjin leaned casually against the doorway to the kitchen, but his posture was deceptive—his focus was entirely on you. the noise and chatter around him had faded into the background as he observed you, a flicker of intrigue glinting in his dark eyes. you were new, unfamiliar, and that alone made you stand out in a sea of familiar faces.

but it wasn’t just curiosity that held his attention—it was something else. something more protective.

he noticed the way jake hovered close to you, his body language bordering on possessive. hyunjin’s jaw tightened, a subtle but telling sign of his unease. jake was a name he knew all too well, and not in a good way. the guy had a reputation within the frat, one hyunjin wasn’t particularly proud of. jake’s charm was surface-deep, and his intentions were rarely anything but self-serving.

hyunjin stayed where he was, his gaze unwavering as he silently kept an eye on the two of you. he didn’t want to overstep or cause unnecessary drama, but the uneasy feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. something about the way jake interacted with you felt off, like he was toeing the line of what was acceptable.

then it happened.

hyunjin’s stomach sank as he caught it—jake’s hand moving swiftly, almost imperceptibly, toward your cup. you were turned away, laughing at something one of jake’s friends had said, completely oblivious to what had just occurred. hyunjin’s eyes narrowed as he saw jake slip something into your drink, the motion so practiced it was clear this wasn’t his first time.

a surge of anger flared in hyunjin’s chest, hot and immediate. his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to storm across the room and confront jake then and there. but causing a scene would only make things worse, and he knew it.

all he could think about was getting to you before you took another sip.

hyunjin pushed off the doorway, his heart pounding with urgency. he moved through the crowd, his strides purposeful but controlled. every second felt agonizingly slow, the distance between him and you somehow stretching endlessly. as he approached, his mind raced with how he’d handle the situation. should he confront jake directly? should he quietly pull you aside?

you were still laughing, entirely unaware of the danger sitting innocently in your cup. jake had leaned closer to you now, his easygoing smile masking his true intentions. hyunjin’s anger bubbled closer to the surface as he reached you, his gaze darting to your cup and back to jake.

“hey,” hyunjin called out, his voice calm but firm enough to break through the chatter around you.

you turned toward him, startled. for a moment, you were struck by how impossibly handsome he was, his sharp features softened slightly by the concern in his eyes.

“oh, hi,” you said, blinking in surprise. “do i know you?”

“we’ve never met,” hyunjin replied, his tone steady despite the storm brewing inside him. his eyes flickered briefly to jake, who tensed but tried to play it cool. “can i talk to you for a second? alone?”

jake frowned, his posture shifting defensively. “what’s up, man? we’re in the middle of a conversation here.”

hyunjin’s gaze didn’t waver, locking onto jake with quiet intensity. “it’s important,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

you hesitated, glancing between the two of them. something about the seriousness in hyunjin’s expression made you uneasy, though not in the same way jake did. it was protective, not predatory.

“uh, sure,” you finally said, your curiosity outweighing your reluctance.

hyunjin gently guided you a few steps away, his hand lightly brushing your elbow. once you were out of earshot, he glanced at the drink in your hand.

“don’t drink that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

your brow furrowed in confusion. “why not?”

he hesitated, clearly wrestling with how much to tell you. “i saw jake put something in it,” he finally admitted, his tone laced with barely restrained anger.

the words hit you like a truck, your stomach dropping. you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. “what? are you sure?”

hyunjin nodded, his expression grim. “i wouldn’t say this if i wasn’t sure. please, just trust me.”

before you could fully process hyunjin’s words, jake appeared beside you, his easy smile now tinged with suspicion.

“everything okay here?” jake asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp as they flicked between you and hyunjin.

hyunjin didn’t back down. his posture straightened, his sharp jaw tightening as he turned to face jake fully. “not really,” he said evenly, his voice steady but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for games.

jake’s brows furrowed, a feigned look of confusion crossing his face. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, forcing a laugh as if to brush off the tension.

“it means i saw what you did,” hyunjin replied, his dark eyes fixed on jake with a piercing intensity.

you froze, your heart pounding as you realized the confrontation was unfolding right in front of you. the party noises around you seemed to fade as your focus honed in on the two men.

jake’s expression shifted, his smile dropping for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice carefully measured.

hyunjin scoffed, his calm exterior beginning to crack as anger seeped into his words. “don’t play dumb, jake. i saw you put something in her drink. you think no one noticed, but i did.”

a wave of shock and fear surged through you as you clutched your cup tightly. you looked down at the liquid, bile rising in your throat at the thought of what could have happened.

jake’s facade faltered, his eyes narrowing. “you’ve got some nerve, man,” he said, stepping closer to hyunjin. “accusing me of something like that? do you have any proof?”

hyunjin didn’t flinch, his voice unwavering as he retorted, “i don’t need proof to know what i saw. and i don’t need it to stop you.”

the tension between them was palpable, drawing the attention of a few people nearby. whispers started to ripple through the crowd as partygoers noticed the confrontation.

jake glanced around, clearly aware that the situation was drawing unwanted attention. his expression darkened, and he leaned closer to hyunjin, lowering his voice. “you don’t want to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be,” he said, his tone dripping with thinly veiled aggression.

hyunjin stepped forward, closing the distance between them. his voice dropped, but it carried the weight of barely contained fury. “the only person making this a big deal is you, jake. whatever you thought you’d get away with tonight isn’t happening.”

jake sneered, his composure finally slipping. “you don’t even know her,” he hissed. “why do you care so much?”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened, and his response was immediate. “because what you did is disgusting. and i don’t care if i just met her or if i’ve known her my whole life—what’s right is right.”

you watched the exchange, your chest tightening as the gravity of the situation hit you. hyunjin’s words struck something deep inside you, and for the first time that night, you felt a sliver of safety amidst the chaos.

before things could escalate further, another voice broke through the tension. “what the hell is going on here?”

felix, had appeared, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. he glanced between hyunjin, jake, and you, clearly trying to piece together what was happening.

hyunjin turned to felix, his expression firm but calm. “jake spiked her drink,” he said without hesitation.

felix’s eyes widened, and his gaze snapped to jake. “is that true?”

jake’s face twisted, his confidence slipping as he realized he was outnumbered. “no! he’s making shit up!” jake exclaimed, his voice rising defensively.

felix’s expression hardened, and he looked at you. “did you drink it?” he asked, his tone serious.

you shook your head, your voice shaky as you finally spoke. “no... not yet. hyunjin stopped me.”

felix let out a relieved sigh, then turned to jake with a glare. “if this is true, you’re done here, jake. we don’t do that shit.”

jake’s defensive posture shifted, his bravado cracking under the weight of felix’s accusation and the judgmental stares of the other frat members who were now gathering around. “this is bullshit,” jake spat, his voice rising. “he’s lying. i didn’t do anything.”

felix’s gaze remained on jakes for a few minutes, before he finally came to a decision and spoke up. “jake’s done here. we’ll handle this.”

the other frat members murmured their agreement, some shooting jake disgusted looks. felix stepped closer to jake, lowering his voice but keeping his tone firm. “leave now. we’ll be reporting this, and if you show your face here again, you’ll regret it.”

jake glared at hyunjin one last time, his lips curling into a sneer. “you think you’re a hero, huh?” he hissed, but the words lacked their usual bite. without waiting for a response, he shoved past the crowd and stormed out of the kitchen, his retreat drawing murmurs from the partygoers who had witnessed the scene.

felix sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. he turned to you, his expression softening. “are you okay?”

you nodded, though your hands still trembled as you clutched your cup. “yeah… thanks to him,” you said, glancing at hyunjin.

felix offered hyunjin a grateful nod. “let me take that from you.” felix gestured to the cup that was still in your hand. you handed him the cup, happy to get rid of it. “thanks.”

hyunjin didn’t respond immediately, his focus still on you. “you shouldn’t be here,” he said gently, his voice much softer now. “let me get you out of this place.”

you hesitated, glancing toward the living room where the party was still in full swing. the idea of leaving felt like relief, a way to escape the chaos and process what had just happened.

“o-okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

hyunjin offered a reassuring smile. “come on.”

he guided you carefully through the crowd, his hand hovering near your lower back without actually touching you, giving you space but also silently signaling he was there if you needed him. the cold night air hit you like a wake-up call as you stepped outside, the muffled bass of the party fading into the background.

“do you want to sit for a minute?” hyunjin asked, nodding toward a quiet bench near the edge of the yard.

you nodded, letting him lead the way. the two of you sat down, the crisp air biting at your skin. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the events of the night hanging heavily between you.

“thank you,” you finally said, your voice trembling slightly. “i don’t even know what to say. if you hadn’t been there…”

hyunjin shook his head, his expression serious. “you don’t have to thank me. i just did what anyone decent would do.”

you looked at him, taking in his earnestness, the way his dark eyes held a mixture of concern and kindness. “not everyone would’ve stepped in like you did.” you murmured.

hyunjin offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’m just glad you’re okay.”

the silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was comforting, a shared moment of calm after the storm. you found yourself relaxing for the first time all night, the tension in your shoulders easing under his quiet presence.

“can i walk you home?” he asked after a moment, breaking the silence. “just to make sure you’re safe.”

you hesitated, then nodded. “yeah… i’d like that.”

as the two of you walked away from the party, side by side under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a strange sense of gratitude—not just for what he’d done, but for him. there was something about hyunjin that made you feel seen, protected.

hyunjin glanced over at you, his expression thoughtful. “you don’t seem like the kind of person who goes to frat parties often.”

you let out a soft laugh, still a little shaky but genuine. “that obvious, huh?”

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “a little. you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“because i would’ve,” you admitted, clutching your coat tighter against the cold. “my friends dragged me there. they thought it would be good for me to ‘get out more.’” you air-quoted the phrase, rolling your eyes playfully.

hyunjin chuckled, his warm laughter cutting through the chilly air. “guess they didn’t expect you to almost need rescuing, huh?”

“yeah, not exactly what i had in mind when they said ‘fun night out,’” you replied, shaking your head. “what about you? you don’t seem like the typical frat guy either.”

hyunjin shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. "well, you know what they say— book, cover." he said with a playful grin. "truth is, i’m not really into parties either. felix just likes having me around, so i showed up."

“and ended up saving someone from disaster,” you said with a small smile.

he smirked, tilting his head as he looked at you. “not the way i thought my night would go, but i’m glad i was there.”

you walked in silence for a moment, the rhythm of your steps syncing.

“so, what do you usually do when you’re not being dragged to parties?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“studying, mostly,” you admitted. “i’m kind of a nerd. i like staying in and reading or watching movies. parties aren’t really my scene.”

“books and movies sound way better than parties,” hyunjin said, nodding in agreement. “what do you study?”

“english literature,” you said, feeling a little more at ease. ��i’ve always loved stories—reading them, writing them, analyzing them. it’s like stepping into another world.”

hyunjin’s eyes lit up. “that’s cool. i’ve always thought literature was beautiful, even if i’m not great at it. i’m more of an art guy.”

your interest piqued. “art? like painting and drawing?”

he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i’ve been drawing since i was a kid. it’s how i make sense of things, i guess. and painting—it’s like therapy for me.”

“that’s amazing,” you said sincerely. “i wish i could draw, but i can barely make a stick figure look decent.”

hyunjin laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made you smile. “it’s not about being perfect. it’s about expressing yourself. stick figures count too, you know.”

you grinned, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite the cold. “maybe i’ll have to give it another shot sometime.”

“you should,” he said, his voice encouraging. “i could even show you some basics if you want.”

your eyes widened slightly. “you’d do that?”

“of course,” he replied with a shrug. “you might surprise yourself.”

the conversation flowed easily as you walked, each step bringing a new layer of comfort. hyunjin shared stories about how he found inspiration in the smallest things—sunsets, the way light reflected off a window, even the texture of tree bark. you told him about your favorite books and how certain characters felt like old friends.

by the time you reached your dorm building, the unease of the night had melted away, replaced by a quiet warmth.

“this is me,” you said, gesturing to the door.

hyunjin nodded, stopping a few steps away. “well, i’m glad you’re home safe.”

“thanks to you,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “i really mean it. thank you, hyunjin.”

his smile was gentle, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “you’re welcome. get some rest, okay?”

you nodded, hesitating before heading toward the door. something about him made you linger, a pull you couldn’t quite explain.

“hyunjin?” you called, turning back.

hyunjin paused mid-step, turning back to you with a curious tilt of his head. "yeah?"

you bit your lip, debating for a moment before gathering the courage to speak. “i know it’s late, but… would you want to come in for a bit? i mean, you did save me tonight. it’s the least i can do—offer you some tea or something.”

his brows lifted slightly in surprise, but his smile quickly returned, soft and genuine. “tea sounds nice,” he said, stepping back toward you. “if you’re sure i’m not intruding.”

“you’re not,” you reassured him. “i’d actually like the company.”

with that, you unlocked the door and led him inside. the quiet hum of the building greeted you, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the party you’d left behind. your dorm was small but cozy, with a few personal touches—books stacked on a small shelf, a throw blanket draped over a chair, and fairy lights strung across the walls casting a warm glow.

hyunjin took it all in with an appreciative glance. “this is nice,” he said, his voice low as if not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. “seems very you.”

“thanks,” you replied, setting your coat aside and motioning for him to do the same. “make yourself comfortable. i’ll get the tea.”

as you moved to the kitchenette, hyunjin wandered over to your bookshelf, scanning the titles. “you weren’t kidding about loving books,” he said with a small laugh, pulling one off the shelf. “this one’s a classic,” he added, holding it up.

you glanced over your shoulder, smiling. “pride and prejudice. it’s one of my favorites.”

“really?” he flipped through a few pages, his expression thoughtful. “i’ve always wanted to read it but never got around to it. maybe you can tell me why you love it so much.”

you returned with two steaming mugs, setting them down on the small coffee table. “it’s the characters,” you explained as you sat down, motioning for him to join you. “elizabeth bennet is so strong and smart, and mr. darcy... well, he’s misunderstood at first, but he has a lot of depth. it’s about how they grow and learn to see each other differently.”

hyunjin sat across from you, cradling his mug as he listened intently. “that sounds... kind of beautiful,” he said after a moment. “i think i’d like it.”

“i could lend it to you if you want,” you offered.

his smile widened, his gaze meeting yours. “i’d like that.”

the conversation drifted from books to art again, and you found yourself captivated by the way hyunjin spoke about his creative process. he described the way he saw the world in vivid colors and shapes, how even the most mundane objects could inspire a new piece.

“you must have an amazing sketchbook,” you said, leaning forward with interest.

hyunjin chuckled, a hint of bashfulness coloring his tone. “i do, but it’s pretty messy. lots of half-finished ideas and random doodles. maybe i’ll show you someday.”

“i’d love that,” you replied softly.

time seemed to slow as the two of you continued talking, the earlier tension of the night now a distant memory. hyunjin’s presence was calming, his laughter infectious, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at ease.

eventually, the clock caught your attention, and you realized how late it had gotten.

“i didn’t mean to keep you so long,” you said apologetically. “you probably have things to do tomorrow.”

hyunjin shook his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “no complaints here. this was a lot better than that party.”

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. “i’m glad.”

as he stood to leave, hyunjin turned back to you, his expression sincere. “thank you for inviting me in. tonight didn’t turn out how i expected, but... i think it turned out better.”

you watched as hyunjin reached for the door. something about the way he spoke, the warmth in his voice, made your chest tighten. you didn’t want the moment to end—not yet.

“hyunjin, wait,” you called, taking a small step forward.

he paused immediately, his hand dropping from the doorknob. turning to face you, his brows raised slightly in curiosity.

you hesitated, the words tangling in your throat. your heart was racing, but you didn’t want to overthink it this time. “i just… i don’t think i can thank you enough for what you did tonight. i don’t even want to think about how it could’ve gone if you hadn’t been there.”

hyunjin’s gaze softened, his expression melting into something both tender and reassuring. “you don’t need to thank me anymore. i was just doing what anyone should do.”

“but it wasn’t just anyone,” you replied quietly, stepping closer. “it was you.”

the space between you seemed to hum with unspoken emotions, the quiet hallway amplifying the sound of your heartbeat. hyunjin’s eyes held yours, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he simply watched you, as though waiting for you to continue.

you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly. “i don’t think i’ve ever felt this safe around someone before. not like tonight.”

hyunjin’s lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but then he stopped. instead, he closed the remaining gap between you, his movements slow, deliberate. “i’m glad i could be that for you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

your breath caught as his gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. the tension in the air was palpable now, a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist. without overthinking, you reached out, your fingers lightly brushing against the edge of his coat.

“hyunjin…” you murmured, leaning in just slightly.

he didn’t hesitate this time. gently, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin as he leaned down, closing the space between you. his lips met yours softly, the kiss tentative at first, as though testing the waters.

the world seemed to fade away, the moment stretching into something timeless and fragile. his warmth enveloped you, his hand steady against your cheek as the other hovered near your arm, as if unsure where to go.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet. hyunjin’s eyes fluttered open, his cheeks dusted with the faintest hint of pink.

“that was…” he began, but words seemed to escape him. instead, a small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips.

“yeah,” you whispered, mirroring his smile.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of the kiss lingering in the space between you. then hyunjin’s hand slipped from your cheek, his fingers brushing yours. “are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” he asked, his voice gentle.

you nodded, the warmth of the moment still thrumming in your chest. “i think i’ll be more than okay.”

he smiled again, his eyes soft as they searched yours. “good. then… i’ll see you soon?”

“definitely,” you said, your voice filled with quiet certainty.

hyunjin lingered for another second before finally stepping back toward the door. as he left, you couldn’t help but touch your lips, a soft smile spreading across your face. tonight hadn’t turned out how you expected either—but in the best way possible.

a few days after the winter bash, you and hyunjin found yourselves texting constantly. the conversations were effortless, flowing from lighthearted banter to meaningful exchanges about your dreams and fears. he shared sketches of his art, and you sent him snippets of your writing, both of you encouraging and admiring each other's talents. despite the chaos of the party where you first connected, something special had grown between you.

when hyunjin invited you to visit the local art gallery before midterms, you eagerly agreed. it felt intimate, a shared space where he could reveal more of himself to you.

the gallery was quiet, with the low hum of classical music playing in the background. the soft glow of lights illuminated the vibrant and haunting pieces adorning the walls. hyunjin led you inside, his presence both calming and exhilarating.

“i come here a lot,” he admitted as you wandered past a series of abstract paintings. “it’s like stepping into another world. art makes sense to me in a way that words sometimes don’t.”

you smiled at the thought. “i get that. it’s how i feel about books. they’re a way to escape, to see things through someone else’s eyes.”

hyunjin stopped in front of a sprawling canvas painted in deep reds and golds, the colors swirling together like a storm. “this one’s my favorite,” he said softly. “it’s chaotic, but there’s beauty in the chaos. like... even in the mess, there’s something worth finding.”

you studied the painting, trying to see it the way he did. “it’s beautiful,” you murmured. “it kind of reminds me of you.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “me?”

“you’re so passionate,” you explained. “there’s this energy about you, like you see the world differently. it’s inspiring.”

hyunjin’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away, smiling. “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

the moment felt perfect, like you were sharing something sacred. as you moved through the gallery, he pointed out more pieces, sharing their stories and what they meant to him. you hung on every word, feeling closer to him with each step.

but as the two of you stopped at a sculpture that seemed to twist and defy gravity, hyunjin’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he glanced at it briefly, his expression flickering with discomfort.

“everything okay?” you asked.

“yeah,” he said quickly, tucking his phone away. “just felix checking in.”

you didn’t push further, though something about his response left a faint unease in your chest.

the gallery’s warm light faded as you and hyunjin stepped into the brisk evening air, your breaths visible in the cold. the quiet hum of the city surrounded you, and the sharp chill seemed to heighten the glow of the night. hyunjin glanced at you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, before motioning toward a nearby café with a soft smile.

“want to grab something warm?” he asked.

you nodded, the idea of a hot drink too tempting to resist. the two of you walked side by side, the air between you charged with a quiet camaraderie that felt both new and familiar.

inside the cozy café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. hyunjin ordered a coffee, and you opted for a hot chocolate. afterward, you found a bench outside, under the soft glow of a streetlamp, and settled down with your drinks.

as you sipped from your cup, savoring the rich, velvety warmth, you noticed hyunjin pulling a small sketchbook from his bag. he flipped it open and began drawing, his pencil gliding across the page with practiced ease.

“what are you working on?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, curiosity piqued.

he hesitated, his lips curving into a small, shy smile before turning the notebook toward you. your breath hitched as you saw yourself staring back at you from the page. it was an uncanny likeness—your soft, thoughtful expression captured in exquisite detail, the curve of your fingers around the cup, even the way your scarf bunched at your neck.

“wow,” you whispered, touched and a little awestruck. “it’s beautiful.”

hyunjin’s cheeks turned pink, and he looked away bashfully. “i wanted to remember this moment,” he admitted softly.

warmth bloomed in your chest, and your heart beat a little faster. just as you were about to respond, his phone buzzed on the bench beside him. for a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but then he silenced it and slid it back into his pocket without even glancing at the screen.

“when i finish it, i’ll give it to you,” he said with a grin, slipping the notebook into his bag.

“you’d do that?” you asked, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“of course,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “think of it as an early christmas present.”

before you could respond, the jingling of a bell caught your attention. you glanced up toward the café’s door to see felix walking out, a steaming cup in his hand and a surprised smile on his face.

“well, look at you two,” felix said, his gaze flicking between you and hyunjin. his expression was warm, but you noticed the faintest hint of curiosity in his eyes—like he’d stumbled upon something unexpected.

hyunjin cleared his throat, his fingers idly spinning his coffee cup. “just grabbing a drink,” he said casually, though there was a slight edge of awkwardness to his tone.

“yeah,” you chimed in, glancing at hyunjin for a moment before turning back to felix. “we went to the art gallery down the street before this.”

felix’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his grin widening. “this a date?” he asked, his tone playful but his gaze lingering on hyunjin, as if gauging his reaction.

you froze, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink as you instinctively glanced at hyunjin.

“u-um, yeah,” hyunjin stammered, his voice faltering slightly as he nodded.

felix’s smile softened, and he gave a small nod. “good for you,” he said lightly before taking a sip of his drink. “well, don’t let me interrupt. have fun.”

he shot hyunjin a knowing look before walking off into the night.

the silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. hyunjin turned to you, scratching the back of his neck. “sorry about that. i... probably should’ve asked first.”

you laughed softly, the sound easing the tension. “it’s okay. i didn’t mind.”

“really?” he asked, his tone careful, his eyes searching yours.

you nodded, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. it’s... nice. unexpected, but nice.”

hyunjin’s features softened, and his lips curled into a smile. “well, in that case,” he said, lifting his coffee cup slightly, “here’s to unexpected nights.”

“to unexpected nights,” you echoed, clinking your cup lightly against his, rolling your eyes playfully.

the week before winter break was an exhausting blur, a whirlwind of stress that left you teetering on the edge of burnout. between the seemingly endless midterms, the chaotic frenzy of packing, and the careful coordination of plans to visit your family, there was barely a moment to catch your breath. each spare second was consumed by last-minute assignments, looming deadlines, and the relentless pressure to wrap everything up before the semester ended.

amid the chaos, hyunjin had become a constant presence in your life, an unexpected source of calm. the time you spent together felt like a refuge from the storm—a quiet interlude of shared smiles and easy conversation that made the weight on your shoulders a little lighter. the dynamic between you had shifted subtly but unmistakably; there was something growing, something unspoken but palpable.

hyunjin’s presence had a grounding effect. whether it was the way he’d catch your eye during study sessions and offer a reassuring smile, or how he’d casually walk you back to your dorm after late nights at the library, there was a comfort in his company that you hadn’t realized you were craving. he had a knack for making even the most mundane moments feel meaningful—offering to share his notes when you were drowning in coursework, or surprising you with a hot drink when he noticed you were running on empty.

it wasn’t just the gestures, though. it was the way he listened, truly listened, when you spoke about your dreams and fears, your frustrations and triumphs. it was in the way he’d share pieces of himself in return, his thoughts and stories painting a picture of someone who was far more complex and thoughtful than you’d initially realized.

whatever was growing between you two felt fragile yet promising, like the first bloom of a flower peeking through the frost. it wasn’t something either of you had labeled or defined yet, but it lingered in the way your conversations lingered a little too long, in the way your eyes sought each other across crowded rooms, in the way his hand would brush yours as you walked together—and neither of you would pull away.

one afternoon, you were holed up in the library, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you stared at the blinking cursor on your screen. a paper due by midnight mocked you, and no matter how hard you tried, the words wouldn’t come. frustration mounted, and you leaned back in your chair with a sigh, rubbing at your temples.

“i need a break,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly.

deciding a walk might help clear your head, you wandered aimlessly through the quiet aisles of books, the muted hum of the library’s heating system filling the air. you turned a corner near the back hallway, where the restrooms were located, and stopped short.

the sight that greeted you made your stomach lurch.

hyunjin.

he was leaning casually against the wall, his expression soft and animated as he spoke to a girl. she stood close to him, smiling brightly, her body language open and familiar. they were deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious to the world around them.

your initial surprise was quickly replaced by a sharp pang of unease. you didn’t want to intrude, so you took a cautious step back, intending to leave before they noticed you. but then, hyunjin’s laugh rang out, low and warm, and you couldn’t help but peek around the corner again.

and that’s when it happened.

hyunjin leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed her.

your heart dropped like a stone.

for a moment, you were frozen in place, unable to process what you were seeing. your chest tightened, a lump forming in your throat as disbelief washed over you. you hadn’t officially defined anything with him—hadn’t even explicitly talked about what your relationship meant—but seeing him with someone else felt like a punch to the gut.

without thinking, you stepped back quickly, your heel scuffing against the floor. the small sound echoed in the quiet hallway. hyunjin pulled back from the kiss, his head turning sharply in your direction.

your eyes met his, and the color seemed to drain from his face.

“y/n?” he called softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty and guilt.

panic surged through you. you shook your head and turned away, your heart pounding as you hurried back the way you came.

“wait!” hyunjin’s voice followed you, but you didn’t stop.

he caught up to you near the library’s entrance, his footsteps quick and light. “y/n, please. just—let me explain.”

you whirled around to face him, your emotions threatening to boil over. “explain what, hyunjin?” you asked, your voice trembling. “i saw enough.”

“it’s not what it looked like,” he said, his expression pleading.

you crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “then tell me. what was it? because it sure looked like you were kissing her.”

hyunjin ran a hand along his hair, his frustration evident. “it wasn’t planned. she... she kissed me first.”

“and you just went along with it?” you snapped, your hurt spilling out.

he hesitated, and the pause spoke volumes. you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “i can’t believe this.”

“y/n, i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “it didn’t mean anything. she’s just—”

“don’t,” you interrupted, holding up a hand. “i don’t want to hear excuses right now. i just—” you exhaled sharply, your chest tight. “i need to go.”

without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving hyunjin standing there, his face etched with regret.

the cold air outside hit you like a slap, but it did little to numb the ache in your chest. you didn’t look back, too afraid to betray your words if you did.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

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miniwheat77 · 3 months ago

Text

Secret Weapon. (Ghost x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, unprotected p in v sex, violence, war, blood, NO MINORS! This was a request that’s been sitting in my inbox a while :)

This is not edited.

“Captain.. what the fuck do we do?” Gaz pants out. His back is pressed firmly against the wall.

John thinks for a moment. What does he do?

Nikolai is unavailable. But he’s got an idea.

He lifts up his radio, turning it to a channel he hasn’t been on in years.

“Viper 1-1 page back.” He calls into the radio.

“Viper 1-1, copy.”

“We’re trapped on a rooftop.” Captain Price recites your coordinates. He had heard in passing that the pilot was nearby on another mission.

“Thirty-five out, we’re on the way.”

He sighs.

“Thank god.” He mumbles. The four are stuck on the rooftop. No where to go and hardly any ammo.

“We’re?” Gaz asks. They remember who the pilot is.

They fight all they can, all hope is about to be lost when the loud rumble of the helicopter comes.

The buzzing sound makes them perk up, seeing the flashback from the gun inside. They can’t see the person holding it.

Captain Price watches with a smile. The helicopter stays airborne until there is no one moving on the ground. They watch it land a couple hundred feet away, seeing two people get out of it. Clearing buildings as they make their way to the four.

The door finally opens, the four standing up. They’d been using the brick walls as cover.

You’re the first to step into their view, but you’ve got a ski mask on.

You grasp the hem of it, pulling it over your head.

You smile.

“Long time no see, Captain.” You nod.

“Shit. I could tell by how good the shots were that it was you.” He laughs. Pulling you in for a hug, hugging the pilot next.

The others watch, stunned.

“Oh uh… boys. This is Y/N.” He nods.

“My secret weapon.”

They take the time to shake your hand, introducing themselves to you.

But Ghost is completely taken off guard by you.

The way your hair falls after you take the mask, the fact that he didn’t expect to see a girl, let alone one was pretty as you.

What the hell?

You’d just saved his life. He was all out of ammo holed up in one building, if you hadn’t come? He wouldn’t even be alive to tell the tale.

It was the start of something Ghost never saw coming. Not in a million years.

———

It took a lot of convincing for you to join the task force.

Since you had made friends with the men, they bothered you to no limit to join. They liked you. You were skilled. They wanted you around all of the time.

When you eventually joined, Ghost spiraled completely out of control.

He avoided you like the plague because he knew what was coming and he was scared. He started drinking more, hiding in his room more. Socializing less and everyone noticed.

But only Johnny had caught on as to why.

He was falling in love with you, and he knew it.

He was falling and he was falling hard and he knew the only end to that free fall is the hard concrete when he lands. Ghost didn’t love. He didn’t because there was only heartbreak and hurt.

The first time it happened, he didn’t mean to.

You were doing your laundry, passing by his room with a basket when they fell out. He waited a while for you to come back for them but you never did so he swiped them.

A pair of panties.

Ghost was in too deep and he knew it.

Fisting his cock to the thought of you, face buried in your panties. He hated himself for what he’d become and he hated you for what you’d done to him. You’d made him a fool and he’d only spoken to you in passing.

He didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Kill.

On missions he was ruthless.

He didn’t know anything other than violence and pain. So he pushed himself to no limit. Working hard, staying up late. Taking extra watch and beating himself up mentally day and night about how weak he’d become all because of a woman.

He spent hours and hours training and working out. He’d lost count the days he’d spent in the shooting range and his death toll jumped by hundreds and grew more and more with each mission he went out on. Ghost was smart and skilled. He understood everything but the only thing he couldn’t figure out was you.

Finally, Johnny cornered him.

Ghost was walking to his room, Johnny was hot on his tail, asking how he was doing.

“Fine Johnny. Leave it be.” He mumbles, he goes to close his door but Soap doesn’t let him have it. Catching it with his boot and walking in, closing the door behind himself. “There’s something wrong with you, you’ve got the entire bloody task force worried sick about ya so you better start talkin.” He growls.

Ghost raises his eyebrows. Johnny had never spoken to him like that before.

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard what I said, Ghost.”

He crosses his arms and Soap doesn’t let feel intimidated by him, of course he does. But Ghost is his friend. He cares about him.

“Full offense Johnny, piss off. We’re not teenage girls and I don’t intend on sharing my feelings with you so I think you should leave.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll set up camp until you’re ready to talk about it.” He stands his ground. Ghost sighs. “I don’t know how to talk about it Johnny. I don’t even know what’s wrong myself.”

“That’s a start, LT. The hell has gotten into you? You’re like a machine. Wake up, eat, kill, sleep.”

Ghost sighs.

“That girl.”

Realization hits Soap like a ton of bricks.

“I just..” he sighs. Sitting down on his bed. “I don’t know.”

“You have feelings for her?” Soap asks.

“I’d say I have more than just feelings for her, Johnny.” Ghost wipes his face through his mask. “Shit LT.”

“No kidding.”

“Well you won’t get the girl by being so reclusive sir.”

“My plan isn’t to get the girl Johnny, life is painful enough as is!” He groans.

“Yeah, well life is too short to worry about what hurts and let what you’ll enjoy pass you. So get out there and try. Christ in heaven you’re a brick wall.” He groans.

Ghost sighs. Johnny is right.

“Whatever Johnny, I have a lot to think about so.. kindly. Go to bed.”

“Fine. But we’re not done about this and you know it.” Soap rolls his eyes, leaving through the door. He can’t believe it. Ghost was in love with you.

———

“Ghost page back.” Captain mumbles into the radio.

“Copy.”

“Soap is feeling ill. You mind taking over his 0100 patrol?”

“Not at all sir.”

Ghost finishes up what he’s doing and prepares for the patrol.

Since they’re out of the states and in enemy territory they have patrol often.

“Great, you’ll be with Y/N.”

Ghost freezes in his spot.

“Johnny page back.”

“Copy.”

“I see you in person, you’re a dead man MacTavish.”

“Already in for the night sir, door’s locked. See you tomorrow.”

Ghost can’t see it but the scot snickers to himself inside his room. Feeling very well actually.

Ghost meets up with you just before your patrol together and wants to crawl into a hole and die. You were so beautiful and there was nothing he could do about it.

It’s quiet for a while. The two of you walking alongside each other. It’s pitch dark out. The only lights come from the base. “So. How long you know Price for?” He’s trying to make small talk. Something that takes you off guard. He never seemed to be this open.

“Since I started in the military actually. He was at the convention I enlisted at.” You smile. “Really? I forget how old the man is.” He laughs. “I totally did not think you were this outgoing, Ghost.” You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You just do not seem the type for small talk.” You smile.

He chuckles. “Nah, the mask makes me unapproachable but that not intentional.”

“Than why do you wear it?”

“To hide my identity. I’ve killed a lot of people and don’t want retaliation.”

“Don’t they just know to go after the guy in the skull mask though?” You side eye him. “Yeah, but when I wear it I want to be found.”

“Good point.” You smile.

“Stop.” He throws a hand up in front of you suddenly. “Woah-“ you mumble. He looks around, every alarm in his body is going off.

“What is it?” You ask. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He mumbles. He draws out his flashlight, shining at the ground. He doesn’t see anything, not for the first few feet at least. After that is when he notices indents in the sand. Footprints.

He follows them straight up to the barbed wire fence around the base.

“Price page back.”

He waits a minute.

“Captain Price page back.”

“Copy, what is it?”

“Footprints leading up to the Southwest fence. We’ll follow them and make sure it’s not a threat but we haven’t covered the north yet.” He says it into his radio and waits.

“Garrick and I will cover it, just be safe. Page back every ten until you know it’s clear.”

“Yes sir.”

Ghost tilts his head, letting you know to follow him.

You do just that.

It takes a couple miles of walking before you spot a building in the distance, thank god for night vision.

Ghost posts up and watches for a while, not seeing any movement. The two of you approach, you go slow. You never do see any movement, the building is severely run down, the roof is in bad shape and it’s dirty. “Do you think they’re human footprints?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Hard to say with the sand. Could be an animal of some kind. Could explain the staggering of them.” He explains.

You nod your head. “Looks like everything is clear Captain, we’re going to look around a bit and than head back.”

“Got it, we’re heading for bed. Page if you need anything else Simon.”

You step inside the run down building, it was once someone’s house. Out in the middle of nowhere.

Odd.

The rooms inside seem intact, aside from being dusty, frozen in time. Plants have taken over and some of the dishes that remain are broken but the bedrooms are still completely normal. The beds are made.

You walk inside and sit down on a bed, groaning. “I don’t wanna walk back yet.” You whine. “Take a break.” He laughs. “Okay.”

He chuckles. That didn’t take much convincing.

“Can I show you something?” He asks. “Sure, what is it?”

He moves to sit next to you, grasping his mask. Your eyes widen when he pulls it straight off. “You’re showing me this why? Explain yourself?” You laugh,

“No that’s not what I wanted to show you, this is.”

He grasps your chin and goes for it.

All the money in the pot. A gamble of a lifetime.

He plants his lips straight on yours and his blood rushes through him, his heart pounding so loud it’s all he hears. He expects you to pull back. To be disgusted with him.

But you don’t. You meet him in the middle and kiss him back even harder.

He pushes you back on the dusty bed raising himself up over you, one leg resting between yours. His thigh is flush with your clothed opening. He doesn’t stop kissing you, he takes even further.

When you feel his tongue on yours, you finally pull away with a gasp.

“Ghost-“ you pant.

“Simon. Call me Simon.” He breathes. “W-why are you doing this?” You hiss as he pushes his thigh further into you. “Because I’ve waited long enough to get my fucking hands on you. I can’t take it anymore.” He groans. You hadn’t expected him to be so forward, you also didn’t expect how handsome he’d be without a mask on. How overly willing he was to expose himself to you shows you that he trust you, and obviously had more feelings for you than he let on. Ghost didn’t just act out of lust, Johnny told you that.

Now you realize why you’d had that conversation earlier in the day. Fucking scot.

He gets your vest unzipped and grasps hold of your shirt, ripping it straight down the middle. He hears you gasp. “Simon!”

“Quiet, I’ll replace it with twenty more.” He breathes.

The click of his pocket knife makes you freeze. But he’s skilled with it, moving quickly, slicing the small slit of fabric holding your bra together. He shoves the fabric off of you and cups your breasts with his hands, leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth while he toys with the other. Pinching it between his fingers and tugging on it. You whine out, raising your hips and rutting yourself into his thigh. Ghost is the person you talked to the very least, yet here you are. On display for him.

“God you’re a fucking minx.” He hisses. He sits up and watches you roll your hips into his thigh. Desperate for him to touch you. You realize something.

“You’re the one who’s been stealing my panties, aren’t you?” You smirk.

He visibly blushes.

“You’re a cheeky thing! I can’t believe it’s been you!” You gasp. “Shut up.” He hisses. He doesn’t like to be embarrassed, you’re lucky it’s you or he would’ve told you to get fucked by now. “Fuck, how many have you gotten away with?”

He shrugs. “Lot more than you’d expect.”

“You’re such a fucking pervert.” You laugh.

“Yeah, you’d think even worse of me if you knew what I did with them.” He growls. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, attacking your skin with his teeth and lips. Pushing his hand down the front of your waistband. He glides his fingers over your pussy, hearing you whine.

“Now I want to know. What you did with them.”

He chuckles, it’s dark.

“The smell of you is intoxicating, darling.”

You moan out. “Fuck I shouldn’t think that’s hot but I do.” You mewl. Lips parted as he sucks at your throat. Your jugular vein is pulsing and he can’t feel it with his tongue. He rests his hand over your head. “Been waiting weeks for a taste of you, doll. Now we’re here.” He groans, kissing roughly down your center. He’s rough as he tugs your pants down your legs, barely taking the time to unbutton them. You thought maybe he’d cut those off too, not that you’d mind anyways.

He kisses further down, hearing your breathing pick up even more as he presses lower. He doesn’t start slow like you thought he would. Starting by sucking directly on your clit, making you flinch.

You hiss, jumping away from him. You hear him chuckle as he starts his assault on it.

“Poor thing, so sensitive.” He smirks.

“Shut up before I ride your face, Riley.” You hiss, pushing a hand in his hair.

“Oh no?” He smirks. You roll your eyes.

He lowers his head back down, gliding his tongue up your slit.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

Just before he devours you whole.

He doesn’t relent, no matter how much you cry or squirm. He holds you down by your thighs. He presses his tongue into your opening, rubbing your clit with his nose like a dog. He’s filthy.

You didn’t think Ghost was the type to be so dirty. When he’s got you right on the edge, crying out in pure bliss. You’re about to beg him not to stop but he draws back anyways. His lips are wet in your arousal. His cheeks are flushed pink, pupils blown wide with lust.

He sits up, grasping his shirt and forcing it over his head, going for his cargo pants next.

You’re watching him in a daze. Drunk off his lips and how he’s made you feel.

“I was normal until you came along, hm. Didn’t think I could feel what I feel until you saved our asses on that rooftop. I thought I’d be okay until you pulled that damned ski mask off and showed your fuckin’ face and now I don’t think I’ll be okay again. You’ll pay for it darling.”

He moves himself over the top of you, thrusting himself straight inside you to the hilt, you’re crying out.

“You’ll pay for it by letting me have this pussy whenever I want it.” He growls.

He’s relentless. Doesn’t matter how much you fall apart or how much you cry. He doesn’t let up. He’s rough, his pace is bruising. You can’t get out a single word as he works his hips into yours, using his thumb to rub circles on your swollen clit.

You’re impossibly wet around him, clutching at the old sheets so hard your knuckles go white. He laughs. He snaps his hips into yours, feeling how wet you are around him. Moaning and whining, writhing from the pleasure he’s giving you. You’ve never felt something so intense before. Not in your life.

He forces you to roll over, gasping out at the loss of him but he doesn’t give you long. Once you’re on your stomach, he’s raising you up by your hips and thrusting back into you. Pushing your face roughly into the mattress and holding your hands behind your back.

“Fuckin hell Simon!” You cry.

You feel good of course, but you need him to relent. Just for a minute at least.

“So much-“ you cry. “You’re mine. Say it.” He growls. “Maybe I’ll let up.”

“I’m yours!” You sob.

“Say it again!” He growls. He grips your hands hard.

“I’m yours Simon- fuck! I’m yours!” He buries himself inside of you to the hilt, slowing his speed but not his force. He pulls you up by your arms, still holding them behind you. Your eyes widen when you realize there’s a mirror above the bed. It’s broken and dusty but that doesn’t mean you can’t see yourselves in it.

He wraps his hands around your waist, still fucking into you but he’s being gentler now. Slow.

“Say it again.” His voice is a low growl. You almost miss it.

“I’m yours.” You whine. Raising your hand to touch his cheek.

“Again.” He growls even louder. Pushing into your belly. “I- I’m yours Simon. All fucking yours.” You’re nearly chanting it.

You sob, tears spilling over your eyelids.

“Now fucking scream it.” He grits his teeth, thrusting straight up into that spongy spot deep inside of you, sending you straight into your orgasm and you nearly do just that. You’re loud when you cum, barely getting out the words “I’m yours!” As you cry and sob, lurching forward and shaking through your orgasm. He fucks you through it, clutching onto you for dear life as he moans out, reaching his own high. He thrusts as deep as he’ll go before he cums. It’s a decision he may regret but right now, he doesn’t care.

You’re whimpering as he slides out of you. Taking in oxygen like it’s limited.

He helps you until you’re lying on your back again. Soothing you. He massages your skin, bringing you back down to earth.

Simon knew better than to be so rough but he lost himself.

“Shhh.. s’okay baby. I’ve got you.” He breathes. You close your eyes, steadying your breaths.

Simon was a lot of man, he knew he was.

He draws his fingertips over your chest and arms, your eyes follow them as he lets you relax.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You mumble. “I wasn’t too much was I?” He smiles.

“No- not at all. Though you came on VERY strong.” You smirk.

He laughs. “That’s the only way, baby.”

He sits up. “Now come on, we’ve got to head back before they realize we’re missing.”

“Yes sir.”

#ghost call of duty #ghost smut #ghost fanfiction #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley

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gingerteafairy · 2 months ago

Text

THE SEASON BEFORE SUNRISE

friedrich harding x fem!reader

summary: feelings shift like the changing seasons.

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, angst, arranged marriage, death, post anna death, widow!reader. word count: 6.4k

Everyone knew of the desolation Friedrich Harding faced after the loss of his beloved wife, Anna, his dear companion since childhood. Yet little was spoken of the grief you were enduring from the recent death of your husband, a man who had been your companion since your early youth, and from the loss of Anna just a few months ago. Even though the years had diminished the frequency of your contact, your affection for her remained, deep and unaltered. Perhaps it was the weight of society at the time that inhibited such feelings, where female grief was treated as fleeting hysteria, a whim of weak minds and idle hands.

Women, they said, should keep themselves busy, as if the burden of suffering could be softened by daily tasks. It was due to a peculiar tradition in your family, where bloodlines and fates intertwined in strange ways, that you were now the next in line to marry Friedrich. You, the only woman not bound to him by blood, but with a dowry substantial enough to offer comfort to a widowed man. A cold comfort, perhaps, like the silent pact between two broken hearts. It was ironic, you thought, how a marriage without love could be the most fitting consolation. Two widows united not by passion, but by a shared grief and a common memory: Anna.

You and Friedrich had agreed to set aside the formalities of courtship, and secret meetings in the winter garden of your home had become a regular practice. There was no time to waste. Youth had already passed, and both of you had experienced the weight of losing something precious. Now, only pragmatism remained. The marriage would come, and with it, the certainty that the wedding night would not be consummated. There was no reason for it. There was no more urgency.

The next morning, you woke early and dressed simply, but appropriately, for breakfast. When you entered the kitchen, you saw Friedrich seated at the table, his tired eyes absorbed in a thick book. His cup of tea was nearly empty, and the morning sunlight cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting the lines of weariness that loss had etched into him. When he noticed your presence, his body straightened subtly. He closed the book with a careful gesture and set the cup back onto its saucer with an almost automatic delicacy, as though the simple act of drinking tea was a ritual of composure.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rough and formal, clearing his throat with a slight motion of his hand—an old habit of someone accustomed to maintaining an elegant facade, even amidst pain.

"Good morning," you replied softly, almost inaudibly, as you moved closer to the table. You sat down with the grace of someone who already knew the intricacies of the space, your eyes briefly settling on the fresh pastries and fruits laid before you. The gentle scent of herbs from the tea filled your nostrils, offering an unexpected sense of comfort.

“Had an unpleasant night?" Friedrich asked, lifting his cup with precision, his eyes—tired but alert—never leaving you. He took a pastry, bit into it carefully, and paused, letting the silence linger for a moment before drinking his tea with measured, slow movements, as though each gesture were calculated.

"Quite the opposite, Mr. Harding," you said, offering a gentle smile, feeling the weight of the title. The word "Mr." seemed so distant, a barrier that still lingered between you. "You have a lovely place." You paused briefly, your fingers almost absentmindedly tracing invisible circles on the edge of your cup.

"Friedrich, please," he corrected, his tone softening in contrast to his earlier stiffness. His hand moved to the napkin, white and clean, to remove a tiny crumb that had settled on his elegant mustache. Even now, after Anna's loss, he exuded an unshakable class. "We agreed to make this as normal as possible. We are adults."

"Yes... Friedrich. I apologize." You spoke with a cordiality that flowed naturally. Your smile was timid yet sincere, and you resumed your breakfast with a slower pace, as if you were still adapting to the new routine—strange and, at the same time, familiar.

The ensuing silence wasn’t uncomfortable. There was an unexpected tranquility in the air, like a silent conversation that both of you knew how to navigate without words. Being with Friedrich was different from anything you might have expected. The void left by shared losses had turned into a tacit alliance. You weren’t just widows; you were companions on a journey that no one else could truly understand. The bond between you was more than just suffering; it was the mutual acceptance of the present moment—a silent contract that, despite the pain, something new could grow. Not from love, but from necessity, from the understanding that, in some way, both of you were navigating the same turbulent waters.

"I’m afraid I must go to work," Friedrich announced with his usual polite formality, rising from the table with a smooth motion, as though every gesture of his were part of a well-rehearsed ritual. You, too, stood up, moving instinctively to give a curtsy, but he raised his hand, halting your movement with a gentle yet firm gesture.

"There’s no need," he said, his voice low, almost impersonal, but with a hint of something more—an unspoken desire to break free from the formalities.

"I always did this at my old home," you murmured, an unexpected wave of discomfort washing over you for the first time in his presence. The seemingly simple gesture felt like something larger, something from another time, something you still carried with you as a relic of upbringing.

Friedrich merely offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile as he folded the napkin with deliberate calm, his gaze briefly dropping to the table. "Don’t worry about that here." His voice softened, almost intimate, as though he were trying to push away a part of himself you didn’t yet know. "Get used to being free, without those mechanic acts."

You swallowed hard, sitting back down at the table, a little disoriented, and turned your attention back to your coffee, trying to find comfort in the small things, like the warmth of the tea. "I… Thank you, Friedrich… Have a good day."

"Thank you, Miss. Have a wonderful day," he said, giving a small nod. With a nearly imperceptible movement, he stepped away from the table, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the heavy silence that filled the air.

That small encounter, despite its simplicity, ignited something in you. A forgotten spark, a glimpse of something approaching freedom—a faint light, yet still, something that could guide the way. Even with the emotional distance between you, that moment felt significant in some way. He seemed emotional, perhaps even unsettled. You tried not to be drawn into it, but then, you heard it.

"I’m sorry." His voice broke the silence, the softness of the words catching you by surprise. When your eyes lifted, you found his gaze. Blue, deep, seeming even more lost than before. "For your husband. It must not have been easy."

There it was. The strange and unexpected connection you had sensed between you. It was the first time anyone had expressed their condolences in such a genuine way, without offering empty advice about remarrying or retreating to a convent. He understood your grief. He understood you.

"Well… Thank you for your condolences… Friedrich," you said, your voice trembling slightly, the lump in your throat tightening. You adjusted yourself in the chair, trying to find a more composed posture, yet something inside you was shaken. "My previous marriage wasn’t as happy as yours. Your loss, without a doubt, must have been much greater than mine."

"On the contrary, my dear," he responded softly, almost warmly, and leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh, as if sharing a painful secret. "You suffered the most of us all. I heard the stories of your husband. I have happy memories of my Anna. But what about you? What remains?"

His words were a sharp blow, like a knife driven deep into your chest. He knew the stories, knew the whispers and murmurs about your marriage. You fell silent, lifting the tea cup to your lips, trying to hide the tremor that spread through your hands. You sipped the tea more forcefully than you intended, attempting to silence the pain that surged up in a way you hadn’t expected. The past, with all its lies and absences, seemed to manifest once more.

"I loved him." The words came out softly, almost like a silent confession. That phrase, so simple, still felt like a heavy burden. Even after all this time, you could still feel the echo of something that, for a brief moment, seemed like love. "It was a shame we never had the chance to have a child before the… accident. I feel like it might have distracted me, perhaps."

He took a deep breath, the air seeming heavy in his lungs, and nodded, as if the words didn’t need to be spoken for both of you to understand the pain. The atmosphere, once light, now carried the weight of memories neither of you wished to revisit. Plague, death, lost causes. The torture of being left behind by those you loved.

"Would you like to take a walk?" His question caught you off guard, and the tension seemed to drain from your posture as if by magic.

"Yes. Of course. That would be lovely," you replied more quickly than you had intended, feeling an unexpected lightness in your chest. For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a glimmer of something softer in Friedrich’s eyes—something you couldn't quite define, but it stirred a mutual curiosity.

He forced a small smile and rose from the table. You took a final sip of your tea before following suit, gently wiping your face with the napkin. Friedrich took deliberate steps until he stood beside you, extending his arm so you could walk closer to him than you had expected. You looped your arm through his, and together, you walked in silence toward the garden. The only sound was the steady rhythm of your steps, almost in unison, and the faint noises of a few servants at work in the distance.

The soft morning light touched your face, the cool breeze contrasting with the warmth of the sun, kissing your cheeks with a refreshing coolness. You glanced briefly at Friedrich, who returned your look with a small smile, his blue eyes sparkling under the soft morning light. He inhaled deeply, the fresh air filled with the scent of newly blossomed flowers and the distant scent of pine trees in the garden. It was spring, but there was still a chill in the air. The birds chirped carelessly, crossing the blue sky with few clouds, which looked more like mere decorations in the landscape.

"If it weren’t for the circumstances, I’d say this feels like a romantic play," you remarked, letting the gentle breeze play with your hair. The sense of freedom felt almost absurd against the complexity of the situation.

"Indeed. It’s a beautiful day today," he replied, his tone lighter as he scanned the scene around him. Then, he paused briefly, a subtle movement that indicated a puddle in front of you, his attention that of someone who had done this countless times before. Attentive, but almost unconscious.

"Did you always do this with her?" you asked, carefully stepping around the puddle and continuing your walk. Your gaze followed his movements, unhurried, almost automatic. It was a gesture that seemed to be part of his nature.

"Not really. She was careful, as though she knew every stone she stepped on." His tone grew distant, as if momentarily transported to memories of times past. Then, a small, almost nostalgic chuckle escaped him. "But I never stopped doing it. At least it served a purpose with you. You’re a bit clumsy."

"Clumsy?" you laughed, surprised by the playful and sarcastic jab he’d thrown your way. Your laughter echoed lightly through the tranquility of the garden. "Is that an implicit signal for me to pay more attention, Herr Harding?"

"Don’t be silly." He smiled, a look of amusement crossing his face before he stifled a chuckle in his throat. "Don’t change your behavior because of some nonsense I let slip. I just mean, it’s easier to handle it that way."

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, feeling the proximity of his presence, the warmth radiating from him in contrast to the cold wind that still marked the changing of the season.

"Anna was perfect. Fabulous." He paused, searching for the right words, as if he were touching something painful, yet inevitable. Then, he cleared his throat, a subtle attempt to clear the tightness before continuing. "But sometimes I felt like I always had to be…"

"Nervous?" you completed his sentence, your gaze attentive to every unspoken word, the soft rustle of the breeze contrasting with the heavy silence. Friedrich gave a slight nod, acknowledging your guess.

"Like I always had to be perfect," he sighed, coming to a stop and sitting down beside you on a small bench in the garden, shaded by thick trees. He seemed exhausted, yet relieved at the same time, as though the weight of the words had momentarily lightened. "I know I’ll never replace her. But with you, I feel at ease. Like a confidante."

“Well, two widows together. Is there anything more tragicomic than this?” You joked, once again touching on the peculiar humor that seemed to flow so naturally between you. This time, Friedrich couldn't suppress the laughter. The sound came from him lightly and effortlessly, like a wave, vibrating through his chest, free of the constraints that had held him back before.

“You’re quite subversive, aren’t you?” he said, a playful expression spreading across his face. He ran a hand over his mouth, as if brushing away his smile, crossing his legs and slowly retrieving a cigar from his pocket. The movement was deliberate, almost like a ritual. “Do you mind?”

“No.” You shook your head with a smile, signaling for him to go ahead. Still, he placed the cigar back in his pocket with a silent respect, as if he already understood what truly mattered between you. “I’m subversive because I have a sense of humor? I didn’t know you were so conservative.”

“Spare me. These rules of etiquette are nonsense invented to rob us of life.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if pushing away the weight of societal expectations. “Look at us. We were forced to marry because someone said it’s not good for man to be alone.”

“Are you tarnishing the holy word, Friedrich?” You teased, raising an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. He uncrossed his legs, relaxing beside you, his posture loose.

“I think I’m not punished more than we are in this situation,” he laughed again, the sound genuine and unconstrained, a rare, welcoming laugh that echoed melodically, breaking the last traces of tension between you.

“We still broke the wedding night rule,” you reminded him, and he threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

“My God, we’re a lost cause,” he chuckled, but the laughter soon softened, fading as he turned to look at you, trying to calm his amusement.

There was something captivating in the way he seemed to reflect on the moment, a mix of enjoyment and resignation. With a nearly imperceptible movement, he tilted his head to the side, distracted, then pulled out his pocket watch. The gesture marked the end of the lightness in the conversation.

“I fear it’s time for me to attend to business,” he interrupted, his tone turning more sober.

“Of course,” you replied, standing up at the same time he did, the tension between you both dissipating as you shared one last light smile.

However, noticing that he had briefly watched you, you couldn't resist offering a small, mocking bow, one that escaped you almost without thought. He caught the gesture, and for a moment, his smile curved just slightly, a polite expression that nonetheless betrayed a shared intimacy between you.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he promised, his words carrying a promise of something unsaid, something suspended, waiting for the right moment to be picked up again.

Even in his haste, he accompanied her to the hall. What once seemed like a simple, everyday obligation had now transformed into a silent ritual, almost a shared pleasure between them. As if fate were playing with its invisible threads, their marriage had occurred at the end of winter—an understated departure of the season’s chill, while spring began to make its first tentative steps, blossoming alongside hearts now beating in sync.

The scent of roses lingered in the air, reminding her of the bottles Friedrich would gift her from time to time—subtle gestures that concealed more than mere intentions. A soft breeze wound its way through the house, reviving memories of his elegant presence, lifting the curtains in an ethereal dance, sweeping away the dust, and bringing a refreshing coolness to every room.

Then came summer, and with it, the sun’s awakened rays poured life into what had once seemed faded. Morning conversations, filled with musings on the weather or trivial matters, filled the emptiness of a new day. In the afternoon, their exchanges became sharper, commenting on the neighbors and the townspeople who fancied themselves important, yet were, as he put it, "clowns dressed in finery." In the evenings, conversations grew rarer, more spaced out—not just due to the fatigue they both felt, but because of the weight carried by the “unsaid.”

Even though they were married before God and the law, invisible barriers still separated them. But in the rare moments they sat together after dinner, those moments felt almost precious—revealing a little more of the inner worlds hidden behind the curtains of formality.

As days passed, summer slowly gave way to the melancholy of autumn. The golden glow of warm days was replaced by a softer, almost nostalgic light that painted the afternoons in shades of amber and crimson. The wind, once a messenger of warmth and life, now blew with a distinct coolness, carrying the earthy aroma of dried leaves that gathered along the paths.

The house, once flooded with vibrant sunlight, now seemed to be wrapped in a cozy shadow. The curtains no longer danced so freely, weighed down by the thicker air of the season. Friedrich, always attentive to the subtle changes around him, watched time shape every corner with its unshakable patience. The silence of autumn was not empty; it was filled with meaning—a quiet invitation to introspection, a harbinger of something new.

The garden, once a sea of vibrant colors, had now transformed into a mosaic of orange leaves drifting from the branches like unsent letters to the wind. The last rosebuds held firm, defying the growing cold, as though refusing to accept that everything must, eventually, wither. It was a season of transition, of fleeting beauty. And, in some way, it mirrored the silent shift that was settling between them.

“You know, from the first time I saw you, I felt like I could trust you,” he confessed, his voice low but steady. As he took a draw from his cigar, he exhaled the smoke with a deliberate movement, as if releasing more than just tobacco. His free arm was lazily draped over the divan, fingers almost brushing against her clavicle, but not quite making contact—just grazing her skin in the subtlest of gestures, as if the touch was unnecessary, yet still undeniably present in the space between them.

“At the church?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. He slowly rotated his eyes to meet yours, his head slightly tilted, watching your face with an expression that could have been contemplative, though, at its core, remained inscrutable. It was as though his mystery deepened with each word spoken.

“In the garden,” he answered, pausing again to take another puff from the cigar, his eyes focused on the horizon, searching for something invisible in the landscape. When he exhaled the smoke, it moved slowly, almost poetically, as if his words were still being shaped. “When you made the agreement. You were firm. You knew what you wanted. I admire that. Strong, determined people.”

“Do you think I’m strong?” You asked, your voice softer now, a trace of curiosity slipping into the words. It wasn’t a rhetorical question, but a genuine uncertainty. Your eyes met his, waiting for an answer that might reveal more about him than about yourself.

“Stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen,” he replied, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The world could have fallen apart around them, but in that moment, on that divan, there were only the two of them, as though nothing else mattered.

As always between them, emotions and glances didn’t need words to communicate. It was a mutual, silent understanding—the kind of connection only those who share a bond so complex can truly grasp. What they both needed in that moment was simple: touch. Warmth. Something physical and pure, the reminder of what it meant to be near, to be present. Friedrich pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was brief yet intense, pulling away slowly, as though making sure you wouldn’t pull back, that you were there, willing to allow it.

It had been so long since he had touched anyone, and neither had you. As if, for a moment, you both had forgotten the softness of human touch, the way bodies recognize each other when they are close. He absently crushed his cigar in the ashtray, his focus now completely on you. Nothing else mattered.

Slowly, he brought his hand to your face. First, his fingers slid gently over the texture of your skin, as if every millimeter was a discovery. His eyes were fixed on you, not just any look, but a deeply attentive look, as if he were memorizing every detail. When the palm of his hand met your cheek, the fit was perfect, as if your faces had been made to touch this way. He stood there for a few moments, just watching, his fingers tracing a delicate path across your lip with his thumb. A gesture that, although simple, carried immense meaning. He was with you, entirely.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” The question came naturally, without haste, without expectation. It wasn't a simple rhetorical question, it was something genuine. Something he wanted to know.

The silence that followed was an implicit answer. You watched him for a moment, almost as if you were reflecting on the weight of those words, and then, as if confessing a secret you had kept, you answered:

“Maybe never like this.”

“You are beautiful.” He repeated, as if those words were the key that fit perfectly into your heart, as if he knew you needed to hear them in a way no one had said before. “Can I show you that?”

With the soft touch of your hand on his, you asked for more, without saying a word, but the request was there, clear and transparent. Consent. Desire. Begging. He noticed, and the answer was immediate. He leaned in once more, his lips meeting yours in a hesitant kiss, but not without intensity. It was as if the world dissolved even more in that moment.

It was just a brush. A soft touch, as if the very air between you was impregnated with something sweet and ancient. You could feel the softness of his skin, the faint scent of nicotine that still lingered on his fingers, the trace of expensive cognac, the kind of drink he kept in his library for special occasions, and even the delicate scent of strawberries, which mixed with the sensation of his touch. It was a mess of gastronomic and artistic sensations that you longed for, something sublime and complex, where each detail seemed like a fragment of something that, perhaps, had never been fully understood until that moment.

"Stay with me, Friedrich." Your voice came out weak, a whisper laden with pleading, dissipating in the thick silence of the room. The only immediate response was the crackling of the wood in the fireplace, soft clicks that seemed to mark the time between each of his breaths, warm and deep, brushing against your skin. "Stay with me until sunrise. Just for tonight." An indecipherable gleam passed through Friedrich's eyes, as if this was the prayer he had been waiting to hear for centuries. A slow smile formed on his lips before he tilted his face towards you.

"How can I refuse you, my dear?" The answer came in a low, intimate whisper, as his lips traced a reverent path across your face. First, a delicate kiss on your forehead, then on your temples, as if he wanted to engrave you in his memory.

He moved down to your cheeks, his lips brushing your skin in an almost imperceptible touch, warm and devoted. Your chin, the tip of your nose — every inch was graced with his attention. It was a silent blessing, a profane sacrament sealing a bond forgotten by time. Then, Friedrich closed the distance between you. His lips took yours with precision, without hesitation. The kiss was neither hurried nor voracious — it was a wordless oath. There was no sarcasm, no ghosts from the outside world. Just that moment, charged with something greater than the two of you. Love or not, there was an uncontrollable impetus there, something unforgettable.

Friedrich's fingers slid along your jaw, slowly rising until they intertwined in your hair, tugging lightly, as if he wanted to keep you from disappearing. In response, your hands sought his, groping until they found them, fitting your fingers with his. The touch was cold, but not unpleasant; on the contrary, it felt like the anchor of something much deeper. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes half closed, his breathing ragged. The fire in the fireplace cast shadows on the walls, dancing to the rhythm of the growing desire between you.

"Until sunrise," he murmured against your mouth, almost a promise. "All night."

Friedrich stood up with his usual elegance, extending his hand to you. Your fingers gently wrapped around his, and in an almost ceremonial gesture, he lifted you, guiding you with a care that made it seem as if time slowed down around you. Like a prince leading his maiden through an enchanted castle, Friedrich led you to his room—a previously unknown territory that you had only glimpsed in passing, always disorganized, with books piled haphazardly and traces of sleepless nights.

But now, everything seemed different. There was an unexpected order to the usual chaos, as if he had prepared the environment for this moment. The furniture was impeccably arranged, the curtains slightly open, letting the pale moonlight fall on the sheets. His familiar scent permeated the space, a mixture of stale tobacco and the woody aroma that always lingered on his clothes.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Friedrich turned the key in the lock, a discreet click echoing in the silence of the room. A simple gesture, but one that carried an invisible weight—he didn't want to be interrupted, not now.

"I prefer our night to be comfortable for you." He communicated, approaching, his steps calm but full of intention.

His gaze was a veiled invitation, a wordless promise. When his lips touched her face, it was not a hurried kiss, but an intimate mapping of her skin. He kissed her forehead as if consecrating that moment, her temples like a devotee in prayer. The line of her jaw, the curve of your cheek, every inch explored as if it were a rediscovery.

Nine long months without being touched by him, adding to the tally the months in which your husband had not touched you. You thought you had forgotten what it was like to be kissed. But the moment Friedrich’s lips met yours, all the dormant memories came back to life—not as distant memories, but as something as vivid as the warmth of his body against yours.

“Touch me.” You asked, sincerely. Need gave no room for shame at that moment. You needed to be touched by him.

“Anything you want.” His hoarse voice came out like a sinful whisper against your face.

Friedrich took a step back, then, walking behind you, he began to pull the lace of your dress with a mastery that you knew where it came from. But, at that moment, it was as if it were only yours. With precise speed, you felt the thin and expensive fabric, every penny intentionally bought by Friedrich, falling to the floor, with any other old rag that you forgot after a long time, leaving only the small nightgown and the corset underneath, which was also untied by him, allowing your muscles to relax again.

You turned your ankles, meeting Friedrich’s hungry gaze on your body covered only by the thin cotton with carefully embroidered lace on the sleeves. You moistened your lips, bringing your hands to your hair. Your fingers began to remove the pins, your perfect hairstyle falling apart, your long strands falling down your spine like a colorful waterfall.

Friedrich felt a fleeting tremor in his vision, Anna’s memory mixing with his own in his head. No. He murmured, no. You could never be her. Not even if you tried in a million years. But there was something about you that pulled him back like a magnet. You stepped forward, giving him a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Anna would never do that.” He murmured, not sure how this would affect you or himself, trying to explain himself. “She was always so chaste, so reserved, so… pure. Even when I touched her. But you— I feel like a boy playing too close to a lake, where I fall in and never want to get out again.”

“What’s in that lake?” You asked, reaching your brave hands for Friedrich’s vest, each button being unbuttoned faster with the courage inside you.

“So many things. So much… life.” He paused, his gaze so distant, yet so present in that moment, alternating between which of your eyes he should look at. “It’s enchanting. There are so many fish, frogs, mud where I slip, but I always come back for more. And in this lake it rains, so hard. God.”

“Are you cold?” You encouraged, Friedrich helping you, putting the vest over your arms and taking off your shirt in just one pass over your head.

“I am.” He says, closing his eyes to one of your hands, cold from the night air, touching his neck, the other lazily in his strong arms. “I never want to leave here. I want to be trapped in this moment forever.”

It was your turn to be silent, swallowing hard at the confession between Friedrich’s eloquent lines. Noticing your hesitation, his strong hand took yours and placed it on your chest. Your hand feeling the strong and accelerated beating in his chest, you were causing this.

Intertwining his hand with yours, his other hand went to your waist, holding you as he guided your steps to the bed, where you lay right in the middle of the huge mattress. Friedrich put his fingers in the waistband of your pants, pulling them down, recording the memory of you, so delicate, but so honest and brave in that bed. It didn't seem like you were going to be devoured like a little lamb, but that he knew you would give pleasure and be pleased, like a nymph.

Friedrich crawled across the bed until he was on top of you, supporting himself on one arm, the other hand easily unbuttoning your nightgown, your beauty being served to him. With a gentle touch, he groped your breasts, rolling the small spot with his thumb, admiring the view.

“I had forgotten this feeling.” He commented, lifting your breast, palming it, squeezing it, like a boy discovering the female body for the first time. “It feels so good.”

You nodded, enjoying the moment, glimpsing every admirable reaction Friedrich had in that part of your body. He kissed both your breasts, moving down with kisses to your exposed sex, inhaling your essence.

“What’re you gonna do?” You asked, closing your legs instinctively, a touch of fear laced with desire in your voice.

“Have you never been touched like this?” He asked, surprised by your desperate reaction, opening your legs and doing his best not to embarrass you by facing your intimacy.

“No.” You confessed, without even knowing what he planned to do. There were hypotheses, but the ideas that went through your mind were hot, but they didn’t make sense.

“Can I show you?” He suggested, wetting his lips with his tongue in anticipation. You nodded, reluctantly opening your legs.

Friedrich took a deep breath before lowering his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. He sucked a small part of your skin, going down with small bites to your groin, where he placed a small kiss that made you shiver.

When he licked your pearl, you understood the surprise in his eyes. That was heavenly good. Your fingers went to Friedrich’s head, pulling his hair as a way to dissipate the pleasure that was growing between your legs.

His tongue licked your sex, pressing harder to hear your louder moans, switching to small, weak licks to turn you inside out. His large hands were firmly on your thighs, keeping you in place as he sucked on your sensitive spot with precision.

Lifting your head to look down, you saw Friedrich with his eyes closed, concentrating. The scene was stimulating enough to feel the pressure building in your stomach. Hearing your needy moans, he ended up licking faster and faster with more pressure. The tremors indicated that you were close and he focused only on your clit, punishing the flesh with his tongue fast and strong in sinful circles until he felt you collapse into his mouth with one last loud moan, lifting your hips against his mouth.

Not wanting to push you to the limit right away, he lifted his body, returning to be on top and kissing you, the taste of your pleasure mixing on his lips. He lowered his lower part, showing his ugly cock that was throbbing hard against your belly, smearing your skin with pre-cum.

“Ready?” He asked, wiping the cloth down your legs and throwing it on the floor.

“Yes.” You confirmed, watching Friedrich grab one of the pillows and place it under your hips, which you lifted to help him.

Guiding his cock to your saliva-soaked and aroused intimacy, he pressed the tip against your entrance, showing a small reaction of discomfort before pleasure took over your face when you felt the length entering your canal, stretching your walls.

His hips began to move, slowly at first, so that you could get used to the recent intrusion after so long. When you were already showing pleasure, the rhythm became frantic, almost merciless. He murmured sweet nothings in your ear, not hiding any sound, and it drove you insane. You wanted everything from him, the sounds, the contorted expressions of pleasure, every thrust he changed the rhythm of, every compliment and disgrace he whispered. All of him.

In a short time, he melted inside you, loving you to the last drop, a hint of pride for having made you arrive before him, kissing your mouth to finish you off, leaning his forehead against yours, his breathing calming down.

He stood up, holding your hand firmly but unhurriedly, guiding you to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror revealed the marks of the night—sweat, tears and fluids, strands of disheveled hair. Friedrich smiled sideways, an almost complicit glint in his eyes, before taking a damp cloth and starting to clean you.

His every gesture was calm, almost ritualistic. He gently wiped the cloth over your face, removing traces of intimacy, his fingers brushing your skin with a caress that made your heart slow down. When he wiped your collarbone, he took a second longer than necessary, as if he were memorizing the touch. When he passed it through your hands, he intertwined his fingers with yours for a brief moment, before continuing.

The world outside was slowly waking up. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the curtain, dyeing the room with soft golden tones. The air still carried a remnant of the night—of whispered promises, of something unnameable that hovered between you.

But then, something sour settled in your mouth. A bitter taste, an inevitable memory. You looked away from Friedrich, the echoes of the previous promise resonating in your mind. Until dawn.

"I... I think I should go." Your voice came out hesitant, almost trembling. You turned your back, preparing to leave, but before you could take another step, you felt a firm tug.

Friedrich wrapped you in an intense, almost desperate hug. His body was a wall against which you snuggled without resistance, feeling his heat pass through your skin. Friedrich's breathing was heavy against your hair, and his fingers, once so careful, now tangled possessively in the strands, as if he wanted to hold you there, forever.

"Never leave my side again." The whisper was filled with something primal, something he didn't usually express. "It's an order. The only one I give you." He inclined his head, his lips brushing your temple, the touch as gentle as a shared secret. "I will make you happy in your marriage. I will make you create good memories, I will be your anchor, your wine, your pleasure."

You lifted your face, your eyes searching his, and then you moved closer, placing your lips on his bare chest, right over the place where his heart beat slow and deep. Friedrich's breathing faltered for a moment, and you let yourself sink against him, listening to that steady rhythm, like a melody that only the two of you understood.

"I'm already yours, Friedrich." You whispered, filled with certainty. You closed your eyes, resting your head against him. "And I will be yours until the end of my life, living every sunrise by your side."

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