#Beat only by the chase in London

[ryoukio]

Sire.

[fun-esta]

Ok, hear me out guys 🗣️📣

If I were in Christopher's shoes, and Joker just brought my soul from the depths of hell to revive me and be free to pursue my life goal again, and in return he asked me to be his playmate/companion/friend in this dramatically sensual way in the rain, I would completely rethink my sexuality, my heart would be already in his hands for him to tear it apart, i would bite my lips to not moan, and my highly death-driven ass would say yes without a second's hesitation 😭

[ja3yun]

I'm a Virgin, Not a Murderer | Finale: If You Jump...

virgin!heeseung x sex worker!reader warnings: smut (mdni), loss of virginity (finally), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, mentions of anxiety, character death, blood, guns and violence, chase scenes, heartbreaking if you care about ynhee w.c: 18.4k finale synopsis: it's the end of the road for you, using up all your nine lives and ending your journey with confessions, hand holds, and heeseung finally popping his cherry. a/n: hi! it's finally the end of the series. personally, i have loved this fic with my whole chest and i'm glad for the love it has received. i hope this ending is up to your expectations because i spent a lot of time on it, making sure it was fulfilling even with the...ending :) hope you all enjoy! as always, reblogs, comments, likes, feedback are all welcome

chapter 3 | masterlist | END

“Don’t fucking move,” a gravelly voice from behind him menacingly says in a low tone. Heeseung feels what he can only suspect is a gun aimed towards his head, the barrel pressing coolly against his skin. The sensation is chilling yet alarming, sending an icy shiver down his spine. His body reacts to the peril, heat surging through him as adrenaline courses through his veins. 

Heeseung's heart pounds erratically in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in his ears. His breath quickens, the air feeling thick and oppressive, suffused with tension. He risks a glance at you, standing just a few feet away, your eyes wide with terror and confusion. The sight of your fear ignites a fierce protectiveness within him, but he is acutely aware of the danger you both are in.

The gunman's presence is oppressive, his grip on the weapon steady and unforgiving. Heeseung can sense the man's breath on the back of his neck, hot and acrid, mingling with the cold metal of the gun. Every instinct within Heeseung screams at him to act, to somehow disarm the assailant and ensure your safety, but he knows that any sudden movement could provoke a fatal reaction.

Instead, he slowly puts his hands up, surrendering to the threat. “I’m just moving to the side, okay?” he tries to barter with the man like he has any hand in this game. He’s not equipped for being held at gunpoint, knives sure, you come across boys wielding them all over London, but never a gun. His inexperience is hindering him greatly in all aspects of life.

With a grunt from the man behind him, Heeseung takes a small step to the left, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s trying to communicate with you to run, to get as far away from this sudden danger as possible, yet you don’t move, shaking your head due to your own fear-ridden mind.

You’re transfixed with a wave of fear, the man finally coming into your peripheral as Heeseung moves away from you. The last thing you want right now is to be away from the boy you’ve grown so attached to, so seeing him silently beg you to leave him doesn’t register, the thought of ditching him never crossing your mind.

The man pokes his gun harshly against Heeseung’s head once more. “Turn around. Slowly.” The demand is met as Heeseung takes small, slow steps to face the aggressor. What he expects to see is a policeman, finally catching up to you both, ruining the chase-turned-honeymoon and capturing you like rabbits in a trap.

Despite the open air of the abandoned theme park, you can’t help but feel claustrophobic, the wind suddenly turning into ropes as it ties around your throat, rendering you breathless and without words as you come face to face with the man.

Before you is none other than the Brixton killer, the man who brutally murdered an innocent shopkeeper and policeman. The scene was horrific, stabbing the worker 28 times all over his chest and abdomen, and somehow stealing the arriving police officer’s gun and shooting him in the eye. He was sentenced to prison for life without chance of parole, yet after an elaborate escape plan, here he stands in front of you.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” he asks, a grimace twisting his face as though you were ransacking his home of treasure.

Heeseung swallows hard, looking him dead in the eye. “Just…enjoying the sights,” he tries to joke, and you curse him with all the names under the sun for not reading the situation in front of him.

“Don’t get smart with me, who sent you?” the man waves the threatening pistol between Heeseung’s eyes, causing the boy to clamp shut. Sometimes he has a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and unfortunately, this is one of those times.

He doesn’t think he has ever been this nervous or anxiety-induced in his entire life, he misses when his biggest problem was an intact V-card and handing in his dissertation.

“N-no one sent us, Sir, we swear! We just stumbled upon this place and I wanted to take a look, that’s all,” your voice is attempting to stay level but some cracks are seeping through as you fight your composure.

“Tell me the truth or I blow your boyfriend’s brains out,” he threatens, the gun pressed firmly against Heeseung’s forehead. The man is not playing around; his eyes radiate cold determination, underscoring the seriousness of his ultimatum.

You shake your head violently, eyes wide enough for the chilling wind to swoop in and create tears in your ducts. “No! No, no, no. I swear, I promise I’m telling the truth.” Full-blown panic fuels your words, your hands trembling as you hold them out in a desperate, prayer-like gesture.

It hits you that Heeseung’s life is in danger because of you. You detoured your plans all because you wanted to visit this rundown park, landing you both in the middle of a one-sided standoff. The responsibility for whatever happens now weighs heavily on your shoulders. This is just like the hotel all over again; you brought trouble to Heeseung’s door because you didn’t think. You are the reason Heeseung is running away.

You have to fix this, you have to save him.

“Please, we accidentally killed a man and now we’re on the run. I made the call to get off the bus to Troon, and that’s how we ended up here, because I wanted to see the park. Please, don’t kill him. Please, I will do anything you ask, just please don’t kill him.”

You lose track of how many times you say please, begging the man to hear your truthful side of the story. The instilled panic causes you to ramble, spewing any words that might convince the man to lower his gun and ensure Heeseung’s safety, even for a few minutes. You're so close to dropping to your knees and praying to the angels above to answer your cries.

Heeseung’s face is a mixture of shock and anguish as he listens to you. His eyes dart between you and the gunman, his mind racing to find a way out. The Brixton killer’s expression hardens, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. The grip on the gun remains steady, but there’s a momentary hesitation. He doesn’t lower the weapon, but the intensity in his eyes dims slightly.

The silence stretches, taut and suffocating. Heeseung’s hand twitches as if he wants to reach out to you, to pull you into safety. But he remains still, every muscle tensed, knowing that any rash action could end in disaster.

“You want me to believe that you and Ken over here killed someone?” He flicks his gun at you for only a moment, not believing you to be a threat. Why should he? You’re two 22-year-olds who got scared of a haunted house and almost had sex in a love tunnel while on the run from police; you’re hardly Bonnie and Clyde.

Heeseung nods slowly. “It’s true, It was an accident but now the police are after us-”

"The police? You brought the fucking police here?" The murderer tenses up again, any lapse in focus gone as he stands straight, staring at both of you with enmity and dread. “I’ve been hiding here for a week. I am not letting you little fuckers get me caught.”

His anger is palpable, his face growing redder by the second. You wish Heeseung would shut the fuck up for a moment. You cherish the boy so much and usually value anything he has to say, but he’s turning into a liability in the face of death.

You bring the man’s attention back to you, hoping to calm him again. “No, no one followed us. They have no idea where we are. We’ve been roaming the borders to keep ourselves on the down low.” Your explanation is feeble and lacks real substance, offering little reassurance of your anonymity with the police.

He assesses you, eyes narrowing as he scrutinises your features. With emotions swirling in your brain, you probably look deranged, eyes wild with threatening tears and jaw clenched tightly. Stepping closer, he moves the gun from Heeseung’s head – much to your relief – and taps his chin with it, as if trying to place where he’s seen you before. The expression of reminiscence on his face is unnerving. You’d think he could have been one of your customers, but that’s impossible. So, you meet his gaze with wary curiosity.

He sucks his teeth before nodding, as if reaching a conclusion. “You’re the motel murderer,” he smirks, his eyes losing some of their anger, replaced by something unsettling. Whatever is going through his mind, you’re thankful because he lowers his guard slightly. His grip on the gun loosens and he pouts in amusement. Both you and Heeseung let out shaky breaths, relieved as the man flicks the safety back on the pistol. Yet, you’re not out of the woods.

“You know,” he begins, tilting his head mockingly, “the news is calling you the Black Widow.” His comment stuns you, freezing the breath in your lungs. Heeseung glances at you with wide eyes, a mix of confusion and curiosity. You blink, trying to process the killer’s words. Black Widow. Why are they calling you that?

Sensing your bewilderment, the murderer continues. “They don’t believe angel face over here is still alive,” he mutters casually, pointing to Heeseung, whose expression mirrors your horror. “Papers are saying you must have forced him to kill for you and then you ate him right up.”

“That’s not true!” Heeseung exclaims, shaking his head vehemently.

“Well, clearly,” the man rolls his eyes in annoyance, looking Heeseung over. “You’ve got people defending you, saying you’re just an innocent lamb that got gobbled up by the big bad wolf.”

Goosebumps form on your skin as he drags out the second unappreciated nickname for you. You knew this would happen. A virgin with a clean track record gets involved with a sex worker and suddenly he’s part of a crime. The inevitability of being blamed for everything sinks your heart into your stomach, the acid churning with anxiety.

You couldn’t imagine hurting Heeseung now. The accusations that you coerced him into murder and then devoured him are preposterous. You’re just a girl trying to make some money and survive, not a conniving murderer.

But what you both don’t know is that back home, Heeseung’s family is defending his name, speaking praises and clearing his name quickly. Meanwhile, you have no one. Neither your brother nor your father has spoken up for you despite everything you’ve done for them. Sure, your brother is estranged and your dad would rather call you a whore to the neighbours than speak to you, but you’d hoped they knew you well enough to believe you wouldn’t murder a man and kidnap another.

The man snarls in amusement, looking back at you. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if her plan was just that. Bring you here and kill you off on one of these rides.” He directs his gaze at Heeseung, but his sly grin is for you, indicating he’s playing a game you don’t know the rules for.

Tearing your eyes away from the man, your pupils widen with urgency and desperation. “Heeseung, I wouldn’t...”

“I know,” he replies instantly, not giving you a second to explain. He knows you better than anyone now. In the two weeks you’ve been tied to each other like handcuffs, learning everything there is to know about one another, Heeseung knows you wouldn’t hurt anyone unless you had to, let alone kill him for fun, which is what this man is suggesting.

The connection you two share is pure and real, and Heeseung will be damned if he ever thought otherwise.

Heeseung’s reassurance gives you a fleeting moment of comfort, but it is quickly shattered as the killer moves in closer. The distance between you evaporates, his presence suffocating. Heeseung’s eyes widen with fear as the man raises the gun, pressing it under your chin. The cold metal sends shivers down your spine, and you instinctively freeze, every nerve in your body on high alert.

“You know,” he drawls, his voice low and menacing, “there's a reward out for you. I wonder how much I could get off my sentence for bringing you in.” His breath is hot against your face, the smell of tobacco and stale beer nauseatingly close.

The proximity is unsettling, his eyes boring into yours with a predatory gleam. You can feel the tension in his grip, the gun pressing harder into your skin. Heeseung's face is a mixture of horror and helplessness, his hands twitching as if he wants to do something, anything, to get you out of this situation

“You must think you're something special,” the man continues, his voice dripping with contempt. “Running around, causing chaos, thinking you’re untouchable. But you're not. You're just a scared little girl who got in way over her head.”

Heeseung clenches his fists, the knuckles turning white. There's a fire igniting within him, a fierce determination to protect you no matter the cost. His mind races, evaluating the situation with the precision of someone fighting for survival. He watches the man closely, noting every detail: the way he sneers, the way his eyes flicker with malicious glee, and crucially, the fact that he hasn’t disengaged the safety on his gun.

The thought strikes Heeseung like a bolt of lightning. The man, in his arrogance, hasn’t realised the gun isn’t ready to fire. This oversight could be their only chance. Heeseung's eyes dart to you, his heart aching at the sight of you trembling, the gun pressing into your chin. He knows he has to act fast and decisively to get the brute away from you.

Gathering every ounce of courage, Heeseung shifts his weight subtly, preparing himself. His mind hones in on the plan, focusing on the back of the man’s leg. If he can just create enough of a distraction, enough of an opening, you might have a chance to escape. The killer’s attention is entirely on you, his grip on the gun tightening as he revels in his perceived power.

n one swift motion, Heeseung lunges forward and stomps down hard on the back of the man’s leg. The brute lets out a guttural shout of pain and surprise, his grip on the gun faltering. The force of Heeseung's attack sends the man stumbling backward. The sudden movement breaks his focus, and his eyes widen in shock.

You let out a breath, one you’ve been holding in since the gun was pointed at you. However, you don’t get the chance to enjoy the air as Heeseung pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing your head against his chest. His lips brush the top of your head in a tender kiss, a silent prayer of gratitude that your brain is intact and not splattered over the gravel.

The moment of relief is fleeting.

“You little shit!” the man exclaims, abruptly finding his feet and injecting a fresh wave of panic into you and Heeseung. The sheer venom in his voice sends shivers down your spine. You clutch Heeseung tighter, your fingers digging into his shirt as fear courses through you.

Before you can react, Heeseung pushes you behind him, positioning himself as a shield. The brute charges at you both, his face contorted with rage. Everything happens in a blur—there's a sickening thud, and you see the man’s gun raised high before coming down with brutal force. Heeseung tries to block the blow, but the gun's butt slams into his temple with a sickening crack.

“Heeseung!” you scream, the sound tearing from your throat as Heeseung crumples to the ground. The world narrows to the sight of him collapsing, blood trickling down the side of his face. Your heart pounds wildly, a mix of fear, anger, and helplessness overwhelming you.

“It’s Evan,” he replies, wincing as he struggles to hold up his head from the ground. The fact that Heeseung’s main concern is keeping his persona must either mean the gun rendered him dumb or he was already stupid to begin with. You hate to say it’s the latter.

You huff and stomp your feet. “Now is not the time, Hee!” you shout at him, frustration and fear mingling in your voice.

The man’s eyes narrow, his patience wearing thin. “Shut the fuck up!” he yells, waving the gun wildly between the two of you. His face is twisted in rage, eyes glinting with murderous intent.

Just as the tension reaches its peak, a distant sound pierces the air - a siren, faint but unmistakable, growing louder with each passing second. The sudden intrusion sends a shockwave of panic through all of you. The man’s eyes widen in fear and anger, the threat of capture looming over him.

The man’s face contorts with fury and desperation. He knows his time is running out. He points the gun erratically, his movements becoming more frantic. “I’ll get you cunts, I swear on it!” he snarls, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and fear.

He takes a step back, his eyes darting around as he tries to figure out his next move. The sirens grow louder, closer, the promise of prison mingling with the fear of what the man might do next. Your heart races, every second stretching into an eternity as you watch the man’s indecision.

The man takes another step back, his gaze flickering between you, Heeseung, and the approaching sirens. The conflict in his eyes is evident - he wants to finish what he started, but the looming threat of the police forces him to reconsider. With a final spit, he turns and runs, disappearing into the shadows of the park.

Heeseung groans, struggling to sit up, his face pale and bloodied. You kneel beside him, your hands trembling as you touch his face gently. “Heeseung, we need to get out of here,” you plead, your voice breaking. “Please, can you stand?”

Nodding, he holds onto your forearms, seeking comfort in your skin. You quickly wipe away some of the blood trickling into his eyes, the warm liquid smearing across your fingers and rendering your lungs useless as you forget to breathe for a moment. The sirens sound imminent now, a cacophony of urgent wails cutting through the air. Heeseung’s brain feels like it’s thumping against his skull, a sharp, persistent pain stinging behind his eyes from the blow.

“We have to go,” you whisper urgently, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. “Come on, Heeseung, we have to move.”

With a Herculean effort, Heeseung pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily on you for support. You wrap an arm around his waist, feeling the tension in his muscles as he fights through the pain. Heeseung's steps are shaky, and his centre of gravity sways as he tries to centre himself. His eyes are unfocused, struggling to stay open, but he forces himself to move forward,

You clutch his hand tightly, your grip a lifeline as you guide him away from the scene. The abandoned theme park stretches out like a maze, shadows from the sunset twisting into sinister shapes. The fear gnaws at you, but you push it down, focusing on the need to get Heeseung to safety. Each step feels like an eternity, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both.

Glancing back, you see Heeseung wobble slightly. Your heart clenches with worry. “Are you okay?” you ask, your voice a whisper in the darkness. Heeseung nods weakly, trying to give you a reassuring smile, but the pain etched on his face betrays him.

You lead him through the overgrown paths, the weeds and debris crunching beneath your hurried footsteps. The flashing lights from the police cars cast eerie shadows across the dilapidated structures. You can’t afford to be seen. Not now, not when you’re so close to getting away. If this journey was all to end now, what would it be for?

Every few steps, you glance back, checking on Heeseung. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his face slick with sweat and blood. But he doesn’t complain. He just keeps moving, driven by the same determination that fuels you. You take a sharp turn, ducking behind a rusted old carousel. The horses’ faded eyes seem to watch you, silent witnesses to your desperate escape.

You pause for a moment, catching your breath and listening intently. The cars stop outside the main gate, but the park’s labyrinthine layout works in your favour, muffling the sounds and creating a confusing echo. You look at Heeseung, your heart aching at the sight of his battered face. “We’re almost there,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Luckily, there is an old gate that leads to the forest just behind Joyland, your one-way ticket out of here. Running up to it, you see it has a rusty lock that has seen better days, making it an easy break. There is no time to waste, so you quickly kick the lock, mustering up every ounce of force you have.

“Y/N, watch yourself,” the injured boy groans behind you, his hand holding onto the wound to compress it. He feels like he wants to vomit, the paleness of his skin and the shaking of his fingers evidencing this. He is trying so hard not to pass out, knowing that you both just have to find somewhere to hide, somewhere safe.

Despite being the one in immense pain, he is looking out for you once again and it only spurs you on further to get the door open. “I almost got it,” you inform him, giving the bent metal one final kick before it snaps in half and the door swings open.

You take Heeseung’s hand and pull him through the gate, the dense forest swallowing you both in an embrace of dim sunlight. The sounds of the sirens are muted now, the thick trees and underbrush acting as a natural sound barrier. You hold Heeseung’s hand tightly, your fingers interlaced, guiding him through the uneven terrain.

Every step is a struggle for him, his breathing ragged and laboured. You glance back frequently, your eyes filled with worry, watching for any sign that he might collapse. His face is a mask of pain, but he pushes on, driven by sheer willpower. The forest is a maze of twisted branches and overgrown paths, but you press forward, determined to find a place to hide; at this point you’ll take anything - a hollowed-out tree, a dip in the ground, even that evil witch’s gingerbread house from Hansel and Gretel. 

The sun is beginning its descent, casting long, eerie shadows through the trees. The forest is painted in hues of orange and gold, a beautiful but haunting backdrop to your desperate escape. Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline keeping you moving. Each rustle of leaves, each crack of a twig underfoot sends a jolt of fear through you. You know the police are close, their searchlights sweeping the park behind you. The urgency of your situation drives you on, every muscle in your body aching with the effort.

After what feels like an eternity, you spot a faint object through the trees. Relief floods through you, and you squeeze Heeseung’s hand, urging him forward. “There,” you gasp, pointing towards a cottage house. “We can hide there.”

Heeseung nods weakly, his legs barely supporting him, causing him to let go of your hand and collapse to the ground. The sudden disappearance of his hand in yours sparks alarm bells, and you quickly turn around, eyes wide with panic as you see him on his knees, clutching at his injury. The pain is evident on his face, the vibrations from the blow shaking his entire skull.

“Fuck! Heeseung,” you exclaim, your voice trembling as you bend down to lift his head up, your fingers gently brushing the blood away from his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Heeseung’s eyes flutter open, unfocused and filled with pain. Slowly and unenthusiastically, he shakes his head. “Please, Y/N, go on without me,” he groans, his voice barely above a whisper. Each word seems to cost him immense effort, and you can see the desperation in his eyes but it’s also followed by a gleam of amusement, following the script of so many movies he has watched.

You roll your eyes at his dramatic performance, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the dire situation. “Baby, don’t be so dramatic,” you chide gently, your voice laced with both urgency and affection, the nickname slipping out by accident. “Move those long legs of yours, please.”

Heeseungs eyes widen for a slit second, a large, comical smile on his face. “Baby? I’m your baby?” he asks, the head injury obviously causing him some sort of disillusionment.  

Despite the fear gnawing at your insides, you muster a small smile, hoping to give him some strength. “You can be my baby if you move,” the tone of your voice is a warning sense of playfulness but seems to do the job, Heeseung moving his body with more chutzpah.

You crouch down beside him, slipping your arm around his waist to help him up. Heeseung leans heavily against you, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He can feel your warmth, and the concern in your eyes gives him a flicker of strength. Despite his pain and slightly concussed joking, he’s determined not to let you down.

The cottage is void of cars in the driveway, much to your relief, and you take it as a good sign that no one will be home. It’s an educated guess considering you’re in the middle of piss-pot nowhere and they certainly aren’t catching the bus to work; if there are no cars, it equates to no one being home.

You hope.

Reaching the entrance, you quickly glance in the windows, just to double-check the vacancy of the property. With all the lights off and no sight of a guard dog, you can begin your search for a way in. The oppressive silence and stillness of the house suggest it has been unoccupied for some time.

“Heeseung, just wait there,” you say softly before running up the front steps. The steps are lined with an array of flowerpots, leading you to the entrance door. If movies have taught you anything, it’s that people are often foolish enough to leave keys under pots for emergencies. Frankly, you have never understood this practice yourself; it’s so cliché that if they did do it, robbers had every right to exploit their naivety.

You begin searching under the pots of sunflowers and peonies, feeling the rough terracotta and cool soil on your fingertips. Suddenly, you stumble across a singular gold key. In this moment, it might as well be Blackbeard’s treasure. The key gleams in the fading sunlight as you pick it up, waving it in front of Heeseung triumphantly.

However, instead of relief, Heeseung looks concerned through all his pain. “Y/N, we can’t just go in,” he argues, his moral compass inconveniently emerging at the worst possible time. The boy is bleeding with the police hot on his tail, and he’s worried about trespassing on the property of some affluent vacationers.

“We have to, Heeseung. You’re in a bad way, and the police will be scouring the woods as we speak. Can you just set aside your good heart for a second?” Your words are both careful and harsh, attempting to convey the severity of the situation. There isn’t time to debate the ethics of breaking and entering.

He concedes, gesturing with his hand for you to open the door, his face contorted in pain. You slide the key into the lock and swing the door open, beckoning Heeseung inside.

The interior is cold despite the summer weather. A thin layer of dust covers everything, a good sign indicating that the house has been unoccupied for some time. The foyer is quintessentially British, with tiled floors in mossy green hues and a staircase to your right, featuring a vintage wooden bannister and carpeted steps. The walls are adorned with magnolia panelling, decorated with oak-framed pictures of flowers and their meanings. An un-vacuumed Turkish rug lies on the floor, its colours dulled over time.

Heeseung makes it up the stairs, leaning on your shoulder as you admire the space. If he wasn’t concussed, he might share in your awe of the place, but right now he just needs to sit down and take some painkillers.

You lead him down the hall into a sitting room. The room is inviting and comforting, resembling your gran’s house before she passed away. Heeseung follows your guidance and sits on the couch’s armrest, taking the much-needed weight off his legs and focusing all his energy on holding his head. The bleeding has stopped somewhat, but the battering of his brain against his cranium is the real danger.

“I’m going to find some painkillers and ice. Please don’t die while I’m gone,” you joke, but your eyes reveal your seriousness.

As you head to find the bathroom, your heart pounds with anxiety. You come across a door under the stairs and open it, revealing a tiny cubicle with a toilet, sink, and a mirrored cabinet. With a flicker of hope, you reach for the cabinet, praying it holds the answer to your problems.

Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse in the mirror which reflects a sight you wish you hadn’t seen: your bangs are askew, your eyes bloodshot from stress and holding back tears, and your lips cracked from dryness. You knew the disguise would change your appearance but somehow the experience is changing you from the inside. You have never been bright and chirpy but you have never looked so dull, as though the life is being vacuumed out of you. 

Ignoring your reflection to focus on the real cause of concern, you rummage through the cabinet, your hands trembling. Finally, you find a blister pack of co-codamol amidst the old perfume bottles and bandages. The sight of it brings a wave of relief, knowing that these tiny white pills can begin the mending process.

Clutching the co-codamol tightly, you rush to find the kitchen, your footsteps echoing in the empty house. Each step feels like an eternity, your mind racing with worry for Heeseung and the fear of being caught, after all there is still a chance the police or homeowners could walk through the door any second. 

Entering the kitchen, you are struck by its quaint, rustic charm, with wooden cabinets and a checkered floor. The warm, homey feel of the room is almost jarring given your frantic state.

You fling open the freezer, desperate for ice, but there’s none. A pang of frustration hits you, but you quickly grab a bag of frozen peas, feeling their coldness through the plastic. Wrapping the peas in a tea towel, you focus on the task at hand, trying to steady your breathing. The sense of urgency is overwhelming, your mind filled with images of Heeseung's pained expression and the ever-looming threat of the police.

You fill a glass with water from the tap, watching the clear liquid swirl and fill the glass to the brim. The simple act of filling a glass feels almost surreal amidst the chaos, a brief moment of calm as the water trickles in. It’s a small respite, the sound of the water soothing your frazzled nerves even if just for a moment.

Returning to the sitting room, you find Heeseung still clutching his head. Your heart aches to see him in such agony. You hand him the co-codamol and the glass of water, your eyes filled with concern. “Take these,” you say softly. “And here’s something cold for your head.” You gently place the makeshift ice pack on his forehead, watching as he relaxes slightly under the cool pressure.

Like a mother making sure her child eats vegetables, you watch Heeseung swallow the pills with ease, desperate for the relief they will provide. The cold, crisp taste of water glides down Heeseung’s throat as he downs the glass, thankful for the quench in his thirst. In another life, he might be physically able to run a marathon, but in this one, he’d much rather stick to playing video games and leave running to the professionals.

Slowly, you take the ice pack from his head, the tea towel now embellished with his dark red blood. The wound isn’t too deep despite the blood pouring out; you could easily patch it up with some gauze and plasters.

“I’m going to get the first aid kit. I think I saw one in the kitchen,” you explain while handing him back the makeshift ice pack.

As you return to the kitchen, your emotions surge. The stress of the day, the fear of getting caught, and the concern for Heeseung all swirl within you. The quaint charm of the kitchen feels oddly juxtaposed with the turmoil in your heart. You glance up at the open cupboards and see the dark green box with the white cross on the high shelf, allowing you to let out a small sigh of relief.

Reaching for it, you accidentally knock over a ceramic mug, the crash echoing through the empty house. Your heart skips a beat, your nerves on edge. You freeze, listening intently for any signs that the noise might have somehow alerted someone of you and Heeseung’s presence, as if the fact that they would magically appear. After a tense moment of silence, you grab the first aid kit and hurry back to Heeseung.

You find him where you left him, his eyes closed as he tries to manage the pain. Standing in front of him, you open the kit and lay out the supplies on a side table which holds home to a lamp and a forgotten ashtray. The sight of the sterile bandages and antiseptic wipes brings a sense of purpose, a clear task to focus on.

Ripping open the wipe, you reach to bring Heeseung’s hand, which holds the compress, away from his head and take it from him. “This might sting a little,” you warn him as you carefully clean the wound to stop infection. Heeseung winces but never complains, knowing the more he fights it, the longer it is prolonged.

You work quickly but gently, still focusing on not applying too much pressure in case you aggravate it further. Heeseung’s eyes are focused on your face, causing you to become slightly flustered. The idea of someone watching you do something suddenly makes the task ten times harder to achieve. Your heart races, a mix of concentration and self-consciousness, the weight of his gaze adding an unexpected layer of intensity to the moment.

Heeseung smiles softly as he trains himself on you, his hands settling on your waist and pulling you closer to him. It might be the pills or the fuzziness from the head injury, but he suddenly doesn’t feel anxious to initiate the first move; it could also be that his head was between your legs earlier today.

The touch of his large hands on your waist and the feeling of his thumb stroking your hips pauses your movements, the butterflies in your chest being the only thing you can focus on. The room is silent except for the faint ticking of an old clock on the wall, each second stretching into an eternity.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble that sends a cluster of goosebumps over your neck and arms. His gratitude is sincere, but it brings a pang of guilt to your heart.

“Don’t thank me,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “All of this is my fault.” The weight of your words hangs in the air, a heavy cloud of regret and self-reproach.

Heeseung’s grip on your waist tightens slightly as he pulls you even closer, his hands steadying you. He cradles your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that you hadn’t realised had fallen. “No, it’s not,” he says firmly, shaking his head. His touch is gentle, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “None of this is your fault.”

The room around you fades away; the only thing that exists is the space between you and Heeseung. You apply a sterile gauze pad, securing it with medical tape. Your fingers brush against his skin, sending a jolt through both of you. Every touch, every movement, feels charged with electricity, the air between you vibrating with unspoken tension.

Although Heeseung’s words should inject some reassurance into your conscience, you can’t help but think about what the media is saying about you. The thought of being labelled the "Brixton Killer" adds a whole new layer to the guilt that sits at the forefront of your mind.

Heeseung can see your mind leaping over all his affirmations like a horse at the national, causing him to pout and grab your chin. “No.”

“No?” you ask quizzically.

“No. Your brain is telling you something that isn’t true. Whatever you think you should feel guilty for, just know that you shouldn’t.”

Sucking in your bottom lip and tensing your jaw, you try your hardest to clean the blood up, hands shaking as you place the gauze on his wound and seal it tightly with medical tape. It’s hard to believe him when you’re looking at an open wound, the butterfly effect of your client attacking you.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice a perfect harmony of pain and something deeper. Taking the medical supplies from your hand, he discards them to the side before intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re not to blame for any of this. I have told you this a million times, and I’ll tell you a million more. You and me are in this together.”

His words hang in the air, a solemn promise that cuts through your self-doubt. Before you can respond, Heeseung leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss is gentle, a delicate reassurance that punctuates his sentences. It’s a kiss that says more than words ever could, a tender moment that steals away your fears and replaces them with a warmth that spreads through your chest.

When he pulls back, your thoughts are momentarily silenced by the softness of his kiss. “You know, you’re a good kisser,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the gravity of the situation.

Heeseung chuckles, the sound light and comforting. “I had a good teacher,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. He has come a long way from first meeting you and he can’t thank you enough for never ridiculing him, showing him soft bouts of affection and lust that have helped him become stronger and more courageous to do what he wants.

You laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You’re ridiculous.” His attempts to shift the mood from depressing to comfortable working instantly.

“Maybe,” he admits, squeezing your hand gently. “But if I can make you smile, it’s worth it.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, the weight of your guilt and fear lifting slightly. The warmth of his touch, the softness of his kiss, and the sincerity in his eyes all work together to create a cocoon of safety.

Placing a final peck on your lips, Heeseung stands up and towers over you once again. “Do you think it’s safe to stay here? Just for tonight?” he asks with genuine curiosity, already hoping you’ll give him the much-desired answer of ‘yes’.

But the truth is, you don’t know. If you found this place easily, then the police could find it in an instant. There are so many traces of you that you’ve left behind: the bags on the bus, footprints in the mud and leaves, and also Heeseung’s blood at the park. If they really wanted to find you, they could.

Yet, as you look into Heeseung’s sparkling eyes, the ones that are thinking about a warm bed to spend the night in, you don’t have the heart to be honest. So you do what you think is best and fluff the question. “I think, yeah, we can, as long as we stay on alert.”

Agreeing, Heeseung smiles down at you, his joints already celebrating the prospect of a clean bed to lay on. “We’ll keep an ear out, but right now, all I want is to lie down.”

He takes your hand, pulling you gently upstairs, his steps cautious yet eager. The wooden stairs creak softly under your weight, each step resonating in the quiet house. As you reach the top, you find yourselves in a narrow hallway adorned with faded family photos and antique furniture. The atmosphere is homely and lived-in, the kind of place that feels like it has been loved and cared for over many years.

Heeseung pushes open the first door on the right, revealing a cosy bedroom. The room is small but inviting, with a large bed covered in a patchwork quilt, flanked by mismatched nightstands. The wallpaper, though slightly peeling in places, features delicate floral patterns that add to the room’s calm aesthetic. A well-worn armchair sits in one corner, next to a small bookshelf filled with old, dog-eared paperbacks.

“This will do,” Heeseung says with a contented sigh, letting go of your hand to sit on the edge of the bed. He bounces slightly, testing the mattress, and his face lights up with approval. “Oh, fuck yeah, this will definitely do.” He feels like Goldilocks when she finds the children’s bed, claiming it as her own.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him, needing a moment to yourself. The events of the day have left you feeling grimy and in desperate need of some semblance of normalcy. Each time you’ve snuck into a motel the shower has been all but appealing with dirty water and rust; this is your chance to take a long, well-earned shower with hopefully some fancy soaps. 

You begin rummaging through the drawers of an old dresser in the corner, hoping to find something to wear for the night. To your surprise, among the neatly folded clothes, you find a set of lingerie, delicate and decidedly out of place in such a homely setting. The white silky fabric and intricate lace make it clear that this was a special purchase, perhaps a forgotten remnant of a romantic getaway. You search through the drawers again, but it seems to be the only sleepwear available.

You hold up the lingerie, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected find. Heeseung glances over, curiosity piqued by your hesitation. “What’s that?” he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he sees the garment.

“Apparently, this is all they have for pyjamas,” you reply, your tone laced with amusement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in actual pyjamas before, it’s like the world just wants you naked all the time.” The comment causes you both to laugh, each chuckle echoing along the patterned walls.

Turning to him, you cross your arms and arch a brow. “I think you are the only man to complain about it,” you snicker, jesting him with a slight punch of feigned hurt.

Your response makes Heeseung’s face drop, his eyelids expanding in horror. “No, no. Trust me, I’ll never complain about it. It’s just funny how it always happens like this.” His voice is earnest, and it’s cute how quickly he defends himself, scared to offend you in any way.

Waving him off, you turn back and shut the drawer, walking over to the ensuite toilet.

The bathroom is small but functional, with a clawfoot tub and a pedestal sink. The tiles are cool underfoot, and you quickly strip out of your dirty clothes, turning on the water and waiting for it to warm up. As you step under the stream, the hot water cascades over you, washing away the grime and stress of the day. You close your eyes, letting the soothing sensation calm your racing thoughts.

Back in the bedroom, Heeseung is changing into some boxers he has managed to find. They are the complete opposite of your sexy two-piece. Instead, his borrowed pyjamas are bright blue, adorned with Homer Simpson’s face and Duff beer cans. He wonders who on earth would ever purchase these never mind wear them. 

As he settles into the bed, the world outside seems distant, the immediate crisis giving way to a fragile peace. The relief from the co-codomol and the springy mattress help him alleviate some of his pain.

Heeseung reaches for the remote control on the nightstand and switches on the TV. The soft glow of the screen illuminates the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. He flips through the channels aimlessly, searching for something to distract you both from the day's events. Just as he’s about to turn it off, a familiar face appears on the screen, stopping him cold.

It’s Jongseong, sitting in what looks like a studio set-up for a news interview. The lower third of the screen reads, "Friend of Fugitive Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong, Speaks."

Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat, and he feels the tension ripple through his body. His eyes are glued to the screen, his expression a mix of surprise, fear, and a deep, aching sadness. 

“Jongseong?” he whispers, barely audible. He misses his best friend so much that even seeing him through the television is enough to have his soul shiver in sadness. It was one thing to think about him, it’s another to see him.

On the screen, Jongseong looks tired and worn, dark circles under his eyes betraying his sleepless nights. Heeseung can’t imagine the stress this whole situation has caused his best friend, everyone in the entire scheme knowing about their lifelong bond. Jongseong must have endured so much scrutiny once the news broke out. 

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “I’ve known Heeseung for all of my life,” Jongseong begins, his gaze unwavering as he faces the camera. “He’s not a criminal. He’s the most kind-hearted, loyal, and genuine person I’ve ever met. Anyone who truly knows him would say the same.”

Heeseung’s eyes well up with tears, the raw vulnerability in Jongseong’s words piercing through his defences. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. This must be what the man that held him at gunpoint meant; his friends and family fighting to tell the world that he isn’t a murderer.

Jongseong continues, his voice cracking slightly. “I miss him. Every day that he’s gone, it feels like a part of me is missing too. If he’s out there, if he can hear this, I want him to know that he’s not alone. We’re all here, waiting for him to come home. And we know... we all know that Y/N is the cause of this.” The refusal to believe he is dead evident in his tone.

In that last sentence, Heeseung’s chest feels like a boulder is being pressed onto it, the air escaping his lungs despite just taking a deep breath. He can’t believe your beautiful name just fell from Jongseong’s lips with such disgust. He feels nauseous that it is his family who are tarnishing your name, giving the media their headlines and false accusations.

You have no one sticking up for you so you’re being painted as this venomous spider that prays on men without so much as a second glance. And yet, you couldn’t have a bigger heart if you tried.

The care you have given Heeseung, the cosmic connection between you is enough to solidify his thoughts. Just as it was back at the theme park, he doesn’t believe any bad word about you, and he’ll be damned if he starts now. You aren’t going to kill him, you aren’t going to betray him, and you certainly aren’t a criminal mastermind who plots murder.

“I don’t believe for a second that Heeseung is guilty of anything other than being dragged along in a scheme,” Jongseong says, his voice gaining strength. “Heeseung, if you’re listening, please come back. If you turn her in then all of this can be over. We miss you, and we need you. I need you.”

The news moves on swiftly to the next article but it isn’t so easy for Heeseung. He would never throw you to the wolves to save himself, not a chance in hell is he ever leaving you, not under any circumstances. When he told you that it was you and him together, he meant it with every crevice of his heart.

He hears the shower turn off and it jolts him to attention, suddenly flicks the channel as though he would get caught watching porn, or worse, Hollyoaks. The TV ends up on some gameshow where contestants try and get money by answering truth or false questions. 

Trying to act natural, Heeseung pats the area of his heart in an attempt to tame its brisk beats, not alerting you to anything he just saw. Considering you already believe that the entirety of this situation is your fault as if Heeseung also didn’t swing the finishing blow to the man’s head, the last thing he wants you to see is someone bashing your name to millions of viewers. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, you are wearing the lingerie you found and the sight of your frame prettily decorated in white causes Heeseung to swallow hard. It’s astonishing to Heeseung how you don’t even register how insanely beautiful you look right now, that look on your face puzzled as you walk towards the bed.

"What is it?" you question, slipping beneath the blankets and snuggling up next to the stupefied boy. “You’ve seen me like this lots of times.”

It’s true, he has, so he shouldn’t be so astonished that you look like Aphrodite’s spawn. Something about being able to appreciate you for every curve and stretch mark in a calm setting is enough to have him gawking like it’s the first time seeing you. 

“Yeah, you just look so…angelic in white,” he confesses, now regretting changing into the Simpson boxers; not quite as elegant.

You tuck into his side, lifting one leg over his to get comfortable, your head resting softly on his rising chest. It’s not uncommon for you to lie like this, the nights you’ve spent together often end up with you like this, trying to gain heat from one another's body as the midnight air sets in.

But now you have no excuse, this is purely for the reason to stick close to him, to feel him under you. His presence has turned into your security blanket, the one thing you need to fall asleep and forget about the problems you face.

Inhaling sharply, you watch the TV but never register its contents, your mind preoccupied. “We need a plan, Heeseung,” you murmur, your breath hitting his abs gently as he rubs your arm. “We’re going to be locked up if we’re not careful.”

Heeseung knows this, as much as Jongseong might think that coming home and handing both of you in will somehow get him off the hook, that’s not how the judicial system works. They’re still going to question him and discuss what happened that unfateful day and he would tell them the truth.

He went to an illegal prostitute, killed a man, and fled. Regardless of the fancy jargon or numerous stories about how it was self-defence, he is still guilty of murder. Plain and simple.

There is an unsettling realisation that he isn’t fit for jail. He can barely walk past a group of chavs without his asshole clenching, so in what world is he equipped to walk into prison, share a cell with a convict, and make it out alive? 

With a heaving chest, he begins to panic and his hand grips your upper arm a little tighter than normal. As you lift your head from his rising and falling chest, you see his eyes widening in realisation. “I can’t go to jail, Y/N.”

Sitting up, you begin to shake your head and refute his thoughts. “Hey, it’s okay, Hee,” you whisper, hand cradling his face with affection and assurance, “We will find a way out, I promise. After all, we’ve gotten this far.”

Your voice is unable to sound too convinced, not with the sirens haunting echoes still fresh in your mind. You know you got lucky today, escaping the law by the skin of your teeth and there are only so many chances you can have like this before the inevitable shackles of prison make their presence known around your wrists.

Heeseung isn’t listening to you, the shake of his head batting away any comforting words that spill from your mouth. “I can’t go, Y/N. They will smell the loser off me. I’m a virgin for fucks sake, they’ll notice it in a minute!” His voice is raised, eyes darting around as his brain conjures up worst-case scenarios, all of which terrify the man.

Shushing him, you try to draw his focus back to you, eyes searching into his for a chance to snag him. “Listen to me, you are not going to prison-”

“Oh course we fucking will, Y/N! You heard how many sirens were after us, not to mention they’ve probably brought extra men to help get that psycho with a gun. We are fucked.”

His interruption mixed with the change in vocabulary from ‘I’ to ‘we’ makes your own brain pulse in panic. You can sugarcoat it and tell yourself lies all you want but the fact of the matter is that there is a higher chance of getting caught than escaping. His outburst leaves you momentarily speechless, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The air feels thick with dread, every second ticking by amplifying the weight of your predicament. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm for both your sakes.

There isn’t anything you can do, Heeseung’s concerns are all valid and very much real. He isn’t meant for prison life and they will pick on him straight away. You would be okay, thinking about the years of building yourself a thick skin and strong backbone, but Heeseung is just finding his confidence, all of it will disappear as soon as he adorns the navy trousers and grey sweatshirt that bunch him with the other inmates. 

However, there is one thing you can do for him if not grant his freedom.

“Then…” you bite your lip and pinch the tips of your fingers in contemplation. “Let’s make sure you don’t go to prison a virgin.”

The words reach the panicked boy’s ears, rendering him speechless. He didn’t mean his earlier words literally, but the offer hangs in the air, a tangible and teasing proposition. He stares at you, processing the unexpected proposition, his mind momentarily distracted from the terror that gripped him.

“You don’t have to do that,” he finally whispers, his voice trembling but touched with a hint of gratitude. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” He trails off, his voice faltering.

Climbing onto his lap, you push the covers back and settle atop him, the thin lace and cotton of your underwear providing only a minimal barrier. Your legs trap his sides as you pull him to sit up slightly, his face now angled to meet your empathetic yet lust-filled gaze.

“If we are going to jail, whether it’s in the next week, month, or year, let’s at least spend one night that we’ll remember,” you suggest gently, your voice a mix of compassion and desire.

Heeseung’s eyes widen slightly, his breath catching as he processes your words. “But... are you sure?” he asks, his hands hesitantly resting on your hips. This, of course, isn’t your first time, but he doesn’t want you to feel obligated to do anything or force you into this because of a stupid fear he has.

You nod, your expression softening. “I’m sure. I want you so badly, Heeseung if you’ll let me?” The question comes off shy despite your hands rubbing his chest and shoulders in a subtle attempt to get him to say yes.

Heeseung's eyes soften, his reluctance giving way to a tentative smile. “I want you too,” he murmurs, his hands tightening slightly on your hips, his fingers creating indents in your skin.

When he first came to you, he just wanted to get fucked and have it over and done with, but now that he knows you and your heart, he doesn’t see it as a conquest he must defeat in honour to progress into adulthood. No, now he sees it as giving himself to the one person he worships, the journey you have both been on finally giving him the clarity to understand what he wants. You.

Although he made a point to express his concerns about being a virgin in prison, he didn’t really mean it the way you took it. Sure, it’s a worry for him, but prison is in general. Deep in his heart, he knows that the real cause of his worry is the fact that he could go his whole life without ever giving himself to you completely, never knowing what you feel like or how your bodies move with one another. You are the romance-induced first time he has been saving himself for and he can’t believe it’s about to happen.

You lean in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. It starts gentle, a soft melding of mouths that slowly deepens as Heeseung responds, his hesitation melting away. Your tongues meet, exploring each other with a mixture of curiosity and growing desire. The kiss intensifies, becoming more urgent, and more demanding, as the need for closeness overwhelms you both.

Heeseung's hands slide from your hips to your back, fingers dancing along your spine. He fumbles slightly, his nervousness evident as he tries to unhook your bra. You smile against his lips, reaching back to help him unclasp it and let it fall away, revealing your breasts. His eyes widen, a mixture of awe and uncertainty as he takes in the sight of you.

God, has he missed these tits. 

“Do what you want Heeseung. I’m yours for tonight,” you whisper into his mouth as you ghost your lips over his, the lack of contact only causing him to whimper out.

Heeseung swallows hard as he uses his hands to massage your breasts, littering them with gentle kisses. His touch tentative but growing bolder as you encourage him. Your fingers find the waistband of his selected underwear and you giggle as you finally take in the sight of them. Embarrassed but determined, Heeseung lifts his hips, allowing you to pull his comical boxers down in one swift motion, freeing his erection.

You shift slightly, positioning yourself to straddle him more comfortably. The thin barrier of your lace panties feels almost painfully teasing against his hardness. One of Heeseung’s hands moves to your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive as he helps you slide your panties down your legs, his other hand rubbing his thumb over your nipple like it was a button on his much beloved Sega Mega Drive. 

You kick them aside, fully naked now, and press yourself against him. Heeseung’s breath hitches as your bodies align, his erection pressing insistently against your wet folds. You kiss him again, more fervently this time, your tongues tangling as the intensity between you builds.

One of Heeseung’s hands slides between your legs, fingers parting your folds and finding your clit. He rubs slow, deliberate circles, drawing a moan from your lips. You break the kiss, resting your forehead against his as you pant softly, your hips rocking into his hand.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly with a hint od desperation as he seeks your approval.

“Just like that,” you murmur, guiding his hand to the right spot, helping the virgin out just slightly. “Keep going.”

His fingers trail lower with your guidance, teasing your entrance before one slips inside, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you. He moves with exquisite slowness, each thrust of his finger deliberate and careful, as if savouring the feeling of you around him. 

You can’t see it due to your eyes closing and losing yourself to his touch but he is holding in his breath, all the new feelings and sensation beginning to overwhelm his senses. It was one thing to see a vagina in the flesh, his mouth tasting you so deliciously only hours before, but for any of his body to be inside of you, even his fingers, might send him into overdrive. It’s warm and not what he was really expecting, though, he didn’t go in with much of a clue to begin with.

If there is one thing books and porn have taught him it’s to start slow and work his way up to thrusting his fingers into you with verocity. He feels around, exploring you and your walls to gage a reaction. In some cases you wince from a shot of uncomfort, other times you let out a low moan followed by an array of profantities. 

Once he finds his rhythm and is confident enough, he adds a second finger, curling them slightly to press against that sweet spot inside you, his palm pressing against your clit. Instinctively, you grip his shoulders and begin to ride his hand, using him to chase your release.

“Fuck,” your breath comes in ragged gasps as he works you closer to the edge. The pressure builds steadily, a coil of heat tightening in your belly with each stroke of his fingers. Your hips move of their own accord, seeking more of the delicious friction he provides. “Heeseung,” you moan, your voice trembling with need. “I’m close…”

He looks up at you, eyes filled with a mixture of concern and desire. “What should I do?” he asks, his voice shaking. 

“Faster,” you urge, guiding his hand with yours. “Just a little faster.”

Heeseung follows your instructions, increasing the pace of his fingers and pressing more firmly against your clit. The knot inside you tightens further, until it snaps, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You cry out, your body trembling as the orgasm washes over you, gripping his shoulders for support.

Heeseung watches you with a blend of awe and desire, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he helps you ride out the aftershocks. When you finally come down from the high, you collapse against him, your breath coming in shallow pants.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, realising that you’ve come undone thanks to him for the second time that day, his inexperience never being the hinder that he once thought it was. This orgasm was a little more shattering to your body though, the desperation in your subtle grabs to his skin telling him that you were taken to heaven and back and desperately seeking more.

You kiss him again, softer this time, a tender meeting of lips as you both savour the intimacy of the moment. But the need for more still burns within you, and you can feel Heeseung’s erection pressing insistently against your thigh.

Without breaking the kiss, you lift your hips, reaching down to guide him to your entrance. “Let me take care of you,” you whisper, positioning him at your entrance. “Are you ready?”

Heeseung nods, his breath hitching in his throat as his Adam’s apple bobs with the swallow of dry air. This is it, he is finally losing his v-card, and to someone he cares so deeply about. You will never understand the rush of emotions coursing through him as you hover over his length, waiting for consent to take him. You are about to give him his dream, the one he harbors in his heart; not losing his virginity, but being in love.

He thought it before but now it’s so clear to him. All this time you’ve spent with one another, each late-night conversation, opening up to one another in ways only lovers do, and the constant tension of something more underneath the surface level partners in crime you often refer yourselves as. It was all a timeline to falling in love. He doesn’t know if you feel the same, perhaps it’s too fast for you and it’s just his innocent heart that is jumping the gun, but he is so sure of his feelings towards you.

There is no one else in the universe he would rather lose his virginity to.

“I’m ready,” he utters, the thumping in his ears caused by his ear creating a backing track to his confirmation. “I’m so ready, Y/N.” The gleam of pride in his eyes takes you aback for a moment, the words kissing your heart with trust. “Do you have a condom?” 

“No,” you pant out in regret and irritation, the conversation prolonging the feeling of his shaft plugging your pussy up so beautifully. “But I got the implant when I started doing this as an extra precaution, just in case the condom didn’t work.” 

The explanation puts the boy at ease, knowing that there is no need to worry about adding a baby to this madness of a predicament you’re in. Nodding, he silently tells you that he is okay to go once again, inhaling deeply as you line him up with purpose.

As you slowly sink down onto him, both of you gasp at the sensation. You move with deliberate slowness, allowing your bodies to adjust to the feeling of being so intimately joined. Heeseung has never felt something so incredible in his life. Your walls are stretching in real time around him, accommodating his thick size with ease, your juices from earlier acting as a natural lubricant.

Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut, a soft moan escaping his lips as he feels you envelop him inch by inch. Every nerve ending in his body is alight with sensation, the warmth and tightness of you overwhelming his senses. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tries to steady himself against the flood of pleasure.

“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, filled with awe and disbelief.

You smile down at him, your own breaths coming in shallow pants. “You feel so good, Heeseung,” you murmur, your voice husky with desire. You feel honoured to be the first cunt wrapped around the boy’s cock, the feeling of him invading your tight hole and the way his prominent veins add another layer to the pleasure is outstanding causes your eyes to roll back.

It’s not like you haven’t had a cock like Heeseung’s before but for some inexplicable reason, his is erasing every feeling of the others. If this did happen on that fateful first meeting, you wouldn’t have charged him at all, the pleasure you are feeling right now would be enough of a payment.

Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat as you begin to move, a slow rhythm that sends shivers of pleasure up his spine. Each movement is deliberate, a dance of passion and trust as you guide him through this new experience. Your hips grind against his, making his cock rock inside you, each movement sending waves of sensation through both of you.

“How does it feel?” you ask, your voice a seductive purr as you continue to ride him.

Grunting at your movements, Heeseung quickly nods, his eyes wide with an overwhelmed sensation. “Fucking unreal,” he manages to choke out, his voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. He has to apologise to his teenage self for denying him this simple pleasure while his friends were getting their socks rocked.

Your lips curve into a satisfied smile at his response, your fingers splaying across his pecks as you bounce rhythmically on his cock. “I’m glad,” you murmur, your voice dripping with sensuality. “You feel amazing, Heeseung.”

Heeseung moans softly as he tries to keep up with your pace, bucking his hips sloppily, becoming erratic and lacking a consistent pace - not that you mind, you don’t expect him to be fucking you with the skill of a pornstar. The main thing is that he is enjoying it, and by the strangled whimpers and ‘fucking hell’ that leaves his lips every other second, you’re assured that he is.

But this is about teaching him and letting him learn the art of fucking. “Heeseung,” you whisper, pulling back to look into his eyes. “I want you to do something for me.”

Heeseung’s gaze is filled with trust and anticipation. “Anything,” he breathes.

“Let me guide you,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his face. “Follow my lead, okay?”

Heeseung nods, his eyes wide with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. “Okay,” he agrees, his voice trembling slightly.

You start to move again, slower this time, your hips setting a steady rhythm. “Match my pace,” you instruct, your voice gentle but firm.

Heeseung tries to follow your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. At first, his rhythm is clumsy, his thrusts too quick or too slow. You can feel his frustration building, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he struggles to find the right pace.

“Relax, Heeseung,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him softly, instilling reassurance into him that taking his time to learn isn’t going to ruin the moment. “You’re doing great. Just feel it.”

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. He concentrates on your rhythm, his body gradually finding a better sync with yours. The clumsiness begins to fade, replaced by a more confident and deliberate movement.

“That’s it,” you encourage, your voice a breathy moan as you feel him moving more smoothly inside you. “Just like that, fuck.” You drop your head as the tip of his cock hits just the right spot, kissing your cervix tenderly.

Heeseung’s eyes light up with a mix of relief and pleasure as he hears your words. His hands move to your waist, guiding you as you ride him, his thrusts becoming more confident and sure. The sensation of him filling you with each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, your moans growing louder with each movement.

Every thrust brings a gasp or a moan from him, his body responding eagerly to your touch. He feels a mix of sensations - pleasure, awe, a hint of disbelief that he’s finally experiencing this with you. You lean down, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing together in sync with the rhythm of your bodies. Heeseung kisses you back with equal fervour, his need for you evident in every touch and every movement. 

“I never imagined it could feel like this,” he admits between kisses, his voice rough with desire. “Being with you, it’s everything.”

Your heart swells with affection as you feel him opening up, allowing himself to be vulnerable with you in this intimate moment. You continue to move, your hips rolling against his in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The room is filled with the sounds of your combined breaths, the slick slide of your bodies, and the soft, wet noises of your connection.

“You feel so good,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ride him harder. “So, fucking perfect.”

Heeseung’s breath hitches, a whimper escaping his lips at your words. If he wasn’t lost in the feeling, he would ask if he was being a good boy. His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of awe and desperation in his gaze. He can feel himself getting closer, the tight coil of pleasure in his belly winding tighter with each thrust. His hands roam over your body, one moving to your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

Feeling a surge of confidence and an overwhelming urge to please, Heeseung leans forward, his lips parting as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. The sensation is electrifying, a new layer of intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. His mouth is warm and eager, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before sucking gently. He hums around your nipple, the vibration adding to the pleasure that courses through your body.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, your head falling back as you give in to the sensation. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as he continues his ministrations.

Heeseung’s thoughts are a whirl of sensation and desire. He’s hyper-aware of every reaction he elicits from you, the way your body responds to his touch, the sounds you make as he lavishes attention on your nipple. He’s never felt anything so intimate, so deeply connected, and it drives him to please you even more.

His tongue flicks over your nipple before he sucks it back into his mouth, his lips creating a tight seal. He alternates between gentle sucks and firmer pulls, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just enough to make you gasp. The sensation is a perfect blend of pleasure and a hint of pain, heightening your arousal to an almost unbearable level.

Heeseung’s free hand moves to your clit, clumsily finding it after a few seconds to give it some well-deserved attention. The dual sensations make your hips move more urgently, grinding down onto him as your climax approaches.

“Y/N, I’m so close,” he moans against your breast, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He didn’t want to bust a nut quickly and has been holding back as long as he can, determined to make sure this was a good experience for you.

“Me too,” you whisper, your own climax building with every movement. “Don’t hold back, Heeseung. Let go with me.”

With a final, powerful thrust, Heeseung cries out, his body tensing beneath you as he finds his release. The sensation of him pulsing inside you triggers your own climax, and you cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you. You collapse against his chest, both of you trembling as you ride out the aftershocks together.

As the intensity of the moment fades, you lie there in each other’s arms, your breaths gradually slowing. Heeseung holds you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively as you both savour the aftermath of your passion. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, but also with a newfound sense of closeness and adoration.

Looking up at him, you smile lazily, tiredness taking over your limbs from the excitement of today and the fucking. “Well, how does not being a virgin anymore feel?”

“It feels,” he pauses, gathering his thoughts as they fight through his post-orgasm haze, “fucking unbelievable.” Heeseung places a soft kiss on your sweaty forehead and inhales your scent, enveloping his senses with you. His gestures are so loving and tender that you feel a ping in your heart, the same kind that you get when you eat your favourite meal or hear the song that gives you butterflies when it comes on the radio.

It feels like home.

“Thank you for letting me be your first,” you pout, kissing his sticky chest. Your lips press against the salty sheen of sweat on his skin, the taste mingling with the lingering sweetness of the moment.

Heeseung’s heart swells at your words, his eyes softening as he looks down at you. “I should be thanking you, Y/N. I am so happy that it was you I had this experience with.” His admission is heartfelt and pure, his voice trembling slightly with emotion.

You can see the depth of his feelings in his eyes, the way they shine with awe and adoration. It’s a look that makes your own heart flutter, the connection between you feeling even more profound in the aftermath of your intimacy. 

Feeling safe and secure despite circumstances that loom on the horizon, you lay your head back on his chest, settling in for the night. You don’t want to move, your body is too spent to care about peeing or your dead weight is making Heeseung uncomfortable. None of it mattered as sleep pulls you in.

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah…”

“I love you.”

Your heavy breathing fills the room, indicating your lulled state. He doesn’t know if you heard his confession but Heeseung doesn’t mind, he just had to get it off his chest, never wishing to keep his feelings from you ever.

“Good night, baby,” the nickname escapes his lips but it feels so right, everything about this moment feels right. Heeseung’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your back as he closes his eyes with a smile on his face, his heart relaxed for the first time in weeks.

He wishes every day could be as good as this one.

_____

Startled awake by an incessant crowing outside the bedroom window, Heeseung jerks up, his body relaxed but his mind still on semi-high alert. The sun's early morning rays filter through the thin, floral curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the quaint cottage bedroom. Dust particles float lazily in the warm light, adding a touch of magic to the peaceful scene. This is the best night’s sleep he has had, not just since you two began this wild chase, but in the past few years. The bed is a cosy nest of crumpled sheets and soft blankets, the scent of last night's intimacy lingering in the air.

Heeseung stretches, feeling the pleasant ache of spent passion in his muscles - even his head feels a million times better after the beating it took yesterday. His heart swells with a mix of pride and joy as he recalls the events of the night before. Losing his virginity this way wasn’t what he expected, but it was everything he wanted. There was a raw, unspoken connection between you both, an intimacy that transcended mere physicality.

Your heart was in it; he could feel it in the way you whispered affection and clawed at his body. There's a pride swelling within him, knowing there’s a high probability that this is the first time you’ve had sex that wasn’t just for survival or a quick cash grab. Last night was different - there was love between you, plain and simple. You didn’t have to say it or even hear his confession to know what it was. The way you both kissed one another as if the world meant nothing when you had each other, the way your bodies connected in a manner some lovers could only dream of.

Heeseung wishes that all of this were under different circumstances, as he always has, but something tells him that, in some whacked-out way, the universe would have put you together no matter what. The room around him is a testament to simpler times, with its rustic wooden furniture, a small dresser topped with a chipped vase of wildflowers, and a single, worn armchair in the corner. 

Turning his upper body to look at you sleeping, the serenity in his chest quickly vanishes and panic arises from the pit of his stomach. You aren’t there lying peacefully, basking in the morning sun like you should be.

His heart bumps against his rib cage as his mind settles on the worst possible scenario. Frantic, Heeseung clambers around the room, searching for any clue as to where you could have gone. In motels you’ve previously visited, you always left a note to say you’d gone to grab some food or ice, but this time there is nothing but a few strands of your hair decorating the pillow where your head should still be resting.

Rolling off the bed, Heeseung quickly grabs his boxers and puts them on, making his way around the house in search of you. The cottage bedroom, once a sanctuary, now feels ominous and empty. He glances around, his eyes darting over the rustic wooden furniture and the small dresser topped with a chipped vase of wildflowers. The morning sun, which had moments ago seemed warm and inviting, now casts long, eerie shadows.

“Y/N?” he shouts loudly, enough to wake every bird and hibernating bats in the vicinity. His voice echoes through the small cottage, mingling with the distant crowing of the rooster.

His mind races with terrifying possibilities. He thinks about how you could have been snatched in the night, but that doesn’t make sense—he would have felt that or heard you scream. Maybe you went for some fresh air and got caught by the police; they might have snuck up on you and cuffed you right there and then. But wouldn’t they have raided the cottage for him too?

Then his face pales, and he stops in his tracks. What if that psycho got a hold of you? He ran in the opposite direction, but that doesn’t mean the psycho couldn’t have made his way in a circle right to this house. What if he had the same idea and wanted to camp out here, and you just happened to be in the kitchen making some tea when he found you? What if he…

Sickness forms in Heeseung’s throat as he dashes to the kitchen, trying to dispel the horrific final “what if” from his mind. The cosy cottage now feels like a labyrinth of dread, every creak of the floorboards amplifying his fear.

“Baby?” he yells again, terror ripping through his vocal cords. “Y/N, please answer me.”

The kitchen, with its quaint, mismatched dishes and the faint smell of musk and nostalgia offers no comfort. Heeseung's eyes frantically scan the room, hoping to find you safe and sound, but the emptiness only feeds his growing panic. His breath comes in short, desperate gasps as he clutches the edge of the wooden countertop, his knuckles white with tension.

Y/N!” His voice cracks with despair, echoing through the silent house. Heeseung’s mind is a whirlwind of fear and helplessness, each passing second feeling like an eternity as he waits for any sign of you. The world outside, with its serene sunlight and gentle breeze, seems cruelly indifferent to his agony.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his arm, and he whips around instantly.

Your face looks up at him with wonder and concern. “Hey, hey. I’m here, Heeseung,” you say calmly, hoping the soft dulcet tone of your voice can reduce the evident panic coursing through his veins.

Instantly, he hugs you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wraps firmly around your waist. His nose digs into your scalp as his lips press softly against your cranium as if he needs all his senses to be alerted to your sudden appearance - the only way to calm his unsettled heart.

“Heeseung,” you murmur into his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart against your cheek. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Heeseung doesn’t respond immediately, just holds you tighter, his breath ragged and heavy with relief. The warmth of your body against his, the familiar scent of your skin, and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat begin to soothe the storm inside him. Gradually, the tension in his muscles eases, and his grip loosens just enough to look down into your eyes.

“I thought… I thought something happened to you,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. The morning light highlights the tears glistening in his eyes, a stark contrast to the fear that had consumed him moments before.

You reach up and gently wipe away a tear that has escaped down his cheek. “I’m here. I’m safe,” you reassure him, your fingers lingering on his face. “Nothing bad can happen to me when I’ve got you, yeah?”

Balancing on your tiptoes, you place a tender kiss on his dry lips, trying to instill in him some comfort that you are fine and alive. To be honest, if it were he who had disappeared without a trace, you would probably be in an even worse panic than he is.

The kiss is charged with a cocktail of emotions, lips neatly brushing one another as you both fall into an equanimity that is desperately needed in this moment of uncertainty. The tension around his shoulders fades as he melts into your touch, the fear and anxiety dissipating with each passing second.

Heeseung’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if grounding himself in your presence. The taste of salt from his tears mingles with the warmth of the kiss, creating a poignant mix of relief and love. You feel his breath hitch, then gradually steady, synchronizing with your own.

When you eventually draw back, your foreheads touch. The world outside continues its peaceful morning, the calm wind and soft natural light now serving as a soothing backdrop rather than a harsh contrast.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” you whisper, your breath mingling with his. “I should have left a note like usual but there is not a pen or paper in this house, can you believe it?.”

Heeseung shakes his head slightly, his eyes still closed, savouring the closeness. “No it’s okay, I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

You smile softly, cupping his face in your hands. “You won’t. We’re in this together, remember?”

Heeseung nods, finally opening his eyes to look into yours. There’s a depth of gratitude and love in his gaze that warms you to your core. “Yeah, together,” he echoes, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Where did you go?”

Absentmindedly, you reach up to the gauze on his head and peel it off, inspecting the wound as you explain your absence. “I was looking for a route out of here. And to see if the place is still teeming with police.” 

You grab a clean washcloth from the sink and wet it, gently dabbing the dried-in blood away. The gash looks better, although still open, a protective layer of skin is forming over it. It’s fragile and one rough knock could re-open it, but for now, it’s okay. You tell him to wait there while you grab the first aid kit from the sitting area before returning, setting out to apply a new gauze.

Once you clean his wound with the antiseptic wipe, which hurts considerably less than last night, Heeseung speaks up. “And? Is there a way out of this or are the police everywhere?” He isn’t a fan of you going out there on your own but he won’t dwell on it since you’re back here in his arms. His hands settle on your hips as his thumbs stroke your skin, craving contact with you as much as possible.

He doesn’t know if it was the idea of losing you or the sex that makes him crave your skin on his, but he won’t complain either way, and neither will you.

“There are sirens, faint but they are there,” you begin to explain, your voice disheartened, “I think I found a way out though.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows raise and his hands grip your hips slightly, a mix of curiosity and relief. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there is a dock not far from here, maybe about an hour away. It carts goods from Ayr to Dublin around lunchtime, if what I saw was right. We could sneak on it and get the fuck out of the UK, at least until we come up with a solid plan.”

It’s not foolproof and there are more cons than pros, but any minute, the police could come banging on this door and you’re sure as hell going to get caught then.

Heeseung’s shoulders slump as he processes this new information. “It’s risky, but we don’t have many options,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods resolutely. “Alright, let’s do it. But we need to be careful. One slip and it’s over.”

You nod in agreement, your mind already running through the logistics. “We need to move fast and quietly, the only way to the dock is through the woods and that’s exactly where the police are still looking.”

Heeseung gives a small, determined smile, his hands still tracing soothing patterns on your hips. “I’ll follow your lead,” his voice is low and assured. He really does believe there is nothing he can’t do as long as you’re beside him.

As you finish dressing his wound, you can’t help but feel a surge of determination. The bond between you has only grown stronger through this ordeal, and you’re resolved to face whatever comes next side by side. You share a final look, a silent promise to protect each other at all costs, before you start making preparations to leave.

“Okay, let’s go.”

_____

The woods is much easier to navigate in the middle of the day, however, it does make it easier to be spotted.The woods are much easier to navigate in the middle of the day, but the bright sunlight filtering through the canopy also makes it easier for them to be spotted. Heeseung and you move cautiously, stepping over roots and ducking under low-hanging branches, every sense heightened by the urgency of the situation. The dense foliage provides some cover, but the occasional break in the trees sends your hearts racing as you dart across open patches of sunlight.

The forest floor is a mix of damp earth and fallen leaves, each step a muffled crunch that both reassures and unnerves you. Birds chirp overhead, their songs a stark contrast to the tension thrumming through your bodies. The scent of pine and fresh moss fills the air, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of Heeseung’s dried blood.

You take the lead, your eyes scanning the path ahead for any signs of danger. Heeseung follows closely, his hand occasionally brushing against your back, a silent reassurance that he’s right there with you. The two of you communicate through subtle gestures and quiet whispers, knowing that any loud noise could draw unwanted attention.

In the distance, the faint wail of sirens echoes through the trees, a chilling reminder of the police presence. You exchange a worried glance with Heeseung, both of you quickening your pace. The sirens grow louder, a relentless reminder of the danger closing in behind you.

“We need to move faster,” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the rustling leaves.

Heeseung nods, his expression determined. “Stay close.”

The woods stretch out before you like a labyrinth, each turn and twist another gamble. You rely on your instincts, hoping they guide you true. The sun is high now, casting dappled shadows that dance across the forest floor. Sweat beads on your forehead, both from the exertion and the stress of being pursued.

Every so often, you pause to listen, straining to hear any signs of movement behind you. The sirens are still there, but they seem to be moving parallel to your path, not directly toward you. It’s a small relief, but you know you can’t let your guard down.

As you navigate a particularly thick patch of underbrush, you catch sight of a flash of blue through the trees. You freeze, grabbing Heeseung’s arm to stop him. You both crouch low, peering through the foliage. In the distance, you can see police officers moving methodically through the woods, their uniforms stark against the green backdrop.

“Shit,” Heeseung breathes, his grip on your arm tightening.

You nod, your mind racing. “We need to divert. There’s a stream nearby, if we can reach it, we might be able to throw them off our scent.”

Heeseung agrees without hesitation, and you change direction, angling toward where you remember the stream to be. The terrain becomes more challenging, the ground uneven and littered with fallen branches. You navigate as quietly as possible, mindful of every step.

The sound of rushing water grows louder, a hopeful sign that you’re on the right track. The stream appears ahead, a narrow but fast-moving ribbon of water cutting through the forest. You approach it cautiously, checking the area for any signs of the police.

“We’ll follow it downstream for a bit, then cross over,” you suggest, eyeing the opposite bank.

Heeseung nods. “Good plan. Let’s go.”

ou move quickly along the stream’s edge, the cool air off the water a welcome relief against your heated skin. The babble of the stream helps mask the sound of your footsteps, providing a small sense of security. After a few minutes, you find a shallow spot and carefully wade across, the cold water biting at your ankles.

On the other side, you pause to catch your breath, listening intently. The sirens are faint now, almost drowned out by the sound of the stream. It seems the police have moved further away, at least for the moment.

Or so you think.

Unbeknownst to you, two police officers are intently studying the footsteps you’ve left behind, following the trail with determined precision. They move swiftly through the underbrush, their eyes scanning the ground and the surroundings with practised ease.

“Over there!” one officer whispers urgently to his partner. They pick up their pace, pursuing you with renewed determination.

From their vantage point, they catch a glimpse of you and Heeseung through the trees. They see you clasp hands and begin to run, your figures darting through the forest like shadows.

Heeseung and you run up the forest, hearts pounding in sync with your hurried footsteps. Every muscle in your body is screaming for you to stop, but fear propels you forward. The forest becomes a blur of green and brown, the terrain treacherous with roots and fallen branches. You focus on not tripping, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The officers aren’t as nimble and light on their feet as you two are, and you take every opportunity to duck behind trees and try to lose them amongst the branches and foliage. It’s difficult but you create some distance for a minute, never letting up on your track race speed.

Your heart is beating, blood boiling, and head spinning as your legs move on their own. This is it. You think to yourself about how you made such a great deal last night about knowing you would be caught and how you could accept it. But now that the moment is actually here, you’re terrified.

There isn’t a part of you that is ready to be locked up. You’re so young and this was all a misunderstanding, if you just explained it to them, maybe you could get a light sentence. It’s not your fault that the man came in and tried to choke you to death, you had to set boundaries and that’s more than okay, isn’t it?

But the law won’t see it that way. Of course, they won’t, because to them, you’re lower-class trash. That man was highly respected by his family and peers, and you’re just a lowlife prostitute who ruins marriages. You have never seen yourself that way, but this is exactly how the media are painting you out to be. In their eyes, you’re a villain, a scourge. There is no saving yourself from this.

As you slow down, you see the ground before you vanish, patches of brown and green turning into nothing but air. You’ve hit a dead-end, stuck between the relentless pursuit of the police and a deep, yawning cliff that there is no way down from.

Heeseung, a few steps behind, sees you slow down and quickly catches up, his head shaking violently. “Come on, baby, we need to go,” he urges, his voice filled with panic and desperation. Your stuttering steps finally stop, causing his eyes to widen, wondering why on earth you are pausing in the middle of a high-paced chase.

“We’re trapped.” Your voice trembles, eyes distant as you stare into the abyss of the cliff.

Heeseung’s eyes follow yours, and his heart drops. The cliff before you is a sheer drop, the ground simply vanishing into a void of jagged rocks and certain doom. The wind howls up from the chasm, a stark reminder of the peril you face. Behind you, the sounds of the police grow louder, the shouts and rustling foliage a testament to how close they are.

Heeseung pulls you close, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can tether you to safety through sheer will. The forest around you seems to close in, the trees now silent witnesses to your desperate situation. The sky overhead is a bright blue, mocking you with its serenity while chaos reigns on the ground.

“Maybe…maybe we can climb down,” Heeseung suggests, his voice strained, but even as he says it, he knows how impossible it sounds. The cliff face is almost vertical, with only the slightest hint of a path that could easily crumble underfoot.

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “There’s no way. We’ll fall.”

Heeseung looks back toward the forest, where the shadows of the police are closing in. Their voices are distinct now, every word a nail in the coffin of your dwindling hope. You can hear the commands faintly, the urgency in their tones as they coordinate their approach.

You move away from the cliff, looking up at your partner. “I’ll hand myself in.” 

Heeseung almost chokes on his shock as he hears your words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He isn’t one to swear at you, not unless he is truly riddled with dread or panic, the curse words slipping easily into his vocabulary due to the cloud in his brain. Sometimes, it is truly the only way to express himself.

“It should give you some time to run. The dock is like 10 minutes away from here, and the boat leaves in 20 minutes. If you run now-”

The words hang heavy in the air, each syllable echoing with the weight of impending separation. You can see the conflict raging behind Heeseung's eyes, the turmoil of wanting to protect you conflicting with the reality of their dire situation. He hesitates, his hands trembling as they cup your face, the touch both gentle and desperate.

“If you think for a second I’m leaving you behind, you’re delusional, Y/N.” His voice cracks, betraying the raw emotion coursing through him. “After everything you’ve done for me? I am not letting you face this alone.”

Your heart clenches at his words, at the fierce determination in his gaze. Tears well up in both your eyes as you stare at one another, each of your souls clinging to the love that is passing through you. There is a commitment between you that most married couples don’t even have; it’s an honour to be loyal and devoted to one another the way you have been.

“Heeseung, please,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your decision. “If they catch us both, it’s over. At least one of us has to make it. You need to live a free life, not one behind bars.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightens, his resolve hardening even as his heart breaks. “No. We’re in this together, no matter what. I promised you, didn’t I? I promised I’d never leave you.”

His words pierce through the chaos around you, anchoring you in the reality of your love. You reach up, covering his hands with yours, feeling the warmth and strength that has always been there for you.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and adoration. “You’ve been my everything since I’ve known you. You followed me through all of this and I couldn’t be more grateful. But I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me. Prison isn’t a place for you.”

“And I can’t bear the thought of living without you,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ve fought so hard to stay together, to protect each other. I won’t let it end like this. I don’t care what we have to do, I won’t let them take you away from me.”

He knows deep down that if you both get caught, there is a chance he can escape this if the news last night is anything to go by. Jongseong is painting him in a firmly good light, he could get away with this, possibly make them see his side. 

But what life could he live knowing that you’re rotting away in jail for a crime that was completely justified? He could fight your corner but people would just presume it was stockholm syndrome or something else ridiculous, never understanding that he chose this with you, even after you gave him a million chances to leave.

The sirens grow louder, the policemen’s voices are bellowing through the trees, and the urgency of the situation pressing down on you. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you, locked in a gaze that speaks of endless love and unbreakable bonds.

His mind races to find a way out of this for both of you, running isn’t exactly a viable option anymore, there is nowhere to run or even hide. 

Nuzzling his nose against yours, tears cascade freely from your eyes, the salty liquid mixing with the dampness on his cheeks. This intimate gesture makes Heeseung's heart soar, feeling as though he's falling even deeper for you, if that were even possible. Every atom of his being belongs to you, and the two of you are acutely aware of this truth. Your souls are intertwined, embracing each other as you confront this dire predicament together.

He looks around, the desperation in his eyes mirroring your own. His hands slip from your face but remain in contact, fingertips grazing your skin, as if he's terrified that losing touch will cause you to vanish entirely. Heeseung glances at the precipice once again, a lump forming in his throat, his eyes blinking rapidly as the gravity of their situation becomes undeniable.

"We can't stay here," he murmurs, his voice trembling. The sound of sirens grows louder, the authorities closing in. Heeseung's gaze locks onto yours, a mixture of fear and determination in his eyes. "They'll catch us, and everything we've fought for will be for nothing. I can’t fucking lose you, baby. Not when I just got you."

As his words sink in, a valve of emotions opens up inside of you. Fear, desperation, and an overwhelming love for Heeseung intertwine, making it hard to breathe. You realise in that moment that you can't possibly live without him. The thought of being separated, of living without his presence in prison, is unbearable. He is your anchor, your solace, and the love that sustains you. You’ll crumble from the inside out if you’re not together, the codependency and attachment between you all too real.

Heeseung's fingers tighten around yours, his grip both reassuring and urgent. "There's only one way out," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks back at the cliff, the void below seeming both menacing and oddly inviting. "We jump."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, the enormity of the decision circling both of you. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear of the unknown mingling with the trust you have in him. Heeseung's eyes search yours, seeking reassurance, hoping you'll understand.

“What? Are you crazy?” you ask nervously, looking at the large drop below you.

The wind howls around you, the cliff's edge crumbling slightly under the pressure of your feet. Heeseung cups your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that continue to fall. "Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice breaking with emotion.

"Yeah, I am, but it's the only way if we want to stay together," he repeats, his voice stronger this time. "If we jump, we have a chance. We'll be free, and no one will be able to separate us."

Of course, this is insantiy. You have known one another all but two weeks and suddenly you're both contemplating dying rather than being seperated by jail cells. So why is your heart beating in agreement?

Your breath shakes as you inhale, your head disagreeing. Not because you don’t trust him, but because you can't bear the thought of Heeseung not breathing at the end of this decision. You couldn’t care less about your own fate, but his life is too precious to waste.

"Heeseung," you whisper, your voice quivering. "I won't let you die. You're too important. The world needs people like you, soft and good." You hiccup a sob as your brain even contemplates the idea. "You’re so, so good, Heeseung."

Heeseung's eyes soften, pain and tenderness illuminating their depths. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own in a shared moment of intimacy. “This world isn’t worth living in without you. It doesn’t deserve good people after the cards it dealt us,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the fear that lingers in his eyes.

“I promise you, Y/N, I will find you in every lifetime.”

Those words shatter your heart into pieces. The sincerity in his gaze, the unwavering determination - it’s almost too much to bear. Tears ricochet down your cheeks faster now, mingling with the saltiness of his own.

"Heeseung," you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. "I don't want you to suffer. I can't stand the thought of losing you, even for a moment."

His hands move to cradle your head gently, petting your head, something you’ve come to love with each night spent with him. Often, he would do this to calm you down when you couldn’t sleep, even without asking.

"We won’t lose each other," he says firmly, his voice a lifeline in the storm of emotions. "Not now, not ever. We’ll find a way, no matter what. But right now, we have to take this chance. If not, we’ll never be together again.”

The love that has blossomed between you is so powerful that both of you would rather face death together than be separated. It’s a testament to your commitment, and though it may seem foolish to others, it’s the only choice that feels right. If the alternative is prison and a life without each other, then you would rather take your last breath in each other's arms.

“I never wanted this to happen to you,” you confess, sucking in your lip as you try to keep the last semblance of resolve strong inside of you.

Smiling sadly, Heeseung shakes his head. “Baby, I wouldn’t have this any other way. I found myself through all of this, I got to see the world and take chances, be someone who isn’t scared of literally living their life. You helped me with that, and I wouldn’t trade it for all the stars in the sky.”

You smile back at him, nodding. Your heart understands exactly what he means because watching Heeseung blossom into this confident and headstrong man, something he always wanted to be, is the highest reward both of you could take from this other than the love for each other. You have also grown in ways you never thought possible, letting your vulnerability shine through, and trusting someone with all your chest which would never have happened without him, without this experience.

If you’re going to die now, you’re happy with the person you have become.

Heeseung's grasp on your hands tightens, his eyes filled with ferocious purpose. "We'll jump," he adds, his tone firm and committed. "And whatever happens, I'll meet you on the other side."

Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear of the unknown mingling with the intense adoration you feel for him. Nodding, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the leap. Outstretching your pinky, you hold it to his chest. "Together?" you state, your voice a mixture of resolve and vulnerability.

Heeseung smiles a sad yet determined smile that speaks of a love too deep for words. He grasps your pinky with his, tears welling up in his eyes for the last time; tears of relief and happiness. “Together. Forever.”

He brings your joined fingers to his lips, kissing them gently, a gesture filled with all the love and tenderness he can muster. Stepping closer to the edge, he pulls you with him, his hand never leaving yours. The chasm below yawns wide and dark, dotted with trees and glistening lakes, but in this moment, the bottom holds no fear - only the promise of freedom.

“Heeseung?” your soft voice echoes into the vast horizon.

“Yeah?” he replies, his voice steady and calm.

“I love you, too.”

A tender smile graces his lips. You did hear him last night, his whispered confession reverberating through your dreams, his words and tender touches leaving an indelible mark on your heart.

Heeseung's eyes meet yours, the love and trust between you unbreakable. With a deep breath, you both move closer to the precipice, the ground beneath your feet seems to tremble with anticipation. The authoritative voices are louder now, the world behind you closing in, but none of that matters anymore.

"On three," he says softly, his voice a lifeline. "One... two..."

The final number hangs in the air, a heartbeat away. The world narrows to just the two of you, your hearts beating in unison. With a final, shared breath, you take the leap.

For a moment, everything is weightless. The wind roars past, the ground vanishes beneath your feet, and you are suspended between worlds. Heeseung's hand in yours is the only anchor, a touchstone in the freefall. You glance at him and he does the same, expressions mirroring one another as you face together the inevitable chilling bone crush. You’re happy, in love

And free.

You don’t think about your past with your brother or father, or the brothel, or the man you killed. And Heeseung doesn’t think about his family, or his exams, or the life he left behind. Both of you only think about the short-lived life you shared with one another.

As you plummet into the unknown, you hold onto the promise Heeseung made. No matter where this leap takes you, no matter what lies ahead, you will find each other. In this life, and in every lifetime to come. The vast expanse of the sky, the rush of the wind, and the unyielding grip of Heeseung's hand - this is your freedom, your eternity, your together.

taglist (closed): @yzzyhee @intromortal @zerobaseone-zhanghao @hooniehon @deobitifull @alvojake @sageryuri @slut4hee @binniesbabe @vveebee @minniejenseo @jebetwo @seunghancore @laurradoesloveu @yongbokified @jaehoonii @jaeyunluvr @melonvrs @criminalyun @enhastolemyheart @fakeuwus @flwrhoes @rayofsunshineeee @moonlighthoon @jaehyuniewifeu @en-ternals @haechonly @got-sunghooned @brownsugarbaybee @heeseungspookie @sunpov @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan

[ohcolinbridgerton]

red | colin bridgerton

summary: a childhood crush, a jealous colin & a red dress

warnings: none

word count: 3.1k

requests: open

masterlist

a/n: based off of a request i got, thanks so much for the anon!!! i loved your idea and hope you enjoy my interpretation of it. if anyone has any requests, send them my way i love writing these!! <3

-

From before Colin Bridgerton could even remember, Y/N had been a part of his life. 

He remembers the day they met as if it were only yesterday. It was a sunny afternoon, untypical from the usual London fog, and whilst Colin explored the village square, he was drawn in by the sound of laughter that he could only describe as the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Following the sound, he arrived at a small, flower-filled meadow just beyond the square. And there, amid the vibrant blooms and tall grass, he saw her—a girl in a scarlet red dress, her hair gleaming in the sunlight. She was chasing a blue butterfly, her laughter ringing out each time it flitted just beyond her reach. With sparkling eyes of delight and determination, her movement remained graceful yet free-spirited. Colin recalls watching, completely mesmerised as she twirled and leapt, the hem of her dress catching the breeze and fanning out like petals in full bloom, a perfect mirror of the daisies that surrounded her. 

His heart skipped a beat, a feeling he couldn't yet name blooming within him. He was only young when they met, and while he was certain he had experienced infatuation before, this felt completely different. It was as if one of the German fairytale books that his mother kept in the library had been opened and out had stepped this very girl, a princess engulfed in a sea of blossoms. 

Summoning his courage, Colin stepped forward, his small voice calling out, “Hello!”

The girl stopped and turned, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his cheeks flush. She smiled—a bright and infectious grin that made Colin’s heart flutter. “Hello!” she replied, her voice as cheerful as her laughter. “I’m Y/N. Would you like to help me catch this butterfly?”

Colin nodded eagerly, his shyness melting away in the face of her open friendliness. He remembers it being so easy to make a friend at his young age, and he often wondered if they had met years later, if they would still have warmed to each other as they did that day. He likes to think they would. 

Together, they darted through the meadow, their laughter mingling as they chased the elusive butterfly. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the meadow, they finally managed to catch the butterfly gently in Y/N’s cupped hands. They marvelled at its delicate wings, a symbol of their newfound friendship. 

That day was a very special day for Colin.

By the time they reached their late teens, Colin knew his feelings for Y/N had only continued to grow into something much deeper than mere friendship. He loved everything about her: the way her eyes sparkled with joy, her radiant smile, her sharp wit, and their shared love for literature and exploration. Yet he kept his feelings hidden, fearing that revealing them might disrupt the delicate balance of their bond. A bond he feared could never be replaced if broken.

The very feelings he tried to hide so desperately occupied his every thought, however. Every little thing he did reminded him of her somehow, and every sight of her was enough to cause him to lose his ability to breathe. He was like a dramatic debutante swooning over a Lord; he was sure that he was near swooning every time she was in his presence. With such feelings weighing on his mind, Colin thought it would be best if he had a distraction, and so he decided to act on his desire to travel the world. And so, at the age of two and twenty, he planned to leave the Ton in search of a diversion from the feelings in his heart. 

It was a cold evening when Colin decided to tell her of his plans to travel. They were sitting on the wooden swing that hung off of a tree on the Bridgerton grounds—a swing set that they had often found themselves on in all their years of friendship. The sunset had painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over Y/N’s face. She was talking animatedly about a new novel she’d started reading, her eyes shining with excitement. 

Colin watched her, his heart swelling with affection. He loved how passionate she got about things she cared about. He loved the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. He loved her.

“Colin, are you listening to me?” Y/N’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Yes, apologies,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her. “I was lost in my thoughts.”

She smiled, nudging him playfully. “You do that a lot.”

“Yes,” he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose I do.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, listening to the rustling leaves and distant birdsong. In that very moment, Colin wanted nothing more than to tell her, to pour out his heart and confess his feelings, but the words stuck in his throat, and his train of thought was paused by her exclamation. 

“Colin, you must read this book! The heroine is so bold and spirited, much like Elizabeth Bennett,” she said, her smile infectious.

Colin smiled back, his heart aching with unspoken words. “I shall, Y/N. Your recommendations never disappoint.”

Colin opened his own book of poetry, reading aloud one of his favourite verses. His voice was steady, but inside, emotions churned like a tempest.

When he finished, she looked at him, her gaze soft. “You have a way with words, Colin. You always make everything sound so beautiful.”

He felt a blush creep up his neck. “It is the words themselves that are beautiful. I am merely the voice.”

Y/N laughed, a sound that filled Colin with warmth. “Ever so modest.”

As the afternoon waned, they lay side by side on the soft grass, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. Colin turned his head to look at Y/N’s, her face serene and thoughtful. She had always been so beautiful to him.

“Y/N,” he began hesitantly, “I must tell you something.”

“What is it?” she asked, her voice soft.

Colin took a deep breath. “I am leaving soon. I wish to travel around the world.’’

She gave him a wide smile, and his heart felt like it had deflated. He wasn’t sure why he expected her to be sad that he was leaving, especially when she had always been his biggest supporter in anything he ever wanted to do, yet it bruised him slightly, and he wondered if she’d even miss him. 

She leaned her head on his shoulder, a gesture that always made his heart race. ‘’I will miss you, but I am so proud of you.’’

“I will miss you too,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her. And he meant it. No matter what happened, he would always be there for her, even if it meant keeping his feelings to himself. ‘’Always.’’

As the stars began to appear and the sun began to set, Colin made a silent promise. He would cherish every last day they spent together before he left and take with him all the happiness she brought him, but once he returned, he would make these feelings go away, as for now, being her best friend was all he could be, and that was enough. 

-

Months had passed before Colin decided to return to the Ton. Over the time he spent away, he sent letters to nearly everyone that he thought might want to hear of his travels, but the only reply that seemed to matter to him was Y/N’s. His plan to distract himself had failed miserably, and his heart continued to race at the mere sight of her name written in ink: ‘Yours, Y/N’ as she’d always sign her letters. 

He decided after a few months that enough time had been spent away from his family and friends, so he made his way back to London just in time for the new season. Upon his return, he found himself in a predicament. Through whispers from his younger sisters, Eloise and Francessca, and the writings of Lady Whistledown, he had discovered that Y/N had been named the diamond of the season by Queen Charlotte herself, and it seemed that every eligible lord was vying for her attention. It was her second season out, and it was a rarity that the Queen would decide to choose someone who had already been accustomed to the dealings that came with being out in society; however, to Colin, it was no surprise that she had been named the diamond. She always sparkled, and she had always been like a rare jewel in his eyes.

He stood at the edge of the ballroom. He was yet to see her - with his late arrival in the day, he had missed the promenading that his family had done that morning so he hadn't had the chance to see her just yet. But he knew where to go looking, he knew the one place he’d definitely find her was on the dance floor—she was the diamond after all. 

His gaze stayed fixed on the entrance of the room, awaiting her arrival, and it wasn’t long before she arrived. Everyone’s eyes were on her as she stood at the top of the stairs. She was completely radiant in a red dress, the very same shade as the one Colin thought about every day. The colour of the dress she was wearing the day they met as she chased a butterfly around the meadows. 

The sight of her brought back a flood of memories, each one only amplifying the ache in his heart. He thought he might faint on the spot. His breath had hitched, and he knew that if he were drinking lemonade, he would have been sure to spit it out in complete and utter infatuation. He had travelled far and wide, seeking to distract himself from his feelings, but the sight of her in front of him was enough to make him fall to his knees. 

Colin watched, seething with jealousy, as Lord Fife and Lord Cho each flocked towards her in hopes of dancing. Y/N, ever the picture of grace and beauty, seemed to enjoy the attention, but Colin knew her well enough to see the subtle signs of uninterest that she felt for the Lord’s. She was never one to crave the attention of male suitors. Colin wasn’t even sure if she wanted to marry, but if she did, it was not something Colin was prepared to hear; it would break him after all. 

He could see her eyes studying the room, and in his heart, he hoped that she might have been looking for him, perhaps having heard of his return from his sisters or Whistledown. But it must have all been in his head as he watched her take the hand of Lord Fife and make their way to the dance floor, a chorus of violins following them. 

His heart ached as he watched her, the only woman who had effortlessly captured his affections, was dancing with Lord Fife. Her laughter was like a delicate melody that mingled with the strains of the waltz, her eyes glistening with a joy that seemed to light up the entire room. Colin's breath caught in his throat as he saw the way she smiled up at Lord Fife, her face alight with an expression he had hoped to see directed at himself.

Colin's grip tightened around the glass of lemonade he held, the stem of the glass pressing into his palm. He had always been confident and knew how to charm and engage those around him. But when it came to her, he felt a sense of vulnerability that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Lord Fife, with his impeccable manners and easy charm, seemed to be everything Colin was not. He was suave, sophisticated, and clearly taken with Y/N. Watching them together, Colin felt a pang of jealousy twist in his chest. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh and see her eyes light up with happiness because of him. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought that Fife had been the one making her laugh all the months he was away; he knew he should have never left. 

The music swelled to a crescendo, and the dancers moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Y/N's gown, his favourite shade of red, swirled around her like a cloud, her movements light and graceful. Colin couldn't tear his eyes away from her; he couldn't stop the thoughts racing through his mind. What if he never got the chance to tell her how he felt? What if she chose Lord Fife over him? What if her happy ever after was with Fife and not him?

He watched as she bid Lord Fife goodbye and made her way through the crowd. As she did so, she attracted the attention of more suitors, each eager to win her favour. She flashed them a smile but continued to the table that held refreshments, parched from all the laughing and talking she’d done with someone who wasn't him. He couldn’t take it anymore.

The final straw came when he saw his own brother, Benedict, saunter up to Y/N with his usual charm and grace. His jealousy reached an all-time high as he watched Benedict lean in close to whisper something in Y/N’s ear, making her laugh. The sound, usually so delightful, the first harmonious tune he had ever heard from her, now felt like a dagger to his heart. 

Unable to bear it any longer, Colin pushed through the crowd, his eyes locked on Y/N and Benedict. “May I cut in?” he asked, his voice strained but firm.

Benedict, sensing the tension, smiled knowingly and stepped back, offering Y/N’s hand to Colin with a slight bow. All of the Bridgerton’s knew of Colin’s feelings for his best friend, and Benedict possessed no ill-intention when it came to Y/N, simply wanting to catch up with a family friend as they both sipped away at their lemonade. As he walked away from the pair, a smile formed on his lips. ‘Finally,’ he thought in his mind, perhaps it was the nudge Colin needed all this time. Unknowing to Colin, Benedict had been watching him watch Y/N the whole night and was certain he needed to intervene before Colin smashed his lemonade glass in his hand from how hard he gripped it in his hands. Brothers, what would you do without them.

Y/N looked up at Colin, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of confusion.

“Colin, what are you-?” she began, but he interrupted by taking her hand and leading her onto the dance floor.

‘’Hello,’’ he said, his voice low and intense. ‘’I apologise for interrupting, but I had to speak to you.’’

‘’I’ve been here all night.’’ She sighed, her eyes furrowed as she watched Colin, his eyes falling to meet hers. ‘’Look at me. I’ve missed you, Colin.’’

He finally met her gaze, his blue eyes locking with hers. The sour taste that he’d had in his mouth from watching her dance with other men had gone at the sight of her face looking up at his. 

‘’I’ve missed you too.’’ He spoke as they moved slowly across the dance floor. 

‘’What’s wrong?’’ She said as she squeezed his hand, and he felt his heart leap. ‘’You’ve got that look on your face, the one you always get when you are lost with your thoughts.’’

He knew it was now or never. He could simply reply and tell her ‘it was nothing’ or he could be the proud man that his mother had raised him to be and finally confess the one thing to the only person that mattered most in his world. 

“I could not stand by and watch any longer,” Colin said, in shock that his words had even made it out of his mouth, his throat dry. “Seeing you with all those suitors, and then with Benedict, it drove me mad.”

Y/N gazed up at him, her expression softening. “Colin, I’ve wanted your attention the whole night. I’ve looked for you all night, but you have not seemed to notice me.’”

He pulled her closer ''I did notice you,'' his eyes searching for hers. “I notice you all the time. In every room we are ever in, you are the only one I ever notice. Your eyes, your smile, the way you make me laugh, our shared love for books and adventures, the red dress you're wearing tonight that reminds me of the very first time we met... I notice everything about you.’’ 

Tears glistened in Y/N’s eyes as she smiled up at him. ‘’You remember the dress I wore the very first day we met?’’

‘’That shade of red has been my favourite colour since the day we met. I promise you, when I say this Y/N, I notice everything about you. I remember everything about you. You occupy my every thought.’’

‘’Colin-.’’

‘’I have wanted to say these words to you for the last sixteen years, and I realise it might be too late. I do not know how you feel about Lord Fife or Benedict for that matter, but I can only hope you are not serious about him because I would like it if it were me you were serious about, for I am serious about you, and another day without you-’’

‘’Colin. Stop talking and breathe for a moment,’’ she said softly, her voice steady. ‘’I am not serious about Lord Fife and I am most definitely not serious about Benedict, he's like a brother to me. I never have been. The only person I have spent every day longing for is you, and I have missed you dearly every day that you have been away. You say you notice everything about me, but I, too, notice everything about you. Your kindness, wit, caring nature—it is everything I have missed since you have been gone. You are the only person I have ever been serious about in my life. The only one.’’

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. 

Colin was sure his heart was about to collapse, and he was surprised his feet were still carrying him through their dance. 

"Y/N..."

She smiled—a beautiful, radiant smile that made his heart skip a beat. "I'm glad you told me, Colin. I have been waiting for this very moment for the last sixteen years.’’

"I should have told you sooner," he whispered, leaning into her further. Had it not been for the fact that they were dancing in the Queen’s very ballroom, he was certain he would have kissed her there and then. 

"Better late than never," she replied with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

Colin knew that he would never again let any more time come between them. They had wasted enough of it, and now they had a lifetime ahead of them to make up for it.

‘’Colin…’’ Y/N spoke softly, her eyes still fixed on his.

‘’Yes?’’ 

‘’I want you to know I wore this dress just for you. Your favourite shade of red.’’

-

a/n: hope you all enjoyed. the anon i received was such a lovely request and i hope that i've done it justice. thanks for reading!!!

[with-my-calamitous-love]

YOU SWORE THAT YOU LOVED ME, BUT WHERE WERE THE CLUES?

katsuki bakugou x reader

after your break up, katsuki talks shit to make his tortured heart feel better. inspired by my shitty ex boyfriend who still won’t let me rest.

inspired by so long, london

“i’ve never opened up to anyone like this.” you whisper, like fairy lights through the mist. his strong, chiseled arms hold you close, laying on his bed, wrapped up in his love.

“thats okay.” he whispers, uncharacteristically soft. “i’m here, babe.”

he pulls you in tighter as if you’re drifting away. he doesn’t stop trying to make you laugh, chasing the look of your smile lines and the the sound of your melodic laughter. he’s given you his youth, all his love and everything that he is. he loves these moments, late nights past the clock. he could stare into your eyes forever.

you loved this place.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“they were too emotional.” he says, two beers deep in the bar you heard great things about. his friends, kirishima, denki, and sero, all have mixed reactions, but he doesn’t really care for them. “they’d talk about it too damn much. always go on about how important communication was.”

kirishima had the sensible nerve to point out that communication is, in fact, important, and emotional availability is a virtue. katsuki responds by taking another swig of the alcohol and coming to terms with the hangover he was bound to have the next morning.

how much sad did he have in him? oh, the tragedy. how he stooped down to this level, fucking up your name to make himself feel better about losing you.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“i wanna try. for you.” he says, holding up flowers and standing next to a candlelit dinner. its completely spontaneous, something you stumbled upon while coming home from a long day. you remind him he doesn’t need to do this, and he tells you he wants to.

he looks gorgeous in this light, illuminated by nothing than that flickering warm glow. its moments like these you truly get to know katsuki, seeing his kindness he insists he’s too gruff for. truthfully, he’s soft.

“don’t act so surprised, dumbass.” he smirks, that shit eating grin giving you more than just butterflies. you take the flowers from him and return with a sweet kiss to his cheek, one that gets his heartbeat going. “i love you.”

“i love you too, kats.” you smile, already making plans to surprise him back.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“they made me try so hard.” he complains over a family reunion dinner, annoyed by his moms pestering. his mom loved you, and wondered why katsuki and you would ever separate. he gives her the same story- that you were too emotional and too needy. “got damn exhausting.”

your spine was splitting from carrying this dead relationship up the hill. he only slightly flipped the script, however. both of you were exhausted. he insisted there weren’t any signs, while you knew for a fact that you gave many.

even as he held you at night, your bones were weary. sure, he held you and gave you warmth, but you still felt that chill of loneliness. its a feeling you can’t quite shake. at some point, his heart stopped beating for you. cpr was no use.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“do you think about our future?” you ask, sitting in his embrace on the couch. though he pauses for a moment, his answer is definite.

“lets pick out your ring tomorrow.” he smiles, and your heart pounds. such small words that hit so huge. right now, he swears he loves you. he has you waiting at that altar for him, because he thinks he’ll meet you there.

and for a minute there, he means it. he does want to marry you. he does want to love you for all eternity, and to get you whatever pretty ring you want. there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that he would. he’d tell you everyday how he cant waits to finally be your husband.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

and there you were, left waiting at the altar.

“they didn’t wanna marry me.” he professes to his adoring fans and newscasters alike, giving into their incessant begging and nagging. he gives them an answer he knows will shut them up quick, and it does.

he frames as if you abandoned the ship. but the truth? you were going down with it. if your love died young, you’d challenge those waves, sink into the cold waters and make that vessel your resting place.

you held tight to his resentment, even though everyone around you said it wasn’t right. you shouldn’t be this scared to lose someone. towards the end, you weren’t sure if he wanted to be there. katsuki wasn’t sure either.

he drained the colour from your face as you watch the news clippings. you’re mad as hell. because you loved him.

[chaoticloving]

cock blocked

harry styles x reader

summary: harry gets cocked blocked by a couple of cuties

warnings: shower sex (f oral, m masturbation)

Harry loved mornings like this.

He loved the sound of the fan on high speed, as insisted on by Y/n, he loved the sound of the city of London in the streets below, but most importantly, he loved the feeling of his body wrapped around Y/n--and, of course, the other way around.

Harry had picked Y/n up from the airport late last night. Harry might've chugged a couple cups of coffee to stay awake and get himself on the time zone Y/n was currently in. It worked to get him through the drive to Heathrow and back, not to mention the "i've miss you so much sex" that they were both desperate; but it was fair to say that Harry was beat by midnight and needed a good lie in.

The couple was in Y/n's flat, but they weren't alone. Marmalade, or Marney, is the precious black Scottish Terrier with little legs that like to scamper around and cause havoc for Harry. Then theres Sugar, a white Persian cat thats a true cutie. She sleeps the whole day but always makes time to 'talk' to Y/n or Harry by meowing and responding to whatever the couple say.

Y/n only has one rule: no pets on the bed.

She doesn't even allow for outside clothes on her bed--which Harry got an earful of when he once tried to take a nap while wearing clothes he wore on his walk over, but now thinking about it, she might of been trying to just get him naked.

Continuing on, the pets know never to to jump on the bed or really ever go into Y/n's room, they only go in when Harry is staying over. And without a doubt, either Marney or Sugar (sometimes together) would always tickle Harry's foot that finds it's way out from under the covers. They are Y/n's little devils that Harry just loves so much.

"Mhm, babe, scoot over." Y/n mumbles, slightly breaking from Harry's grasp to spread out more.

Harry grumbles from not being able to spoon and hold her as easily as before, but come up with the great idea of star-fishing right on top of her. Y/n groans when his weight is put on top of her.

"Don't know why you're complain'." Harry mumbles. "You got more room now."

"So thoughtful." She said, sarcasm coming though her groggy voice. She patted his bare back, hand coming up though his hair to continue on with her sleep.

Harry had the same plan. That was, until he heard scratches coming from the closer door.

Harry silently groaned as he removed his face from Y/n's neck and looked at the door in which pro red the couple from the little monsters.

"Your kids are up."

"Practically your kids too." She mumbles, pushing Harry off of her body to get up.

"No! Don't get up!" Harry whined. "Need at least another hour of beauty sleep."

"Think you need a bit more than an hour." She joked.

"You're so mean. Why am I still with you?" Harry smiles, flipping over to look at her as she comes back to the bed.

"Because I am amazing." She answers simply, sitting on his lap and leaning her head just above his. "And I'm really hot."

Harry smiles boyishly, a cheeky smile creeping over his face along with a slight blush. "Don't forget sexy." His hands come up to rest on her waist, fingers dancing along the bare skin. "And beautiful."

He kissed her, sitting up so he could add his tongue and to do a bit more than laying there and looking pretty.

Y/n rolled her hips, causing Harry to let out a moan. "Fuck, only you could do this to me, love."

Y/n wickedly smiled against his cheek, continuing her assault on his neck with her lips.

The first time Y/n heard whimpering, she thought it was Harry just being extra needy this morning, but when it was accompanied by scratching at the door, Y/n knew it was her other baby's that needed some--much less intimate--love.

She kissed Harry on the lips, sitting up with his lips and groin chasing her. She went to the door and was met with her pets at the door.

"I did not just get cocked blocked by a fuckin' dog and cat." Harry said in disbelief. Y/n giggles but leaves Harry's line of sight to presumably feed the cock blockers.

Harry sighs and gets up, he's uncomfortable in his boxers as his halfy is causing it to be a little tight around the groin--it never fails to boost his confidence, though.

He walks to the connecting bathroom, turning on the shower and brushing his teeth so he could get rid of the morning breath. He soon strips and enters the shower, letting the warm water sooth his skin.

He hears the bedroom door shut and the footsteps of his love. Y/n takes off her (Harry's really) shirt and jumps into the shower with Harry.

"The baby's just wanted their breakfast." She mumbled apologetically, kissing his lips. "Want me to make it up to you?"

"Maybe later." Harry mutters, trailing kisses down her neck then breast without any signs of stopping. "Right now I want my own breakfast."

“Mhm. Not so sure on that line.” Y/n mumbled, hand slowly going into Harry’s hair as he crouched down.

“Want me to try again?”

“Nope.” She pushed Harry’s head right into her cunt, Harry more than welcomed the action though.

Harry kissed the sides of her thighs next to her pussy, before sucking gently on her clit. Y/n’s hold on his hair grew tighter, both of them moaning in unison.

Harry’s hand started to move from her hips; his left arm went to her ass, grabbing it and pushing her forward to get her pussy closer to his mouth. His right hand trialed down to his hard cock, practically throbbing from the small bit of sensation from the water droplets. He gripped it tight, just like Y/n would do if she was hand job, and then slowly stroked down and up, just to edge himself.

Y/n was starting to ride Harry’s face, pushing her hips slightly forward and back to make use of Harry’s tung, while she started ti breath heavy and moan. Harry, ever the pleaser, paralleled her movement with his tung to help her hit that pleasure she was seeking. Harry, not to mention, also matched that movement with his right hand on his dick.

“I love you H.” She moaned, eyes pressed together as she was about to reach her climax.

Harry just nodded, getting close too, before cumming on the shower floor as Y/n came on his face.

Harry trialed kissed down her thigh, then slowly stood up. Y/n kissed him as he was to his normal height, letting her hands go over his toned stomach.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to help you.” She mumbled, referring to Harry’s masturbation.

“You helped me more then ever lovie.” He promised. “Now lemme do your hair and wash you down, just stand and look pretty for me, yeah?”

[applecherryandpears]

That time Noel car chased Liam to stress that Wonderwall’s indeed about a girl

So... this was supposed to be Wonderwall's single cover:

The photographer (Michael Spencer Jones) had brought Liam to Primrose Hill in London to take that shot but both were interrupted by what he described as a "black cab that came to a screeching halt". From that said running cab, came out Noel, allegedly shouting that Liam - "our kid" - was not to be on that cover as Wonderwall is a love song, about a girl. According to Michael, Noel downward hated the thought of Liam being on the cover.

The girl on the actual cover was a Creation Records employee in the exact same pose:

So, being incredibly grateful for the mental image this article gifted me with, I decided to make a post summing up the many Wonderwall meanings according to Noel.

Disclaimer : I think Wonderwall's about Liam, just putting it out there.

My own thought is that Noel can't say this because, and to quote him "it would look bad" see this interview excerpt about the song dirty shirt in 1997:

"Meg is the girl in the dirty shirt. (...) Liam will read this and say, You fucking wanker! Because he thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him. So he'll be telling me it's a geezer in a dirty shirt really, except I couldn't say that because it would look bad."

Apart from the absolute chaotic reaction of having the lead singer star on the cover of the lead single, Noel, I think, obviously wanted Liam to sing it, initially.

Liam had been given a choice between this and Don't look back in anger by Noel, who stressed many, many, times throughout the years that Liam didn't like the song when he first heard it (I'd say covertly disappointed). Also he gave different versions of whatever Liam said about it : 

But Liam, first time he heard "Wonderwall" he said, "That's puff's music, I'm not sing that." For weeks and weeks and weeks he wouldn't sing it, and then he heard me singing it and then he knew. in 1996  "(pissy voice) Wonderwall, it's fucking dance record, innit? All that hip hop drum beat - we're not a fucking dance group. Of course, once he's sung on it it was the best record ever made." "I said, ‘You’re singing one or the other, but not both.’ He hated Wonderwall. He said it was trip-hop. There speaks a man who’s never heard trip-hop." In a recent interview "Everyone in the band went, 'I'm sorry but I don't f*****g think so," "I remember Our Kid saying, and I'll never forget this, 'Why are you writing reggae songs?' And I was like, there speaks a man that has never heard reggae."

In 2023, Liam confirmed that as he first heard Wonderwall being played “I didn’t like it at first, I thought it was a little funky.” And Bonehead, added, “It sounded like a reggae song to me. The first time [Noel] came in, I was like, ‘What the hell’s that?”. (Far Out Magazine).

Which I get as Noel's acoustic version is very different from Oasis version with Liam on vocal. But anyway, Noel often mentioned that when Liam's reluctant to sing one of the songs he pretends he will sing it himself and this way Liam like clockwork jumps on it, and that's exactly what he said for Wonderwall + told Liam it will be a hit, and immediately, Liam wouldn't let go of it.

So my guess is that the 'choice' was just a snare to make Liam do what he wants, as Noel likes to do.  And also a bit of power play at hand there in an attempt to ground 1995 firework Liam and as Noel said again in 2023 "to have a song on his own" as he was getting annoyed by Liam walking out on him.

"The only time I laid down the law was Wonderwall and Don’t Look Back In Anger. "I was so fucked off with him walking off stage and me having to take over and do the gig. I remember thinking, if I’m going to do this, I want a big fucking song to sing." + "I said, ‘You’re singing one or the other, but not both.’

Liam said between 1995-96 “When Our Kid went, ‘Right, you’ve got a choice, “Wonderwall” or “Don’t Look Back In Anger,” ’ it done me head in,” the singer told NME. “I said, ‘I wanna sing both, you dick.’ But I chose ‘Wonderwall’ ’cos it was right and it happened. But I don’t think I could have sung ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ the way he sung it. And when I hear it I think it’s great.”

Additionally in 2023, Noel kinda slipped and said "I'm glad I chose that one" after saying Liam chose it when a record label person said it would be their big hit.

But what is interesting is as their relation deteriorated Noel changed the Wonderwall story:

Around 1996-1997 "I wanted to sing Wonderwall because the guitars are accoustic but our kid insisted that he wanted to sing it. So I said Alright im going to do DLBIA"

In 1997, in the book Getting High: The Adventures of Oasis by Paolo Hewitt, he wrote "according to Owen Noel wanted to sing wonderwall which makes perfect sense, he had written the song with Meg in mind, it was the only way he knew how to properly express his love for her with the song detailing her struggle to find work but celebrating her ability to bounce back against the odds. So we finished Wonderwall, and Liam's Right I'm singing this one. And he did a blinding vocal a brilliant vocal."

in 1998  Noel went "I always wanted to sing "Wonderwall", but I'm glad he sang it 'cos he sings it better than I do."

or when asked on a TV show in 2000 'If I wrote wonderwall I wouldn't want to give that to my brother to sing', Noel said that he did not but they had a long heated debate on who will sing it and in the end, he didn't have a choice because Liam's 'bottom lip went too far down towards his kneecaps' 'he looked very very sad' and he said alright he will sing the other one don't look back in anger.

And only recently in 2021, he went back to the original story:

“He wanted to sing ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’, but it became apparent during the recording that ‘Wonderwall’ was going to be the tune. If I’m being honest, I shouldn’t have sung either of them because I wasn’t really a singer then.”

I mean every critic agrees that Liam gave one of his most impressive vocals singing that song "both cuttingly sharp and heartbreakingly warm at the same time" Noel said he '"had no idea, even after the first album, that Liam could sing like he did on 'Wonderwall,'" and that he did " a sterling job (...) ‘Wonderwall, ‘Hey Now’ and ‘Cast No Shadow’ were literally one take. He delivers my songs spot-on. He knows." So it's a bit strange that he didn't just go on saying that like other songs such as Slide Away Liam's delivery gave it a special edge.

Personally I think it has to do with the meaning of the song for their relationship. There is a lot of hope and commitment in that song all while acknowledging the anger and difficulties of a relationship.

An other thing that struck me as important was, in an oasis book it was reported that while watching Wonderwall win some chart thing on TV Noel turned to the person writing and started going on about how high the wibbling rivalry was on the charts in comparison to the oasis tracks. So what came up to his mind was the 'Liam fight track' while listening to the song, weirdly enough.

And about the meaning --->

Originally, Noel attributed this song to his then girlfriend Meg Matthews as we know. She was compared to a schoolboy's wall to which posters of footballers and pop stars are attached, Noel told Select magazine

"It's about my girlfriend. She was out of work, and that, a bit down on her luck, so it's just saying, 'Cheer up and f---in get on with it.'" After Liam's and Noel's infamous interaction with their Father, he even told her directly as much albeit gave it a a more romantic meaning "Fucking hell Meg, you're meant to be my wonderwall and you were fast asleep when it all went off. What kind of Wonderwall are you?" or when a cover of the song came out and she thought Noel had plagiarized the song he wrote for her he told her " 'No, honestly, I did write about you...!"

Now, idk how reliable he is but their father said that the wall actually existed and it was Noel's and Liam's :

"both Noel and Liam's original ‘wonderwall’ was actually the wall of the bedroom they used to _ share as children in their — ex-council house. ‘They called it their wonderwall" "in 1983 they both started writing on the wall, bits of songs, poems, favourite bands, football teams. In one corder Noel wrote 'I love Diane Jones’ and underneath in the same writing, “Liam _ is a puff”. They'd fight terribly about who had the most writing space. | didn't touch it for years but | wallpapered - it before Christmas."

Meg has been written at the time as "The only girl he had met who came close to being as important as his music and the one who understood him better than almost everyone else."

But Noel then stuck to the following version about the song's name, that it came from Wonderwall Music the debut solo album by George Harrison and the soundtrack to the 1968 film Wonderwall, (She lives next door to a man who becomes fascinated with her, so he slowly makes holes in his wall so he can watch her through it. This is the "Wonderwall.").

Meg said that "George Harrison wrote the music to the film Wonderwall, so that's the reference, but to me it's about being his wall of strength. His solidity." She never asked him directly and found out the meaning in the papers months later. So idk if this is her interpretation or if Noel said something about the actual meaning.

Then in 2003, in Q magazine's 1001 Best Songs Ever, Noel backtracked, "The meaning of that song was taken away from me by the media who jumped on it. And how do you tell your Mrs. it's not about her once she's read it is? It's about an imaginary friend who's going to come and save you from yourself."

and In 2023 Noel pinned him saying the song was about Meg on this specific cover "We did the cover and there's a girl on the front, She had long blonde hair, she looked like my then-wife, Meg Matthews. Doing the interviews for the thing [later], and they say, 'Is this about your wife?', and what do you say? No? So you say yes but it's not about anyone in particular"

Yet Noel admitted it was a romantic song in 1998 : You don't write a song like Wonderwall if you're not romantic. I am. I'm a dreamer and a romantic. Liam is too.

and later

First of all, “Outside of England, it’s the one we’re famous for all over the world, and it annoys the fuck out of me,” Noel Gallagher once said. “It’s not a fucking rock and roll tune. There’s quite a vulnerable statement to it.”

So while I don't think this song is about Meg, it is definitely an emotional song that strips him bear.

More importantly, years later after hell broke loose in Oasis, Noel praised Ryan Adams's version and declared he is the only person who ever got the song “Wonderwall” right. Ryan Adams played it as part of his album "love is hell" and said that "It occurred to me that I was singing it from the perspective of someone in danger of committing suicide. (...) It's someone saying, you're my last hope. But in the second verse, that hope it's not happening, and I'm singing like that".

I don't think it's coincidence that after all the issues they had Noel was the one who mainly sung that song himself live in the late 90s and then gave it a tone of devastation and sorrow as he switched to playing it Ryan Adams way for a long time. The collapsing of their relationships brought out the frustration rather than the hope in the song.

As to Liam and Noel's thoughts on the songs, while around 95 they weren't critical of it, seemed quite proud of it, and Noel even said it was part of his favorite/best songs with Live forever, they changed their tunes years later, that said it could only be due to the reluctance and irritation of being seldom seen as 'that band that did Wonderwall'.

For example Noel claimed in 2006 "I don't much like 'Wonderwall,' but the effect that song has on people, I can't deny it," he said. "Great music is in the ear of the beholder." and that it's one of his least favourite Oasis songs because it's "unfinished". If I could somehow twist time and go back there, I’d probably pick a different song for our calling card. Probably Some Might Say."

But one comment from Liam struck me as extreme even for him, In 2008, Liam said during the press run for Dig Out Your Soul, “At least there’s no ‘Wonderwall’ on there. I can’t fucking stand that fucking song! Every time I have to sing it, I want to gag." So it could be its popularity or the fact Liam had lost his voice, but I've never heard him talk so critically about an Oasis song, it sounded personal. Just like when Noel recently said he's glad he's singing that one as it's a better song.

So I still think that while they're honest saying they don't want Oasis to be summed up to one tune, but their uneasiness playing the song live was due to its meaning. Noel even stressed the band couldn't find a way to play it right live, which is not exactly true, considering the famous live where Liam stares at Noel during the chorus.

So there's that.

[dreaminrainbows]

Happy 28th lovies!

September was such a hectic month, i had three concerts in the span of a week, one of which was Louis', the end of the Festival Louis Era, the start of uni and my fav F1 driver being dropped (i was also deep in my Veronica Mars feels for a chunk of the month). It has been a rollercoaster of emotions to say the least but here are all the fics i read this month that made it a million times better!

Consider leaving comments and kudos, feed your authors the attention they deserve!

My Hands at Risk, I Fold by yourgorgeouscolors | [43.7k|

"Sometimes, when Louis first wakes up, he thinks he’s back in the hospital, and panic hits him." Or, Harry is a famous popstar, Louis is a famous football player and one injury changes everything.

Deemed and Delivered a Crime  by LetTheMusicMoveYou/ @letthemusicmoveyou28 | [35.4k]

Harry keeps his voice low and calm. “I need you to listen very closely because I’m only going to say this once.” When he’s only greeted with silence on the other end, Harry continues. “For every hair that is harmed on Louis Tomlinson’s head, I am going to break one of your bones. And then when you’re reduced to a pathetic little pile on the floor, my men and I are going to kick around your limp carcass in my garden for footie practice. Do you understand?” There’s a few more beats of silence, before the voice on the other line answers. Still sounding calm and unbothered by Harry’s creative threat. “I’m glad you received our message Mr. Styles. Are you ready to settle on a suitable sum for Mr. Tomlinson’s release?” (Or the one where Harry is the most feared mob boss in London. Louis is his ex-husband who left that violent life two years ago to teach Uni. His peace is shattered when he’s kidnapped by Harry’s rivals).

you are half of me (and I am all for you) by angelichl/@angelichl | [24.7k]

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia. Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he? Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

Please Tell Me That You've Got Me by ColourfulSuitmoon/@colorfulsuitmoon | [20.6k]

“This was a pleasure, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Louis says. He then turns to Harry and gives him a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow too, kitten.” Harry is stuck staring at the door where Louis just disappeared through. “Did he say…” Harry starts. “Kitten,” Florence says with a nod. “Harry…” “No, it’s just a fluke. It doesn’t mean anything,” Harry says firmly. Or a world where the nickname your soulmate will call you appears on your chest on your 18th birthday and Harry wakes up with the only name he hates.

Chasing Feelings by Neondiamond/@neondiamond | [20k]

When homicide detective Louis Tomlinson first gets assigned to work with detective Harry Styles, the newest addition to the Doncaster police station, on the biggest case of his career, he’s less than enthused about it. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and Louis has no time to waste working with a newbie, despite how attracted his inner Alpha may be to Harry’s sweet scent. Along the way, he finds he may have been too quick to judge the Omega.

Language Of A Petal by bittersweetsin/@bittersweetsin | [15k]

“Wait, you're reading Divin-“ “-Divined Souls? Yup,” Harry finishes for him. Starving off a grin, Louis says, “Have you actually been stalking me all this time and just lied about not knowing me?” “Guess we’ll never know.” or Louis is a librarian, and Harry comes in all the time to return books he’s finished reading. Every time Louis opens the book to check for any damages, there’s always a flower hidden in between one of the pages, specifically on a paragraph that has a deep meaning.

Heat and Greet  by HoldingOnToChaos/@holdingontochaos | [12.4k]

Harry and Louis are co-workers who are excited to represent the company they work for and do an important presentation at a week-long conference in Yosemite. It's just their luck that Harry slips into heat while there. Panicked at the thought of missing the presentation, Harry asks Louis to help him through it. And how could Louis deny the omega he's been dreaming about since they met?

I Feel It When My Heart Beats by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [10.6k]

Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

One Minute Old by crimsontheory/@ireallysawanangel | [9.2k]

“And he left you,” Niall interjects, the venom clear in his voice. “That asshole left you high and dry and broke your heart.” Of course, Niall remembers that. Louis may have told him everything—minus the sexy parts—and Naill, being the overprotective mother friend that he is, took offence to that. “He didn’t break my heart,” Louis refutes. He was hurt and confused by it but he wasn’t heartbroken. And apparently, he’s still hurt by it if the way it felt seeing Harry yesterday was any indication. “You were pretty smitten with him and then you spent days moping around your apartment after he left. I think that’s called being heartbroken,” Niall points out. “Okay, okay, I was upset. We get it,” Louis says, trying to move past it. This isn’t ‘poke fun at Louis’ emotions hour’. “Anyway, I called to tell you that he showed up at my door yesterday.” “To beg for your forgiveness I hope.” “No, he’s—” Louis stops, unsure how to phrase it. “He’s pregnant. And I’m the father.” Or, a one-night stand of Louis' that he never thought he'd see again shows up at his door six months later.

Ride My Sleigh Tonight  by kingsofeverything/@kingsofeverything | [9k]

In exchange for free food and drinks at Liam’s office holiday party, Harry pretends to be his boyfriend. But this is not that story.

Tight As A Tourniquet by reminiscingintherain/@reminiscingintherain | [7.4k]

“Mum?” “Yes, poppet?” “Could I do your job when I’m a grown-up?” “I don’t see why not, sweetie,” she agreed. “You can do anything you want, as long as you put the work in, and dedicate yourself to it.” Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to be a midwife like his mum, but in a world where it's expected for Omegas to be the caregivers, how is he going to manage his career when he presents as an Alpha?

Now That I've Found You by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [6k]

Harry Styles has a great job working for his brother-in-law’s construction company. He has just one small problem. His concrete sub-contractor just quit, and he needs a foundation built as soon as possible. One fateful turn brings him exactly what he’s been looking for—an experienced concrete construction company that happens to be owned by the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes upon. Or Louis is a long haired, sweaty construction worker. Does anyone really need to know more than that? Harry doesn’t think so.

There's No Better Love by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [5.3k]

Louis has just started seeing this girl, and he can't stop thinking about her. Turns out the power of positive thinking is real.

The Nest by Blue_Green28/@bluegreen28fics | [5k]

Harry is a very particular omega who doesn't like to have items of Louis' in his nest until he secretly starts to steal them for it. or, 5 times one of Louis' personal items is missing and 1 time he finally finds them.

Profound Bond by babyhoneyhslt/@babyhoneyheslt | [4.6k]

Harry Styles, an Angel Of The Lord, is sent on a mission to save hunter Louis Tomlinson from the deepest pits of Hell in order for him to fulfill Heaven's plan.

The World Will Open Its Arms by lululawrence/@lululawrence | [4.5k]

Harry scrubbed at the countertop. It wasn’t even dirty, but it was three in the morning and the girl who was supposed to relieve him over an hour ago never showed. He was now on hour ten of his shift and his feet hurt and his back ached and he was trying not to cry, thanks to more fucking judgmental alpha truckers who could smell it on him. Of course they could. He practically lived at the diner. The entire place reeked of it. Unbonded pregnant omega.

Alone and Back Again by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [4.4k]

Harry Styles has very few enemies, and even fewer friends. On the outskirts of the village, past the stream but before the river, sits a small one-room cottage, cool in the summers but draughty in the winters. In that one room cottage sits a cooking pot over a fire, a smaller selection of woodworking tools, and a nest of furs that is the pride and joy of one lonely omega. Or, what does one do when a feral alpha shows up in town ready to be executed?

The Rose & Dagger  by galastyles | [4k]

The first time Harry went to a session at The Rose And Dagger, he told himself it was a one time thing. The second time, he said it was to get the idea out of his system. By the fifth visit, he stopped making excuses.

Up on the Roof with a School Girl Crush by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [3.9k]

Harry was just trying to get some work done and have a quiet night in. He did not expect to become host to a drunken Louis, who had overestimated his Halloween costume's ability to fly.

He's An Angel  by cc_horan28/@cc-horan28 | [2.7k]

As the sun set over the horizon and they reeled their lines in, Louis saw a glint off the beach. They began to head back to where the horses were tied, and the glint solidified, turning into a vague shape that was… Coming out of the sea? Louis couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw what looked like a man just walk out along the shoreline to where their rides were tethered. The shopkeepers and locals were all whipping to stare at him, but the man seemed completely unbothered.

Just a Little Taste, Babe by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2.6k]

Harry’s been pining over Louis Tomlinson since their sixth form days. Now, he’s backstage at Louis’ concert and trying not to embarrass himself.

HOT TO GO! by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2k]

When Harry does something weird at the barricade, he leaves Louis’ show devastated and hoping he can somehow make things right. Or the accidental pervert fic

A Tight Space  by haztobegood/@haztobegood | [2k]

Niall pushes the bedroom door open. A huge mass of brown fur bolts between his legs. Louis startles with a hand to his chest. “What the fuck was that?” “Oh, that’s the cat. I told you Liam found a stray a few days ago. That’s him.” “Are you sure that’s a cat?”

and in those rare moments by we_are_the_same/@so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed | [2k]

London, May 23rd, 2025 Interview with Harry Styles, popstar, bisexual icon and philanthropist, by Louis W. Tomlinson.

for your eyes only (i’ll show you my heart) by moon_rose25/@darkinfinity | [1.9k]

Louis quickly opened his eyes and scanned the room, his eyes stopping on the sofa on the far left side. There was a man, turned with his back towards Louis, and based on his slow rise and fall of his back he guessed he was sleeping. If he had to guess, it was probably an omega, based on the faint scent. Or omega Harry has touch depri and finds comfort in alpha Louis’ scent

How to Fire a Tailor by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [1.8k]

Harry Styles is a tailor. His best paying customer is an eccentric duke. Also Niall is there.

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now  by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [1.8k]

Dr. Louis Tomlinson is worn to the bone, but only has a few patients left before the end of the day. One of those appointments takes quite a few twists and turns.

Cosy Cashmere  by red_panda28/@red-pandaaa | [1.5k]

“Hey,” Harry smiled back, stretching out a hand. “So, I was thinking,” Louis started as he stepped closer to the couch, tangling the finger of his unoccupied hand with Harry’s. “We could go get some new nesting stuff for my upcoming heat? Well, I’m gonna go anyway, but I thought I’d ask if you’d like to come with me.” “Alright, give me like, fifteen minutes to change and then we can go,” Harry said. OR Louis and Harry go shopping for new nesting stuff

Curiosity by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [934]

Fae Harry lets curiosity get the best of him. Human Louis is intrigued.

Expresso by reallynotmemoi/@reallynotmemoi | [880]

Louis falls in love at first sight with a boy from his Tuesday lectures, and proceeds to make a fool out of himself in front of said boy. But maybe not all is lost…

****

saccharine desire by DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry/@bottomhaztoplou | [682]

During Louis' rut, a new kink is discovered.

Tumblr only allows me to add 30 pics BOOHOO!!

Anyways Happy reading!

Don't be shy leave comments and kudos!

You have no idea how appreciated they are!!

[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: wowowowow im so so happy yall are liking this, i found a discrepancy already from previous chapters so pls don't think too hard about the time line bc honestly idk where we are even at either!!

ch 4

warnings: cussing, Logan is mean to Charles, blood mentioned, idk what else

previous -- next

~~~~~

The feeling of the blood sticking to your body made you feel dizzy. It had been so long since you had fed from a person, let alone Logan and you wanted more. You needed more. Frenzied was the only true way to describe how you felt. You needed to eat.

A hundred and fifty years of denying your primal instinct finally caught up to you. You had a taste for warm, orgasmic blood and you were willing to do anything you could to get more. 

You wandered the walls aimlessly, thankful for the final exams happening the next day. You stumbled around, pupils blown wide as you frantically searched for your next meal. Anything with a beating heart would do, you just needed that sweet, metallic liquid. 

Where are you going y/n? You turned your head, the voice startling you. Come to my room.

Desperately you chased the soundless voice. You chased it, listening to the beating hearts of the children sleeping peacefully in the dormitories. Finally you reached him, Charles.

You entered the room and paused, suddenly aware of your appearance and mental state. 

“Oh my god. I’m-”

“Enough y/n. Sit.” He mentioned to the end of his bed. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you”

You listened to his instruction, shakily sitting and playing with your hands. 

“There you go. You are very loud tonight, drowning out the sounds of everyone else. I can now see why.” You stared at him silently, bringing your hand up to wipe your mouth of the dried blood. “Have you thought about my offer? Are you willing to go?”

“I think I have to go” You told him, thinking about Logan. 

“Are you sure? You know where you’ll end up don’t you?” You stared at him and nodded.

“If I don’t, this will happen again. I’ll drain him dry.”

“I understand why you feel shame. What happened to those girls were not your fault. You are not a monster.”

“We both know that's a lie, Charles.”

“Then avenge them” You let the words sink into your soul. This would be the only way you could truly live with yourself. “Kill the man who did this to you. Alex doesn’t know. Just us.”

Charles wasn’t comfortable with the death of mutants. You knew that all too well. Killing this man would give him piece of mind. Using your hands to do it would give him deniability if anything were to go wrong. 

You understood what this meant to him. But to you this was closure. You will kill the man who tortured you. 

---

The next morning you sat in  the passenger seats of the blackbird and watched as the ground grow smaller. Alex was controlling the jet for the most part, occasionally asking you to flip a lever or press a button. He didn’t talk much the flight over, noticing how you were in a completely different headspace than him. 

The flight was relatively quick considering the distance traveled, you’d have to remember Hank for upgrading the jet’s engines. As Alex landed the jet in the private airfield owned by the Xavier family estate, you stared out the window recalling the last time you were in London. 1913, right before the first world war. By then, Logan was taken by the scientists for the weapon x project. It was just you wandering the streets, searching for any trace of him. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” You snapped your head to Alex. “You’re lucky you’re hot” You frowned at his response. “I said that the hotel is just a fifteen minute walk from here. I already put the jet in conceal mode, so are you ready or are we gonna stare at that tree for like thirty more minutes?”

“You don’t have to be such an ass about it.” You told him, unbuckling your seatbelt and joining him off the jet. 

“I just like to tease you okay? Lets get going” He said, holding out his hand to you. Raising your eyebrow at the gesture, he sighed. “We are supposed to be a couple on their honeymoon. Did Charles tell you anything?”

You grabbed his hand but it felt wrong. It wasn’t as warm as Logan’s or big. Alex was soft and comforting, but not in the way you found Logan’s hand. You weren’t sure why this feeling was creeping into your heart, but maybe it was because this was the first time someone other than Logan touched you like this, ever. 

Chalking it up to the fake intimacy of it all, you put on a brave face and walked in step with him, heading to the hotel.

---

“You better speak up you wheelchair fuck. Where the hell did. you. send. Her?” Logan was stuck in his own frenzy now. Angry at you for up and leaving. Angry at Alex for being a dick head flirt. Angry at the bald man in front of him for not explaining a thing.

“Logan, calm down. y/n is safe with Alex. They are just doing recon on a uprising mutant cult in London.”

“You should’ve sent me, not her” He growled. 

“Why do you care so much Logan?” Charles wheeled closer to Logan, not afraid of what he was capable of. 

“I don’t care!” Even Logan couldn’t believe himself. It was pathetic really. Denying himself the pleasure of her love, but indulging in every intimate interaction they had. He had been in love with her for so long, but something was holding him back. 

Maybe it was the fear of not having his feelings returned. Or maybe even the fear of loosing his oldest companion, the one person who had never judged him. 

“London. She is at 578 Trekshile road, the hotel. Room 327.” Charles told Logan, hearing his inner dialogue. “I have tasked her with killing Morgue.” 

His eyes snapped to the Professor. “What?”

“Go to her if you must.” With that, Charles left the room. Logan was stunned. Morgue was the cruelest person he had ever encountered. You had spent years with him until you had found Logan after the weapon x program ended. From your stories, Logan should’ve killed him years ago. 

All he had to do now was find a way to London. Luckily for him, the silhouette of a blue, devil tailed boy had walked passed the door.

“Kurt, come here I need a favor”

~~~~

Tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: kurt my baby <3, also Morgue is my oc, based on Morgz 💀(only in name)

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

n. interlude: violet

violet has always been a strong woman. to take care of seven children and another one on the way, there was no questioning her abilities. just like how a wise wife makes for a strong husband, a loving husband makes for a happy wife.

and violet is beyond happy with her family right now.

with the addition of the silvas, she found a new friend of her own. the adults met in a ball hosted by the queen. the silvas were fairly new in central london just months after arriving from the countryside with a thirteen-year-old boy and a four-year-old little girl.

the patriarch is a military general, she learned. it must be hard for the children and his wife. and so, she bonded with the viscountess silva—sharing her worries and moments in the married life and vice versa.

the boy, she has met. he was an outgoing child and played with her two eldest sons the most. lance was a smart one—very knowledgeable about politics and its science but not offending. he would join her sons whenever their father would discuss about the duties of a viscount and all that it entails.

the little girl, she only met after a year. violet expected her to be a shy, reserved child. oh, how wrong she was.

on their first meet, loraine had no problem in directly asking why she has six children. she was not offended, of course. the girl was simply curious, and violet answered that it is what happens when two people love each other so much.

she did not expect, however, that little loraine would turn to her parents and ask them, do you not love each other so much? violet did not know how to react. fortunately, armand ruffled his daughter's hair and replied, you should thank the heavens the walls are thick.

his wife slapped his arm immediately with a laugh of her own. oh, how quirky the silvas are.

the peculiarity of the said child did not end their as they currently find themselves at the bridgerton's garden. the now six-year-old girl neared the viscount and viscountess on the side as she lost in the game against the bridgerton daughters. the sons and lance were playing cards on the next table.

raine sat on the grass as she looked up to the adults, "lady bridgerton, your husband is lovely."

violet smiled, reaching for her husband's hand as the man laughed at the child's remarks.

"I want to get married." she added with a pout.

"oh? who do you have in mind?" the viscountess asked the little silva.

raine looked up and away as if contemplating hard, "someone like your husband."

edmund laughed at her response as he brushed her hair, "darling, i am afraid there is only i."

the girl clicked her tongue and let out a small groan, mimicking an adult, "no one alike at all?"

"well," he began, trying to think of who could possibly be like him, "my eldest is probably the most similar to me."

at the mention of the eldest, raine grimaced immediately, "anthony? eugh..."

she did not think twice to express her disgust despite the fact that they were just on the adjacent table. the said son turning to her and spoke in a teasing tone.

"as if i would marry a cheeky brat like you."

"as if i would marry an old rake like you." she did not miss a beat in replying, sticking her tongue out to mock.

the adults were nonetheless shocked at the girl's words, their brows raising followed by a soundful laughter from edmund.

"raine!" lance called her for a scolding. he has no problem of her sister calling them rakes because they honestly are. it is only because of the parents present.

anthony placed his cards down instantly and stood up, set to chase the girl as the latter scrambled to run herself, using benedict's seat as a shield.

"ben! stop your brother!"

he snickered at the panic of the little one facing his eldest brother, "oh, no. you are not involving me on—"

"have you no guts?!" she challenged and he immediately found himself putting an arm in front of her to block anthony away with a laugh.

violet, on the other hand, laughed at the whole exchange as well before whispering to her husband, "are we going to ignore how the girl knows the word?"

edmund only chuckled with a nod to their third son, "she learned it from colin."

the viscountess had to close her eyes. of course she would learn it from her own sons. yet, a smile was tugging at the ends of her lips.

her family was quirky as well in their own way.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

with nothing to do, most gathered in the drawing room: violet having her tea while listening to her daughter, francesca learning the pianoforte, eloise reading a fairytale, daphne teaching francesca, colin and his newspapers, and benedict with his paint and canvas.

out of all of them, raine took interest in whatever the second eldest son was doing.

"ben, what are you doing?" she said as she peered from his front behind the canvas.

"i am trying my hand at painting." at the mention of art, she immediately went to his side to see him in action.

upon observing the canvas though, she frowned, her face contorting almost in disgust.

"rubbish. it's just messy lines."

"it's—" benedict turned to violet at once for help, "mother, do you hear her? are you letting the child talk like that?"

just to tease her son, she chuckled with the girl, "loraine's not wrong, dear. they are lines."

he sneered at his mother, "i am getting to it. this is the process."

raine continued to observe his piece in a very contemplative and serious manner, putting her fingers on her chin in thinking. in just no more than fifteen seconds, she shook her head sidewards disapprovingly.

"do not pursue it, ben." the mentioned man glaring at her intensely.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

it was a fine afternoon, with no issues so far. thank god! she cheered. it was rare to have a moment of silence in their home with her children.

rightly so because just as she was about to take a bit of a biscuit, eloise came running inside with immense hurry.

"mama, come!" she exclaimed, dragged her mother without any warning.

"what is happening?" violet asked with worry.

her daughter exclaimed, "raine climbed a tree!"

"what do you mean she climbed a tree?"

she exited their house, only to be greeted by his sons gathering near the tree. violet looked up and lo and behold—there indeed sits at a branch of quite a high tree a seven-year-old loraine.

"oh god," she placed a hand on her chest in concern.

benedict can be heard persuading the young silva to come down, "raine, get down. it is dangerous."

the girl looked down on them with a cheer in her voice, "have you seen how it looks up here? it's amazing!"

he exhaled tolerantly at her excitement, "yes, i have. come down now."

"no, everything looks more wonderful here." she stubbornly replied.

benedict had no choice but to tap anthony, gesturing for him to position himself directly below the girl. the latter nodded, understanding what he is planning.

he patted the trunk a couple of times, finding where he can settle his grip. as soon as he did, he climbed it with ease, reaching the girl on the left branch. he settled beside her, trying to find the right chance, looking at anthony below them.

"see?" raine turned to him with the widest innocent smile he has ever seen, "this way, you can be a few feet closer to your father."

he paused, not knowing what to respond. it was childish, really, but it was also one of the best things someone has ever said to him. and so, he raised his hand to her head and ruffled her hair.

his warm feelings did not last long though as the girl opened her mouth to speak once again with a grin.

"i doubt you can paint something like this."

he glared at her intensely, "stop talking about my painting."

"stop painting."

he gritted his teeth at that, placing a hand on the young silva's arm, "good bye."

"ben—"

and she was not able to continue what she was about to say when it was immediately replaced with a yelp as she fell. anthony caught her with ease, letting her down as she was struggling against him.

"that was uncalled for!"

violet let out a breath she did not know she was holding during the entire exchange. that trio will be the death of her.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

armand has arrived back from his duties after two months. the viscountess silva wasted no time to invite the bridgertons for a sleepover in theirs. the silvas may be just a family of four, but they certainly had a lot of room in their home.

the bridgertons arrived in the afternoon—violet insisted that they will have lunch at theirs prior because it would be too much for the silvas to shoulder four meals.

after they have settled and dispersed to do their own things while their parents bonded, the eight-year-old marched to where they were in the leisure hall, finding violet's second eldest too with his pad and brush.

"benedict, you fool!"

he turned to her with a look of clear confusion, "what now?"

"why are you using my equipment as models?"

ah, yes. across benedict were raine's glasses, flasks, tubes, and beakers, arranged carefully in an aesthetic manner.

he looked back in front and realised that it was hers. at first, he really thought they were lance's and the latter even allowed him to use them when he asked permission.

he turned back to her and shrugged, "i have been painting flowers and vases and fruits. i would like to try a new one and glasses are perfect to experiment with since they are transparent."

"what did my innocent tools ever do to you..."

she walked towards her things and returned them carefully to their respective places before she turned to grab a stool. the young silva placed it in front of him at the right distance, sitting with her back straight

"now, go on."

benedict raised a brow on what she was tryimg to do, "do you want me to draw you?"

she gave him a sarcastic smile, not wanting to concede, "no, you want to draw and i just happened to be here."

he conceded but not without a shot of his own, "if it comes out plain or unpleasant, know that it is not my talent but you."

she let her mouth fell at his comment, only picking it up when she turned to her mother for support.

"mother! are you really going to let him speak like that?!"

armand, along with the two viscountesses, laughed at their banter.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

it was fairly a normal night, unless you take in the fact that it was the death anniversary of her mother. it has been six years, and while it has been long since she could laugh again, an air of longing still remains.

and so, the fourteen-year-old asked daphne and francesca to play the piano of a concerto they all wrote together—raine wrote most parts, considering that it is a tribute for her mother. she took her violin and stood beside the piano, the family gathering close to hear them play.

it was not a single-themed piece. all throughout the music, you could hear notes that dripped of grief and loneliness, yet of joy and relief at the same time. the three of them were playing flawlessly, embodying every message and emotion they wanted to convey.

"do not look at her like that. she is a child."

violet muttered as small as she chould after noticing her son's gaze at the young silva.

"i am not." he turned to her mother right away, denying what she said with a fearful look at the same time—as if he was caught doing something he should not, "i am simply wondering."

he turned back to their performance, trying to control his expressions as what his mother said shook him even after his denial.

"she is interesting, smart, and funny." he complimented with awe to dismiss the previous idea, "and quite artistic too, it seems."

he laced his voice with a familiar smirk on his lips just as they ended their piece, "god really has his favourites."

the lady in question smiled serenely, walking to her father and hugging him in a comforting manner. with lance away on his duty, it was only him and her. however, right now, the bridgertons are proving to be a good source of solace.

violet pushed the topic behind, following her son's humor, "are you now envious of the child?"

"no," he said, eyes never leaving her form, "i am admiring."

the matriarch could do nothing but trust his son—trust that he knows what to do, understands it cannot be now, and cares to wait for the right time.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

they have gathered at the bridgerton's garden once again for a fine day. this one is surely void of any problems, i assure—if you could just please ignore gregory and hyacinth chasing each other, colin and eloise arguing about social matters, and benedict glaring at anthony's back.

honestly, violet is grateful for at least two children of hers that could converse peacefully with one another.

"stop staring daggers at your brother." she said discreetly, trying not to move her lips in fear of the pair in discussion hearing. she sat with her tea settled on the table, observing her children with benedict beside her, sketching on his pad.

"i am not." he firmly denied once again, eyes going back to his drawing as if invested on it.

she hummed dismissively, completely not believing him this time, "anthony is simply teaching her his duties."

he dropped his pad on his lap and turned to his mother, "what for?"

recounting what the girl's father and her talked about days back, she divulged, "armand will pass the title again to her when she debuts."

benedict was honestly surprised by that. lance, who has been the viscount for three years, died two years past, making armand the viscount again during this time. now—or three years from now, to be exact—he would be passing the title to his child again.

"why? it is not a duty for someone so—" he paused, trying to find the words as he turned to her as if she was the answer itself, "pure."

violet understood what he meant. however, she would also beg to differ. the girl was a bundle of things. she was almost frightening—a jack of all trades and master to all.

"she is quite capable, i can see. if anyone is going to be it, it is her."

lady bridgerton continued as benedict ultimately closed his pad and placed it on the table. before she could do anything, he was already well on his way towards the pair.

they both raised their heads from the papers they were discussing and turned to him, anthony asking him, "what are you doing here?"

he raised his eyebrows, pitch going high as he defended himself, "can't i be interested of my brother's tasks as well?"

"you never are." the elder indifferently shrugging.

he insisted, "well, i am now."

raine narrowed her eyes at the man interrupting what she likes to call as her 'time to be pretentious'. she dismissed as well, "stop bothering us, ben."

benedict scoffed and let out a mocking chuckle at that, "oh, i am bothering you now?"

she nodded with ease, clueless of his internal emotions. she grinned at the idea that just came to her mind.

"unless you are going to marry me... because i would gladly let you whisk me away."

"no!"

benedict firmly rejected after a short pause, retracing his steps back to his mother again. he left them be, but not without tapping his brother's arm in good nature. a gesture that says he is not taking it seriously. yet, there was a grumble in every step he took away from them. his mother, however, knows best.

violet certainly did not miss the way her son's mouth stammered before saying no without conviction.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr

[thetravelingtyper]

On the same page...(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader Bookshop! AU) pt 1

After a disastrous breakup, you, an American author, escape to a little London bookstore with your best friend. However, when one patron takes a certain interest in you, you wonder if your story has been finished after all...

Part 2, Masterlist

“You used to get it in your fishnets

Now you only get it in your nightdress

Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness

Landed in a very common crisis

Everything's in order in a black hole

Nothing seems as pretty as the past though

That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco

Remember when you used to be a rascal?”

Smooth lyrics picked with a bass line and beats in on the radio, your ears perked up and catching the beginning of fluorescent adolescent you sighed. The song wasn't helping your down mood and you pick up your phone, ignoring the 10+ missed calls from your ex, and changed the song. After shuffling for a moment another piercing ring lit up your phone.

God leave me alone!

You sigh to yourself and toss your phone back on the counter of the bookstore as the door rings, announcing a customer. Your eyes flick to the door as a tall man enters. Lightly buzzed hair looks soft in the light and you catch yourself staring a little and he grins at you. You welcome him in and he nods then heads towards the history section. You watch how he carries himself. Strong and steady with a soldier's confidence. You think a little about it, the strength those arms carry before your phone rings again...

Your hand flies to your phone and you finally silence the poor thing, the buzzing remaining like a dying animal, a fit allusion to your past relationship. You remember the glittering smirks of the ladies and your fiance's grin, eyes shadowed with greed as you stood in a winning dress. The bastard ruined your image and your future with one moment, pulling the girl to him for a steaming kiss. Flashes of lights as the crowding press pushed past you and left you in the dark.

Glittering lights turned to stars as you left the gala alone, pushing the cheating bastard and your ‘friends’, truthfully venomous colleagues, to the back of your mind. You had gotten back home to your flat, packed everything you could, and kicked it to stay with a friend. You could imagine the headlines. “Downbeat author loses job and life!” You groan wipe a hand down your face and force yourself into the present.

You stand and shift your weight from foot to foot. It was a practice Sam had taught you when you both first moved out. His extended family was in the publishing business and owned a bookstore in London proper with an attached apartment on top. It was easy for him to steal his best friend away and across the pond for a new life chasing words through the drizzly streets of London.

Put yourself in the current moment, and learn to reset yourself if needed!

His warm voice rings in your ears and you smile, stretching and taking stock of the current moment. It was currently 5:36 on a Thursday, it was the middle of February so it was cold outside, currently not raining but cloudy. If you look you can see covered strangers pass back and forth outside the windows of the bookshop.

It had been a few months since you settled in but they were full of meeting Sam’s family and getting your writing career back on your feet. After the shame of the breakup, you had taken an extended break from writing. However restful for you, your manager was insistent on getting a book finished by the middle of the year, or year's end at worst. So you dutifully spent your time manning the bookshop and writing when you could bear to. But every time you opened that blank white screen you grimaced, seeing...

A large thunk on the counter makes you jump. Your eyes and mind darting back to the present.

“Aye sorry lass.” A thick Scottish voice apologizes and you catch first his smile, he's teasing.

You shake yourself out of it and reach over the counter to grab at his book, A History of Military Maneuvers.

“You certainly chose some dense reading material,” You quip at him as an easy smile lights up your face as well. You take the book and bag it, mentioning the price as he passes you a card.

“It's not too bad when you live it.” He explains simply. That would explain the physique.

“Did you serve?”

“I did once, not anymore. Took one too many and it put me on the sidelines. I found quieter work around the city.” He says it calmly but you catch his hand and rub his shoulder. It seems a sore spot for him. You think of your career back in the States and frown.

“I don’t blame you,” a hurt passes over your eyes. Your writer's brain latches onto his character. He seemed to enjoy part of his career, but you can see the injury in your mind's eye now, one moment normal then the next some career-ending injury.

“What do you do? I've seen you in the store before.” He brushes a hand through his hair a little ashamed.

You raise a brow,

“Been watching have you? I am an author back in the States for your information, Mr…?”

He grins at you and offers his hand across the counter,

“John, John MacTavish but my friends just call me Soap.”

You return his handshake. His hands are rough and completely engulf yours, a fact that makes your heart skip a beat at the realization.

His phone then rings and he pulls away from you to check it. 

“I got to get this love, but it was nice finally putting a name to the face. I'll be seeing ye around.”

With that Soap takes the bag and makes his exit into the cold evening. With his departure, you feel your spirits lift. Maybe, you think flexing your hand, there is a story to be written after all.

[whorediaries-09]

i wanna be yours;

pairing- sirius black x barista!reader warning(s)- tooth decaying fluff. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- totally self indulgent.

masterlist for the 'the seven lives'

the slut club

if you like your coffee hot let me be your coffee pot

he doesn’t fancy coffee much, he’s more of a tea person.

much to his dismay, james drags him to the one of the small downtown cafés in london. james likes his sweet coffees, it helps him focus, he insists. sirius thinks it makes him more inattentive; if that were to be possible. he thinks his friend would still be chasing colourful butterflies or pet dogs that curl up near sirius’ legs.

however, the feeling quickly dissipates. when his eyes fall on you. you’ve got your hair up in a messy bun, writing down orders on a piece of paper. a slight smile curved upon your lips. the apron you wear is dirty, and he imagines it smelling like freshly baked cookies and coffee. he feels his heart skip a beat when you turn your head around at the sound of the charms above the door jingling. the smile on your lips broadens, the soft sunlight reflecting your features.

he feels a weird warm sensation calm down over his nerves, as you wave to his friend.

‘hi james, what can i get you today?’ you ask. even your voice is ethereal.

‘just the regular, darlin’- he jolts sirius in his ribcage, causing him to stomp on his foot, ‘-and whatever this dolt likes,’

his hand grips his ribcage as the pain of the soft blow dissipates over his body. he rolls his eyes, and he walks nearer to the counter, behind which you stand, taking in the sight of you. you chuckle softly, and he thinks it’s music to his years. he’s pretending to trail his eyes over the menu, trying to choose what he wants. truth be told, he has no idea about what he’s seeing. cappuccinos espressos, lattes, americano, they all seem fancy, foreign words to him. he chooses the safest option, to not make a fool of himself.

‘i’ll have a masala chai, please,’ he says. james stares at him in silence. he watches his eyes as you walk away back into the kitchen, he knows that look. it’s been years since he’s seen it on his friend’s eyes. but he knows it, he remembers it.

‘okay so one caffé mocha for james and one masala chai for-?’ you speak. sirius thankfully enough, catches up to your words. he leans closer, letting his hips sabotage the counter,

‘for sirius,’ he whispers, as if a secret to be kept between you and him. he doesn’t miss the flush on your skin or the way your eyes cradle over his appearance or way you unconsciously lean slightly closer to listen to him. you nod, everting your eyes.

‘one masala chai for sirius,’

it’s the best one he’s had, he thinks.

*-

you smudge the sticky lip gloss on your lips, fixing stray strands of hair on your head. it’s silly you think, to expect sirius to come back to the café. he wasn’t with james the other day he came in. but still, a part of you heaves hope that he’ll come in.

to maybe, just ask your name.

you’re busy eating your lunch, balancing yourself on a tool while reading a book. it’s not a very lovely book, with weird phrases and graphic descriptions containing nothing very interesting, but you think you’ll survive. it’s just for time pass, you convince yourself, letting the taste of your lunch relish on your tongue. it’s not a very busy day, with only a few customers dropping by, along with james. so, you’d finally convinced him to try something new out of the menu. he’d reluctantly chosen a caramel iced frappe. he was a very picky person, and you remembered how remus had introduced him to coffee, the first time he’d walked into the shop.

you never saw remus again, james became a regular. a picky person thing you supposed, to drink something new from the only shop they knew and liked.

you wondered whether sirius was a picky person too. it was a strange looming feeling, one that echoed into your brain and made you feel like a teenager high on hormones. but who wouldn’t be? the man exuded an aura of charm, his words and voice as smooth as velvet. it was idiotic you supposed, to be enamoured by somebody who didn’t give you more than his name.

still, it makes your stomach turn happily with dopamine, when your hopes turn into reality and the forsaken man that had been on your mind turns up. he carries a very chubby baby in his arms. you silently appreciate the flexing veins on his tattooed biceps as he walks towards you.

‘the chai was fire,’ he says. his eyes wander over to your uniform, trying to catch your name tag. there’s none he realizes, before his eyes fix on your face.

‘maybe you’ll try a coffee today?’ you say, a shy smile on your face.

‘surprise me darling,’ he says. the way the r rolls off his tongue makes you stomach do somersaults.

‘i’ll try my best,’ you say, dashing off into the kitchen.

it’s a hazelnut mocha caffé you bring back. you’re not sure whether he would appreciate the slight nut like taste on the drink, but it’s still worth a try. more cliched than a try really, bringing a cute customer your personal favourite drink.  

you write his name on the cup with as much precision as you can on the curved surface. try to make the dots on the i’s look more carefully drawn along the paper. you silently hope he notices your effort.

‘what have you got, for me now, hot stuff?’ he says, a cheeky grin on his face. he enjoys the tiny flush the appears across your skin and how you bite your lip at the nickname.

‘are you flirting with me because your kiddo has eaten up the cookies on the counter?’ sirius’ eyes wanders to the baby in his arms, and he grabs a tissue to wipe off the dust of his cheeks.

‘he’s not mine, i’m his godfather. it’s james’ kid,’ he explains, letting out a soft chuckle at the baby’s antics.

‘father like son i suppose,’ you drawl, handing him the latte. he looks at the cup, wondering what you’ve got him for a surprise. he hopes it’s not one of the sweet things’ james’ buys. it’ll make him sleepy, and he won’t be able to take care of harry as he’d promised.

‘how much do I owe you -?’ he stops mid-sentence, in a dilemma to use nicknames or not. he wants to know your name, let it simmer on his tongue before he lets it out. thankfully, you get the deal. so you give him your name.

he thinks it’s beautiful.  

*-

‘hi baby, what are you drawing?’ your voice is soft. you hand sirius his masala chai, rutting your hips against harry’s side of the table. he fiddles with his crayons, drawing random scribbles on the piece of paper. his striking green eyes stare at you, before he blabbers, his words not so clear yet,

‘a motohcych!’

‘ouhh,’ you hum, pushing your fingers through the mop of curly hair atop his head. you scratch your nails softly on his scalp, enjoying the sound of his chuckling.

‘is it prehhy?’ he asks, a shy smile on his face as he finishes scribbling on the paper. you’re not able to make out much from the black colours, but the innocence in his voice makes your heart melt. you press a kiss on his chubby cheek, and he giggles,

‘it’s very pretty,’ you say, bopping his nose.

‘whah do you like? i wihh drawh thahh’ he says, struggling with his words. you find it adorable. but when you speak out your answer, it’s more for sirius than harry,

‘flowers maybe? like yellow ones?’

*-

on a particularly busy day when, sirius walks in your café, it’s not a very empty space. and neither are you to be found anywhere. he hopes you’re in the kitchen somewhere, preparing your coffees. over the times he’s come over, he’s learnt you’re a shy thing. he’s not much of an observer, but somehow you make his eyes stop. you make him observe and learn things.

so sirius puts the bunch of flowers he’d bought on the table, alongside a note for you.

when you find them, they’re barely blooming, buds of yellow flowers. it makes your heart flutter when you find his note. a boost of serotonin runs through your body as you sabotage the tissue, searching for his number. it’s dumb, you think, but it’s also a hope that blossoms within you. you however find none.

you’re distracting by your name being shouted across the kitchen, asking for a hand in help.

*-

you’re freezing, as the rain patters over the sidewalk, just barely missing your shoes under the sunroof. you urse yourself for not bringing in your umbrella or a raincoat. now you’re stuck under the rain, with nowhere to go until the rain stops.

you’re saved by an angel with red hair who comes along the way, carrying an extra umbrella, with a toddler curled up in her arms. her eyes are striking similar, an emerald green you could recognise anywhere.

‘harry?’ you ask, looking at the toddler. he flashes you a beautiful grin, throwing grubby hands at you. you pinch his cheeks, smiling.

‘you must be lily,’ you say, turning to the woman. she stares at you flabbergasted, her mind seemingly rendering to her memories,

‘how do you know me, sweetie?’ she says, giving you an extra umbrella.

‘sirius- um well he comes to the café very often. he usually brings your adorable kid around,’

her eyes scan your features, as a look of realization dawns upon her. she squeezes your shoulder, slowly walking away into the rain. it pitters over the plastic of the umbrella, and she smiles, a soft look in her eyes.

‘give the umbrella to sirius, the next time you see him,’  

*-

sirius is jittery when he walks into the café. he hopes to catch you, even though he knows it’s not your shift. but there’s something about the aftermath of rain and petrichor which heightens his hopes. he tousles with his raven dark strands, hoping he doesn’t look too bad. you’ve made him shy. in a way, where he’s too intimidated to speak his feelings out directly. but he’s a man with plans.

his heart threatens to jump out of his chest when he finds you there. it’s the work of gods, or perhaps the work of his faith. he walks towards the counter, and you catch his eye. he thinks your eyes carry the most magnificent twinkle when you see him. your eyes linger on his lips a tad bit longer for it to be just friendly and his heart almost jumps through his ribcage. he’s almost forgetting his plans when you smile so sweetly at him. for a moment, he thinks it’s meant just for him.

‘hi darling,’ he greets, leaning towards the counter. his hips jolt at the metal, and he takes out his phone. you nod, acknowledging him.

‘do you think you can help me with…a crush?’ he says. he watches your breaths stops in your throat, as a dark sadness reflecting in your features.

‘maybe,’ you whisper, a quiet disdain succumbing your voice. you don’t meet his eyes. over the time he’s observed you, he realised that you don’t meet anybody’s eyes when you’re sad or angry. it’s a way of bottling up your emotions and eating them up till your stomach churns.

‘you wanna see a picture?’ he asks, trying to not react to the sadness on your face.

‘sure,’ you say. his heart almost shatters when you keep your head low, not meeting his eyes. he unlocks his phone, sliding it between your face.

your reflection stares back at you, and you jump. with surprise or glee, he can’t decipher. the sadness on your features has dissipated, your eyes glowing with hope and emotion. he stares at his reflection in your eyes, and he thinks he’s the prettiest reflected through the colour of your irises. he bites his lip when you don’t say anything.

he’s waiting in contemplation, wondering what your next move is, when you lean against the counter, closer to his face, breathing him in. he secretly thanks himself for chewing on a gum before he came in.

‘i think you should just ask her out on a date. she’ll be foolish not to say yes to you,’ you say, your eyes full of mischief. you’re grinning, as he counts the wrinkles beside your eyes.

‘you think so?’ he says, leaning closer, and almost brushing his lips against yours. almost letting himself taste you. he thinks if he has a taste, he won’t be able to stop himself from devouring you, from ravaging you apart.

‘i bet so,’ you say, smiling before your hand cradles his face, pushing his lips upon yours. he groans, capturing his lips with yours. he tastes coffee and vanilla on your tongue, melting away into his tastebuds. he loves it, he thinks, when you slide your arms across his neck, pushing yourself deeper into a passionate fury of build-up tension and hormones. his heart flutters with serotonin, and he tangles his fingers into your hair.

he doesn’t fancy coffee much, but he’s never found it more endearing than this moment.

*********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking (if you want to be tagged, reply under this post!)

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & the Devil P.3 (Final) 🌑 | Harry Potter Imagine

Takes place during DH1 & 2

Part 1 & 2 Here | HP masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic), Severus Snape x reader (platonic/semi-romantic)

Content Warnings: major character death, violence, physical assault (Lucius gets his ass beat) profanity, major angst, illusions to sex, NSFW, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s, but follows the movies. Reader is written with having psychopathic/sociopathic traits | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 11.7k

Requested yes/no

Premise: The Second Wizarding War reaches heightened tension as Harry Potter and his friends find themselves on a scavenger hunt for Voldemorts Horcruxes. For Y/n Black, after escaping the Burrow following the Battle of the Seven Potters, she wonders just how far she'll go to ensure she's free from the Dark Lord's bounds if Harry Potter prevails. Unfortunately, with war comes sacrifice, and Y/n must suffer the consequences. Even if means she doesn't get to see a new world without darkness.

Note: I have finally finished this HP miniseries and feel so good about it. But then it reminds me how many series I have yet to finish + requests and I think 'I need to get it together'. I still have my MIB fic I'm working on AND I have an idea for Cooper Howard from Fallout. Anyways....I'm alive and I hope you enjoy this last part after a much-anticipated wait. I gave it all the angst.

————-------

“Where the hell have you been?” were the first words shouted at Y/n upon her return home. Snape sprung from his chair, mirroring her disheveled look. He appeared to have gone through hell and back. “You were supposed to return hours ago.” 

“I got a little caught up,” she groaned, waving a hand as she beelined for the kitchen. Obviously not in the mood for the argument about to occur. Snape followed after her.

“I figured,” he stood in the doorway, watching her reach into the medicine cabinet and rustle through until she found the bottle of aspirin. “I searched every corner of London--thinking you fell from the sky and was laid in a ditch somewhere---only to find out from Yaxley of all people, you’d been on the back of Bill Weasley’s Thestral.” He didn’t say anything else, but the tone of his voice indicated Snape knew where Y/n had been.

Yeah she wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

Throwing back the asprin, Y/n chased it with wine and let out a sigh, “If you already know ... .why bother--.”

“Because I want to know how you could be so stupid--!” Snape clenched his fists, face turning red by the amount of anger he was itching to release. “To get yourself taken by the Order!”

Y/n, matching his emotion from having to deal with the events of the night, slammed the glass down so hard it shattered. Not caring it cut her hand and blood was now leaking. “I’m sorry, Snape. Next time a Thestral slams into me mid-air, I’ll let myself fall from the fucking sky. Save you from having to deal with my recklessness any longer. Since it’s causing you so much stress--goddammit--.” she hissed, the pain in her hand settling in. Muttering a spell, the wound closed and Y/n rinsed the blood off in the sink. “How the hell was I to expect the Delacour girl to do what she did?”

“Where did they take you?” Snape demanded, moving to stand beside her. At a closer look, he spotted the bruises and abrasions. His question changed, voice softening, “Are you alright?”

“Splendid,” she spat, drying her hands without looking at him. “Better than I’ve ever been.” She flinched when the man gently took a hold of her wrist, turning to him in surprise. 

“I mean it, Y/n. You’re covered in bruises and it's obvious you’re in pain.” The anger returns on Snape’s face. “Did they torture you?” Y/n scoffs, finding his assumption amusing. 

“Torture me? You humor me, dear husband,” her playfulness was back. Snape muttered something along the lines of ‘Merlin’s beard’ though she saw his eyebrows relax. He still held her wrist, and Y/n noticed the bruises starting to disappear. Snape was performing non-verbal healing spells on her.

Over the course of their marriage the two had moments of affection. Mostly to keep up the act in front of others, but every now and then there’d be private ones. Such as the current scenario. Snape making their tea in the morning. Y/n buying his potion ingredients when his stock is low. Sitting on opposite sides of the couch while reading. Having dinner together, even if it's in silence. 

And, on rare occasions, the two experienced their shared needs with each other. 

Again, neither would call it love. Romantic attraction was nonexistent to Y/n and she knew she’d never be able to love. Snape understood this, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. Unable to see himself loving again after Lily. 

Once he was done, and the bruises were gone, Snape let go of Y/n’s hand, “Tell me what happened.”

“What’s there to tell,” she mumbles, leaning against him slightly. “When I woke up, after being stunned and a rather harsh landing, I was tied to a chair and asked to answer some questions.” Snape tensed, but Y/n continued, “Bet you can expect what their negotiations were if I cooperated.”

“Azkaban. Albeit a lesser sentence.” She huffed, cranking her neck with a nod.

“Yeah I wasn’t thrilled with that,” tilting her chin up so it rested on his chest, Y/n smirked wickedly, “they tried to use Veritaserum on me.”

“Oh,” he raised a brow, fighting his own smirk. “And how’d that go?” Her response was a shrug.

“I may have caused some trouble.”

The man chuckled, not surprised by the answer. “I’d expect nothing less.” Stepping to the side, Snape poured them each a glass of wine. “And how did you escape?” Handing Y/n hers, the two clicked glasses before bringing the rim to their lips. Y/n answered once the bitter taste passed through her throat.

“I stirred up a storm. Genuinely.” Y/n mentally patted herself on the back, impressed she managed to pull it off. “A tad shaky if I must admit, but It had them off their feet.” They finished the wine, Snape taking the glasses to put in the sink. Y/n stretched her arms, turning on her heel to exit the kitchen. “Well if you don’t mind, I’m going to treat myself to a bath. Tonight has left me quite spent,” reaching the doorway, she stops and turns to Snape, mouth curling up and eyes turning a shade he knows all too well. Heat coursed through his body as he watched her tease the stings of her corset, painting his cheeks with a light blush. 

“Care to join me?” 

In the following months after the Battle of the Seven Potters, Y/n’s time was once again spent in the attic of Malfoy Manor. Spell books and potions kept her busy while Snape was at Hogwarts for the term, a place Y/n avoided like the plague, as the newly instated headmaster. Anytime the school was mentioned she wanted to throw up. The memories of her short time there were a painful reminder of the life forced upon her. Knowing she’d never come to him when he needed to meet urgently, Snape either traveled by Floo or crossed school grounds to apparate. Letters were sent consistently.

Y/n could’ve remained at Snape’s home where they had resided during the summer. But that meant being completely alone. And while she may hate her family and enjoy isolation in the attic, the mere presence of people in the mansion provides comfort. It kept the voices in her head from being too loud. 

Tensions were high at the manor. With Lucius back and Bellatrix unable to shut up, Y/n’s peace and quiet was constantly disturbed. Draco had been kept home, and if Y/n were being honest the sound of his cries at night both annoyed and pitied her. Then when he wasn’t staying hidden in the shadows, Voldermort turned up to wreak havoc. 

The news of Potter infiltrating the Ministry spread like wildfire. Dolores Umbridge had been stunned mid-trial for a muggle-born witch, the necklace belonging to Salazar Slytherin ripped from her neck. Voldermart was furious. Fightenly so. He sent every Death Eater not in his close circle to find and capture the boy. Groups of Snatchers ordered to bring Harry to the Manor. 

‘Can I ever get a break?’ The thought crossed her mind a dozen times a day.

Then on the first day of May 1998, Y/n’s mere linger of peace was disrupted by commotion downstairs. With a huff, she discarded her book, pocketed her wand and descended the many stairs until she reached the living space. As she entered the scene she was stunned beyond belief at the sight of Harry--whose face was disfigured--Ron, and Hermione. They were fighting against the Snatchers holding them, though they froze when they met her eyes. 

“What is this?” Y/n approached the group, where Bellatrix was screaming about finding Draco. Narcissa and Lucius stood to the side, the former addressing her first. “These men believe they have Harry Potter,” Narcissa flinched when Bellatrix screamed again, “but we’re not exactly sure.”

‘Are you that daft?’ Y/n wanted to say. Anyone with eyes and a decent memory would know it was Harry Potter. Even with the spell to make him unrecognizable, he was with a Weasley and the Granger girl! That should’ve been their confirmation. Narcissa met them all in Diagon Alley after Lucius’ arrest, so either she was just too stupid or was stalling to prolong the inevitable outcome. 

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, tension rising in veins. Snape was going to tear into her if something happened to Potter. And while she could care less about his friends, Ron was a relative and Hermione was one hell of a young witch. The kind that garnered respect from seasoned magical beings. They needed to get out of the manor alive.

“Well, make sure your boy doesn’t get us all killed,” Y/n scoffed when Draco arrived. Pale in the face with sweat beading at his forehead. Wanting nothing more than to apparate away from the chaos. 

Bellatrix pushed Harry down to his knees, gripping his hair in her hand to pull his face up. The boy groaned, Bellatrix addressing Draco, “Well?” He gulped, blinking rapidly as he looked between Harry and his aunt.

“I can’t be sure.”

“Draco,” Lucius grasped his neck with a stern hold. He too was filled with anxiety. “Look closely. Listen if we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord,” behind him, one of the Snatchers raised his brows, moving closer to the duo. “Everything will be forgiven. As it was, understand?” Draco nodded, and their moment was interrupted by the snatcher.

“Now we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy.”

“You dare to talk to me like that in my own house!” Draco flinched at his father’s shout while Narcissa jutted in. 

“Lucius,” her hand latched onto his arm, pulling him away from their son. Lucius relented, allowing her to guide him back a few paces, still visibly annoyed by the snatcher. Bellatrix gestured for Draco, “Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over.” He let her take his hand, drawing him down to his knees so he was level with Harry. 

Y/n’s heart pounded against her chest. Gritting her teeth to the point they might crack. Casting a glance to the teens, Y/n saw their pleading eyes. Begging for escape and to not hurt them. Y/n turned away, focusing on her sister and nephew. 

“Now if this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.”

“Shouldn't you know, Y/n?” Lucius suddenly accused, making the room go quiet. The woman in question snapped her head in his direction, eyes narrowed in challenge.

“What makes you say that?” 

“You were taken to the Burrow that night. You said it yourself to the Dark Lord, the Order questioned you.” He gestured to the teenagers, “weren’t they there?”

“Might I remind you I was rendered unconscious by a thestral and stunned several times, Lucius,” her tone was hard. “Forgive me if my memory is hazy.” Offering a shrug, Y/n continued to deflect, “I was busy formulating an escape plan rather than taking attendance of those present.” Lucius didn’t accept the answer. His expression made it well known. 

“Typical,” he spat, “Even when given the opportunity to locate Harry Potter and those associated with him, you fail to rise to the occasion.” Y/n saw red.

“Do not speak to me about rising to the occasion, Lucius, when you have brought failure to the Dark Lord on more accounts than I can count.” She saw the way he faltered and smirked, “Who was it that took the coward's way out by saying he was under the imperius curse instead of acting on his own free will?” As she inched closer Lucius stiffened and stepped back. Narcissa reached for her husband while glaring at Y/n, who paid her no mind. “Who relished in their new found freedom instead of searching for their Master they were oh so devoted to?”

Behind her, Bellatrix had a devilish smile, enjoying the way Lucius shrunk under her sister’s gaze. 

“Are you not the one who failed to bring him the prophecy?” Y/n mocked, tapping a finger to her chin, “oh yes, in fact you caused the damn thing to shatter. And got yourself caught by the aurors in the process. Bravo, Lucius. Well fucking done.” Her words echoed with a round of applause. “You are pathetic.” 

“Do not talk to him like that,” Narcissa got in her face, though it did nothing to intimidate the younger witch. “He has done more for the Dark Lord than you could ever know.” The scoff Y/n let out irritated Narcissa. 

“If you’re talking about giving up his wand I hate to tell you, Cissy, but that was more like taking candy from a baby,” Rolling her eyes she added, “And opening your home to him, please. The Dark Lord took claim to your home because he sees your husband for who he is…” Y/n leaned in making her sister step back. “Weak.” Y/n hadn’t even noticed Lucius in front of her before it was too late. His hand came up to strike her across the cheek, leaving an angry red mark behind as the force of the slap caused her head to turn. 

Hermoine gasped, a look of horror matching that of Narcissa. Ron, Draco and Harry were wide-eyed, meanwhile the snatchers just appeared awkward. 

They all waited for Y/n to react. She was breathing heavily, but otherwise silent. Then, with a deep inhale, she slowly turned back to Lucius. Any color in her eyes was gone. Completely black and soulless. 

Just like she didn’t have time to react, the same was bestowed on Lucius. Y/n’s arm wound back as far as it could go before launching, causing a sickening *crack* as her fist made an impact with his jaw. The force was so great it sent him to the floor. Narcissa screamed, Draco stumbling away as his father fell beside him and Harry. 

Lucius groaned, the taste of metallic filling his mouth. Blood dripped down his chin. He felt pressure on his chest, glancing up wide-eyed to see Y/n had straddled his chest and began punching him. Narcissa screamed for her to stop while Bellatrix laughed in the background. Y/n’s rings cut into Lucius’ skin, painting her knuckles red. As he brought his arms up to protect himself, Y/n focused her assault on his ribs. 

It was obvious by the absolute crazed expression she bore, Y/n had years of pent up fury releasing with each attack. She looked murderous. Craving blood. Craving pain. It was all she knew. Thanks to her dear sister and brother-in-law. Thanks to her family. 

After two minutes which felt like a lifetime, Y/n was tackled off Lucius by Narcissa. Immediately the older witch tended to her husband, while Y/n picked herself off the floor, cranked her neck and dusted off the dirt on her dress. 

Her sudden calmness is an eerie sight to the teenagers in the room. Both Ron and Hermoine glanced at each other in horror by what they witnessed. Harry remained frozen, wondering just how the hell they were going to get out of the manor. Before the Malfoy’s and Blacks snap again and end with them killing each other. 

“Are you out of your mind!?” Narcissa shouted, removing her wand to begin issuing healing spells. The man looked like he just got out of a bar fight. On top of the cuts from her rings, noticeable bruises and obviously broken nose. His tattered breathing indicated she likely broke a rib. Blood spilled from his mouth, but thankfully for him it didn’t appear that he lost any teeth. 

“He’ll live,” was her response, sounding disappointed by the fact. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to drown myself in fire whiskey while you all figure out if this is Harry Potter or an imposter before we die due to your incompetence.” 

Narcissa shuddered, anger seeping off her as she sent daggers to the back of Y/n’s head. “How dare you?”

“How dare I?” She spins around, challenging Narcissa to say more. “He raised his hand to me and I’m in the wrong? He had it coming.” 

“You called him weak! He went to prison while you fled the Ministry and left him to fend for himself. After all we’ve provided you--allowing you into our home, sit at our table, dine with us….” Narcissa lists off, “You once were a pleasant person to be around and respectful. To be so ungrateful for what we’ve done for you is an insult to---.” Now that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n lost it. 

“You had me sent to fucking Azkaban!!” Her voice echoed off the walls, ordering everyone into silence. The outburst sent a chill amongst all in the room. The Malfoys were rather petrified. Especially Draco who was still kneeling behind his parents. For Narcissa, her eyes glazed as she took in her once sweet and innocent baby sister. The woman who stood in her place lacked any empathy, much like their eldest sister. Only Y/n’s rage was a direct result from those who failed her. Plus the circumstances she endured.

Harry realized this during their encounter at the Burrow. Thinking back to what Sirius had told him that time in Grimmauld Place. Y/n wasn’t always the demented Death Eater she became. Her confessions at the Burrow depict a case of a woman who’d betray Voldemort in an instant if it meant she could escape. 

“Half of my life wasted--because you and your husband chose to sell me out to the Aurors instead of protecting me!” Hatred was the only word to describe the venom in her tone and eyes. “I was fifteen, Narcissa, fifteen.” Water filled Y/n’s eyes that she refused to release. “You let them drag me to that house,” she referred to the night the Death Eaters gave her the mark. The same night they tortured the Longbottoms. “I confided in you. I told you what they forced me to do. I had no choice in the matter, Cissy.” She spit out the once endearing nickname. Like it was acid in her mouth.

Pointing her wand up slightly, Y/n gained satisfaction at the fear. Nearly whispering, she grinded her teeth, “when I came to you--after it was done--terrified out of my mind, I trusted you to keep. Me. Safe.” Each word had her stepping closer to her sister, “that my sister would have my back. Not rat me out the moment the Ministry came knocking at her door so that she, her pathetic husband, and her spineless, spoiled brat of a son--.” Narcissa gripped her wand. Angered by the insults of her loved ones, despite them being slightly true. Y/n dismissed her emotion, “--can live happily ever after. Peacefully, as though they never supported the Dark Lord when behind closed doors…,” she hissed, no longer caring they had an audience, “They are the most cowardice hypocrites in the history of the world.”

The more she drew closer, the tighter the grip Narcissa had on her wand. Ready for any sudden attack. Lucius glared at his sister-in-law with hatred. Meanwhile Draco looked like he wanted to vomit. He barely remembered his aunt before she went to prison. And their interactions since her release were brief. Now the image of her before him sent an awful pit in his stomach. 

Y/n had no plans of cursing anyone, but she’d be damn sure to put the fear of God himself in her relatives for all the pain and anger they’ve caused her entire life. “So no. I will not offer sympathies to your family, Narcissa. Nor shall I feel grateful for your sacrifices. Dear Lucius only got a lick of what I experienced in Azkaban. And Draco got his arse saved by Snape in getting out of killing Dumbledore. Meanwile I had to spend fourteen years in a cell--cast away in the middle of the fucking ocean--for something I had no control over.” Y/n dropped her stance, tone becoming bored as she finished her rant off with, “You can all die for all I care.” 

Desperate to leave Y/n started in the direction but was stopped by Bellatrix. Saying they were not finished and must get back to the issue at hand. Narcissa continued tending to Lucius, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“You’re not sure it’s Potter, so don’t call him,” Y/n said as if it were obvious. Praying she did not give away any suspicion of the truth. “What else is there to say?” 

“What else?” Bellatrix threw out her hands, “There is a blood-traitor and mudblood with him!” She received a roll of the eyes.

“Not every ginger haired wizard is a Weasley, sister.” 

“What’s wrong with his face?” Draco changed the subject, Y/n mentally thanking him with a smirk to her brother-in-law in victory.

“Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Bellatrix echoed, addressing the snatchers. Meanwhile Y/n watches the stare off between Harry and Draco. The silent conversation happening between them. And when Harry’s eyes flicker to her, Y/n knows he’s questioning her all the same. ‘Why are you not saying anything? You know it’s me.’

“He came to us like that. Something he picked up in the forest I reckon.”

“Or ran into a stinging jinx,” she counters with a whisper. Her wand raises in the direction of the other captors. “Was it you two?” Bellatrix moves hastily, “Give me her wand. We’ll see what her last spell was.” Narcissa gently places a hand on her son, nudging him to stand and move away from Harry. Y/n stays quiet, keeping a firm gaze on the boys and turns away when Harry gives her a pleading look. 

Bellatrix gives a mocking laugh at Hermoine’s reaction, “I got you.” Suddenly her laugh is cut short with a gasp. Eyes locking on the shiny weapon in the hands of a snatcher. “What’s that?”

The sword of Gryffindor.

Hearing her gasp, Y/n leans to the side to get a better view, only to freeze. Blood drained from her face upon seeing the sword. Which was supposed to be locked away in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. Dread consumed Y/n, followed by confusion and anger. How the fuck did they get the sword? If Voldermort discovered Bellatrix failed to keep it contained he’d have all their heads on a silver platter.

And by the nervous whisper of her sister, Y/n knew Bellatrix felt the same. “Where’d you get that from?” 

“It was in her bag when we searched her,” the snatcher replies calmly, “reckon it’s mine now.” 

Bellatrix moves so quickly everyone is unable to react. Stunning the man, the sword flies into her grip as she spins and incapacitates the snatchers. Y/n follows in suit, petrifying the snatcher closest to her. Shocking the group as they move away from the chaos. 

“Are you mad!!” A whip shoots from Y/n’s wand to wrap around his neck, choking the leader while Bellatrix occupies herself with strangling Greyback. Both witches have crazed expressions, scaring the kids and even their sister. 

Y/n pulled the wip down with force, bringing the snatcher to knees where he then fell to the harsh ground. She kept her grip, moving to Bellatrix while dragging the man along. He grunted and groaned until she finally released the hold, but not before bringing it up and igniting a hard smack to his face. 

“Get out!” Bellatrix ordered, the snatchers struggling to rise to their feet and catch their breath. Keeping her wand raised, Y/n watched her sister grip Ron by his jacket, “Cissy, put the boys in the cellar!” Narcissa grabbed Harry, then Ron when Bellatrix pushed him toward her. “I want to have a conversation with this one,” Hermoine felt like she was going to vomit. “Girl to girl!” 

Wormtail met Narcissa at the top of the stairs. Dragging the boys down as they attempted to fight him off. They were pulled out of sight and thrown into the cellar, Ron shouting after Wormtail as he scurried off. 

Y/n watched Bellatrix inflict torture on Hermoine for only a few minutes before dissociating. The screams from the girl brought back painful memories. Memories of the Longbottoms. Their lost gazes with each curse. Flinching, Y/n squeezed her eyes shut. Picturing Alice and Frank Longbottom withering on the floor. It made her want to jump from the window. Or light herself on fire. 

Her mind was racing. Brain pleading to do the right thing. Opening her eyes she saw Narcissa, Lucius and Draco huddled in front of the fireplace. God she wished Snape was there. He’d know what to do.

And deep down, Y/n knew too.    

When Bellatrix ordered Wormtail to bring Griphook from the cellar, Y/n took the chance to follow him. The decision was made right there. Fuck the outcome and if it cost her her life by the end of the day. Maybe she could manipulate it in her favor. 

Creeping down the stairs, Y/n heard Ron demand for Hermoine to be let go, the woman turning down the corner to see Wormtail’s wand raised at the boy. 

“Get back!” Ron stepped back but his glare never strayed. Y/n had reached the bottom of the stairs right as Griphook approached Wormtail. The traitorous Griffyndor narrowed his eyes at the witch. “You’re not supposed to be down here,” his tone held suspicion.

“And who are you to tell me I’m not, rat?” The name cut him deep judging by his reaction. Y/n kept her chin high, “I merely want to inspect our guests again. After all, we want to be sure this boy is Harry Potter. Correct?” Wormtail was nervous under her stern gaze, but he didn’t believe her for a second.

“I must confirm with--argh!” Peter was thrown back into the bars as Y/n’s hand closed down on his neck, constricting his airway. The action caused those in the cellar to jump by the sudden action. Squeezing, Y/n leaned closer to whisper in his ear. 

“You will go upstairs with the Goblin like you were ordered to and say nothing. Do not cross me, rat, I will know if you do.” He grunted as Y/n shook him, adding, “I’m sure my husband would be more than pleased to deal with you if you chose to speak freely rather than follow your orders and stay quiet. Understood?” At his rapid nod, Y/n let go of the man, a coughing sput releasing from Peter before he pushed Griphook to start going up the stairs. 

Once they were gone, Y/n turned her attention to the teens, leaning against the side of the wall with a bored expression. “You’re a long way from home, Harry Potter.”

The boy in question clenched his jaw, “You knew it was me this whole time.” The statement resulted in a scoff. 

“Of course I did. Which is hilarious considering I am probably the only person up there who’s had the least interaction with you, yet for some peculiar reason…,” her tone was mocking, “no one else is confident in their speculation. Well except Draco,” she shrugs, causing Harry’s eyes to widen slightly. “Why he’s remaining quiet is likely for the same reasons I am. But who am I to throw him under the bus to my sister?” 

“Seems a bit odd you’re not,” he commented as he approached the gate. Moving so they were directly in front of each other. Only the bars separating them. They were so close Harry noticed the puffiness of her cheek where Lucius struck her. Plus the tiny specks of blood on her neck that must’ve splattered when she beat the man. It made him shudder, “Why is that?”

“Call it a promise I made to a friend.” 

“A friend?” he countered with a scoff, “I find that hard to believe.” A chuckle left her lips, bouncing against the walls. “Like anyone from the Order would align themself with you without telling the rest.” Now that humored the witch. The fact he went right to believing it was someone from the Order she was in contact with was hilarious considering the little deductible that took place months prior. 

“You’d be surprised with how secretive the Order can be. Even the man who established it in the first place kept many things,” that got his attention, tensing with his hands clenched into fists. “Dumbledore,” the whisper of his name sent a wave of emotion through Harry. Anger, sadness. He hated the way Y/n said it in a mocking tone. “Yeah, I really don’t care whether you believe me or not. But the idea of you dying today is something I cannot let happen.”

Harry became confused, brow raising. What the fuck was she playing at? First she plays dumb to her family by not identifying him. Then she does nothing when they drag the boys to the cellar, where several of Harry’s supporters are being held captive. She sits back while Bellatrix harms Hermoine. Now she’s insinuating she wants to help them escape?

She has to be fucking with them.

“What game are you playing?” His question surprises Y/n.

“Game?” 

Anger replaced the confusion by her lack of remorse. But then again he was foolish to believe a death eater like herself was capable of such. “This! I don’t understand what side you’re on. It’s obvious you’re not completely loyal to him--you’re actions today prove that.” Y/n mentally cursed herself for being obvious. If Harry caught on to her, much like Snape did, then how long before Voldemort and those closest to him did. “You say and do things that make me think you know more than you’re letting on,” her expression faltered, Harry clocking it with a mental victory. “You saved Bill for reasons not even you can explain. You hate your family. Which is your only redeeming quality--.”

“Ouch.” 

He ignored her comment. “What do you gain from this? Why are you not screaming for Vold--.” Y/n launched herself at the bars, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket to hold him against the gate. Ron moved to help, but was frozen upon Y/n raising her wand at him.

“Don’t say his name!” She whisper-screamed, face painted with fury and fear. Harry snapped his jaw shut, watching the woman frantically look around as though in search of something. Or someone.

“Do you have a death wish, Potter?” she finally said once deeming it was safe. Yet her heated expression stayed locked on Harry. “Surely you should know by now saying his name will attract unwanted attention.” Muttering curses under her breath, Harry heard her call him, “stupid boy.” 

Struggling against her grip, Harry was amazed by Y/n’s strength despite it having been displayed twice now in the form of beating her brother-in-law and assaulting Wormtail. She proved herself at the burrow to be a powerful witch in the sense of magic. But Lord he would not want to go toe-to-toe with her in a fight. 

“Let me be clear, Potter,” her grip tightened, Harry grunting as his head pressed against the bar. “I personally don’t care about the outcome of this war. Whether you vanquish him or he kills you once and for all, what matters to me is my freedom in the end. Either in the form of walking away from this world in one piece, or entering the pits of hell waiting for me.” She paused, staring so deep into his eyes the boy shuddered, “Ideally, it would be best suited for me if you came out on top, Potter. That way the mark on my arm no longer makes me feel like a dog on its leash. Tracking my every move--giving him power over me. I want it gone.” 

Harry hadn’t thought of it that way. But now with her confirmation of his speculations, Harry was confident in Y/n’s disloyalty to Voldermort. Which now made him question her marriage to Snape. 

“You doubting my role among his ranks proves to me you’re actually a smart boy. Like Snape, you’ve caught on quick to my ulterior motives.” The confession made his eyes widen. Fully convinced their union held a deeper message than simply two Death Eaters finding love in the midst of a war. 

But what did that make of Snape? The question plagued Harry’s thoughts. 

“You’re right to accuse me, Potter, and you’d act the same if in my shoes. I’ve suffered enough,” her voice fell to a whisper. “Tortured, beaten, locked away in a cold, dark, cell for half my life…..I’ve watched family members die, I’ve watched them lose themselves to madness--while trying so hard to prevent my own descent,” she leans closer, “Which I obviously failed to do. There’s nothing left for me to give anymore.” 

Her grip on his collar loosens, allowing Harry to lean slightly away from the bars to get some space. However her hold still stays, “I don’t expect you to understand, and I’m not asking for sympathy. Hate me all you want when this is over. I know if you come out on top I’ll be locked away forever, but somehow, and I’m not exactly sure why, a piece of whatever soul I have left is saying you need to get out of this mansion.” Finally she released Harry, the boy stumbling back by the slight push she gave. 

Y/n cleared her throat, chin held high. “So, are you going to shut up and listen to what I have to say? Or are you going to be a little boy and get you and your friends killed tonight with your impulsiveness?”

Harry said nothing. Maintaining the intense eye-contact that would’ve sent any other person running for the hills. Her cold, dark eyes were far opposite of the warm, loving ones her cousin Sirius possessed. His aura drew people in. Hers made them repulsed. 

Everything in Harry screamed for him to reject her proposal. To somehow figure a plan out on his own or act on survival instinct.

But it wasn’t just his life at risk. His friends were in danger, as were the innocent people captured like Ollivander and Griphook. He needed to be smart.

A simple nod had the ginger beside him flabbergasted. 

“Are you mad!” Ron chokes, appalled by the idea of working with the Death Eater. He looked at Harry like he had two heads. “You want to trust this psychopath?!” Y/n wanted to laugh at the insult, but instead settled for a smirk, frightening the boy even more.

He wasn’t wrong if one were to get technical. Y/n portrayed both psychopathic and sociopathic tendencies. Any professional would clock in an instant. Much like a psychopath, Y/n’s charming, lacks a sense of remorse and love, and uses relationships for her gain. Then on the other hand she’s impulsive, unpredictable, explosive when provoked and will resort to physical violence. Look at what she did to Lucius, Wormtail, and now Harry. She, however, does appear to have an attachment to Snape--often aligned with sociopaths. But again, though Y/n may care for him to a degree, she is still using him to further her goal. 

Harry gave Ron a frustrated look, “You got any ideas?” They all knew the answer and the silence indicated as such. Sighing in defeat, Ron glared at Y/n, who only returned it with a smirk.

“That settles it,” her cheeky expression focused on Harry. A non-verbal deal sealing itself right there. “Shall we begin?”

Everything that happened once the boys emerged from the staircase was a blur.

After summoning Dobby, the former Malfoy house elf who Y/n at one point enjoyed the company of prior to Azkaban, Y/n took her place in the foyer once more with the rest of her family. She’d laid out carefully to the boys and elf what to do once she left them. Dobby first transported the other prisoners to a location Ron suggested. Then Y/n incapacitated Wormtail on his way down to the cellar as she passed by him, dragging the traitor out of sight. 

When she returned upstairs she noticed the skeptical expression Narcissa directed at her. Y/n didn’t let it get to her, instead focusing on the task. Hermione laid on the ground, barely moving. With Bellatrix occupied with interrogating Griphook, Y/n went to check on the girl. Immediately Hermione made a sound and flinched away, but Y/n grasped her arm firmly causing her to still.

“If you want to leave this manor alive and in one piece with your friends, you ought to stay quiet,” Y/n whispered in her ear, followed by the utterance of a healing incantation. Hermione obeyed, however she was stiff like a stature against Y/n’s touch. 

Most of the spells were non-verbal as to not draw attention to them. And while Draco and Narcissa were well aware of what Y/n was doing, one death glare from the witch had them turning away. Bruises started to disappear. Cuts slowly healed. Y/n could not do much for the mental torture Hermoine endured, but she at least could sooth the physical injuries. Frowning at the sight of ‘mudblood’ carved into the teens arm, she issued most of the spells at patching the skin there, leaving only a faint trace of the words. Hermione visibly relaxed, even squeezing Y/n’s hand in a silent thank you. 

The older witch could only imagine the thoughts racing through her head. Wondering what the hell Y/n was doing and if she were serious about getting them out. After all, she did nothing to stop Bellatrix and instead disappeared when the torture began. Yet here she was. Offering a flicker of hope by healing her wounds with claims of helping them escape. 

Once satisfied with her work, Y/n stood up and backed away from Hermione until she was pressed against the wall. 

Then all hell broke loose when Bellatrix implied killing the witch. Harry and Ron were to wait for Y/n’s signal but given the circumstances they said, ‘To hell with it,’ and ran up with wands shooting off spells left and right. Disarming Bellatrix and initiating a two-vs-two duel with Draco and Narcissa. Y/n couldn’t even bask in the joy she felt watching Lucius get blasted away with a dramatic “ah!”, she had to act fast. 

Taking the discarded knife, Y/n dragged a shrieking Hermione to her feet. Pulling the teens back to her chest, Y/n placed the knife level with her neck with a hiss, “follow my lead.” Hermione froze, tears leaking down her cheeks. Y/n walked her to the middle of the foyer, until they were beneath the chandelier, “Stop!!” The fighting ceased.

“Drop your wands,” Bellatrix ordered, but the boys were too focused on Y/n and Hermione to listen. Angry and betrayed at jumping to conclusions, Y/n quickly penetrated their minds, “Tread carefully boys,” Their faces consorted into shock, the woman shushing them with her gaze before they could react aloud. “Let’s not fuck this up more.”

Bellatrix shouted again, “I said drop’em!” obeying, their wands hit the floor with a *clank*. “Pick them up, Draco, now!” The blonde boy hurried to retrieve the wands, Bellatrix gliding up to where Y/n stood. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.” Leaning into Hermione’s space, the witch whispered in a taunting tone. “It’s Harry Potter. He’s all bright and shiny and new again.” As she spoke, Harry’s face returned to normal. The effect of the stinging jinx wearing off. 

“Just in time for the Dark Lord.” Y/n loosened her grip on Hermione, air catching in her throat as she sent Harry a panicked look. Bellatrix however, appeared pleased, “call him.” Heads turned to Draco. Save for Y/n, who caught movement in the distance. Locking eyes with the figure, her head gestured up to the chandelier. Sending a mental message of what to do. They were gone in the blink of an eye, Y/n peering at her nephew like everyone else. 

Draco was visibly nervous and scared, shuddering under his father’s scrutiny. Unable to perform the task even when told a second time by his aunt. Lucius pushed past him, glaring at Harry as he pulled his sleeves up to reveal the Dark Mark. The ink became darker when his hand raised over it. 

Suddenly, the eerie sound of creaking interrupted the intense silence. Eyes drawing up to find Dobby perched on the chandelier, his hands occupied with unscrewing the latch keeping the mighty object attached to the ceiling. Despite instructing the elf, Y/n couldn’t help but utter, “oh dear.” 

The latch released, Bellatrix shrieking as Y/n shoved Hermione away before bringing her arms up at the last second. The last image she saw before the world became black was Ron catching the girl. Noise drowned out until eventually, all became silent. 

When she woke God knows how long later, Y/n was in a daze. Her head pounded, body ached. Vision disoriented and any sound was muffled. A gentle touch on her shoulder brought her back to reality, her senses coming together to form a clear picture of her surroundings. When it finally did, Y/n found Snape seated in a chair beside her. The man dressed in his usual black clothes minus the dramatic robes. Dark circles beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t had a pleasant night’s rest in ages. 

“What the hell,” her voice croaked due to the dryness in her throat. Coughing, she sat up and was immediately met with a glass of water thrusted in her face. Taking it Y/n downed half the glass, a couple droplets spilling down her chin. “Thank you,” she wiped them away, adjusting her position on the unfamiliar bed. Snape placed the glass back on the nightstand, helping Y/n move so she was upright with her legs hanging off the side of the bed. 

Glancing down, she realized she was still in the same dress from the manor. “How long was I out?” Part of her feared the answer. 

“About six hours. It’s just past midnight.”

“Mmp,” she stretched her neck, brushing hair from her face. It was the morning of May 2nd. Scanning the room, Y/n squinted, catching the lit fireplace and stained glass windows first. Followed by the striking detail of the walls covered in moving portraits on the opposite side of the room leading to an office space. Some of whom were glaring at her. 

It hit her then where she was. 

Hogwarts.

“How’d you know?” Pushing off the bed, Y/n made a beeline to the table displaying a vast collection of alcohol. Reaching for the fire whiskey, she poured herself a glass and downed it in one go. 

“Your sister,” he responded, not moving from his seat, hands clasped together, “Narcissa was rather adamant I come to retrieve you after the little spectacle that took place tonight.” Y/n let out a chuckle lacking any humor, pouring herself another whiskey. 

“I’m surprised she’d do such a thing. Considering I humiliated her and her family in front of people. Would’ve thought she’d finish me off while I was down.” Snape narrowed his eyes, disapproving of her statement. Y/n only returned the look, twirling her glass, “It’s what I would’ve done. You should’ve seen the number I did on Lucius.”

“The fool put his hands on you,” Snape’s voice had an edge to it, anger seeping through. Shocking the witch by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Had I been there he would’ve lost them.”Oh… Now that had a spark filling Y/n’s stomach. Almost like arousal.

She brushed it off with, “I’d be a little offended if you didn’t, husband.” Her teasing made him roll his eyes, “Besides the masterpiece I created on that swine, the words I had for my dear sister were not pleasant and frankly would’ve had her laying into me if she had the balls to. Had the roles been reversed, I don’t think I could have let her live.” Y/n scoffed at herself, sipping her drink instead of gulping it, “Quite the hypocrite aren’t I?”

Snape stayed silent, only responding with an expression that read, “You said it, not me.” Y/n shrugged, not finding his indirect opinion offensive. Instead she opted to ask the question plaguing her since she woke up, “What have you heard recently?” Snape inhaled sharply. 

“He’s angry. Very angry.” Y/n stiffened, setting her now empty glass back on the table. He continued, “I did not stick around for what he had in store for you sisters and brother-in-law, my only concern was getting you here after Narcissa called. But….there’s been a shift. We all can feel it.”

Y/n tightened her jaw, processing the news with a nod. “Any word on the boy's whereabouts.” Snape raised his brows, face conforming to one she knew all too well. Snape read her like a book. 

“You mean if they escaped safely?” The accusation did not come as a surprise. “You’ll be pleased to know they did.” Snape noted her sigh of relief, but did not comment. By now the married couple easily picked up on cues and communicated without saying anything. He didn’t need her to tell him her role in helping Harry Potter escape the Manor. He already knew. “Where did they go--I have no clue,” Pausing to shrug, he added, “Likely the home of someone they trust. But it won’t be long before….”

“I know,” Y/n interrupted with a whisper. Squeezing her eyes shut as she leaned against the table. “We’re in the endgame now.” 

The creaking of the chair filled her ears, followed by footsteps. Opening her eyes when she felt Snape gently place his hand on hers. Stroking her bruised knuckles with his thumb. 

“We’ll get through this,” He told her confidently. “I promise if it’s the last thing I do, you’ll get your freedom when this is all over.” 

Breath catching in her throat, moved by his words, Y/n raised her free hand to caress Snape’s jaw. Offering a small, but sad smile--surprising both of them by connecting their lips briefly in a short, sweet kiss, as her eyes glossed over, “as will you.” 

Almost 24 hours later

Running. She was running. Faster than ever, the words of Lucius echoing in her mind, overtaking the screams of the raging battle behind her. “He’s with the Dark Lord,” was the answer to her demand for Snape's whereabouts. Dread consumed her. Drowning the witch as though she had been pulled out to sea. 

Voldermort pausing the battle only to summon Snape had to be anything but good. Lucius confirmed her suspicion by how scared he looked just telling her. Like he expected her to kill him right there for finding Snape and bringing him to the Dark Lord. Instead Y/n shoved him away and broke into a sprint. Heading straight for the docks. 

“Harry--!” Hermoine’s warning was overshadowed by the fast approaching footsteps. The teens gripped their wands, ready for an attack only to freeze at the sight of Y/n running through the doorway. She met Ron and Hermonie’s eyes first, only to draw them to the side, where she was met with a grieving sight. The teens swear they saw her knees buckle, a sound of anguish leaving her throat.

“No-no-no!” Y/n pushes past the teens, kneeling down in a hast and practically shoving Harry to the side. Y/n cups Severus’s face in her hands, eyes filling with tears as blood paints them. “No-no, Severus! Severus!” She frantically looked him over, horrified by his state. His throat was cut, the woman placing a hand over the gaping wound, and bite marks cut into his clothing. 

“Oh God. Sev, you can’t--you can’t leave me,” her chest tightened, tone dropping to barely a whisper. “Not like this. Not like this.” They were supposed to survive the war. Together. They’d made it this far, after so many obstacles and death around them. Y/n and Snape had to live. 

Otherwise what was the point in going on in life. 

The trio were at a loss for words. Stunned by the scene in front of them. Of course they knew the two were married, but it had been revealed at Malfoy Manor it was simply a matter of convenience. Not believing love played any role in the marriage. However, witnessing Y/n in complete despair over Snape made them think the opposite.

They watched in silence. Harry’s attention on Y/n. Her body shaking, face distraught and unsure of where to begin. Snape was losing consciousness, and it was obvious he was running out of time. Clutching onto Y/n’s forearms, the man's eyes softened in a way Harry had never seen. “I’m here,” Y/n caressed his cheek with the hand not holding his neck together. Comforting him. Like she knew he wasn’t going to make it and wanted to make sure he left the world knowing at least one person cared about him. 

Well, she was the only person.

Snape’s eyes turned glossy, flickering between Y/n and Harry. It broke whatever was left of Y/n’s heart seeing him cry. Full of pain and minutes from death.

Something in his tears made her stiffen, and by Snape’s reaction Y/n knew exactly what it was. “Take them,” he pleaded to Harry, the boy confused and looking to the Death Eater for answers. Snape whimpered again, “Take them, please.”

“His tears,” Y/n turned to Harry wide-eyed, a shaky hand reaching out, “get me something--quickly!” He relays the order to Hermoine, who presents a small vial from her bag. Passing it to Harry, he extends it to Y/n, who snatches the vial and opens the top with her teeth. Her rapid movements slow as she gently presses the container to Snape’s cheek. Teardrops falling down until the vial is filled to the brim. They glow against the glass.

“Take them to the pevensie,” Snape’s voice was hoarse, Y/n handing the vial to Harry with care. Pocketing it, Harry glanced up when Snape whispered, “look at me.” Against her palm, Y/n felt his pulse begin to slow. Beats growing apart by the second. 

A knot formed in her throat. Clenching onto his hand like her life depended on it.

Harry stared into the eyes of the man he hated most in the world. Realizing the words were meant for him. More tears ran down Snape’s cheeks, “you have your mother’s eyes.” And with one last squeeze to his wife’s hand, catching her gaze, Severus Snape took his last breath. Head falling limp against the glass, sending Y/n into despair. 

Whatever remnants of her heart broke into a million pieces. Grieving the loss of her only friend and companion. 

Her sobs echoed, the teens watching with solemn faces as the woman brought the now deceased Snape into her arms. One hand on his head to lay it against her chest, resting her chin on his own, the other wrapped arm around his shoulders. Cradling him without any care of the blood coating her skin and clothes. 

None of that mattered to her. 

Her only focus was the man in her arms. 

The sight of Y/n gently rocking Snape was too emotional for the teens. Hermione wiping away moisture from her cheeks, sniffing as she leaned into Ron, whose eyes also shined. They had no words to describe how they felt watching a Death Eater like Y/n--who’d they witnessed her violent nature first hand--in hysterics over Snape. Who’s marriage to him was something they questioned. Believing it to be a ruse. 

However, witnessing the tragic display, they began to think otherwise. 

“We may have not loved each other like we wanted to,” Y/n’s whimpered, opening her eyes to meet Harry’s. The heartbreak shined through, “But he was my peace.” More tears rolled down her cheeks, arms tightening around Snape’s shoulders, resting her cheek on his hair. Another sob left her, “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

Another five minutes passed. Hiccups replacing the witch’s outpour of cries. When it slowed and came to a halt, Y/n didn’t bother wiping away the residue. Letting the tears mix into the sweat and blood. 

Her head that had been previously turned away from Harry to hide into Snape’s hair maneuvered so it was facing him. Never letting go of the man. “You should go,” the roughness of her voice matched her state. Red eyes that the whites were barely noticeable, puffiness in her cheeks. “There’s not much time before he runs out of patience,” he referring to Voldemort. Harry tensed, and Y/n gestured to the vial in his hands, “I don’t know all of what he wanted to show you, but if it’s what I think it is….” Harry heard her gulp, “then you’ll understand the things he--and even I--had to do.”

‘Had to do?’ Harry wondered, his expression giving away what he was thinking by the way Y/n shook her head. Unwilling to give him the answers right there. Whatever it was, Harry was anxious at finding out. Remembering the events of the last year in an attempt to identify clues. 

A truly difficult task considering all the shit that happened since the previous May. 

“Please,” her croak brought him out of his thoughts. Harry looked up from the floor to see Y/n on the edge of another breakdown. But she held it together, holding Harry to a firm gaze. The next words leaving her mouth giving only a mere indication of what the Boy who Lived had in store for him when he tapped into Snape’s memories. 

“Don’t let it be for nothing.” 

19 Years Later….

Gray clouds covered the sky like a blanket in west Cornwall. So thick, not even a glimmer of the sun’s ray peaked through. Cool winds breezing, making leaves fly in the air. From above gentle rain fell, hitting the umbrella Narcissa held as she crossed into Blackmere cemetery. The gate creaked behind her, causing a black crow that had been perched on the brick to fly away. 

Draco stayed in the car, allowing his mother privacy after she denied his request to join her. The woman was adamant about going alone, “I’ll only be a moment, darling. Keep the car warm for us.”

Umbrella in one hand and a single white rose in the other, Narcissa followed the pavement trail to her destination. Passing the many tombstones of her relatives, including her young cousin, Regulus. Her movement slowed to read the words engraved on the stone, ‘Born 23 April 1961 he was taken from us at seventeen. Beloved son, and friend: we who loved you will watch for you in the night sky; for surely you will race across the heavens faster than any star’. 

Offering a silent prayer in respect, Narcissa continued down the path. Passing her parents, aunts, uncles, more cousins. Her head tipped a brief second when she strolled by Bellatrix’s. Finally she reached the plot she came for, knot forming in the back of her throat as her eyes landed on the tombstone.

A monolith of black marble stood about two feet and drove into the ground surrounded by a plethora of white Camellias. The only bit of color that stood out was the small bouquets of peonies, carnations, and lilies leaning against the stone. A tell tale sign her sister Andromeda, Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione had already stopped by that morning. 

The flowers from Andromeda were expected. But, even after nearly 20 years, Narcissa still found herself surprised by the gesture from the other two. It had been a few years after the war when the woman caught the two in the cemetery and demanded to know why they were there that Narcissa discovered why. 

“She saved my son,” Mrs. Weasley brushed away a tear that escaped, “And my daughter. Had it not been for her my Bill would’ve died that night. In the Astronomy tower. She could’ve easily left him there…but she didn’t. And Ginny,...” Molly couldn’t get the rest of the words out, becoming emotional, “For that, I’ll forever be grateful.” 

Hermione felt the heat rush to her cheeks, stuttering slightly, “There were many times she had the opportunity to sell us out--to give up Harry. At the burrow, the manor,” the girl flinched, the memories too painful to recall, “even during the battle. She chose not to. And while I know it was mostly for her own personal gain, I can’t help but feel indebted to her. Her actions saved my friends and I. For that alone, I will pay my respects.” 

Stepping forward, Narcissa placed the white rose on top of the monolith. Fingers trailing along the smooth surface before moving back to draw her eyes down. Lingering her gaze on the black & white photo next to the writing.

Carved into the marble, the engraving was simple yet elegant, ‘Y/n M/n Black: Born 10 June 1967 -- Died 2 May 1998, Finally Free.’ 

Narcissa held back the tears as she bowed her head, having cried enough over the last 19 years since Y/n died. She always thought back to those last two days. The manor. The battle. The speckle of hope at rekindling their relationship Narcissa felt when the two connected in the woods……

Narcissa let out of a breath of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when Y/n emerged from the treeline. Falling into step with the rest of the Death Eaters as they marched towards the castle. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, the light competing with the fires still burning within Hogwats. 

“Where have you been?” Narcissa whispered when she felt Y/n beside her, careful not to draw any attention to them. Glancing ahead she spotted Bellatrix skipping alongside Voldemort. “We’ve been looking everywhere--.” She cut herself off when she finally turned to her sister, horror filling her eyes by the amount of dried blood she saw. Her hand instantly came up to grip Y/n’s arm, “My God, what happened to you.” Her eyes searched for the source of injury, “Are you still bleeding--?”

“It’s not mine,” Y/n breathed, body aching from exhaustion. Voice dry and hoarse, in desperate need of water. Relieved, Narcissa loosened her grip, however the worry in her heightened upon seeing Y/n’s eyes glossen. Something she hadn’t seen in 17 years. “Severus…..” 

The witch gasped, peering at Lucius to see if he was listening, only to find him staring ahead. Narcissa gulped, moving her hand from Y/n’s wrist to her shoulder, “Is he…” The shake of Y/n’s head, followed by her sharp inhale was enough of an answer. Narcissa’s heart plummeted to her stomach. 

“Is Draco….”

“He’s in the castle,” Narcissa lowered her arm back to her side. An overwhelming amount of guilt surfaced at the fact her son was alive and well, but Snape--the man who protected him and her sister’s husband--was dead. 

“And you're certain because….” Y/n’s blank tone trailed, side eyeing her sister with a matching expression. Narcissa paled, but remained strong, not meeting her stare.

“I just do,” hands clasped in front of her stomach, holding them tightly.  “And I will find him if it’s the last thing I do.” Y/n studied her, observing for any cues that would confirm the doubt she had of her sister. Once satisfied, she turned away, although the nagging feeling something was off remained. But she was too tired to question it. 

It was then she noticed Hagrid tied up, trailing behind them carrying something in his arms. She’d always had a soft spot for the gentle half-giant. Remembering how he’d always be the first to greet students at the beginning of the term. Always a kind face, bringing an ounce of joy to the girl when all else around her was darkness. Seeing him bound was like a dagger to Y/n’s chest. Then bile rose to her throat when her eyes focused on the figure he held. 

“Is that who I think it is?”

Narcissa turned to see what Y/n was looking at, stiffening immediately and snapping her head forward. “Yes.” 

Y/n wanted to scream. Scream until her voice disappeared. Her jaw hurt by how hard she was clenching it shut to prevent herself from lashing out. Grinding her teeth to the point she feared they’d crack. Y/n wanted to curse at the world. 

It had all been for nothing…..

Feeling the fury radiate off her sister, Narcissa made the impulsive decision to say the truth before Y/n attempted to kill Voldermort herself. Having pieced together the younger witches animosity and disloyalty to the Dark Lord ages ago. With her husband gone and assuming the boy who’d be the saving grace dead, Y/n was a ticking time bomb. 

Leaning close, practically shoving herself onto her sister, Narcissa made it look like she had stumbled and Y/n caught her to the Death Eaters. Face hidden by her hair, Narcissa’s voice barely kissed against Y/n’s ear, “He’s alive.” 

A cold chill ran amongst the witch, Narcissa felt it. Indicating her sister heard her loud and clear. This was then met with Y/n taking Narcissa’s hand. When their eyes locked, Narcissa saw what Y/n was trying to convey, to which the woman nodded. An exhale released from both, Y/n removing her grip and the two stayed silent for the remainder of the journey. 

When they reached the courtyard and Voldemort began his speech, Narcissa felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning to find Y/n watching her closely, face full of sorrow and dejection, even regret. 

“I wish things had been different,” she said softly, startling Narcissa. Then she offered a small shrug accompanying a sad smile, “maybe then we could’ve been friends.” Friends. Not sisters. 

A lump formed in Narcissa’s throat, water lining her eyes, “I would’ve liked that.” A moment passed between them. Both wanting to say everything, yet unable to put it into words. Narcissa broke the silence with the small phrase that summed up the last 17 years. 

“I’m sorry.” For everything, she wanted to add but felt it wasn’t welcomed. She only hoped her sister got the message. 

Y/n’s face never changed, relaxing her shoulders with her deep exhale, telling Narcissa she did. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

Narcissa sighed as the memory came to an end, tilting her head up at the sky. It still pained her after all these years. Wondering where it all went wrong. One moment Y/n was beside her, listening to Voldermort demand loyalty from the other side. The next she’s lost in the chaos following the reveal Harry was alive. Narcissa had initially believed Y/n apparated off the grounds like many other followers had done, the Malfoy matriarch taking her son and marching away from the castle with Lucius following behind. She truly believed Y/n had beat them to the manor, only to find it empty. Then when her sister failed to arrive home that night, Narcissa brushed it off as Y/n laying low. Her worst fear being Y/n had been arrested. Dragged back to Azkaban for all eternity. 

Narcissa prayed it was the first theory. Refusing to believe her sister had become a prisoner again. 

But her hopes were crushed upon the arrival of Professor McGonagall and a member of the newly reformed Ministry of Magic two days later. Only it wasn’t to deliver the news Y/n was in Azkaban. No.

It was a death notification. Two at that.

While Bellatrix’s death was straightforward the details of Y/n’s were still unclear decades later. From what McGonagall informed her, Y/n had been caught in an explosion during the final stages of the battle in the Great Hall. She and Ginny Weasley in a 2v1 duel with Rabastan Lestrange, when suddenly a Death Eater caught them off guard by casting bombarda maxima, resulting in Y/n to push the girl away. Witnesses reported seeing Y/n thrown off her feet by the force of the spell and through the stained glass window behind her. Her screams echoing as she fell and the debris followed her down. 

 They never found her body. Based on the location, it was presumed Y/n died on impact when she hit the lake from the height of the fall. Sinking to the bottom. Whatever was left of her was likely torn by the creatures inhabiting the waters. 

The images of Y/n’s suspected death haunted Narcissa’s nightmares for months. Lucius woke up to her cries every night. Offering comfort as best as he could considering affection was not a common occurrence for the couple. And while he had the same distaste for his sister-in-law as she did him--still holding a grudge for when she beat him to a pulp--at the end of the day his wife lost her sister. Both of them in one night. She and Andromeda were now the last immediate family members of the noble and ancient House of Black. 

Everyone else was dead. 

Sighing, Narcissa began to speak. Pretending the casket in the ground contained her sister’s body and not empty. “Scorpius starts at Hogwarts this fall. Draco is at his wits end. Understandable really,” she hummed with a small frown, “with all that’s happening with Astoria, I reckon it won’t be a pleasant year.” Thinking of her grandson, Narcissa’s heart breaks a little. “But I hope Scorpius manages to find some solace at school. He’s already packing his trunk even though there’s still two months until he leaves,” she laughs softly, “Last week he found your spell books…..”

Drawing her gaze down, she finds Y/n’s picture. Looking absolutely beautiful in her white dress and simple veil, taken the day of her wedding to Snape. The image enchanted, capturing the moment she gave a genuine smile to the camera. A rare sight. The way she laid against the chair’s armrest with the window light coming through made the photo look like it was straight from the 1950s. Not to mention how timeless Y/n appeared. It was one of the very few pictures Narcissa was able to find of her sister. And it was her favorite amongst the bunch. 

“He’d snuck into the attic one morning. Lucius about had a fit, and Draco didn’t know what to do,” Narcissa closed the umbrella, the rain had stopped. “They’re in a safe space, need not to worry. But seeing as Scorpius is ambitious like the rest of us--no doubt he’ll be in Slytherin,” her tone had a hint of playfulness, “I find they’ll be in his possession soon enough. We promised, well I promised, that he can have them once he’s in his fourth year, if he maintains good grades.” 

Another sigh leaves her, shivering at the sudden breeze. “You know, part of me believes I’ll never find closure when it comes to us, Y/n. Or with your death,” her chest tightens, “Not having your body makes it hard to really move on. Plus, there are times where I swear I see you at the treeline of the Manor. Or strolling the streets of London,” her eyes flicker to the dirt, “Makes me have the slightest hope….that maybe, you’re still out there…..” A shiver ran down Narcissa’s spin as the words left her mouth. It was the first time she’d said them aloud. And after holding the sneaky suspicion of her sister being alive to herself for 19 years, she felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. 

“That maybe you survived the fall and conjured up an extravagant escape. I often picture you made a life in America--or are currently traveling the world. You always said you would when you were a child. A foolish thought I know,” her chuckle was dry, laughing at herself for even considering the idea. “It would do me right to believe like everyone else. But if by some chance I’m right,” her bottom lip quivered, gathering the courage to say the words she desperately wanted to say. “I understand why. At first I was enraged--feeling betrayed that you’d go that far. But after many years of reflecting…I can’t bring myself to be angry if you did fake your death.”

Another pause, “After all, what you wanted most in the world was your freedom.” Leaves crunched beneath her boots as she shifted her stance, “Free from this world. Free from us. Free from everything. I cannot blame you for wanting peace. I’d be a hypocrite to view otherwise.” Especially since she was able to avoid prison time with the rest of Voldemort’s followers because of what she did. 

Narcissa looked at Y/n’s picture once more. Watching the moving image repeat to commit her dazzling smile to memory. Wanting to remember her as the once beautiful kind soul she’d been before Azkaban, instead of a walking Devil historians painted her to be. A narrative Narcissa found herself battling lawsuits to erase. Even with Harry Potter revealing details of Y/n’s role in protecting him during the war, people still focused on the horrible things. 

That’s how she was remembered. A crushed, darkened soul. 

As Narcissa stared at the headstone one last time, she was completely unaware that a few feet away, perched on the monolith of their parents, was a black crow watching her intently. Listening to her every word.

And what the witch didn’t know, what she failed to realize after all these years, was that this crow had been coming to the cemetery every year. On the same day. Sitting in the same spot. Watching her place a single white rose on the grave, which the crow would carry away once Narcissa departed. 

Flying through the skies without a care in the world, now that she was free.

“I hope wherever you are, Y/n, you’ve found peace.” 

[drarryspecificrecs]

2024.04 ~ Top 7 longest fics posted on AO3

1. He’s a good boy now by Basilface [M, 299k]

►Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself after the war. He pushes away his friends, seeking solitude until he stumbles upon a mysterious mosaic, made from one of the windows that had been shattered in the recent battle. The artist leads him on a wild goose chase to obscure their identity, unknowingly garnering the hero’s fixation.

2. Within the Hollow Crown by @into-the-midst [M, 114k]

►Lucius failed at the Ministry, and Draco is sent to Hogwarts with a cryptic warning that he will be tasked with an unknown mission. He expects to spend his sixth year on prefect rounds with Pansy and finally beating Potter on the Quidditch Pitch. He never expected his new roommate to be Voldemort himself, or that Voldemort's obsession with trophies would apply to him.

3. Unknown / Nth by @heyjude19-writing [E, 107k]

►A life partly forgotten; a love story remembered out of order. Harry resents this past version, the one he can’t access on demand. The one who looks at home in Draco Malfoy’s arms.

4. this heaven of mud by @garagepaperback [E, 94k]

►A love story told in two somewhat unreliable parts, over six years. Featuring secret shagging, to friends, to the 'how is it fair for someone to say your name like that' sort of friends, to, finally, someone you could call a home.

5. The Pan-Dimensional Frisbee by @dracoandthehounds [M, 60k]

►Harry, Ron, and Hermione accidentally stumble their way into multi-dimensional travel. Together, the three try to find their way home, despite the detours Harry keeps taking with each new version of Draco Malfoy they find.

6. Passing Stranger by @lettersbyelise [E, 53k]

►Five years after the war, Harry, listless and depressed, stumbles upon Draco Malfoy playing the violin in an underground bar in Muggle London. The catch? Draco lost his memories five years ago. Ignoring his friends’ advice, Harry befriends an unwitting Draco, overlooking the fact that their mutual attraction might not survive if Draco’s memories return.

7. cigarettes and full moons by organboner69 [T, 43k]

►During the war, Draco had been bitten by Greyback. Draco now has to return to Hogwarts to finish his N.E.W.Ts- not only with the whole school against him, but now a werewolf. Harry Potter of all people has been ordered to watch Draco until the end of the year. How would he keep being a werewolf from him?

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 10k

※ Word count: 10k ~ 40k

Bloody Business by IlliterateBastard [E, 10k]

Code One-Eight-Seven by Hashi2 [E, 36k]

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Ft: Draco Malfoy) by sailortzu [G, 39k]

Poison by @dracowillhearaboutthis [E, 16k]

Twelve to dinner, an angsty murder romance by HedgehogWrites [M, 28k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Draco Tops Harry Fest 2024 | @dracotops-harry

[actual-changeling]

Every night, Crowley sleeps curled up in a bed dusty from years of disuse, slipping under the sheets and trying to preserve the touch of Aziraphale's scent in the air.

Every night, Crowley dreams.

It is always the same dream, scene by scene, word by word, and yet it never feels familiar or fails to pull him deeper into the depths of his mind.

When he opens his eyes to the shimmering reality of his subconscious, he is watching the sky break open, a thunderstorm of rain hailing down on London. The interior of the bookshop is comfortably warm, his sprawl across the armchair intentionally effortless, and the noise of darkening pavement and wet tyre tracks almost drowns out the light ding of the door opening.

The world narrows down to the glowing outline of his angel, dressed in white with eyes the blue of blooming magnolias, and Crowley is frozen no matter how desperately he tries to move.

Every time Aziraphale walks towards him, reaches for him, and it is then, with one of his palms pressed to his cheek and the other gripping his arm with a white-knuckled tremor, that Crowley is ripped from his stupor.

"You came back," he says, his voice echoing and his vision growing blurry.

"Of course I did," Aziraphale responds every single time. "I love you."

The kiss tastes like saltwater and rain, an ocean breeze tinged with bergamot, a cloud of dust picked up by a gust of wind in spring, inhaled with a smile and sunshine on his face. It tastes exactly like Aziraphale is supposed to taste; his mouth is soft, his body is moulding to the shape of Crowley's.

"I missed you," Crowley whispers with unmoving lips. "Don't leave me again."

When he tries to open his eyes, he can't, and the warmth of Aziraphale's body flows apart, dissipating into the darkness, dragging him out of the deep and towards the surface, towards dawn, quickly enough for his ears to pop and a scream to stay stuck in his throat. Every night, the dream ends the same way.

Oh, Crowley.

He wakes, gasping around shallow breaths, his heart beating fast enough to make him dizzy. Even with the sheets clenched in his fists and his body shooting upright, Aziraphale's words sound as clear as they did when he first spoke them into existence.

Nothing lasts forever.

Every morning, Crowley swears to himself to stop sleeping, to never close his eyes again, to leave the bookshop, and to run as far away as he can until he finally finds a place untouched by the angel.

Every night, he ascends the stairs, unlocks the bedroom door, and slips back beneath unmade sheets, chasing the taste of their kiss.

Pain, Crowley knows, is not what makes a nightmare, nor is it terror, fear, or heartbreak. It simply tells him that he had something, someone, worth losing, and even though the shape of his loss is the only thing he has left, it's better than not feeling him at all.

Nothing lasts forever, Aziraphale leaves him every single night, and they will never get the chance to try and outrun time.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Seven

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Language.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.2k

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Matthew is pissed that he had missed the ball, muttering on and on about Lord Morpheus intentionally sending him out on an errand that kept him so busy he only made it back for the last hour of the ball. You had already slipped into a deeper sleep by then, blissed out by a wonderful night that had ended so intimately that you have spent the entire next day wondering if it had even happened.

You're sipping on a hot cup of coffee, watching the city of London hustle and bustle from your apartment window. The smell of rain mingles with the faint scent of the black liquid, a combination that never fails to soothe your nerves. Your mind keeps wandering back to the ball, the grandeur of it all still fresh in your memory.

Suddenly, there's a tapping on your window. Turning around, you find Matthew perched on the window sill. His dark eyes are glinting with mischief and his feathers ruffled from his journey.

"Oh, so you finally decided to show up," you quip, opening the window to let him in. He hops onto your table, knocking over a couple of papers in his usual nonchalant manner.

"Lord Morpheus sends his regards," Matthew says in a tone that makes it clear he's still sour about missing the ball. "He hopes you enjoyed yourself… and the garden? Don't know what he meant about that but…"

"Oh I did, the shoes he gave me were marvelous," You say before taking a sip of coffee and eyeing the raven. "You want to hear what happened?

Matthew cocks his head, the way birds do when they're curious. His beady eyes are fixed on you as if he's trying to piece together the story from your face alone.

"You wouldn't believe it, Matty," you begin, taking a sip of your coffee. Your fingers tap rhythmically against the mug, the warmth seeping into your skin. "The ball was something straight out of a fairytale."

A soft chuckle escapes Matthew's beak. "Oh? And how so?"

You lean back in your chair, letting your gaze wander to the ceiling as you recall the memories. "There were dreams of all shapes and sizes, dressed in their finest. Some even wore masks made of stardust and moonlight."

Matthew preens his feathers, his gaze never leaving your face. "Sounds like quite the sight."

You nod, grinning at the memory. "The music was enchanting, and I danced with a nightmare who spun me around like we were waltzing on clouds."

Matthew's caw is soft, almost a purr. "And what about Lord Morpheus? Did he dance with you?"

"Uh, no," You reply with a wry smile. "He was too busy dodging some nymphs that desperately wanted his attention… and quite possibly more."

"Oh now you have to tell me!" Matthew says, hopping in excitement.

Your eyes light up as you recount the night's events to Matthew. "You should've seen it, Matty," you begin, trying to suppress a giggle. "Lord Morpheus was like a cat with nine lives, evading those nymphs at every turn. I almost felt bad for him…"

Matthew cocks his head, clearly interested. "Oh? How did he manage that?"

You lean back in your chair, enjoying the memory. "He was graceful as a panther, slipping through their grasp every time they reached out to him. At one point, he slipped behind a group of pixies who were dancing in the air."

Matthew's beady eyes twinkle with amusement. "Sounds like he was quite the sight."

"Oh, he was," you affirm with a nod. "He moved through the crowd like water, never missing a beat. And his eyes...you could just tell he wanted out."

"And the nymphs?" Matthew prompts.

You chuckle at the memory. "They chased him around all night. But every time they thought they had him cornered, he would just vanish into thin air. I feel bad for laughing about it but it was hilarious."

Matthew caws in laughter, flapping his wings in delight. "That's the boss for you! Always one step ahead."

You laugh along with him before settling back into your chair, your mind already drifting to other parts of the night.

Matthew cocks his head, eyes twinkling with curiosity. "And what about your Dream Lover? Did you see him at the ball?"

A chuckle escapes your lips. "Matthew, you know I don't see him," you remind him gently. The warm coffee mug in your hands is comforting, the scent wafting up and mixing with the faint smell of rain.

"Right, right," Matthew caws, ruffling his feathers. "But you met up with him, didn't you?"

You can't help but flush at that, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Maybe," you reply coyly, enjoying the way Matthew squawks in protest.

"Oh come on, Kora! Don't leave me hanging," he insists, hopping closer on the table.

With a sigh, you set your coffee mug down and lean back in your chair. "Fine," you relent. "We met up."

Matthew practically preens with satisfaction. "And?" he prompts eagerly.

"And..." You pause for a moment, recalling the magic of that encounter. "We danced."

Matthew is silent for a moment, clearly surprised. Then he caws loudly, flapping his wings in excitement. "You danced with him?!"

You nod, a dreamy smile on your face as you recall the sensation of his arms around you, the rhythm of the dance. "Yes," you admit softly. "In a garden filled with lilacs."

Matthew cocks his head again, clearly intrigued by this revelation. He hops closer to you on the table, his beady eyes never leaving your face.

"And how was it?" he asks quietly.

"It was..." You pause for a moment, searching for the right words to describe the experience. "It was wonderful."

Your gaze flits to the clock hanging on the wall. The hands tick away the seconds, but to you, it feels like time has frozen. You find yourself yearning for the night, yearning for the Dreaming.

"You miss him, don't you?" Matthew's voice brings you back to reality.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. "I... yes," you admit, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Matthew's beady eyes are sympathetic. "It's okay, Kora," he assures you. "There's nothing wrong with missing someone."

"But it's not... normal," you say, gesturing vaguely with your hand. "He's a dream... or nightmare."

Matthew caws softly, his head tilting to one side as he regards you thoughtfully. "Is he though?" he asks gently. "Is he really just a dream slash nightmare to you?"

You open your mouth to respond but close it again when no words come out. Matthew has a point. He isn't just a figment of your imagination; he's real in the Dreaming, and in a way, he's become real to you too. The realization is like a punch to the gut. It leaves you breathless, reeling with the implications of what this means.

You're in love. Real love. Not in lust, or in lust because of the incredible sex, but actual, unadulterated love.

"Oh, fuck me," you mutter to yourself in horror. A shocked silence follows your words. You stare at the raven, his beady eyes watching you closely. Matthew caws softly, an almost understanding sound.

"You've fallen for him," Matthew states, not a question but a simple fact. He ruffles his feathers, hopping closer to you on the table. "Hard."

"Yeah," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You run your fingers through your hair, your mind racing. "Yeah, I think I have."

Matthew cocks his head to one side, studying you with an intensity that makes you uncomfortable. "You sure about that?"

"Matthew," you groan, burying your face in your hands. "I don't need the third degree right now."

He caws again, hopping back onto the window sill. His dark eyes watch you with a strange intensity before he flaps his wings and takes off into the sky.

The silence in the room is deafening after Matthew's departure. You're left alone with your thoughts and the realization that you've fallen in love with a dream... or nightmare.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes on the table, pulling you from your thoughts. You pick it up and see a message from one of your friends inviting you out for drinks tonight. You consider it for a moment before replying with a quick 'sure'. It's better than staying at home and overthinking things.

With a quick swipe of lipstick and a final check in the mirror, you're out the door and on your way to meet your friends at the bar. The London streets are busy, filled with people rushing home after a long day's work. You're glad for the distraction, anything to keep your mind from wandering back to him.

The bar is crowded when you arrive, loud chatter and laughter filling the air. Your friends wave you over from a booth in the corner. You slide into the seat next to them, ordering a drink as you join their conversation.

As you settle into the cushioned booth, your friends greet you with enthusiastic cheers and playful jabs. Overhead, the neon lights of the bar cast a soft glow on the group, setting the scene for an evening of banter and camaraderie.

"You're late, Kora!" your friend, Emma, playfully accuses, raising her glass in a mock toast. Her eyes are bright with mirth as she nudges you with her elbow.

You chuckle, taking a sip of your drink. "I had a raven to deal with," you reply cryptically, not missing the confused looks that pass between your friends.

"Oh?" Emma raises an eyebrow in curiosity. "Sounds like quite the story."

"It is," you assure her with a nod. "But it's not one for tonight."

"Fine," Emma concedes with a huff. "Then let's talk about us. Any juicy gossip?"

A round of laughter follows her words as everyone takes turns sharing their latest romantic escapades. Sarah's been seeing a guy who has an odd fascination with astrology. Mark just broke up with his girlfriend who turned out to be his boss's daughter. As each tale unfolds, you find yourself getting lost in their stories, letting their laughter and energy wash wash out your stress. It's a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling around in your mind since Matthew's visit.

You listen to their stories with rapt attention, laughing at their jokes and offering advice when asked. Their tales of love and heartbreak are wildly different from yours, but there's a sense of shared love and heartbreak that comes from sharing these intimate details of your lives. Emma is currently dating a guy who she swears looks like Ryan Gosling… if you squint hard enough in dim lighting. Mark just started seeing someone new after his tumultuous breakup, a woman he met at a bookstore who shares his love for vintage comic books.

As they share their stories, you find yourself silently comparing their experiences to yours. The differences are stark and numerous, your lover exists only in dreams while theirs are as real as the bar around you. The night continues on like this, laughter echoing off the walls, drinks being refilled and emptied again. It's nice to forget about everything for a while, to lose yourself in your friends' stories and let go of your own worries. But your mind always goes back to him.

The night progresses and several guys approach your table. They're attractive, no doubt about that, but they're not him. They don't make your heart race or your stomach flip like he does. Still, you engage in light banter, smiling politely as they try to impress you with stories of their 'exciting' lives.

One of them, a tall guy with a charming smile and sparkling eyes, seems particularly interested in you. He's funny and charming and not at all unattractive. He's also very persistent. After a while, he asks you out on a dinner date.

You hesitate for a moment before agreeing. It's not like you're cheating on him, right? After all, he's just a dream... or nightmare. You can't be official if you haven't even seen if face or know his name.

Your friends cheer when you accept the guy's offer. They clink their glasses together in celebration as he grins at you across the table. Despite the cheeriness of your friends and the charming guy across from you, there's an ache in your chest that won't go away. It lingers there, like a stubborn cloud blocking out the sun.

You can't help but think about him as the night wears on. The way he makes you feel is incomparable to anything else. The thought of being with someone else feels wrong somehow. But this is reality and he.. isn't. He exists in another realm entirely. He already told you that you didn't belong and your place is within the waking.

With a sigh, you push these thoughts aside and focus on the man sitting across from you. He's nice and he makes you laugh; that should be enough for now. But as he talks about his job and his life, all you can think about is how different he is from him.

This date might be what you need, an anchor to reality,  but it doesn't change how much your heart yearns for something more... something real yet intangible. You know one thing for certain though; accepting this date doesn't mean forgetting about him or moving on from him. It just means acknowledging reality while cherishing what happens when you close your eyes at night.

Date Published: 10/8/24

Last Edit: 10/8/24

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