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luveline · 27 days ago

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭

part one | chapter list

You find yourself drawn into Remus’ life after an awful night you can’t remember. He does his best to hold onto you. [10k]

cw: heavy themes, implied sexual assault of the reader [with no graphic scenes but it’s a continuous theme, so please be careful when reading], pregnancy, eventual friends to lovers, friendships, hurt/comfort, james makes a lot of soup, found family

𖦹

The pharmacy on Wilmand Street is always deathly quiet. The boy behind the counter reads and occasionally picks up the phone to put it back down, his hair in his eyes, a waxiness to his pale skin that never fails to perturb.

Your shoes creak over the hardwood floor. He’s noticed your entry, signalled by a golden bell above the door and your muffled panting, but he hasn’t looked up.

Your eyes slide past pads, nighttime, ultra-long panty liners, searching with a poorly restrained desperation for something in particular.

The phone rings —dark-haired boy picks it up and puts it back down again as you recalled, silencing the ring. You watch him from over your shoulder and he looks up from his book to stare.

“Pregnancy tests?” you ask.

His expression doesn’t change as he pulls a drawer open behind the desk with a metallic clink. “What kind?”

“The most reliable. Please.”

He gives a nod, black curl bobbing under his chin. He grabs a blue card box and places it on the counter. “Sixteen fifty.”

You open your purse before you’ve reached him, extracting the change exactly and tipping it next to his book. “Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

Your heart squeezes in your chest like a tightening fist. “Why?”

“I have to ask. I’m a mandated reporter.”

“I’m not a child.”

He levels your look with his own. “You don’t have to answer. I’m only asking because you look upset. Are you alright?”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say more than three words at a time. His voice is reminiscent of someone else’s, half-remembered. You want to ask him, then. The questions you’ve had since it happened. Why does it hurt so badly, still? But the boy, while seemingly well-intentioned, isn’t one you trust to care nor keep it to himself.

“Fine,” you reply, pressing the blue-boxed test into your pocket, pulling the hood of your coat up to brace against the December rain. You’re fine.

The door opens before you can get to it, another lovely dark-haired boy letting himself inside. His stare is blank as the one at the desk’s is, but you smile on instinct and he smiles back warmly after a moment, holding the door for you to leave.

“Okay, Reg?” you hear him ask as you pass.

“Close the door,” Reg says. “You’re letting in the cold.”

—

It’s even colder the next time you go. You throw on another hoodie and wrap a scarf tightly around your neck, face ducked, nose tickled by flyaway fibres. The walk to Wilmand Street takes seventeen long minutes where your hands hurt, then shake, chapped by hateful winds.

The pharmacy’s newspapered window comes into view. A poster for the local pub leaks ink on the outside, wet by the rain, its font blooming like fungus across purple paper. Live music event: December 31st.

The dark-haired boy —Reg?— is behind the counter again. The first one. Are you alright? boy. He looks twenty so or near that, but there’s something wilfully young about the skin under his eyes, despite a more haggard pinch to his brow. You were hoping it would be the second one, or the sandy-haired boy who mans the till in the very early mornings. He has a more natural smile than the other two. Perhaps not more authentic, but quicker to perk up when you slink in for whatever before work, Mondays and Fridays if he’s there.

Reg doesn’t lift his head. You push yourself toward the back of the pharmacy. It’s a small shop slotted between two others, one wall touched from the next in thirty seconds should you walk it. It makes pretending you’re there for other things useless and embarrassing, but you do it anyway. Another test won’t change what you wanted the test to say, but you can’t take one single test and trust it was right.

“Reliable?” Reg asks when you finally approach.

“Yeah. And the five strip box, too, if you have it.”

Reg takes them from the drawer and adds their prices seemingly in his head. “Eighteen eighty-nine.”

You pass him a twenty pound note and wait for your change, not bothered that he counts it slowly, or that he puts it down flat on the counter away from your outstretched hand. “Thanks,” you murmur.

He noticeably bites his tongue.

“I want to be sure, is all,” you say.

“If you go to the doctor’s, they do it for free. And it has a ninety nine percent rate of accuracy.”

You hold the tests to your stomach. “I’m not… really sure what I’d want them to tell me, right now.”

“They’d tell you the truth, at least.” Reg seems to decide this line of conversation isn’t one he wants to continue, and he lets his mouth flatten into a thin, white line. You get the sense though that he isn’t done talking, and are rewarded for your patience with an inkling of an almost-smile. “Please know that I’m bound by duty of care while I work here, so if you are concerned about something, I can listen and offer advice. And if you don’t want to tell me private information, my uncle is the acting pharmacist, and he is more strictly bound by patient confidentiality law.” He looks you in the eye. “You’re only as alone as you allow yourself to be.”

“Who says that?” you ask, poked by the way he lays it out.

Reg doesn’t like your question and doesn’t answer. He picks up his book, murmuring, “I hope they give you the result you want.”

A different dark-haired boy is standing outside of the pharmacy when you leave. With a nice nose, eyes like a puppy, he’s handsome but hidden behind black frames. He stands from his car where he’d been leaning when the door swings out, sits back again when he realises you’re not who he’s looking for. “Sorry, lovely,” he says, pulling at a loosely-knotted tie. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Sorry,” you say back, holding the tests to your chest.

Your hand covers the boxes. His eyes flicker down to them regardless. You wait for disdain or embarrassment but see neither. Really, the only thing this new boy wears is pleasantness.

“Don’t stay out too long, will you?” he asks, smiling genially, “You’ll freeze.”

“I’m–” You clear your throat, caught off guard to have a stranger care about you so openly. No reluctance to his well wishes, and no strings. “Sorry– I’m going home now. I won’t stay out.”

“Good, shortcake. Have a good night.”

You should say you too. The wind chases you back to your flat, where you head for the bathroom, and, despite living alone, lock the door.

—

You take your pregnancy test and sit on the floor, too weak-legged to stand at the sink, waiting for two pink lines.

Sure enough. Control, result. One solid pink line, and one much lighter. It doesn’t matter —a positive is a positive, no matter how weak. The strip tests say the same thing.

In TV and movies, people always paint the test as the ultimate moment. As though the result is the result, and that everything after is fixed, but the result now is only a signifier for another decision to be made: will you keep your baby, or foetus? Do you feel as though it is a baby, or a foetus, or both? Is it welcome, or a foreign object? There is no right or wrong answer, only how you feel.

The migraine you get then is debilitating. Like toothache in every tooth, pain behind your eyes half-psychosomatic, half physiological stress. You’re not sure how long you’re in the bathroom holding your forehead, but it’s dark when you manage to stand again, and the tests have only gotten more obviously positive. You throw them all in the bin.

—

The third day you go back to Wilmand Street pharmacy, the desk is manned by your unfamiliar, smiling boy. He looks up when the door opens, his eyes browned honey set in a face that recently saw the sun, but not too much of it. Kissed by it. His cheeks are pinked. He must be the first person who’s worked here to bother turning on the heating.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you say back. Voice croaky, you remember to be polite. “You okay?”

“I’m great, lovely, thank you. How are you?” He gives a nod toward the street. “It’s so cold out, are you gonna be warm enough in your jumper?”

You find yourself struck as you were the day before, so startled by genuine kindness that you can hardly work your mouth. “I’m okay. I’m going right back home after this.”

“Aw, good.”

You nod. What are you here for today? Not another test. You aren’t stupid enough to believe a third round will give you a different verdict, but you‘d felt an urgent need to move.

You grab a rounded basket from near the door and make your way to the haircare. There’s a handful of shampoos to choose from. You take the usual. Beneath them are baby shampoos and soaps. On a whim you pick one up, the words Tear and fragrance free stuck like a bad swallow at the back of your throat.

Babies need so many things. At the supermarket they have these great walls of baby food and it’s expensive enough to take your eye out every time. A quarter of an hours wage for every organic, soft meal, and sure, they don’t need organic, vegetables are organic intrinsically, whatever, but if you don’t buy organic pre-made meals you have to make the baby food yourself, how long does that take? You put the baby shampoo down and turn to the conditioners.

Unhappy, you scour them for nothing and turn on the spot. Why is Dr. Black never here? How are you supposed to ask him your questions if he doesn’t show up to work?

You’ll have to ask the brown-haired boy. Nice eyes, nice smile. He probably won’t judge you, at least not out loud.

He stands up from his rickety chair, soft leather seat worn and creaking as he pushes it away. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Do you have to do that patient-confidentiality thing?”

He smiles rather gently. “I do. A condition of my employment is to protect patient information. Legally, I can’t share private or sensitive information about you to anyone else in the world, unless I believe you’re in proper danger.” He holds his hands behind his back. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

Wind roars outside. Your eyes start to the door.

“There’s a private room in the back,” he adds.

“I don’t want to waste your time.”

“It’s not wasted. Even if I weren’t legally obligated to keep whatever secrets you may have, I’m worried you look a bit poorly.”

He speaks oddly. Or not odd, but different to any of the other men you’ve met. It’s friendly, and yet somehow he’s quiet, too. His interest feels real, so you cross the room to the desk and put your basket on your shoes.

You try to find a way to say it. “I know you’re not a doctor.”

“No, I’m an apprentice pharmacist.”

“Right. I know I should go to the doctor, and not you.”

“That depends. We’re here to help. Doesn’t matter if you should go somewhere, you can ask me first.”

You struggle. He waits. His hands lay steady on the edge of the desk, his face nearly blank besides a hint of warmth.

“Is it alright if it’s a question about, um, sex?”

He nods emphatically. “Of course that’s alright. I can’t promise I’ll know the answer, but you’re welcome to ask me anything and I can always get back to you if you’re not willing to ask someone else.” His smile turns wry. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s only sex. I don’t mind.”

“I just…” You hold your hands together. “I wanted to know, if pain after… if it’s supposed to hurt so much after.”

His wry smile is quickly subdued, though he remains friendly looking. “It depends,” he says, measured, “on a few things. You probably know that the first time you have sex can be painful because of the initial perforation of the hymen, but usually sex isn’t supposed to be painful at all.”

“At all.”

“No. If sex hurts, it’s likely from a lack of preparation, bruising of the cervix, or it could be a condition called vaginismus. That’s where your muscles tighten suddenly when you attempt penetration. Having sex with vaginismus can be extremely painful.”

Something on his chest catches the light. A name tag.

He follows your gaze. “Oh,” he says. “I’m Remus. Sorry, it might’ve been nicer for you to know that before I started talking.”

Remus… You shake your head at him. “Um… Remus… Well, I’m not really sure what happened.”

“Right.”

“I wasn’t–” Your heart jumps before you can confess, horrible secret stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “are you sure you don’t want to go sit down in the quiet room with me? I can make you a cup of tea.”

“I can’t have caffeine.”

“I have night time tea. Is that alright?”

“The shop?”

“It’s okay, I’ll ask Sirius to come down. You really aren’t doing anything wrong.”

“I feel like I shouldn't ask you.”

“That’s a consequence of our great British society,” he says, lightly teasing as he lifts the counter to come from behind it and presses a small red button on an intercom box by the inside door. It’s an attempt to make you feel better, and it nearly works. “You feel embarrassed about something you have no reason to feel embarrassed of. Everybody has sex, and everybody has bad sex, sometimes, and needs advice.”

The intercom crackles before you can speak. “Moony?” a voice asks.

“Sirius, I have someone who needs to talk to me. You’ll have to come on the till for a bit.”

“Kay. Down now.”

Remus smiles. “That’s about as obliging as he gets.”

“Sirius, is he the– is he the one who reads?”

“Not often. You’re thinking of Regulus, his brother.”

Regulus, of course. “They look so similar.”

“They do.” He gestures for you to stand beside him as the inside door swings open, unveiling one of those dark-haired brother’s, the taller of the two.

“Oh, hi,” Sirius says, wet hair on his shoulders, his t-shirt sodden at the front like he’d swept it back, “okay? There’s biscuits in the left cupboard, Moons.”

Remus, Moons, Moony, holds the door back and lets you inside.

The walk to the quiet room is strange. Sitting down at the table with him as he passes you a box of biscuits, kettle boiling, he doesn’t put you on ends, but it doesn’t feel good. You slip your hand under your t-shirt where he can’t see and feel the hot stretch of your stomach for something that isn’t there.

“So,” he says, grimacing, “I’m going to ask you some precursory questions. You don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to.”

“Okay.”

“Are you in any active danger?”

You shake your head slowly. “None.”

“Is someone close to you hurting you?”

“No.”

“Are you alright?”

You twist your hands together tightly. “I don’t think so.”

“No?” He slips his chair closer to your own. “Are you hurt now?”

You look down at your lap. This is awful. This is why you didn’t want to go to see your doctor. “I don’t know. I’m not hurt, but it does hurt. I move and it feels like something sharp is digging into me.”

“I see.” He frowns. “This can happen sometimes with penetration. It’s like I said before, if your body isn’t, you know, prepared? If you aren’t using lubrication, if you aren’t relaxed, it can be as simple as friction having hurt you, but it’s possible you’ve got cervical bruising, or an issue with your pelvic floor. It could be that you have a UTI. If we go through a couple of questions together I might be able to suggest a solution, but I have to tell you to see your doctor if you can. Alright? Pain after sex can be normal, but it doesn’t have to be. When we go back out, I’ll give you some paracetamol as well.”

He looks as though he might have something else to say, but he stops when you open your mouth. “I don’t know what happened.”

Remus frowns again. “Right.”

The cellophane on the biscuits is shining under the light.

“I don’t really know what to do.”

“It’s a stabbing pain?” His frown gets impossibly deeper. “I have some ibuprofen. Off the record, you can have some of that with your tea. Here.” He procures a blister pack from his pocket and hands it to you, jumping up for the kettle, carrying it back to your mugs to set with the pint of milk. “It will probably go away soon, lovely, I would try not to worry, but it’s good to keep an eye on it too, and to book with the doctors if it gets worse. There are so many things that can go wrong in the body, but we’re also such good self-healers, it’s hard to know what to do.”

“It’s… something else, too.”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if the pain is maybe because I…”

Your face goes hot as coal embers, a furious sweat on the back of your neck. Remus doesn’t prod. He pours water into your mug until it’s a little over half full, the tea bag at the bottom staining it sepia.

“I think I’m pregnant,” you say, not sure why it hurts to say so much.

“Right.”

“Do you think it hurts because of that?”

Remus bites his lip as he pours his own mug of tea. He’s looking at you as he puts the kettle down. “No, I wouldn’t think so, but it’s not an impossibility. How pregnant were you thinking?”

“It was two weeks ago, so… so however long it takes to get pregnant.”

He looks alarmed, then. “Lovely, that was the last time you had sex?”

“Yeah.”

“And it still hurts now?”

“Only sometimes,” you say nervously.

He ignores his steaming tea. “Right. Well, I think I need to advise you to make an emergency appointment today. I can make it with you. You shouldn’t still be hurting after two weeks, pregnant or not. Ectopic pregnancies don’t tend to hurt until further along, so…” Remus slows, looking at you with that too-kind frown, brown eyes darker back here behind the fog curls of his tea.

You feel caught on something.

“I wasn’t awake,” you say quietly. “Just woke up hurting. I guessed what happened, ‘n now I’m pregnant. It could only have been...” You shrug it off, even as heat blooms behind your eyes, nose already hot and sniffly.

“You were assaulted.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Remus seems to freeze up. “I’m sorry.” He takes a few seconds, and then he meets your eyes. “I can’t imagine how scary that must have been, and how scary it still is.”

Your eyes line with tears. “I mean, it’s less scary now.” First tear tips forward as your voice falls to pieces. “I just don’t know what to do. Every day I’ve come here this week I’ve tried to ask about it, because I saw that poster, if I’m hurt then I can– then I can come to the pharmacy, but I’m not hurt, I’m fine now.”

“Oh,” he says gently, pushing his chair over a little to bring himself closer, his hand coming to rest on your hunched shoulder, “even if you weren’t in any pain at all, you’re more than welcome to come here and speak to us, to me. This residual pain, I imagine you must’ve been quite injured when it happened. You didn’t have any help at all?”

“I didn’t think there’s anything they could do.”

“That’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he says, rubbing your shoulder kindly. “I just want to know as much of the details as you feel alright giving me, so we can move forward in the best way possible.” His hand slides across your back, nearly hugging. “I’m sorry. Really. And I’m sorry for talking so much about ‘bad sex’, I didn’t realise what you were telling me.”

“I’m sorry for telling you.”

“What?” he asks, a soft incredulity to him, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can tell as many or as few people as you like, but I’m extremely glad to be told, because no one should ever have to face this sort of thing alone, should they?” He rubs your back when you nod, again when you sniffle. “Alright. It’s alright. You’re okay.”

You don’t cry as much as you worry you might under a soft touch. The memory of waking up paralyses you for a bit, that confusion, the pain, the bruise across your neck. All of it makes you feel sick, but Remus shushes you under his breath, not to really shush you, but to calm you down.

“I’m okay,” you say, shamed.

“Try and drink some of this tea. Can I leave you alone for a minute?”

“Oh, uh– yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

His hand lingers between your shoulders. “Just for a minute, I’m going to find some bits for you–”

“I don’t need anything–”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just stuff I have to give you, and some things you might need.” Remus’ hand traces carefully to the front of your shoulder. He meets your eyes, nothing but compassion in the line of his mouth. “Okay?”

You say okay. Remus uses the door you came in through to head back out onto the pharmacy’s shop floor, letting it shut quietly behind him. You press your hand to your teeth.

—

To Remus’ credit, he apologises for both pamphlets. Abortion Explained. What to expect when you’re expecting. “For you to know your options,” he’d said. “Whatever you decide, it’s your decision.”

He can’t know you’ll spend a week pouring over them all, that you’ll worry at the corner of the STD clinic card, or that you’ll shove the RapeCrisis one down the side of your bed, desperate to throw it out, but terrified you’ll need it, too.

And some of the stuff he gives you. You don’t even know what to do with it. Painkillers, lavender oil, discreet pads for incontinence. You’d tried to pay and he’d touched the back of your hand without explanation. “No, it’s okay,” he’d said. Nothing else.

You spend days again wrapped in your own nausea, until Thursday evening, when you make your way to Community Support.

You honestly weren’t considering it when Remus first gave you the card, but he said his friend worked there, “My best friend, James,” he corrected, ”and his wife, Lily, too. She talks to people about all kinds of things. I just wonder if you might feel happier talking about it with a woman.”

Which was a nice sentiment, and possibly true, though Remus had been the first person you told. To be met with his sympathy in such a boundless capacity made it easier. Made you think, Maybe I’m not stupid for hating that it happened.

“I’m here every Monday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday,” he‘d said when you made up a lie about needing to leave, scared of overstaying, “seven ‘til three, but you can ask for me if you ever want to. Sirius usually knows where I am.”

And you had wanted to, but you knew you couldn’t. Being so desperately alone that you craved the comfort of a stranger’s hand is fine, but it didn’t feel okay to hold him hostage like that. Of course he feels sorry for you, of course he wants to make you feel better, how heartless would he look otherwise?

You’d chide yourself for thinking cynically about someone who’d only ever been nice if it would make a difference. Lonely, wrecked, you end up at the Community Support Group at the local leisure centre, wavering behind the swing doors.

A face appears on the other side of the door. Deep skin, eyes like cherry pits and lips painted a cheery red, a woman smiles at you and pulls it open.

“Hi! Are you here for the support group?”

“Uh– Yeh–” You swallow roughly. “Yes. Is that here?”

“That’s here.” She puts a thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “Why don’t you come inside?”

You take a tentative step.

“I’m Mary,” she says.

“I don’t have to sign anything, right?” you ask.

Mary leads you into the room without stopping. “This is off the books only. Do you want some tea or coffee?”

“I can’t have caffeine.”

“Decaf?”

“Can I have water?”

Mary has a good smile. Like she knows you, like you’re already friends. She cups your shoulder and guides you to the refreshment table, an impressive splendor of coffee, tea, individually wrapped biscuits, and sandwiches. There’s a box of protein bars with a handwritten red felt note that says: Take me home if you want to!

“Aren’t hungry are you?” Mary asks.

“Not really.”

She ducks down at the table and pushes aside tablecloth to grab a crate of water from underneath.

“You haven’t been here before, then?” Mary asks as she stands. “I remember most faces, I don’t think I’ve seen you here.”

“No, I’ve never… um, someone at the pharmacy told me I can come,” you say tightly.

“Oh, you can! Of course you can. I wondered if you were new, that’s all.” She presses a bottle of water into your hands. You look down at her fingers, confused at their odd texture, your neck snapping up once you realise what you’re doing.

Mary has scars all over her hands, her wrists, and you’d been gawking at them by mistake. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what? Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be by yourself?”

“We don’t sit in a circle, do we?”

Mary laughs lightly. “No, no circle yet, you can leave if you don’t wanna stay for the group talking therapy. For the first hour people just say hello to one another. There are a ton of counsellors here, okay? I’m just gonna wander, but if you want to talk to me, come and find me, yeah?”

“Okay, thanks. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, hun.” She smiles at you, a little softer than before. “You can sit down if it makes you feel less awkward, but be warned, the sofas are James’ territory. He loves to talk.”

Don’t wanna get stuck with James, you think. Though really, you’re here to talk. Or to turn around and go home with a pocket full of protein bars.

The community room is an emptied dance hall that’s been made nice. There are big boards of fliers, of last year’s trampolining club, and another of the Community Support Christmas club, whatever that had been. It looked busier then than it does tonight —there are a ton of sunny looking counsellors dotted around the room and talking in triangles, half as many people like you.

Someone random catches your eyes and you fluster, making your way to the terracotta sofas in the corner of the room on impulse. A man sits with an arm across his eyes, glasses on his chest, looking so sorrily tired for a second that you forget you’d come looking for help of your own.

“Are you okay?” you ask, stilted. James’ territory, and you’d walked straight in.

The man sits up starkly. He looks right at you, but you don’t recognise him until he puts on his glasses. It’s one of those pharmacy men.

No, it’s not, you’d just seen him outside.

“Hello,” he says, sliding his glasses up a strong-bridged nose. “I’m okay, I’m just resting my eyes,” —he laughs— “you alright?” You nod. “Yeah? Here for the support club? Or the sandwiches?”

“I–” Will you stammer every time someone asks you about it? “One of the– the pharmacy, one of the pharmacists told me to come.”

“That’s good,” he says earnestly. “I like those guys. Did you want a sandwich or something? I must’ve made a hundred. My hand still aches from the butter knife.”

“I’m okay.”

“Okay. Well, did you want to sit down? I promise I won’t hold you hostage or anything.”

What am I doing? you think miserably, taking a seat in the sofa adjacent to his.

He crosses one leg over the other. “Please don’t look so upset. I swear I genuinely won’t make you talk. I’m just here for the biscuits and lovely Lily, I promise. And lovelier Remus–” He laughs to himself.

“You’re James?” you ask.

“The last time I checked.”

“Remus– he mentioned you’d be here. I forgot.”

James only smiles. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” he asks, wriggling in his seat to procure one of those biscuit packets from his back pocket.

“He said that I might like talking to Lily.”

It feels weird calling her by her first name without knowing her, but James agrees, “I’ll introduce you when she gets here, if that’s what you want.”

“I just… I don’t know.”

“She’s just as nice as Remus is. Remus was nice to you, wasn’t he?”

You nod and look down at your clenched hands. “Yeah. He was nice to me.”

“That’s good.”

A tepid silence pervades for a moment.

“Do you want a biscuit or something? Or we have noodles and soup and stuff in the storage room, I’m happy to make you something warm if you want that.”

“You guys are like a restaurant,” you say, still not willing to look at him.

“It’s nice to have options.”

You nod hurriedly, sick to your stomach all over again. Options. Decisions.

Somewhere in the room, they turn on a radio. Shoes squeak on the waxed floor, a boy laughs like he’s being tickled. It was a mistake to come tonight. You desperately want someone to hug you and you know it’s too much to ask for, staggering to your feet with a headrush to be blinked back.

“You okay?” James asks.

“Yeah. Um, where’s the toilet?”

“Back out of the double doors, they’re right in front of you, okay? Straight in front and then to the left, you can’t miss them.”

“Okay.”

“Wait, Y/N?” he says.

You shoot him a look that betrays your surprise.

“Sorry, Remus told me to keep a look out for you. I just wanted to say, I know this is different, and it’s weird, I get that, and I have no idea why you’re here tonight, but I promised Remus I wouldn’t upset you, and I think I already have.”

“He didn’t tell you why I’m here?”

“Of course not.” James blows a breath that makes his hair fly away from his face in a wave. “It’s none of my business why you’re here. My job is to make sandwiches. I mean, some people come here just for the sandwiches or the warm room, and that’s fine.”

“The sandwiches are that good?” you ask.

“They’re great. We don’t fuck around, I use the real salted butter in the foil wrappings and the thick bread and everything. Proper ham, not the wafer thin stuff. And there’s veggie bacon too, if you don’t eat meat. I don’t know, could you please just let me feed you something? Remus won’t forgive me if you came here and you didn’t even eat.”

“I think you’re using Remus as a ploy,” you say quietly.

“I am! So let’s go have a sandwich or a biscuit or something.” He waves his biscuits at you. “They’re Border’s. Butterscotch Border’s, you literally can’t ask for better.”

Just try. Be brave for a bit. “I like the uh– the lemon ones.”

James shoots up onto his feet, grinning. “Amazing taste. Let’s go find you some.”

—

James takes you to the refreshment table. He finds you lemon drizzle biscuits, two packets, and he pushes two more into your hands with the command to take them home. He offers to make you dinner again when Lily arrives in a tizzy, with a chubby baby on her hip.

Harry, she says. Just turned three. Scandalised everyone at home, Lily’s sister kicked her out, disaster. Harry, though, is beautiful. James and Lily are beautiful, and happy. James takes Harry into his arms the moment he sees him murmuring about his boy, and the sensation of guilt under your skin grows worse than ever.

How are you liking group? Lily asks. Would you come back next week? That’s great! I’m so glad to hear it.

—

You’re walking through Wilmand Street to the corner shop a few days later when you see him. Brown hair wet with snow, ashing a cigarette into the brick wall by the library. Remus cringes as he does it, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth in a call, “Y/N!” he says, “Hey, lovely, how are you? Sorry about the smoke,” he adds. “I was hoping I’d see you this week.”

“Yeah?”

“I wondered how you were doing.”

“Well, don’t worry about me, I’m okay. I…” You cringe, pulling a hand down your sore chest. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the other day, for dumping that stuff on you, you don’t even know me and I told you such a horrible thing and made you worry, and your friends were so nice to me at the community group and I just didn’t say thanks or anything. I’m genuinely ashamed of myself.” You smile a weird smile, clunky, attempting to brush everything away like it didn’t mean anything, silly little you. “All the time.”

Remus’ expression goes odd, a wall you can’t read, left searching his winter jacket for clues as to how he’s feeling. “I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” he says, finally and simply.

“It was rude of me.”

“I have some experience with feeling ashamed for the things other people have done,” he says, flakes of snow kissing his shoulders, a white dot coming to rest and melt on his cheek. “I understand why you’re feeling this way, and it’s expected, but… How do I put this?”

You watch his eyes. Remus struggles to say anything more. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of insecurity on him. He always seems calmly settled, as though he’s thought about the world and found what it is he was looking for in it a long time ago.

“Just because we think something doesn’t make it true,” he says, hiding his hands in his coat pockets. “You might feel like it was wrong to tell me, but it wasn’t, and you might think you were rude to my friends, but you weren’t. They didn’t have a single bad word to say about you. Not that either of them tend to say anything disparaging about anyone,” he adds as an afterthought.

“I wish I didn’t tell you, is all.”

“I’m sorry. I can go on as though you didn’t, if that’s what you want, whatever you want.”

You look down at your chest, nodding. “Okay.”

Which isn’t a yes or no to his suggestion, but he doesn’t pull you up on it. “Okay. Are you going to the pharmacy?”

“I– no. But I did hope to ask you something.” He nods, as if to say, Go on. “It’s about the sex clinic.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t really know what it is.”

Remus looks around the street and then up and down your arms. The jumper you’re wearing is thin, your teeth aching to chatter, and he’s noticed it already. “Do you want to have this conversation over tea, lovely?” he asks.

“Decaf?”

“Yes, and biscuits, if you’re interested.”

You follow Remus up the marginally steep hill that makes up Wilmand Street and enter the pharmacy behind him. It’s wooden front and newspaper clippings give way to the starker insides, where you find Sirius sitting at the front desk. Or rather, sitting on it, corded telephone held between his ear and his shoulder. “Oh, he’s just come in, but he has company. Yeah, he said.” Sirius presses the phone to his shoulder to give you both a small but earnest smile. “Hey, you’ve been snowed on. Turn the heating up before you catch your death.”

“It’s been caught,” Remus says with a wave. “We’re going to sit in the kitchen. Tell Reg not to interrupt us.”

Your mouth falls open, but Sirius only salutes his —friend? coworker? “James says he’s giving the phone a sloppy one for you.”

“Lovely.” Remus laughs brightly, his hand slipping behind your shoulder. “Alright?” he asks.

You give a nod and continue following him past the inside door to the kitchen you’d sat in before. Remus flicks the kettle on and sits down, forcing you to take his cue and sit opposite of him.

“Much warmer in here,” he mumbles, stripping out of his coat. “Alright. What did you want to ask me about the sex clinic?”

“Um… I don’t know. How do I go there?”

“We’ll make an appointment. It’s not far from the leisure centre, so you can walk, or I can book you a taxi, give you a lift. We'll work something out.”

“And they… won’t mind that I– that I don’t really know what I’m doing?”

You almost miss the dissatisfied noise he makes over the rising sound of the kettle. “They won’t mind.”

“Do I have to tell them what happened?”

“No. I mean, I assume it’s better if they have a clearer picture of the circumstances, but then again, you’re entitled to your privacy. You could just say you’re concerned about your intimate health.”

“But they’ll ask questions.”

“Yeah, they will. I know you don’t want to answer them, and that’s okay. You don’t have to answer them. Doctor’s, pharmacists, we just ask about stuff because we have to, but there’s no law that says you have to answer.”

Now you’ve had time to think about things beyond the aching and the angry horror, a new fear has curdled. “What if he gave me something?” you say under your breath.

“Then we can get you whatever medicine it is that you need and we can work toward you feeling better again.” His head tips as the kettle clicks. “Did you still want tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Remus makes you each a cup of decaf tea, bringing sugar and milk to the table for you to add yourself.

“We can go now, if you want to.”

“To the clinic?” you ask.

Remus nods slowly. “Mm-hm. It’s an emergency.”

“You’d come with me?” you ask, not breathless, but almost.

“If you’re okay with it and you want me to, I’ll come with you. It might not be so scary. Or I can ask Lily to take you.”

It’s not Remus’ fault that the person who assaulted you was a man like he is, but it does sound less intimidating to go with a girl. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t been kind since the minute you asked him about confidentiality or that he deserves your distrust, but even sitting in this room with him now talking about the clinic has made you uncomfortable again. “Would she mind?”

“Lily would love to take you. I know that sounds strange. She wouldn’t love that you need to go, but she wouldn’t want you to go alone if you’re worried about it.”

“And she’ll go now?”

Remus pushes your mug toward you. “You have some tea and I'll go and ask James if she’s around.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” he says. “There’s biscuits in the cupboard, lovely. If you want some, you can help yourself.”

Things don’t pass that day in much detail after that. When Remus returns ten minutes later, you’ve finished your tea, and Lily is with him. She was on her way here already. She’d be happy to take you to the clinic.

So you go, and you get checked out, and you submit to their tests and their invasive, well-intentioned questions. Lily takes you to a cafe afterward and buys you a pastry you can’t do more than poke. She takes you home. You feel guilty for not saying thank you in the car, but you can barely speak. A few days later you get a phone call with your results. You take a course of medications. You cry yourself to sleep three days in a row, because, as they’d tested for STDs, they tested for something else, and they’d told you what you‘d already known.

You’re as pregnant as your home tests said you are. Despite everything, you feel an emotion you hate, and you push it down again.

—

The door to your flat shakes with a sharp knock.

You startle and stand, not sure what you’d been thinking, a hole burned into the floor at your feet. You’re in no state to answer the door, wet hair dripping a river down your back and your pajamas old. There’s nothing for it.

You take the handle into your hand and squeeze.

Dark-haired Regulus is standing in the hallway. You let the door close just an inch between you.

“Regulus,” you say, unsure if surprise will help or hinder you.

“Hello.”

“How can I…”

“Remus asked me to check in on you.”

You’re not sure you like what he’s saying. “How do you know where I live?”

“Remus didn’t ask me to come to your flat, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, it’s not. I’m confused that you know where I live when I didn’t tell you.”

He holds a deft hand up in surrender. “I live across the street, I’ve seen you come into the building, and your last name is on the postbox downstairs. I’m not doing anything illegal.”

Just weird, then.

“Remus asked me to keep an eye out for you,” he says, “but you haven’t been to the pharmacy, naturally.”

“So your solution was to come to my house?”

“I don’t think there’s any need to get twitchy.”

But there is. There is. He might not know what it is, and you might find thinking about it feels like a serrated blade end squeezed in your fist, but there is a need. You don’t want him to be here. It doesn’t matter that he’s small and skinny and has a sweet nose. This is your place to be by yourself, and to have nobody know where you are. This is the locked door.

He has the sense to soften his bravado. “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

You try to relax your shoulders. Your ribs ache with the tension. “Please,” you say gently, “tell Remus that I’m alright. Thank you for worrying about me.”

Regulus looks to the stairwell leading to the foyer. “He’s going to Community Support tonight if you want to tell him yourself. I am, too.” He doesn’t look at you again. “See you later,” he says to the stairs.

—

You go to Community Support despite yourself.

“Can you forgive me for not flirting with you?”

You surprise the urge to flinch hard, turning to the voice with a half-smile. Sirius is standing beside you suddenly, your faces reflected in the plexiglass covered notice board just outside of the community hall. “What?” you ask.

“I don’t mean to be offensive. I haven’t flirted because I thought Remus might have his eye on you, and I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re not beautiful.”

You have to turn to see him to realise he’s teasing you now to be friendly. “I’d be offended if you did flirt with me,” you say.

“Marvellous, then I won’t.”

“Remus doesn’t have his eye on me, though. He’s just been giving me pharmaceutical advice, I suppose.”

“Oh, I see. I thought maybe you’d… Well, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He’s handsome enough that you’d be shocked if he actually did flirt with you, clear-skinned as his brother, but with a warmer smile, almost mischievous, like he knows something you don’t know and he’ll tell you for the right price. His shoulders are slim, his biceps particularly solid as he crosses his arms over his chest. He notices you noticing and gives a flex, to your laughter. “Like what you see?” he asks.

“Sorry.”

“We’re on the rugby team, you know.”

“You and Remus?”

“As if, Remus doesn’t like sports. He’s more of a walker. James and I are the sportsmen.”

Sirius didn’t strike you as somebody who plays anything either, but it’s not polite to say.

“Well, aren’t you coming inside?” he asks. “We could use a face like yours in there tonight. Beautiful girls are great for overall morale.”

You shake your head. “Don’t think so.”

“You came all the way here. You could at least come in for a bit of cake or something.”

“Community support or community kitchen?” you mumble.

“Everybody gets hungry. The best part of being in a community is making sure nobody goes hungry for long, right?”

You give him a sideways look. Somehow, someway, you’ve become acquainted with a circle of philanthropists. Normal people aren’t so generous. You’re too tired to be this kind.

“What kind do you have?”

“Carrot, red velvet, Victoria sponge, and plain chocolate, I think. Maybe a bit of walnut sponge if Marlene hasn’t mauled the whole thing.”

You’re not sure you can stomach it, just he’s looking at you so nicely that you want to go in with him. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Sirius slips a hand behind your back, letting it hover an inch from your skin as he shepherds you through the double doors and into the main hall. It’s far more crowded than it had been on your first visit, a small circle of people already in chairs talking a ways from the crowded food table, pilfered, more sandwiches in hands than hands to hold them, and enough brewed coffee to scent the air. James is immediately noticeable crouching at the table, having pulled a crate of juice boxes from beneath it, laughing about something someone is saying to him —something Remus is saying, the tallest man in the room and somehow completely non-imposing, his voice more colour than sound as he talks.

It must just be because Remus is attentive. Must be the memory of his nice hand on your shoulder, squeezing, that makes you pay special attention to his shaking. “Is he laughing?” you ask.

Sirius tunes in quickly. “Yeah. He’s done that since we were kids. He can laugh like normal, but when something really has him it’s like he can’t get the sound out.” He chuckles himself. “Idiots. Come on, let’s get you your slice of cake.”

You can’t help staring at Remus as Sirius takes you over to him and James. James is so happy to see you he almost loses his glasses.

“You’re back! I thought my shitty impersonation of a counsellor might’ve scared you off. Don’t want some soup, do you?”

“Don’t say yes out of pity,” Sirius says. “Nobody ever wants James to make them soup.”

“You like my soup.”

“I like Effie’s soup. She makes the best bowl of lemon chicken I’ve ever tasted, and you make a mediocre imitation of her recipe, which is as good as it gets while I’m away.”

“Effie’s my mother,” James explains, clambering to his feet with the crate of small bottles of juice held to his chest. “Euphemia. And she does make the best lemon chicken soup, but mines just fine! And anyways, tonight I made winter vegetable because all the Christmas veg was 8p and I have a fuckton. It’s delicious. I cut the swede up so thin it melts in your mouth, I got fresh thyme from the garden, little bit of spinach, all of it cooked in a metric ton of butter.”

Remus snorts softly. He meets your eyes, which has you smiling on automatic. “James is a bit of a soup addict.”

”I–” You feel hungry for the first time in weeks. “I’d quite like to, uh, try some. If you really don’t mind.”

James glows, shoving the case of juice onto the refreshment table next to the hot water towers. “Yes. How about toasties, lovely, d’you want a cheese toastie with it? You’ll love it.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyone else while I’m warming it?”

Remus meets your eyes again, like you’re sharing a secret. “I’ll have a bowl, Jamie.”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Sirius acquiesces, “and me. And Reg will, too, wherever he’s gone off too. But he won’t have cheese–”

“Just toast, I know.”

James gets a look on him like he’s found the secrets of the universe. “I’ll make a garlic butter cheese toastie for all of you. Mm?”

Sirius waves him away.

Sirius grabs you a slice of cake even as you mumble about the soup and how it’s dessert before dinner. Doesn’t matter, he murmurs back, not worried about why you’ve gone shy, I promised you a slice.

You take an apple juice and follow him to a table. Remus comes with you. He looks sunnier today than the last time you saw him despite ever-cloudy weather. Maybe he’s just a bit golden. Steady, he sits at the table across from you with Sirius taking a seat perpendicular, the three of you three sides to a square, nothing to look at besides your hand squeezed around the handle of a plastic fork.

“I’m sorry about Regulus,” Remus says. “I didn’t mean for him to visit you at home. He told me you weren’t thrilled about it, and I can’t blame you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Sirius says, wrinkling his nose. “I have no clue why he did that.”

“And Regulus would be sorry, he just has a hard time realising when he’s overstepped.”

You nod at the table. “It’s okay. I mean, it did make me uncomfortable, and I– wasn’t super polite to him. I just wasn’t expecting him to be at the door, that’s all. And he said sorry, actually. So it’s forgiven.”

“Oh.” Sirius perches his hand in his head. “That’s unlike him. He doesn’t tend to be sorry.”

“Neither do you,” Remus says.

“It’s a family trait.”

“Can I save this for after soup?” you ask, shuffling your plate to the side. It’ll be easier to eat your cake when everyone else is eating as well.

“Course you can,” Sirius says, leaning back in his seat. “But if you don’t eat it, I’ll assume you don’t like me. I’m sensitive like that.”

Remus rolls his eyes, again gifting you with a great feeling, as though you’re in on a secret with him. He’s wearing an aviator jacket that looks incredibly soft, worn but not tattered, sherpa insides flattened but clean. The sleeves warp as he crosses his arms in front of him on the table and leans forward, conspirator.

“So, how was your morning? Besides Regulus’ unwelcome intrusion,” he says, almost drawling as Sirius does when he gets that playful look in his eye.

You’re not sure how to handle these boys. But you want to try. You’re sick of having nobody, of being nobody, even if it’s a little discomfiting sometimes to be with them. “My morning was fine. Tries to get through all my washing but it’s a mountain, so I left it and had a long shower instead.”

“How long is long?” Remus asks.

“Too long.”

“Like Remus’, then. I’m a one and done man, wash and go.” Sirius peels forward, “And Remus takes hours. Uses all the hot water.”

“You live together?” you ask.

“We did for a bit, didn’t we?” Sirius says.

“Six very long years,” Remus says. “But I have a flat, and Sirius lives on Wilmand Street now, thank god.”

“Thank god indeed,” Sirius says, “now I can actually wash my hair on a semi-regular basis.”

“Can you?” Remus asks.

“What are you implying?”

“Only that your hair seems distinctly unwashed lately, don’t worry.”

“He’s showing off ��cos you’re here,” Sirius says, smiling despite the accusation as he takes a hand through his hair and pushes it back from his face. “I wash plenty.”

“Do you? I was almost hoping you’d stopped. Maybe that would explain the weird thing you have going on right here.” Remus scratches his upper lip.

“Fuck off, you just don’t like a scratchy kiss–”

Remus laughs suddenly. After a moment, it tapers into silence, though his shoulders still shake, and you can hear his laughter in his voice when he says, “That charming thatch of stubble would be the last of my worries if I wanted to kiss you, Sirius.”

“What’s top of the list then?”

“The smell, obviously. I’m getting top notes of wet dog and a headier dampness–”

“You sick bastard,” Sirius says, sounding absolutely delighted at his friend's insult.

“You just need a good wash, is all.”

You don’t mean to, but you laugh. Giggle, really, entertained by them and shocked a little by the way they snip and snap at each other. You pitch forward, face angled down, eyes tempted to shut completely. Sick bastard, you think, laughing still.

It only makes you laugh more when Sirius nudges you. “Hey, thought we were getting somewhere,” he murmurs.

You giggle some more. “Sorry,” you squeeze out eventually.

“Don’t be. He can take a hit. Even if he’s sensitive,” Remus says.

Sirius sniffs. “I’m not that sensitive. Can’t make a joke anymore without being entirely misrepresented.”

—

James’ soup becomes a staple for you over the next couple of days. Community Support is a daily occurrence, though some nights are more popular than others. The weekends are busiest, Friday and Saturday night, but Wednesdays have an uptick you aren’t expecting, sitting at one of the plastic tables with another cup or winter veg soup and a garlic buttered toastie. You blow on melty cheese as James brings the hot plate out to the refreshment table, making it easier to serve the many who want it. He’s gleeful, promising that they’re gonna love it, and then tacking on an amendment that anyone who doesn’t like it is more than welcome to something else from the kitchen.

With payday for most at midnight Friday, or some time after, it’s the hump of the week that hits hardest. You don’t come for the soup, but some people do, and they can’t be blamed for it; stretching money out isn’t easy.

Your stomach clenches. Your spoon wobbles in your hand.

From across the room, Remus sends you a warm smile, a kid in his arms and another at his thigh, chattering away as their mam takes a well-deserved breather by the terracotta sofas.

The next day is the same. James makes soup and ham sandwiches, ham off the bone, made it himself, and you pick at the crusts at a plastic table. Sirius keeps you company for a bit, and then Remus rags on him until he leaves. They’re both too smiley to believe any animosity.

On Friday, James isn’t there.

“Harry’s poorly.”

“I thought he might’ve had a day off.”

“He and Lily like the group too much for days off.” Remus scratches a hand through his hair. It’s the most boyish thing he’s ever done in front of you. “Are you liking it here? You haven’t missed a day all week.”

“James makes a good soup.”

“He left plenty, if you want it.”

You’re not sure you can stomach it. You give a small shake of your head. “Will Harry be okay?”

“Fine. He gets ear infections, James used to get them too, even when we were teenagers. He’s on antibiotics already, it’s just the crying that’s the worst. Makes him sick.” Remus smiles sympathetically. “Makes James sick, too. But they’ll be okay.”

“That’s good. It’s too quiet here when James isn’t around.”

The hall is practically silent. There are a few people milling around on the sofas and another handful drinking tea by the refreshment table. Mary is patting a crying woman with pink hair on the back. A two year old sits at her feet, staring up at her sullenly.

“I could go turn on the radio.”

You perch your chin in your palm, elbow on the table. Tired today. “That’s okay. It’s nice.” Quiet, but not lonely.

“You feeling okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You fight the urge to let your eyes shutter closed. “I’m okay. You okay?”

“I’m great. I’m really glad you’ve been coming. I know you don’t stay for group therapy, and you don’t have to, but… I don’t know, I think it’s just good to be around people.”

You feel like he meant to say a particular but dodged it at the last second. He hesitated.

He said he wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t want him to, but maybe you do, just so you know it was real, and bad. It was awful, wasn’t it?

“I don’t like being alone,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck. “For a while…” You scratch scratch scratch, sounds of your nails over skin, then let your hand drop with a thump against your thigh. “I wanted to be alone. But now when I’m home by myself I feel awful.”

“It’s normal to want company.”

“Even after what happened?”

“Especially after what happened. I think the stereotype is that people… experience something bad, and that they retreat into themselves, and that’s based on a real process of emotions,” —he talks quietly but surely, without a lick of condescension— “and a real sort of phenomena. Everybody needs time to lick their wounds, to put it heavily. But it makes sense that you’d seek out company when you’ve just had a really, really horrible thing happen.”

You did retreat into yourself at first. Wasting days away in bed without an appetite, crying yourself sick and to sleep, hating yourself and the world and him, because it hurt so badly. But then you didn’t get your period when you were expecting it and it was like holding the times of a fork to a plug socket, a nasty shock flaring through your entire body from the tips of your fingers. And now you have decisions to make and a life to live after, it’s happening now, quickly. You aren’t feeling any better than you were that morning when you first woke up and realised you’d been attacked without fully knowing, but time is moving forward regardless. You don’t know why you crave other people, but you do. You like seeing Remus every night, even if he only talks to you once or twice. You like eating James’ home cooked food, like watching Sirius and Regulus bicker as they lean against one another, and you like seeing Lily press her nose to her baby’s. You wonder what that feels like. How soft is a small nose? What does it feel like to hold the person you made out of love and a little bit of every part of you in two hands?

You’re still so lonely it’s palpable. There are moments throughout the day where you can’t face it head on, but the support group is genuinely helping, if it’s just to spend an hour outside of your head.

Lonely, and with nobody to confide in.

Remus watches you think for a while. He’s waiting patiently for you to speak again.

“Can I tell you something stupid?” you ask softly.

“Sure.”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I doubt I could.”

You let out a deep sigh. He’s all browns tonight in his old jacket. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown jacket. “I was thinking about keeping the baby. I don’t know if you’d consider it a baby right now,” you murmur, staring at the corner of his mouth, “but I think I want it to be one. And I can’t stop thinking that it’s a bad idea.”

“It’s your decision,” Remus says. When you sigh, he looks chastened, and you hadn’t wanted it to be a chastening. He clears his throat. “You already know that, don’t you?” Not expecting an answer, he leans back in his chair and levels you with a smile more friendly than you deserve. “Keep your baby if you want to, lovely. The point of– Well, of having the choice, is being allowed to choose yes, to choose to keep your baby, even if it’s a bad idea. Or looks like one.”

“I know, but…”

But it’s a bad idea. But it happened because somebody hurt you. But you’re completely alone.

“I’m not upsetting you, am I?” he asks.

“No, you’re not. You’ve been really nice to me,” you mumble, letting your aching eyes close as you lean into your hand. “It’s not you.”

Remus settles for a few seconds. “Can I put my arm around you?” he asks finally.

“Okay.”

So he does. His voice drops to match your own, his elbow right between your ribs as his thumb skirts across the top of your shoulder, “I’m sorry I can’t fix it for you, I wish I could tell you what to do that’s going to make you the happiest. I can’t, though.”

“I know.”

He rubs your shoulder. “I know you know.”

There’s a lot to think about. You aren’t pregnant by a miracle. Something bad happened to you, and the choice is yours now to take, and no one would blame you for wanting to forget the whole thing. At least, nobody here at the support group would. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it; lately, it’s the only thing on your mind. But the guilt of wanting it won’t go away.

“Sorry you have to do this again,” you mumble.

“What, give you a hug?” Remus’ voice turns softer. It feels less like the kind words of a stranger and more like a friend. “I don’t mind it.”

You try to stop feeling guilty. The most you can be right now is looked after, at least for a while, for as long as Remus will hold your shoulders.

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says. “You know that, too, I’m guessing. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.”

You’re not so sure. It’s a different guilt to look at in whatever light finds you when it happens. “I know,” you say, half a lie.

“And I know you have no reason to trust us with something so huge, but we’re here for you. That’s the whole point of the group.”

You sigh heavily. “I know,” you say under your breath. You’re just not sure it’s going to be enough.

𖦹

hi thanks for reading the first part! this is a heavy one but it’s also a fic I’ve wanted to write for a long time, or rewrite <\3 some of you may have read my first go at this years ago and I’m hoping to tie in some of the old stuff but it’s also its own story hopefully, it’s shaping up well!

https://rapecrisis.org.uk rape crisis UK — they have a support line! and many many articles

information about rape crisis https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/faqs/

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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themidnightcrimson · 3 months ago

Text

nosferatu ࿏ wm

summary: in which you are much too trusting of a creature who wants more than a dance with you.

words: 6.0k

warnings: blood, supernatural, horror, gore, dubcon/noncon, top!wanda, fem!reader, biting, oral, breastplay, bondage, victorian era

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

Your corset was so tight around your waist that you could not breathe. It was a sickening shade of pink that was supposed to portray girlish innocence about you. It was made specifically to match the color that imbues your cheeks, though now it was more of a sharp crimson red.

“I cannot believe your impudence,” your mother breathily spoke in a vexed air as she stiffly ripped the white gloves from her hands. “Your audacity.”

Rolling your eyes, you threw your head back against the wall of the compartment, feeling the familiar but nauseating shake of the carriage, the click-clack of the horse’s hooves going as fast as your heartbeat. Biting your lip to ward off any retaliating remarks towards your mother, you reached behind your waist and fiddled for the bow of your corset, snapping the ribbon undone and inhaling the first large breath of fresh air since the night began.

“At this rate, you’ll never be wed,” your mother continued to grumble as she neatly folded her gloves in her lap and looked out the window of the compartment door, the tree-lined field flickering past her eyes as the carriage moved on down the sandy country road. “I wouldn’t know what gentleman in all of England would wed such a usurping, galling, exasperating little—”

“Please, Mother, I haven’t had my vocabulary lesson yet this week,” you sarcastically battled as you ripped the matching pink ribbon out of your hair, letting your long waves flow down your shoulders. Your mother especially hated when you wore your hair freely down like that, citing that it reminded her of the harlots of Dorset Street.

You had to admit that your behavior was not the most ladylike this evening, but that was your entire mission. Your mother had been trying to marry you off to every man that comes across your path since you were of age. What she didn’t know (or rather was entirely aware of but simply unable to comprehend or acknowledge it under both societal implications and her own personal dogmas) was that you actually preferred the company of women.

It was just another fancy political ball she’d dragged you to. As always, she put you in clothes you didn’t want to wear, made you speak to people you didn’t want to speak to, and expected you to take it all with sugar and a big smile.

“Is this how you behave at those other parties you attend? Those invalids might be able to handle your inexcusable behavior, but I certainly won’t.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties at all. You actually very much enjoyed going to the parties you liked to go to with people you actually liked to be around. Could these parties become a little unsavory if warranted? Yes, they could. But you yourself never participated in those things. You just thought the people there were nicer and didn’t have giant sticks shoved up their bums. Plus, the food was always better.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, young lady, but there will be no more attending these parties of yours.”

“Mother!” you exclaimed, looking at her with eyes of disbelief. “I am a grown woman. I will go wherever I please!”

“Not with what’s been happening,” she argued, glancing at the folded newspaper sitting on the cushion beside her that she had picked up on the way to the ball. The Old Post. The front of it read Vampyres in the Village.

“You can’t be serious,” you grumbled, turning away from her with a pout. “You really believe in that stuff?”

“It’s devil-work, dear,” she said in a quieter, more serious tone. She stared at you for a moment from across the compartment before slowly leaning forward. “I’m not saying this to try and… control you. I’m saying this to you because… because you are my daughter, and I want to keep you safe.”

You could tell she was biting back vomit at saying kind words to you. “And things have been… happening in the city. Horrible things. And it seems to be happening only to people like you. Pretty, single, young girls. But most importantly, naïve girls.”

You rolled your eyes and turned further away from her. “You say my head is full of air, but I’m not the one who believes in fairytales here.”

“Miss Margaret’s daughter is still missing.”

Miss Margaret was a close friend of your mother’s, which you found surprising because Miss Margaret was one of the kindest women you’d ever met. Her daughter was your age, maybe a year or two older. She hadn’t been seen for two months now since she attended one of the parties you liked to go to in the city.

“She probably ran off with a boy,” you argued even though you knew that was not her daughter’s character.

Your mother didn’t even bother to argue that because you already knew. She only shook her head and turned back to the window, taking a deep sigh. “I’m only trying to keep you safe. It’s one thing to have an unwed daughter, but it’s entirely another thing to have one that’s dead.”

“I’m sure that’s what you’d prefer.”

You shouldn’t have said that, and you didn’t even need to look in your mother’s general direction to feel the look of shocked hurt on her face.

Maybe if your mother hadn’t fought tooth and nail to keep a noose around your neck your whole life, you might have listened. You might have heeded her advice.

Things might not have ended up the way they did.

If only.

࿏

You knew exactly how to scale your own house by now. Granted, you had to be barefoot while you did it.

Clutching your shoes in one hand, you teetered on the edge of the windowsill of your room, carefully stepping down on the ledge of the roof. From there, you could set your foot on the top sill of another window, and then catch the vine-wrapped lattice going up the side of your parent’s estate, and it was a breeze from there on. You always enjoyed this feeling. The chilly autumn night air breezing between your legs as you wore a more casual dress that did not require a skeleton of its own. The wind fluttering through your loose locks of hair. The light of the full moon above you guiding your way down. Feeling agile and smart, free and unfiltered. Sometimes, your favorite part of these nights was just the sneaking out.

You always enjoyed the feeling of the dewy grass on the bottom of your feet when you finally hopped down to the ground. You’d jog like this, barefoot and wild like some kind of heathen, all the way down your country driveway to the main road where your friends had a carriage waiting for you.

When you said these parties could be a little unsavory, you meant it. While you mostly stuck with your friends and did not participate in these acts, all around you people were doing all kinds of unknown drugs, being lude with each other, engaging in certain dares or pranks. Sometimes there was a theme to all this, and tonight happened to be a masquerade, except instead of socialites and rich people, it was the ones of society who yearned a more stained quality of life.

This party was especially sex-driven, you realized with an air of shock as you walked in behind your group of friends. They were handing out masks at the front, and beyond that, you could see people basically eating each other at every sitting area in the large auditorium. Someone was throwing this at a large estate where everything around you seemed to be made of gold.

See, there were a select few rich people that participated in and most importantly, funded and housed these parties. There was a group of people, higher on the social ladder, who liked to throw these unsavory parties sometimes in their own homes. You could tell that this party was definitely one of them. They always seemed to get much more extreme when one of these people hosted it in their own home. The odd thing about it was that no one really knew who they were other than that they were seemingly nocturnal and rather pale, possibly as a consequence. Nightcrawlers, they sometimes called them. They always infested the local bars in the later hours of the evenings.

“My Lord,” your friend whispered under her breath as she eyed the couples (sometimes multiple couples all in one cluster) all around. “I think I’ve seen three bare buttocks already.”

Uneasiness settled into your stomach. While you normally enjoyed these parties, you usually tried to stay away from the ones that appeared to have a more carnal purpose, mostly because you did not want to have to fight off random men under the impression that you wanted to be a part of it. To your surprise, though, you actually saw a few women together, and a few men together also.

A mask was flung in your direction, and you took it. It was black and gold with a sharp nose, covering the top half of your face and leaving your mouth exposed. Trying to clear your vision as you stared out of the eye holes, you followed your group of friends into the party. It became denser the further they led you into it, and soon you could feel bodies touching yours.

“Wait!” you called when your mask slipped and covered your eyes, blinding you in the thickly packed room. You stumbled over someone’s foot as you tried to adjust your mask, and by the time you finally corrected it over your eyes, you could not locate your friends. Starting to panic as you were packed in a sea of people, feeling eyes behind odd foreign masks staring you down, you looked around for your friends, frantically calling their names.

You were turning in circles, growing dizzier and fainter by the second. This was a horrible idea. You should have listened to your instinct and turned around as soon as you walked in and saw what was going on at the party. Even now, in the crowd of people dancing to the oddly calm music that did not match the strong energy of the dancers, you could hear faint moans and the vague smell of sex drifting in the air.

You were about to melt to the floor and curl yourself into a sobbing ball when suddenly you felt a purposeful hand press into the small of your back. Gasping, you turned sharply, ready to slap the man who dared think he had a right to touch you, when you were faced with something unexpected.

The only thing you saw that was expected was pants—a men’s dark red velvet suit, decorated with lacy white wristcuffs and a rather poofy white chestpiece beautifully ruffled. But instead of seeing broad shoulders, you saw softer ones, and a curve at the chest and hips. This person wasn’t as tall as you expected, though they were several inches taller than you. Instead of a cropped cut, or perhaps a shaggier cut with handsome curls around the ears, this person had long, silky, wavy red hair that went down to their chest, flowing like a beautiful lake of deep rust.

A pitch-black mask covered the top half of their face, but instead of whiskers, or a beard, there was smooth, pale skin and delicately soft pink lips. The jaw there was strong, but there was a feminine curve to it.

A woman. This was a woman who was now curling your hand around the small of your waist, somehow enveloping it completely around you, pulling you against her and taking your hand in her other hand.

Gasping, you stumbled as she strongly started pulling you into a gentle dance through the crowd that seemed to make way for her.

You struggled to see her face, as the mask covered the top half. Those deep pink lips curled into a cupid’s smirk that brought some sort of chill up your spine. Even in this crowded room, with all the unpleasant noises and smells, your entire focus was on this woman pulling you to her breast and holding you with an iron strength that shocked you.

Though her mask, like the others, had carved holes for eyes, the lighting cast a shadow over the material that kept her eyes from view, and it was rather dim in the room anyway.

You opened your mouth to speak but failed to find words as the redheaded woman in a man’s suit spun you in a circle, and as she did, the source of light from a chandelier above finally glared through the holes of the mask, and you jolted in shock when you saw a flash of red eyes behind the mask.

Instinctively, you tried to pull away, but her arm would not budge. Had you ever known a man to be this strong, let alone a woman?

“Who are you?” you asked, but it came out in a tiny, hoarse whisper that surely only you could hear. Somehow, she heard it.

“Your dream woman,” she smoothly husked with an impish smirk, and you saw another flicker of red in the eyes of the mask as she spun you again before it went dark again.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you stumbled to keep up as she spun you. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“Because it’s so much more fun when I don’t,” she said with a small chuckle. You noticed that her hand holding yours was ice cold. “Besides, you looked a little lost back there.”

“I was perfectly fine,” you argued, finding it incredibly rude that this woman would not let you go, though being so close to her was making your spine tingle with something that bordered attraction and the urge to run for your life.

“You were far from fine, though you sure look fine,” she said, and you noticed how nice her voice was, such a pleasant cadence, like honey to your ears. Suddenly her arm around your waist disappeared, and she was spinning you around. Losing your balance, you let out a gasp, feeling yourself about to fall until she spun you back into her, wrapping her arms around you and leaning you backwards in her strong hold.

She grinned down at you, and you almost didn’t notice.

“What—” you said, startled. Her teeth, ivory white, were sharp. Like, as sharp as your father’s hunting knives. Glistening even in the dim light. Some unsatisfactory stain of red between them that made your stomach uneasy. It was strange, to see such a pleasant pair of lips stretched around teeth that looked so deadly.

“You��re beautiful,” the woman whispered, her eyes lowering down your neck and to your chest left exposed by your dress. You’d picked this dress because your mother hated how particularly revealing it was.

You saw the flash of scarlet irises again through her mask. They seemed to glow as she drank you in with her eyes.

“You can’t even see my face,” you whispered with a tone of playfulness at the fact that the woman was obviously staring at your chest with a look of hunger that you could see even through her mask.

Glancing back up to your face, she smiled handsomely and reached towards your face. Your instinct was to push her hand away, berate her for daring to take off your mask without asking, but for some reason your body did not budge. You involuntarily let her remove your mask, her eyes drinking you in.

“I didn’t have to take it off to know that you are the most beautiful woman in the room,” she flirted shamelessly, her hand on your back gripping you. She was still holding you in a leaning position.

Deciding to have fun with this odd woman, you smirked and said, “Your turn. Remove yours so that I may see who is holding me so.”

The woman hesitated but smiled again, reaching up and slowly removing her mask.

She was beautiful—like the kind of beautiful you had never seen before. An alien, strange beautiful that did not feel real. Something churned in your gut, some kind of knowing, a fear, but it was muffled. Her red eyes, her sharp smile, it was suffocating down the instinct in you that was telling you to get away from her as fast as possible.

She cocked her head, her eyes never leaving yours. “Come with me,” she spoke, and it sounded like many voices at once. Her grip on you was hard now, and if she hadn’t been compelling you with her magic, you would have seen the bloodlusting look on her face.

You didn’t remember leaving the party. You also suddenly couldn’t even remember arriving at the party. All you knew was that suddenly you could hear the click-clack of hooves against cobblestone and the cold night air blowing through your hair, and something else in your hair, too.

You sharply turned your head to see the same redheaded woman walking next to you, her hand in your hair, stroking it softly, playing with the strands between her long-nailed fingers.

“Where are we?” you questioned, slowing your walk and looking all around you. You did not recognize this street at all.

“We’re on a walk, my love,” the woman cooed, cradling her arm around you and pulling you into her. “You were becoming faint at the party.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Muddled. Like you needed to remember something that you just couldn’t remember, but you knew you desperately needed to.

“I’m… I’m confused…” you cried, clutching your hands to your face. You wanted to ask her where she was taking you, what she was going to do to you, why her teeth were so sharp and her eyes so red, but something was stopping the words from coming out of your mouth and even stopping these anxious feelings from being realized by you. There was a false blanket of calmness over you that was not coming from within you. It was suffocating you.

“Do calm down, beautiful girl,” she said in a velvet tone in your ear, suddenly very close to you. The moonlight rained down over you as she pressed her lips to your ear in a soft kiss. Something hard grazed the skin there, but it wasn’t enough for you to really notice.

The street was nearly empty. There were a few shops that were all closed down at this time of night. As you passed one that had a string of garlic hanging down over the door, which a lot of shops had now with all the rumors flying around, you felt the redhead stiffen beside you. When you were far enough away, she let out a breath as if she had been holding it.

Stupified, you hadn’t noticed this.

You also didn’t notice the way she walked faster, goading you forward with a hand at your back, as you passed by a church with a large cross on its steeple. The church also had garlic over the door, and had even built a fence of sharp whittled stakes all around the front. This city was so paranoid.

“Where are we going?” you question, noticing finally that the more garlic-protected doors you passed, the more the false sense of security lifted from you. Unbeknownst to you, the protections were interfering with the woman’s magic on you. “Where are you taking me?!”

“Be quiet!” she hissed at you suddenly, her red eyes fiery in the dark night. She looked monstrous now, albeit beautiful, and you finally realized the fear inside you.

“Get away!” you yelled, slapping her hand away from your waist and stepping away from her. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” You glanced around to see if anyone was around, but there was no one.

“Don’t yell!” the woman said louder this time, and her teeth started to look even sharper than before.

Finally, with all the garlic and crosses and stakes preventing her from being able to stop you from thinking your own thoughts, you could hear the instinct, loud and clear within you, telling you to run from this woman, this witch, this monster, this…

Vampire.

You ran as fast as you could on the uneven cobblestone. You were a very agile girl, thanks to so many times sneaking out of the window and running away. You always impressed people with how fast you could run, and you knew you could definitely outrun a woman in a stiff suit.

Until she appeared right in front of you with lightning speed. You didn’t even have time to be shocked. Her hand passed over your eyes, and you were asleep, falling limply into her arms like dead prey.

The last thing you thought of was if your mother had noticed you were gone yet or not.

࿏

You could tell it was dark before you even opened your eyes. When you did manage to finally flutter your eyes open, the first thing you saw was candlelight. A dark room with red carpet and black walls. Candles, everywhere. Some semblance of a bed that you lay on, naked. Something wooden in front of the bed on the floor which you realize to your sleepy horror is a coffin. And worst of all, to your upmost terror, standing to the side of the bed you lay on staring at you with a vile look of hunger, the redheaded woman.

She was holding a glass in her hand that held what appeared to be red wine, but it was way too dark. As the last memories flood back into your mind as she takes a slow, sickly sip, you realize that it is not wine in her glass.

“I know you’ll be much sweeter than this,” she thickly says after swallowing, lowering the glass and grinning at you with reddened teeth. “I could smell your blood as soon as you walked in.”

You attempt to sit up but there was an invisible force keeping you pressed flat on the bed. “Please let me go,” you whisper, your eyes welling with tears. You can’t exactly feel the fear inside you, not with whatever magic this vampire was putting inside you, but your body felt it and informed you of it in the form of hot tears rolling down your cheeks in an emotionless cry.

She laughed and started towards the bed, the movement causing you to jump. She set the glass down on the table beside the bed, eyes flickering at you as she slowly leaned over you, the weight of her hand on your pillow tipping your head closer to her. She was so close now. Deep scarlet eyes, pointed teeth, locks of her rust hair grazing your bare chest and tickling your nipples which you realized now were erected. Her breath smelled of iron, of old iron that had been sitting out in the rain. It smelled of flesh and of blood casting over your face for how close she was to you.

“Don’t be so frightened,” the vampire cooed, reaching her hand under you. You gasped at her cool touch, her oddly delicate and soft hand which glided across your back which arched for its way, coming to the other side of your waist and holding it gently so that her arm was completely curled under you. She had you trapped now, hovering over you, holding you. There was a crazed look in her eye now as her skin touched yours, as she smelled your scent and felt your warm flesh in her hand and listened to your heart beating so fervently, so frightened.

“You will enjoy this, love,” she continued, her nails digging slightly into your side as she lowered herself down further on the bed. She parted your legs with her knee, and it made you gasp in shock as she slid her other knee between them also, forcing your legs to spread. You felt the cool air of exposure in your middle, feeling now the strings of wet between your folds. She could smell it, you knew, by the way her nostrils flared and her beautiful lips twisted into a knowing smirk. This woman was an animal, a beast with senses that far outpowered yours. She could smell and hear and feel and see everything, down to the hairs on your arms that stood on their ends.

Were you enjoying it already? Why was your skin basically vibrating as she laid herself over you? Why were you slick as if you were with a lover? Why was your back and hips arching towards her hungrily as if you were the one thirsting for her and not the other way around?

Was she persuading you? You had heard of these vampyres being skilled in the art of witchery, particularly in the use of persuasion. It was heard of vampyres luring their victims to them willingly, as if the humans were offering themselves to them. Was that how she got you outside of the party in the first place?

You could feel the radiation of her powers vibrating through you, her red eyes seeming to glow in the dark room. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to your face and caressing your cheek. Your cheek was burning hot against her cold hand, which only invigorated her more.

“Your body is so warm against mine…” she murmured, her eyes trailing down your body to your bare chest. Lowering herself, she moved her head towards your neck area.

“No!” you instantly screamed, jerking your body against her as her face disappeared below your face. She dug her nails hard into your side, causing you to squeak, and then her mouth was on your neck. “Please! Stop! Don’t!”

You writhed and shrieked until you realized that you felt no intrusion of teeth into your veins but rather just a forceful yet gentle kiss of heavenly lips on your neck. The vampire’s breathing was heavy and thick, blowing hard against your skin as her entire body went rigid over yours like a predator. Her hips were the only thing that trembled, pressing hard between your legs.

“Fuck,” you heard the vampire curse into your neck as she pressed more kisses, letting her body push harder into yours. She was salivating, leaving your neck slick as she pressed more and more flurrying kisses against your soft skin. “So soft and warm,” she murmured, rubbing her entire face into the expanse of your neck, digging the bridge of her nose into your collarbone.

You were shocked when a gentle moan left your lips. She was kissing and rubbing her face all over your clavicles and chest, rolling her hips into you with a steady rhythm. You were starting to feel dizzy with warmth and lust that throbbed sinfully through you as this monster had her way with you.

She lowered further and finally was met with the pillowy hills of your breasts. She nuzzled herself right into them, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your flesh there that was so tender it gave way to the slightest of her touch. It felt like she was vibrating against you now, breathy and rigid and drunk. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and lapped over the peak of your nipple, earning a loud gasp from you. Her eyes flickered open, alert at the sound, and looked deviously at you as she started to lap at your tit, the points of her fangs sticking through her lip like a kitten.

Sewing your eyebrows together, you squirmed under her, unsure of what, if anything, was going through your head. There were your thoughts, and the thoughts she wanted you to think, and thoughts your body was sending up your spine to your brain, mostly sinful and desirous.

Chuckling throatily against your nipple, the vampire grinned, which caused her fangs to scrape your skin.

“Ow!” you exclaimed at the tiny but strong sting you felt. It only felt like a papercut until the woman’s pupils went large, and she sunk her fangs into the soft flesh of your tit. You gasped in shock at first, watching the readhead’s long fangs sink into your breast, blood immediately streaming out of where she bit.

The scream that left your mouth was loud and burned your throat. The vampire grunted and groaned as she tasted your blood, her hips fully grinding into you now, her body melting on top of yours as she moaned huskily into your wound that she drank from.

You were at a loss for words as you thrashed against her strength and clawed at the pillows and blankets around you. The worst part was that, as much as it hurt and as much as you feared for your life, your middle was throbbing and more slick than ever as she ground herself into you, turned on from the mere taste of your blood.

Finally, the woman retracted, gasping open-mouthed, her lips and mouth smeared with the bright red of your blood. Her pupils were blown, red barely visible, your blood dripping from her fangs. She breathed heavily against you as your blood streamed down your breast, trailing to your stomach.

“The sweetest I’ve ever tasted,” she breathed almost inaudibly. She looked completely different now, like drinking from you had changed her features in some fundamental way that you couldn’t describe. She looked more beautiful than ever, and whether it was her persuasion or the sinner that had been hiding somewhere deep inside you, it made you even more slick to see this woman so beside herself, hovering over you, her mouth and chin covered and dripping with your blood, declaring you to be the best.

Seeming to still be gasping for breath, the vampire lowered herself more down the bed until her shoulders were what kept your legs spread open.

“My heavens,” she breathed as she inhaled the scent of your arousal, her eyes focused between your legs. “You sick little thing.”

Shame blushed across your face, but it was replaced with the blush of pleasure when the woman put her mouth over your clit. Her hands curled around your hips, holding them with iron strength as she devoured you. Your cum mixed with your own blood over the vampire’s mouth as she lapped at your soaked folds, somehow masterfully avoiding nicking you with the blades in her mouth. Her tongue plunged inside you, supernaturally long as it curled to reach your pleasure spot deep inside.

You were the one absolutely beside yourself now, grabbing at the sheets, at her soft red hair, arching your back off the bed and pushing your hips into her face. Any thoughts of life or death, the risk of it, being a prey trapped with its predator, your blood leaving your system through the deep bite on your breast, were all gone. All you knew now was this beautiful woman’s tongue deep inside you and the bridge of her nose digging against your clit.

A burst of pleasure exploded inside you, and you found yourself screaming out, blinded, only urged on with a more vigorous effort from the vampire’s tongue. Her nails had dug so hard into your hips that there were ten bleeding marks in the shape of fingernails on your skin, unbeknownst to the vampire who was joyously overwhelmed with the taste and smell of your blood and juices in her mouth.

Finally, when you had relaxed, she pulled away, looking up at you from between your legs. The blood on her face was still there but had been wiped away in most spots, turned pink by the mixing of your wetness which glistened over the bridge of her nose and down her chin. Her long tongue came out from her mouth to lick at her lips, her throat clenching as she swallowed.

You had never felt such physical bliss in your life. Your entire body throbbed and ached wonderfully, churned with the duality of it being so sexy and so morbid at the same time.

In fact, you’d nearly completely forgotten about the morbidity of it all until the vampire, eyes crazed even more, gazed down at your fleshy thighs. Her lips twitched in a smirk before she dove down and bit right into the inside of your thigh.

Reacting with a shriek and kicking your legs, you could feel her bite this time was much more painful and aggressive. She was not just biting you, she was sucking your blood.

“Stop!” you exclaimed, trying to kick at the vampire that seemed to be made of steel. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

She did stop. She pulled away sharply, face bloodier than ever, and lunged upwards. In a flash faster than you could realize, she grabbed your jaw and snapped your head to the side, digging her face down into the crook of your neck and sinking her teeth into your throat. The weight and strength of her body naturally held you down against the bed as she devoured you now in a more real way. You could feel your blood draining from your veins, leaving them cold. You could feel your head get lighter and lighter, your arms and legs feeling more and more numb until finally you went limp in her arms like a lamb. Vision blurring, you were moments away from death when finally the monster pulled herself away from you with a heavy sigh.

The redheaded woman had to stand up out of the bed to restrain herself. Your blood streaked darkly down her chin, staining the white lace of her chestpiece which she clawed at to give her throat room to breathe. You were a pathetic thing now, covered in your own blood at your breast and thighs, laying limply on the bed, eyes rolling as you tried to jolt yourself awake.

“My dear, I believe I’ve found heaven in you,” she whispered, recovering herself as she approached you again. You were half-conscious as she easily picked you up in her arms, holding you bridal style. Your head and arm hung down limply, the both of you blood-streaked and throbbing with different sorts of feelings that were somehow mutual. She carried you to the end of the bed where, at the floor, was the wooden coffin with the lid open. Gently, she laid you down into the soft red velvet of the wooden coffin.

She was about to stand up before you weakly grabbed at her collar. She paused, something glistening in her eyes as she stared down at you with a sewed brow.

“I don’t want to die,” you coarsely whispered. Most people wouldn’t have been able to hear you but, either because of the kind of monster she was or because your blood was running through her body, she understood exactly what you said.

“Don’t worry, my lamb,” she said with a crimson grin. “I wouldn’t let a treat like you go to waste. I’m going to keep you, pet. You’ll sustain me for as long as your body can take it. For now, you must sleep and rest, for my satisfaction is brief, and my thirst comes in quite short intervals.” She paused and stood up, letting your hand fall away from her collar. “Sleep well, little lamb.”

She closed the lid on your bleeding body, leaving you locked in the dark coffin.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #vampire #halloween #kinktober #crimsonween #marvel #lgbt #lesbian

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thesuperiorrobin · 29 days ago

Text

New Year’s resolution~

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem! Reader

Summary: Damian’s stuck with a plan for the next year.

Word count: 1.0k

Warning: none.

He’s got everything set in his head. After your first day a few years back, Damian knew you were the one he wanted to spend his life with, the one to grow old and be buried side by side for all entirety with. The word love was such a foolish thing to hike growing up, it was something he was taught by his mother and grandfather: “Love is a blinding thing and is nothing more than a weakness to all,” and it stuck with him until he met you, both 16 on New Year’s Eve just a few minutes before the time struck midnight—out and about far away from his family.

No lie, Damian Wayne was an angsty teen. At the time, he wanted nothing to do with his rowdy and chaotic family, along with the drunken strangers that seemed to be coming and going through the minor, seeing as his father was throwing yet another charity event. He managed to escape them that night, slipping away through the window and past the gates. Damian takes a stroll around the Gotham streets. The streets are never this quiet, but everybody’s with family, even the night's villains. He can hear the yells and laughter through the thin walls of the building as he passes by, and all he does is roll his eyes and kick a rock down his path.

A figure runs by, and it catches his eye, and as curious as ever, he follows, all that training comes in handy. He makes no sound, footsteps as quiet as ever, and his breathing barely makes a peep. He follows them up the Stoop of a building that leads to the top, hiding himself as he goes unnoticed by the person. That person pulls their hood down, revealing a you, a young woman around his age, their bag is thrown onto the ground as they kneel, unzipping it open to reveal food. Food that was meant for cats.

He watches for a minute, and not long after he hears the faint meows of multiple cats coming out of the shadows, some older and some much younger. They all gathered around the you, happily enjoying the food while some rubbed their heads against your leg.

"You can come out now. I know you're there," you call out, but it doesn't startle Damian. Although he is a bit shocked that you knew he was there, he clears his throat, revealing himself to you as you keep your back turned for a minute before glancing over your shoulder. Your eyes locked in with his green ones briefly before humming and looking away. "What’s the Damian Wayne doing out and about at this time just a few minutes before the new year starts? Shouldn't you be at the charity event?"

"I'm not suited for those things" his voice is quiet, but not quite enough for you to not hear "And you? Shouldn't you be with family at this time, it's almost midnight"

"Nosey are we?" You tease slighting leaving Damian to roll his eyes at you "My parents work with you Dad, so they're at the charity event too"

"They left you behind?"

"No, it was more of I didn't wanna go, big crowds with people I don't even know and pretending to be nice to me aren't my thing" You shrug slightly, and it goes quiet for a second before you look over your shoulder once more "wanna help me feed them? They won't bite"

Damian stays silent, as he moves forward and finds himself kneeling beside the you, the sound of crumpling paper could be heard from underneath. They find warmth, as they cuddle up closer to him, some finding their way in his coat and he lets them. Damian had always had a soft spot for animals. He takes a glance that you, soft smile painted on your lips as you hand feed a baby cat that’s cuddled up in your coat for warmth.

“My name’s y/n by the way” You take a glance at him, catching his staring and he turns his head to the side embarrassingly.

“Y/n….” He repeats, your name rolling off his tongue well, “Well you already know my name” his tone wasn’t cocky, no, it was more of an annoyed one. You hum, glancing down at the newspaper Damian seemed to be kneeling on, and as ironic as ever, his face was plastered on the front with a headline.

“Don’t think I can miss it when your face and name are practically everywhere” you chuckle softly pointing at the paper below him, and as he looks down Damian frowns slightly before glaring back at you.

“How hilarious” rolling his and a comfortable silence falls between the two of them, and it isn’t long before it is disturbed by loud ‘booms’.

Damian’s startled, taking action and going into a fight stance positioned. There wasn’t a single sign of threat anywhere near, just the sudden boom noises repeating over and over.

“Oh look!” You shout, catching his attention as he follows your gaze up in the sky “The fireworks!” The sky’s filled with color—and not the type that turns them red, orange, and yellow but the type that turns them purple, pink, blue, and green. You glance down at your phone, time reading 12:01. “Can’t believe I started the new year with Damian Wayne…” you chuckle, glancing back at him but frowning “Why are you standing like that? You look like you're ready to fight someone”

Damian clears his throat, awkwardly fixing his position as he glances at you with a scowl “This will be the first and last New years we’ll spend together”

“I wasn’t expecting another New Year with you” you shrug “wanna feed the dogs next?”

You two, did in fact, spend the next seven New Years together.

Two as friends and the rest as lovers.

And as the ball drops to the countdown from ten to one, you two share a sweet kiss when everybody wishes one a happy New Year and as you two pull apart, Damian stares at you lovingly as you smile back. The only thought in his head was thinking of ways he was going to propose to you the following year, or maybe he’d do it sooner.

Well…… I'm so late but HAPPY NEW YEARS. This was actually supposed to be posted on the 1st of January but I lost track of time I'm sorry 😭

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian x reader #robin x reader #damian scenarios #batfamily #damian wayne headcanon

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hiiikiko · 1 month ago

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𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗-𝖒𝖆𝖓!𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘n [2]

🕷️spidey!ellie who goes through pairs of converse and glasses like they’re gum.. it’s gotten so bad that she now just wears contacts

🕷️spidey!ellie who can’t help but swing by your usual spots… but hey, it’s totally not stalking if she’s doing it for your safety and out of concern… right??

🕷️spidey!ellie who kind of hates her suit… she can’t tell if it’s because it reminds her of that horrid deadpool girl or if it’s because the colours are so unintentionally patriotic..?

🕷️spidey!ellie who’s room is filled with fan made gifts.. she can’t bear to get rid of them, her favourite gift is one that she got from a little girl that she saved from the ‘scary lizard man,’ it’s a drawing of spidey and her at the park eating ice cream.. it was the first gift that she received from a fan and she has it framed on the wall above her bed

🕷️spidey!ellie is adored by the grandmas in her neighbourhood, they think she is the perfect hero, helping them carry groceries, carrying them across the street, beating the thief’s who try to steal their purses to a blood pulp.. she is loved by many

🕷️spidey!ellie who dies a little inside whenever she sees herself on the front of a newspaper.. or a magazine cover… or the evening news… or on tshirts… or your phone…and it’s not a bad thing, she just doesn’t see why everyone thinks she’s such a ‘hotshot’ when really, she’s just a broke chem major who’s side hustle is taking pictures for a shitty newspaper

🕷️spidey!ellie who constantly reminds herself that ‘great power comes with great responsibility’ but can’t help but use her abilities for other things… like tripping abby, stealing the ball in a basketball game because those jocks were pissing her off, stealing a chair out from under Jesse, stealing the remote from tommy… and… god, there’s just so much

🕷️spidey!ellie who likes to graffiti subways when no one is looking, she may be a hero but she’s an artist first… even if that art is defacing public property and is technically a crime.. but hey! that spider on the side of the subway is pretty cool, right?

🕷️spidey!ellie who used to have longer hair but got sick of having to put her hair up in a cap every time she put on her mask, so she ends up just asking tommy to cut it which he did…. almost shaving her bald the first time until she stopped him by knocking the razor out of his hand which caused him to groan and go on about how he was in the military and if she wanted to play hero, she ended the proper haircut… a buzz cut, she’s just lucky that most of it had grown out when she met you because before it was an undercut and she wasn’t a fan.

🕷️spidey!ellie who LOVES the avengers, she has all six avengers keychains on her backpack, she collected them with joel

🕷️spidey!ellie attracts spiders and it kinda makes her mad but at the same time she never kills them like she did before, now they’re family… family that you take back outside into the cold…

🕷️spidey!ellie who’s read fan fiction about herself and she’s gotta admit, even she swooned a bit

🕷️spidey!ellie who hates hates hates public gatherings for her, like when the mayor let her cut the ribbon for the new library? she could’ve died right then and there, she didn’t like all the cameras, the girls screaming for her, the attention.. all she wanted was to leave and escape back to her room and read that new comic she picked up last week…

🕷️spidey!ellie buys you spidey merch.. even before she tells you that she’s spidey, she buys you merch just because she loves the way you look wearing her, it makes her feel a little possessive

🕷️spidey!ellie has sharper canines that most

🕷️spidey!ellie who carries her backpack around with her everywhere, even as spidey, she has stash spots all over the city, safe places to store her backpack for when she can actually study

🕷️spidey!ellie she likes to study on really tall buildings, she puts her headphones in and opens her notebook, enjoying the scenery and she also has a police scanner next to her, listening out for her cue to pack up and kick some villain butt

🕷️spidey!ellie who when she gets really stressed out.. turns back to smoking, she had quit when she decided to take on the hero gig so that her lung capacity wouldnt be fucked but she can’t help it sometimes, especially when the Daily Bugle is pushing out anti-spidey propaganda, the police chief has a warrant out for her arrest, and you not knowing who she is yet

🕷️spidey!ellie who can be so calm under pressure but the second you’re within her spidey senses perimeter, she loses all her swagger and becomes a clumsy, stutter mess who can’t even control her spidey senses or her powers

🕷️spidey!ellie who gets a little nervous going on dates with you… so her webs come out and stick to everything.. she can’t help it and it pisses her off, so for the first couple of dates she completely avoids touching you and if you bring it up, she’ll get red in the face and stutter about how she has sweaty hands… and then when you’re like “oh… uh..” and she sees you looking kinda like ‘ew’ she’ll internally kick herself and then try to explain that it’s not like excessive but you just make her nervous which makes you giggle, eliciting a blushing reaction from her

🕷️spidey!ellie who thinks you’re completely out of her league like she isn’t built, attractive, smart, funny, sweet, and a literal fucking superhero??

🕷️spidey!ellie who uses her powers to sneak back into the schools laboratory after hours to do homework… that’s it.

🕷️spidey!ellie who shivers a bit whenever she sees deadpool merch… the memories come flooding back…. (fic coming soon :P)

[a/n: if you liked this, please consider checking out my spider-man!ellie series linked here]

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collapsedsquid · 3 days ago

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The 25-year-old DOGE operative resigned Thursday after The Wall Street Journal asked the White House about his connection, if any, with problematic posts on Elon Musk's social network. It all stems from a C-programming-themed Twitter handle called nullllptr that, according to the Murdoch-owed newspaper, had advocated for a "eugenic immigration policy," called for repealing the Civil Rights Act, and urged Silicon Valley to "normalize Indian hate."

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loafysainz · 22 days ago

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the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

chap 1, chap 2, chap 3, chap 4, chap 5, chap, 6, chap 7

PART 6 MEETING MOM

As the summer camp buses lined up, Mr. Hamilton stood on the main lawn, a megaphone in hand, his voice cutting through the chatter of children reluctant to leave.

“Okay, everyone, I hope you packed everything! Don’t forget anything, and we’ll see you next summer!” he called, hugging children who clung to him in farewell.

Amidst the emotional goodbyes, a pair of boys stood under the shade of an old oak tree, whispering fervently.

“They’re staring at us too much, Matheo. Do you think they know?” Mattia adjusted the collar of his shirt nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

Matheo, ever the confident one, rolled his eyes. “No way. Stop being so weird, or they’ll suspect something. Do you remember the plan?”

Mattia hesitated before nodding. “Yes, but… maybe repeat it? Just in case?”

Matheo sighed, exasperated. “You’re hopeless. Fine. I’ll go home to Mom, and you’ll go to Dad. We’ll ask them why they split and figure out how to fix it. Got it?”

Mattia nodded fervently, clutching his suitcase. “Got it. This is for the greater good.”

“Mattia Y/LN! Your car is ready!” Mr. Hamilton’s voice boomed, making both boys jump.

Mattia grinned and gave Matheo a quick hug. “Good luck with Mom. And remember, don’t mess this up!”

Matheo smiled nervously, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted his suitcase. “You too. Tell Dad… I said hi, okay?”

“I will.” Mattia smirked, ruffling his brother’s hair and let him jogging off toward the car.

****

London was breathtaking. Matheo pressed his nose against the car window, taking in the winding streets, the azure sky, and the amazing architecture of London. His heart raced as they approached the house—a beautiful, modest villa with ivy climbing the walls.

When the car stopped, he hesitated for a moment before stepping out. A wave of unfamiliar scents hit him—fresh sea air, blooming flowers, and something else... coffee? He clutched his suitcase and stepped inside, greeted by the cozy interior and a handmade sign that read, "Welcome Home, Mattia."

He smiled despite himself. As he wandered further, the smell of coffee grew stronger. Following it, he found a man sitting in an armchair, newspaper in hand.

“Grandpa?” Matheo ventured.

The man lowered the paper, revealing sharp blue eyes and a graying mustache. “Mattia! Is that you? My favorite little gentleman?”

Matheo grinned. “It’s me, Grandpa.”

Grandpa stood, pulling him into a tight hug. “My god, you’ve grown! But what’s this?” He leaned back, eyeing Matheo curiously. “Are you smelling me?”

Matheo nodded earnestly, "I’m memorizing it.” His grandpa chuckle a little and say "You’re as peculiar as ever.”

Before Matheo could reply, a soft voice floated down the staircase. “Mattia? My baby?”

Matheo froze. His heart thudded as he turned toward the sound. There she was Y/N—his mother, descending the stairs, her arms outstretched.

“Mom!” Matheo cried, running to her. She swept him into a hug, kissing the top of his head as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"I can't believe it's you," Matheo tried to say through his sobs.

"And I can't believe it's you, baby. Tell me, who was the person who dared to cut your beautiful hair?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she ruffling her son soft hair.

"He was a friend from camp, is it bad?"

"No, of course not. It suits you very well"

Then Y/N noticed Matheo's hair color. "What? A dyed hair too?"

Matheo tried not to get nervous so he grimaced

"Does it bother you?"

"As long as you don't turn into a bad kid, it's all good. Is there another surprise you have to tell me, baby? A piercing? A tattoo?"

Matheo cried more at his mother's sincere concern, he needed this, he had longed for it so much. Y/N worriedly watched as his son shed more tears.

"What happen baby? are you feeling hurt or something?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that I missed you too much."

"I missed you so much too. It felt like an eternity the time you weren't by my side."

She cupped his face, her smile softening. “Welcome home, my little man. You’re finally here.”

Matheo clung to her again, his heart swelling with a mix of relief and joy. For the first time in months, he felt like he was exactly where he belonged.

****

His mother pulled back, her hands on his shoulders, and smiled warmly. "Come now, tell me everything! Did you like everyone at camp? Was it fun?"

Before Matheo could answer, Martin, the ever-dutiful butler, appeared at the door with a small, unexpected guest.

"Excuse me, madam," Martin said, holding up a small, scruffy real madrid tightly. "It seems we have a plush in the suitcase."

Matheo's eyes widened in panic. Madi?! His real madrid plushie, he snatched the plushie from Martin's hands. "Oh! Uh, that belongs to my... friend," he stammered. "The one I told you about from camp. I have no idea how it got into the suitcase."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. "Well, since it’s not ours, shall we dispose of it?"

"No!" Matheo blurted, clutching the stuffed real madrid tightly. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "I mean, no. I’ll mail it to him. He loves this thing a lot. Like, he can’t live without it. Especially not in, say, a foreign country."

"Very well," his mom said with a smile, clearly not buying his story but letting it slide. "Martin, that’ll be all. Thank you."

As Martin left, Matheo exhaled, holding Madi close.

#carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #cs55

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thelostconsultant · 2 months ago

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Bittersweet happy end

pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

summary: Charles is frustrated after the last race of 2024, but you have a plan to make him feel a little better.

note: Time travel is real in this. Also, I didn’t want reader to know what they talked about…

Once you hit the send button, you lean against the wall and wait for his response. The weekend started out so well, with Arthur and Charles being on the track at the same time, writing history by being the first brothers to do that as teammates. But then the Q2 knock-out and 10-place grid penalty happened on Saturday, and while he fought tooth and nail to finish in P3 today, even that couldn’t cheer up Charles after losing the constructors’ championship.

Back in the garage you talked to his family, suggesting that maybe it should be one of them who approaches him first, but Pascale made it clear right away that his son probably needs you more than he needs them. They would talk a bit later, it’s not like he’s gonna drop off the face of the Earth now that the season is over. So, with a curt nod, you headed to his driver room once you were told he’s there, and now you’re playing the waiting game in front of it.

A minute or two later he opens the door and rests his head against the frame, watching you with those big, sad eyes. “Hi,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse, and tired, and laced with the kind of pain that makes your heart ache.

After he steps aside, you begin to walk inside, giving him a peck on the lips as you pass by. This brings a small smile on his lips, but it’s only temporary, because by the time you sit on the edge of the bed, he once again has that sad look on his face. With a sigh, you pat the mattress next to you, and wait for him to sit down. For a short while you’re sitting there in silence, your fingers intertwined, and neither of you say a word. He’s probably not in the mood to talk, while you’re just wondering how to bring up what you have on your mind.

Because you have a plan. Actually, you’ve known this day would come for many years, since the early months of your relationship. There’s an ability, one that some call a gift, running in your family. You can travel in time, and you can take one person with you. That’s exactly what you want to do now. There’s someone Charles needs to talk to, someone who can hopefully cheer him up, make him see that this is not the end. Next year he can give this title fight another shot, until then the best he can do is to sit back and recharge.

“Do you trust me?” you suddenly ask, your eyes hesitantly turning to him.

Charles’ features soften as he flashes a weak smile at you. “Of course I do. Why?”

You look down at your hands, wondering whether or not you should give him an explanation before or after reaching your destination. Maybe doing some mild damage control there would be easier, so you look back at him and give him a gentle kiss. “Take a deep breath,” you tell him, and before he could ask you why, you make the jump.

The time is 2017, just days before the beginning of the F2 season, and the location is Monaco, more specifically, an empty street near the Leclerc household. Charles is utterly confused, for which you can’t blame him, so you quickly explain the time travel ability, which he finds hard to believe, but when you take him to a shop around the corner to check the date on a newspaper, he finally accepts that this is real. He then wants to know why you came here from all places, and you only flash a mysterious smile at him as you pull him towards his parents’ home. You know his father is alone at home today, and this gives you the chance to make this meeting happen.

Because a chat with Hervé is exactly what Charles needs now. Just as much as his father probably needs to hear how far his son will go, how successful and loved he will be in a matter of years. Maybe telling him is cheating, maybe him telling you that he knew was also cheating, but it worked out, this is why you’re not afraid to bring your boyfriend here.

“Isn’t there a rule that we can’t be seen or something?” Charles wonders out loud while you’re standing in the door.

You flash a smile at him before shaking your head, then you return your attention to the door. It opens not long after, and you can see Hervé’s surprise when he realizes that the man standing in front of him isn’t the version of his son he saw the day before during dinner. You step in right away, asking him to discuss this inside, and once you’re all sat in the living room, you explain everything. You tell him about your ability, about when you’re coming from, about what just happened to Charles, and all you ask for is his discretion.

“I’ll go for a walk now to give you some time alone,” you say with a smile, a hand resting on Charles’ shoulder for a brief moment before you walk away. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

As you walk around the neighborhood, you can’t help but think about the conversation Hervé had with past you after this visit. He pulled you aside with a conspiratorial smile, pulling you into a tight hug and saying thank you for doing so much for his son. At first, you thought he just had an emotional moment, but then he began to talk in a hushed tone, making sure no one else heard the two of you, and told you about your future self, about this version of you that returned to visit.

He was eternally grateful for giving him the chance to hear about Charles’ career in F1, about his highs and lows, his biggest battles, the session he spent on the track with Arthur, about how his relationship with his childhood rival changed over the years, and how you made sure it could be him who could make him feel better after such a bittersweet season finale.

After the hour passes, you return to them, flashing an apologetic smile at your boyfriend when he looks up. “Your mom will come home soon,” you say quietly, earning an understanding nod from him.

“Thank you for bringing him here, sweetheart,” Hervé tells you with a grateful smile as he stands up to pull you into a hug. “I’m glad it’s you.” You give him a confused look after you let him go, but he just shakes his head and turns to his son. “Come here, Charles.”

You watch the way the younger Leclerc wraps his arms tightly around him, keeping him close as if he could disappear any second. In a way, he will, because once you return to 2024, you’ll be back to a time where his father is gone, so the tears that fill his eyes now have every right to be there. It breaks your heart, but you can’t let him stay. Maybe—just maybe—you will bring him back again.

They quietly exchange a few more words, then he reaches for your hand and stands next to you. “I’m ready,” he says, even though it’s clear that every cell in his body is screaming to make him stay.

Silence.

Neither of you can break the comfortable silence that fills the driver room after your return, but it feels okay, it feels perfectly natural. Charles is watching you with a happy smile after he wraps an arm around your shoulder, his green eyes sparkling from the turmoil of emotions. The screen of his phone suddenly lights up, revealing that Lorenzo is trying to get a hold of him, but he ignores it.

“Talk to him, or he will assume we’re busy doing adult gymnastics,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Marry me.”

The words hit you like a train. You’ve been together for almost eight years, but marriage never came up, not even as a joke. You have a terrible feeling about this, something’s telling you he’s only saying this because he wants to repay you for this chance. You let out a sigh in preparation for an argument, but he’s quick to hold up a finger to stop you.

“This is what Dad wanted. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want it, of course,” he instantly corrects himself, “I just wanted you to know this. He was really happy that you’re this thoughtful, and he scolded me for not asking you yet. Maybe I got a little too comfortable after you moved in, that’s the truth. But if you’re willing to forgive me for that… Well.”

You have to focus on your breathing, but your eyes are filled with tears within seconds. “Charles, I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Maybe yes?” he asks with a playful smile. For a few seconds you’re only watching him, eyes locked as you’re trying to read his thoughts. “Come on, yes or no? Just say yes. Please.”

His phone rings again, and this time it’s his mother’s name that flashes on the screen. He raises an eyebrow, silently trying to convince you to say yes, and you break under the pressure and agree to marry him. A wide grin grows on Charles’ face before he suddenly hits the button on the phone and puts in on speaker.

“We’re getting married!” he announces happily before pulling you into a kiss, ignoring his mother’s happy squeal in the background. “I don’t know what I would do without you. Thank you. For everything,” he whispers against your lips before moving to place a kiss on your forehead.

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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fatecantstopme · 11 months ago

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My Past, My Present, My Future

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader, Endverse!Dean x reader

Summary: You get dragged to the future along with Dean to witness the aftermath of the apocalypse. Follows the plot of "The End" (Season 4, Episode 4)

Warnings: mentions of death, canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dirty talk.

A/N: If I tell you too much, it'll ruin the story...enjoy!

It had been 2009 when you and Dean had fallen asleep in a hotel in Kansas City. You were awoken by the sound of your boyfriend's voice muttering "What the hell?"

You opened your eyes to find yourself in a completely trashed room--it looked like an actual bomb had gone off. It took you a moment to realize it was the same room you'd fallen asleep in.

"Dean?" you asked in confusion.

He was staring out the window, so you joined him, the two of you now staring out a what remained of the city.

"What happened?" you whispered.

"I have no idea." He looked back at you, worry etched into his face. "We should get moving. See if we can find anyone else."

As the two of you walked through the city streets, you found yourselves completely alone--that is, until you came across a little girl crouched in an alleyway all alone.

As the little girl attacked Dean, you saw the word "Croatoan" painted on a brick wall. Dean defended himself, knocking the girl unconscious.

You simply pointed to the word, a look of dread on your face. Dean's gaze followed your finger and the same expression crossed his features.

"Shit," he muttered.

Suddenly, a group of infected people rounded the corner and spotted the two of you. You both took off running, desperate to avoid becoming their next meal.

"Dead end!" you yelled at Dean, but neither of you had time to figure out your next move. The infected people are still behind you when a heavily armed military unit opened fire on the group.

The commotion gave you and Dean the time you needed to escape. The two of you stayed hidden until nightfall. When you emerged, you noticed a sign on the fence surrounding the entrance to the city.

"Dean," you said softly, pointing to the sign. "Croatoan Hot Zone."

He stepped forward to get a better look. "August 1st, 2014? How...?"

"Great," you muttered. "So we're in the future."

"Apparently...and it ain't pretty."

You shared a look and muttered "Angels," in unison.

You managed to find an abandoned car that still had gas, so Dean hot-wired it and the two of you sped off. You were desperately trying to find a cell signal or even a radio signal when Zachariah made an appearance in the backseat of the car.

"I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap," Dean growled.

In response, Zachariah simply began to read a Newspaper he'd brought with him. The headlines were dark, detailing some of the terrible events that had occurred in this morbid future.

"How the hell did you find us?" Dean asked in annoyance.

"Human informants from some of the fringier religious groups," Zachariah answered.

"That guy on the street last night," you said to Dean, who nodded.

"Send us back. Now," Dean demanded.

"No can do. The two of you are staying put in 2014 for a few days so you can see exactly what happens to the world if Dean continues to say no to Michael."

"You're an ass," you muttered.

Dean smirked a little. "As much as I love having (Y/N/N) as my copilot, why'd you have to drag her into this?"

"Don't worry, she'll be fine," Zachariah said with a wave of his hand. "She's here because she might be the only person who can convince you to do the right thing. She needs to see just how bad it gets almost as much as you need to."

Before either you or Dean could respond, Zachariah disappeared, zapping himself back to wherever the hell he hung out.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate angels?" you mumbled under your breath.

Dean simply nodded. "Me too, sweetheart."

"Where we headed?"

"Bobby's."

You kept your thoughts to yourself. Dean didn't need you to tell him it was unlikely Bobby had survived this, especially being wheelchair-bound. He wasn't a fool, but you knew it was better to let him have just a little bit of hope.

**********

As expected, Bobby's house was empty, save for his wheelchair and an absolute mess of junk. Dean was silent as he surveyed the room, putting the wheelchair back upright with a sad sigh.

He went to the mantel behind Bobby's desk and pried it open, pulling out Bobby's old journal. In it, he found a picture of several men with shotguns posing in front of a sign for Camp Chitaqua, Bobby and Cas among them.

He held the picture up for you to see and you exhaled softly. "Road trip?"

He nodded and the two of you headed for the camp. You managed to sneak past the guards, but as you were making your way farther into the camp, Dean grabbed your arm.

You followed his gaze and realized his once-beautiful Impala was parked off to the side completely junked out.

"Oh not you too, Baby," he whispered as he leaned forward to inspect the car.

You would have laughed if you hadn't been staring down the barrel of your own future.

"Dean--" the rest of your sentence was silenced as you fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by someone behind you.

The man was fast enough that both you and Dean were unconscious without a single sound.

When your eyes fluttered open some time later, you found yourself seated in a wooden chair, wrists gently bound to the arms. You saw Dean sitting on the floor a few feet away from you, arms cuffed to a ladder bolted to the floor. He wasn't moving and you whispered his name in worry.

"So you're awake." Had you not been staring at Dean when you heard the voice, you would have been certain it had been him talking.

You looked around, jaw dropping as Dean stepped out from his place against the wall behind you. It was Dean, but it wasn't your Dean. His face looked a little more haggard and the light in his eyes was dimmed almost to extinction.

"Who--how--?" you tried to ask.

"I could ask you the same question."

You looked back over at Dean's unconscious form and the other Dean sighed.

"He'll be fine...as long as you answer some questions. I know neither of you are some kind of supernatural creature--trust me, I tried all the tests. But he carries every weapon on him that I do and well--there's a striking resemblance." He trailed off for a moment. "Then there's you...any chance you can explain why you look like my dead wife's identical twin?"

You were saved from responding by the sounds of your Dean stirring. "What the hell?" he muttered as he realized he was cuffed in place.

"Thanks for joining us," the other Dean stated. "I was just asking your friend here why you look like my doppelgänger. Care to share?"

Dean looked between you and the older version of himself and sighed slowly. "Probably because I am you--well, the you from 2009. And she's (Y/N) from 2009. We were dragged here to 2014 courtesy of Zachariah."

Future Dean nodded. "Sounds like something he would do. He always was a dick."

You smirked a little, appreciating that somethings never changed. However, your mind was still reeling from the words Future Dean had said to you mere seconds before your Dean had woken up...dead wife.

"As much as I'd like to believe you, I need to be sure." Future Dean crouched down in front of your Dean, eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me something only we would know."

Your Dean flicked his gaze to you for a moment before turning back to meet his own stare. "We were 19. Rhonda Hurley made us try on her satin panties. They were pink. And you know what? We kinda liked it."

You giggled lightly at his admission and Future Dean cracked a small smile and muttered, "Touché."

Future Dean stood back up, turning his attention to you. You were surprised to see the sadness in his green eyes--a look you'd only ever seen once before.

"You haven't looked at me like that since Jo and Ellen died," you said softly.

Future Dean grimaced. "A lot has happened in the past five years, (Y/N). I carry a hell of a lot more weight than I did in 2009."

You waited for him to continue, as you knew he would.

"A lot of shit happened--really bad shit. The apocalypse, demons, releasing the Croatoan virus...we lost a lot of good people, people I cared about." He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "Three years ago, a small team of us tried to infiltrate a demon lair in an attempt to get Lucifer's location. I led one team, (Y/N) led the other. I don't know how, but they knew we were coming. I couldn't get my whole team out, but (Y/N)--she-she fought until the very end. She made certain her whole team made it out of there alive."

Your breath caught in your chest as you let his words sink in. You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, even though it was obvious he was trying to hide it. Your Dean let out a soft pained sound and you felt the strong urge to go to him, but the ropes around your wrists held you in place.

Future Dean continued, "When I found out they'd left her behind, I went back...the demons had already cleared out, having gotten what they wanted. I found her..." He trailed off, gaze finally raising to meet yours. "I found you...broken and bleeding. I held you in my arms as you took your last breath. I carried you back home and I built your pyre. I wouldn't let anyone else near you. I lost something that day I could never replace, and it changed me forever."

"Dean," you whispered softly. Tears filled your (y/e/c) eyes as you stared into his mossy green ones. "I'm so sorry."

He almost laughed at your response. "I just told you that you die because of me and you're the one who's sorry?" He let out a pained chuckle. "You always did love me more than I deserved."

Your expression was soft and your smile even softer. "I don't blame you. It doesn't matter why or how it happened--it wasn't your fault. I make my own choices, as you well know. So if I chose to stay behind to save other people, then that was my decision and the consequences are for me to bear."

He closed his eyes for a few moments, allowing your words to wash over him. He'd never even imagined he would have the pleasure of hearing your voice again, let alone see your smile, or hear your laugh. He felt his armor crack just enough that a sliver of the Dean you had always loved shone through. It terrified him, your ability to affect him even now, but he knew his love for you had never dimmed and never would.

"What about Sam?" your Dean asked, breaking the silence.

"There was a heavy weight showdown in Detroit a few years back. From what I heard, Sam didn't make it out."

"From what you heard?" Dean asked in shock. "You mean you weren't with him?"

"We hadn't spoken since 2009."

You had your own opinions on Dean's decision to part ways with Sam and you'd been very vocal about it. You could tell by your Dean's expression that he was shocked and guilty about how that decision had played out.

Future Dean turned his gaze to you and you saw the same regret in his eyes that you'd seen in your Dean's. But something about his expression and the intensity of his gaze made you wonder if he was regretting the same thing as your Dean.

Future Dean exhaled slowly and averted his eyes again, pulling his invisible mask back down. "I have a mission, so I have to go. The two of you are going to stay here for the time being. I can't have the younger version of me running around the camp and there are quite a few people here that remember you, (Y/N). So stay here and don't cause any trouble."

You shot a look to your Dean who grumbled something about being left chained up. Future Dean gave you one last sad look before going out the door and leaving you two behind.

"How long until you get yourself out of those cuffs?" you teased softly.

"How long until you squeeze your hands out of that rope future me barely tied?" Dean sniped back.

You smiled and shifted your left hand so you could grab ahold of the knot Future Dean had tied. It took you less than 10 seconds to get it untied and even fewer to release your other hand.

Dean shot you a grin. "That's my girl."

You rolled your eyes, scanning the room for something to pick the handcuff lock with. "You're the one who didn't tie them tightly."

"Future me," he emphasized. "Clearly he's got a soft spot for you."

You smirked. "So do you." Your eyes landed on a small pen knife sitting on the table. You grabbed it, holding it up for him to see.

His eyes sparkled with several different emotions and you knew he was reeling from everything you'd just learned. Hell, you were busy compartmentalizing all of your emotions so you didn't fall apart.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I do."

You offered him a sweet smile before leaning down to his level and picking the lock on his cuffs with the pen knife. As soon as he was free, you helped him to his feet.

"Okay, I'm gonna go have a look around," he said. "You stay here."

"Dean--" you started to protest.

"Hey, it's not like I don't want you with me, but you heard what future me said...there are people here who will recognize you--people who know you're dead."

You sighed, knowing he was right. "Fine. Why don't you go first, make sure it's clear, then I'll follow you."

Dean glared at you for a long moment, before his expression softened. He knew this wasn't a battle he was going to win. "Alright. Just stay out of sight, okay? I don't need one of these trigger-happy yahoos shooting you because they think you're a monster or something."

You nodded your agreement and Dean slowly opened the door to the cabin. You stay inside until he beckoned you to join him. You stayed close to the edge of the cabin as you waited for him to gesture for you to follow.

Just as Dean rounded the corner, Chuck Shirley stepped directly into his path, stopping him in his tracks. You stayed back, back pressed against the side of the cabin.

"Uh, hey there Chuck," Dean said.

Chuck started to ask him about what they should do about a shortage of perishable items and hygiene products before realizing Dean was supposed to be out on a mission.

"Yeah, I-uh-I was gonna head out now," Dean lied.

Suddenly, a woman crossed into your field of vision and swung a punch and a kick at Dean. He jumped back and grabbed Chuck, pulling him in-between himself and the angry woman.

Your instincts screamed for you to help him, but you knew you needed to stay hidden. You listened as the woman, Risa, yelled at Dean for spending the night in another woman's cabin the night before.

"You said we had a connection," she snapped.

You almost laughed at that--it was exactly the kind of thing Dean would say to a woman to appease her.

You watched as Risa angrily stomped away and Dean exhaled in relief. He quickly asked Chuck if Cas is around and he gestured to a cabin close by. "I don't think he's going anywhere," Chuck said lightly as he walked off.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dean's gaze landed on you and he waved at you to follow him. You followed closely behind as he entered the cabin, staying just out of sight of anyone inside.

You could hear Cas's voice, but it sounded different than you remembered it being--softer and maybe even lazier than before.

He must have spotted Dean because you heard him acknowledge him as their "fearless leader". You heard Cas tell the women in the room to wash up and prepare for the orgy.

A group of girls walked by you and Dean as you both step into the room.

"Orgy?" Dean asked incredulously.

Castiel simply shrugged as he regarded both of you. "(Y/N)," he murmured quietly. "This is a surprise."

You sighed. "I'd imagine so. I hear I'm dead."

"Indeed you are." Castiel's gaze landed on Dean. "And you're not the Dean of this time. When are the two of you from?"

"2009," you answered.

"Zachariah sent us here," Dean added.

"Ahh," Cas mumbled. "I shouldn't be surprised."

"Okay, so nice to see you and all that, but can you zap us back please?" Dean asked.

Cas giggled slightly and Dean's gaze narrowed in annoyance.

"Dude, are you stoned?"

"Generally, yeah," Cas replied.

Dean looked over at you, but you were just as surprised as he was. You shrugged and Dean let out a quiet groan.

"I don't have powers anymore," Cas said simply. "When the end came, the angels just left...bored with their playthings, I guess. When they left, so did my powers."

"Oh great," Dean muttered.

"Dean," you said in a warning tone. "Don't."

Cas smiled at you and crossed the room to give you a hug. You were a little surprised, but you returned the gesture.

"It's good to see you, (Y/N). You were always the only person who could keep Dean in line."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you at his words. "We've had the pleasure of meeting the Dean of this time. I imagine he's not exactly one to defer to anyone."

For a moment Castiel's expression grew wistful, as if remembering a better time. "He used to, but he changed rather significantly when you died. It's been three years and he still hasn't gotten over your death. He's not the same Dean you knew."

You glanced at your Dean and exhaled softly. "Knowing him, he's just hid that part of himself so far down he's forgotten it even exists."

Dean's gaze met yours and you knew you were right. You could see it is eyes--he knew exactly what losing you would do to him. He knew the kind of man he would become.

Cas glanced back and forth between the two of you and shook his head. "You always could read each other's minds. It's nice to see that again. But I am curious, how did our Dean handle meeting the two of you?"

"Not well," you admitted.

"Pretty sure he was happier to see you than he was to see me," Dean muttered.

You chuckled mildly. "Well I'm the dead one, so it seems fitting."

Dean winced and you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tried to smile at you, but the pain in his gaze ensured the expression didn't meet his eyes.

Before any of you could utter another word, the sound of trucks pulling up sounded from outside the cabin. You let Dean walk out first, followed by Cas. You opted to remain in the shadows just inside the doorway. You could see what was happening outside without being noticed.

You saw Future Dean getting out of one of the trucks and tossing a beer to another man. They cracked them open and the other man turned his back on Dean.

You watched in horror as Future Dean raised his pistol, pointing it at the man's back. Your Dean ran out, yelling for him to stop, but it was too late. Future Dean pulled the trigger and the man fell to the ground.

Future Dean whirled around, coming face to face with your Dean, eyes full of anger. As Dean began to argue with Future Dean, you ran out in an attempt to calm both men. Castiel grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

The gasps and shocked faces of the people around you reminded of you of the position you'd just put yourself in. Most people were staring at your Dean in confusion, but several gazes had landed on you. You recognized a few of the faces and you knew in your heart these people had known you--the other you.

Future Dean gestured to your Dean and said, "Me and him--it's messed up, okay? But if you need to know something, then I'll tell you when you need to know it."

As Future Dean glanced around, he noticed some people were not looking at him--or at his doppelgänger. He followed one person's gaze and his body froze when his eyes landed on you. Even though he'd known you were here, it was still painfully jarring to see you.

What was worse, was he wasn't sure how to explain your presence--too many people had known you. A few of them had been there when you'd died.

You locked eyes with Future Dean and your heart ached for him. You could see the turmoil in his eyes and the difficulty he was having formulating any kind of words to address your presence. He might not be your Dean, but you still loved him--after all, he was the man your Dean would one day become.

You stepped forward, gently pulling yourself from Castiel's grasp. "Dean," you whispered softly, sad eyes meeting his.

"Some of you might remember my wife, (Y/N)," Future Dean said calmly. "I'm not prepared to explain her presence to all of you, but just know that she's not here to cause any harm."

His statement seemed to appease most of the small gathering, but you saw some darker expressions cross the faces of a few people in the crowd.

Future Dean stepped forward and grabbed your Dean by the jacket, practically dragging him towards his cabin. His gaze landed on you and he gestured for you to follow.

"Didn't I tell both of you to stay put?" he growled as he closed the door behind him.

Your Dean began to argue, but he was silenced by Future Dean's anger.

"He was infected, okay? I've been doing this a long time and you learn to see the signs. I did what I had to do."

"We know that," you said softly.

Both men looked at you in surprise, but your gaze was firmly on Future Dean's face. You wanted him to know you understood--you weren't even sure why.

"You didn't need to kill him in front of everyone," your Dean commented.

Future Dean's gaze cut to him like a blade. "Yeah because seeing my freaking clone and my dead wife was so much better."

Your Dean opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Future Dean cut him off.

"The last thing these people need is to see me arguing with you, okay? They're twitchy survivors who can't handle this. This is my time, not yours, so stay in your lane."

Dean backed off, realizing Future Dean was right. He was nothing more than an observer in this time and he needed to act like it.

Future Dean pulled out three glasses and poured a drink for each of you. Your eyes scaned his face, keen senses picking up on the emotions clearly stirring beneath the calm surface. You wanted to talk to him, get him to open up, but you knew this wasn't the time.

"So what was the mission for?" you asked gently.

Future Dean gave you an appreciative look. "Five years of searching--five long years and I finally found it." He pulled something out of his jacket and laid it on the table. "The Colt."

"How?" your Dean asked in surprise.

"Demons have been moving it around for years, but we finally got good intel on its location."

You felt uneasy as you regarded him. You couldn't read him as well as you could your Dean, but you knew he was thinking about something--something you weren't going to like. "What's your plan?" you asked warily.

"Tomorrow night," he said, dark gaze fixed on your face, "I'm gonna kill the devil."

Shock lit up both your's and your Dean's faces. "We have no idea if the Colt's gonna work!" you protested, fear lacing your voice.

"It's our only shot and I'm gonna take it," he countered.

You glanced at your Dean and you could tell he didn't like the sound of this plan any more than you did. Sure, you both wanted to find the Colt in your time and kill the devil so none of this would happen, but there was no way to know if it would work. No one had ever tried it on an archangel before.

"Can I speak to my wife alone for a moment?" Future Dean asked, further shocking you both.

"I, uhh--" you stuttered.

Your Dean looked at you sympathetically, a sad expression settling onto his face. You knew what the look meant, so you weren't surprised to hear him agree. He stepped outside, leaving you and Future Dean alone.

"You know it's hard for me," he began, "seeing you after all this time."

"It's not easy on me either," you admitted, "seeing the man you become...and knowing I'm not going to be with you much longer."

He looked down in shame. "I know I'm not the man you love." He gestured to where your Dean stood outside. "I'm not him. But I have never stopped loving you--never stoped missing you."

You closed your eyes for a moment. "I know. I can feel it."

"I knew you would," he said softly. "I'm sure knowing what the future has in store for both of us isn't something you'd expected to see."

You shook your head. "I certainly didn't expect to hear you call me 'your wife'."

A small smirk played across his lips. "You get your priorities straight when the world is about to end. Marrying you was the best thing I ever did."

You smiled slowly, but your heart ached too much to continue this train of discussion. "So why did you want to speak alone?"

He inhaled deeply. "I wanted to talk to you without him around to persuade you otherwise."

"Persuade me to do what, exactly?"

His gaze was intense as he stepped towards you. If you didn't know him, it would have frightened you. "When you go back to 2009, I want you to pack up your things and leave. Leave me as far behind as you can--run and never look back."

A mixture of shock and sorrow darkened your features. "I-I can't do that."

He reached out and grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly. "You have to, (Y/N)," he pleaded. "It's the only way I can keep you safe--alive."

You shook your head. "I can't leave you."

He caressed your cheek gently, his calloused hands molding perfectly to your face. "I need you to do this for me, sweetheart. I know it won't be easy and I-he won't understand, but it's for the best. He'll realize it in the end."

"Marrying me was the best thing you've ever done, but you want to deny yourself that joy? Deny me?"

"I would rather suffer a thousand deaths than watch you die again. It almost killed me, (Y/N). Hell, in a way it kinda did. I'm not that man anymore, and I don't want that for him."

You touched his face gently, fingers grazing against the rough stubble on his cheek. "You're wrong, you know. I can see him in you. You might be older, damaged in ways I can't understand, but the man I love lives in you. You and I both know Dean is going to tell me the same thing when we get back to 2009. It will break his heart, but he will beg me to leave if there's even a remote chance it will save my life."

His expression told you exactly how right you were.

"Looks like you haven't changed all that much--at least not in the ways that matter."

A flicker of pain crossed his face, but he was quick to hide it. He loved you so much it hurt and he knew there was no hope for him. He had to believe that the Dean from 2009 would heal from losing you, especially if it meant you got to live.

"Sometimes, I'll lie awake at night and stare at your picture--talk to it, even. I dream of you often and it breaks my heart every time I wake up to find you're not there. I miss you with every part of my tattered soul."

"Dean..." you whispered, leaning into him.

"I know you don't love me, but I need you to know how deeply I love you, even now. You hold my heart in the palm of your hand, (Y/N). You always have."

You stood on your tip-toes and brushed your lips across his cheek. "You are him," you whispered lowly. "I love him, so I love you. Five years of hell on earth doesn't change that."

Tears filled his eyes and he pulled you tightly against him. He never wanted to let you go, no matter what the cost. He felt conflicted about loving you so much, but he knew without a doubt in his mind that the 2009 version of himself would understand.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before settling his chin down against it. He loved the way you fit in his arms, as if you were made for them. He wanted you so badly it hurt--an ache so deep in his bones he knew he would never be rid of it.

It took all of his strength--all his willpower--to pull away, releasing you and taking a step back.

You looked up at him with compassionate (y/e/c) eyes, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, heal his pain. You hadn't been lying when you said you loved him. You could feel the man you loved beneath the hardened exterior, and it broke your heart to see him in so much pain.

Your eyes scanned his face again, but he couldn't meet your gaze. You knew his body ached for your touch--you knew because your Dean had always been that way. It had been three years since Future Dean had felt your body against his, so you knew exactly how much it was killing him.

You sighed, glancing out the little window at the front of the cabin. Your Dean stood out there, shoulders set in that stern way you were used to seeing. Your heart ached for him--you knew it was hard for him to be in this situation. You loved him more than you'd ever thought possible and you knew he felt the same. Seeing the way his future self looked at you likely made him contemplate things he shouldn't have had to bear.

"Stay here," you whispered to Future Dean. You stepped past him, heading for the door.

Future Dean watched as you exited, eyes fixated on the way you moved--desperately trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

"Hey," your Dean said softly as you stepped outside. "You okay?"

"Not really," you admitted. "You?"

He gave you a sad smile and shook his head. "This is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

"I know."

"No, sweetheart, I don't think you do," he said gently, but firmly. "You have an idea, sure, but you don't know--not the way I do. I can see it on his face--on my face. The way he misses you, the love he so clearly feels for you...the emptiness inside of him only you can fill. I know all of those feelings, (Y/N). I can't even fathom the pain of losing you. It hurts to even think about."

You touched his arm gently and he leaned into the touch as if on instinct.

"I know what he's feeling, even if I can't fully experience it myself. I know the devastation I would feel if I lost you--I don't think I'd ever fully recover. Add to that all the loss he's experienced in the last five years and I can understand why he's the way he is. I see myself in him...and I can see myself becoming him."

Dean turned his full attention to you and his next words shocked you to your very core.

"He needs you, (Y/N). I have a bad feeling about tomorrow night and I think you might be the only thing that stops him from doing something reckless. It pains me to say this--to give you up, even for a moment, but he needs you. I know it might feel weird, wrong even, but he's me...and I get him, more than I'd care to admit."

Your lips parted in surprise. "I-I don't know if I can do that, Dean."

He touched your face gently and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "He's me, (Y/N)...and he needs you. You're his wife, after all. So go."

Your eyes scanned his face for any sign of discomfort, but you only saw sadness. Part of you hated this idea, but the other part knew he was right. You'd felt it when you'd been with Future Dean--felt his need for you so strongly it nearly overwhelmed you.

"I love you," you whispered.

"I know, sweetheart. I love you too."

He nodded towards the cabin and gave you a soft smile. You stepped away, knowing you were about to do something that felt both incredibly wrong and incredibly right at the same time.

"Where will you go?"

"I'll hang out with Cas. Don't worry about me, baby."

You nodded and watched him walk away towards Castiel's cabin. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself before turning to the door in front of you.

Future Dean seemed almost surprised to see you as you stepped back into the cabin.

"Hi," you murmured.

"Hey."

"I can't walk away," you whispered. "Not when you're in so much pain."

He looked at you in confusion, unsure of what you were trying to tell him.

You were typically so good with words, but whatever skill you normally had failed you as you looked into his haunted green eyes. There was no way for you to fully understand the emotions he was feeling, no words to explain how desperately you wanted to heal even the smallest fraction of his soul.

You crossed the short distance between you, practically crashing into him as you grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled him down to you. The kiss surprised him, but he was in no position to pull away--wrong or not, he craved you like a drowning man in need of air.

His arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush against him, holding on for dear life as he deepened the kiss. It felt as if you were both engulfed in flames, every sensation burning you both--scarring you in a way neither of you would ever heal from.

His hands traveled down your back, slipping under your ass to pull you up into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, lips never leaving his.

He carried you to a small room at the back of the cabin and laid you down as gently as he could onto the mattress. There was no bed--simply a mattress on the floor, but there were blankets and a couple pillows, just enough to be comfortable.

Your hands slid inside his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders forcefully. His lips didn't leave yours as he tugged it off and tossed it out of the way. You pulled on his henley, silently begging him to take it off too, a request he immediately complied with.

He had to pull away from you just long enough to tug the shirt over his head, but the action was enough to ground him. As he gazed down at you, his heart clenched in his chest. You were just as beautiful as he remembered, eyes full of love and adoration--an expression he'd missed desperately.

"I love you so much, (Y/N/N)," he said quietly.

Your expression softened slightly, realizing the pain he was feeling--the mixed emotions racing through his veins. "I love you too, Dean. Don't question that for a second."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the palm of your hand as you reached up to cup his cheek.

"Get out of your head, baby," you murmured. "Focus on me--on this moment--nothing else."

His eyes slowly opened, gaze landing on your face. You began to blush beneath him, his hungry expression heating you from the inside out.

"You're wearing far too much clothing for my taste," he teased, voice low and throaty.

You smirked. "I know you like to rip my clothes off, but these are my only ones--so be gentle."

He groaned, just like you knew he would. Dean was notorious for literally ripping your clothes--he'd ruined more shirts and pants than you cared to admit...not to mention most of your undergarments.

"How 'bout we make a deal?" he murmured.

You hummed in response, so he continued.

"I'll promise not to rip your pants or your underwear, if you're willing to forfeit your shirt."

You looked up at him in surprise. "I don't have another shirt, Dean."

He grinned wolfishly. "But I do."

Realization crossed your features, a small smile curling the corners of your mouth. Before you could respond, he gripped your shirt in his strong hands and tore it right in half, revealing your heaving chest.

"Dean!" you admonished in surprise.

"Sorry, baby--I couldn't wait any longer. You know how impatient I get."

As if to emphasize his impatience, he lowered his mouth to your chest, tugging the cups of your bra down to expose your soft breasts. He groaned loudly before burying his face between them, nipping and sucking at the supple flesh.

You moaned softly, fingers of one hand tangling in the short locks at the base of his skull. Your other hand slipped down his broad back feeling the heated skin beneath the tips of your fingers.

You felt unfamiliar scars, which nearly brought tears to your eyes. You hated the idea of him being hurt--especially if you weren't there to care for him as he healed.

Dean sensed your shift in demeanor and he lifted his head to observe your face. "You okay, baby?"

His soft words brought you back to the present and you offered him a small smile. "New scars," you whispered.

You didn't need to elaborate, he knew exactly what you meant. He could read you just as well as you could read him. "You were there for most of them," he murmured gently.

You relaxed slightly and he sighed before placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You know me too well," you remarked.

"You're the love of my life, sweetheart. There's not a damn thing I don't know about you."

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes and you desperately pushed the welling emotions down, choosing instead to focus on the here and now. "I need you, Dean," you whispered. "Desperately."

He had never been one to deny you, and he certainly wasn't going to start now. Besides, his own need was slowly becoming unbearable.

"I'm right here, baby. I'll make you feel so good--I promise."

He wasted no time in removing the rest of your clothing and his own. He wanted to take his time, really feel you, but he knew time was the one thing neither of you had.

"I need to taste you," he whispered into your ear before beginning his descent to your aching pussy.

Some things may have changed in the last five years, but Dean's skills in the bedroom hadn't. The things he could do with his mouth should have been categorized as a crime--his ability to have you screaming and shaking within minutes was still a shock after all this time.

He loved the way you tasted, the way your body reacted to his touch, the pretty sounds you made as he feasted on you. There wasn't a damn thing he didn't love about you, but he had to admit this was in the top five things he missed most about you. The way your body melded with his--two souls intertwining in the most fundamental way, the overwhelming pleasure he could only find in your arms...he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't dreamed of it often in the last three years.

Your nails dug into his biceps as you desperately clung to any part of him you could reach. Your orgasm swept over you seconds later, pulling moans and whimpers from your throat as he continued his assault.

Dean ignored the tugs on his hair, instead holding your hips even more firmly against the mattress as he continued to eat your pussy hungrily. It took mere moments for your whimpers to once again turn to heavy moans of need--your voice hoarse from begging him to keep going.

When your second orgasm crashed into you, your legs shook almost violently against his head, thighs threatening to crush him. He couldn't have been bothered to care--had you actually crushed him in that moment, he would have died a happy man.

He finally relented when you began begging him to give you a moment--just one moment to breathe. He lifted himself up to hover over you, licking his lips happily as he gazed down at you.

"You seem pleased with yourself," you said breathlessly.

"Oh I am." The pride he was feeling practically oozed from his pores. Nothing stroked his ego like making you fall apart over and over again.

You ran your hands up and down his arms in a gentle, soothing manner. He'd always loved the way you touched him--the sweet, loving action something he hadn't been used to before you.

"I love you," he whispered.

You met his gaze and smiled. "All my heart and all my soul, Dean Winchester. Always."

The reply stunned him into a motionless silence. It had been years since he'd heard those words from your lips--he never thought he would be lucky enough to hear them again. In that moment, he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, torn apart, and put back together...it hurt like hell, but he wouldn't have traded the moment for anything.

You noticed the change in him and you worried you'd said something wrong. "I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize," he said immediately. "I just...I haven't heard those words in years and--well, it hit me harder than I thought it would. That was, umm--" he sighed heavily. "It was the last thing you said to me before you died."

His voice was a gravelly whisper, filled with unimaginable pain, and it nearly broke your heart in two. "Dean..." you murmured.

"You have no idea how badly I've wanted to hear those words again--to hear your sweet voice remind me how much you love me. I missed you, sweetheart."

You couldn't have known how he'd react to your statement--hell, you hadn't even thought about it...the words just poured from your mouth like they had countless times before. It didn't matter what year he was from--you loved Dean Winchester with a kind of endless passion that would outlive Death himself.

You knew this experience would change you in ways you couldn't yet comprehend, but you wouldn't change it for anything. At the end of the day, this was Dean, and there was nothing you wouldn't do for him--nothing.

"Make love to me, Dean," you whispered lovingly, eyes bright with desire.

"I could never deny you, (Y/N/N)," he said sweetly. "I won't start now."

He leaned down to kiss you deeply, pulling you back into the warm embrace you craved. As the kiss progressed, your bodies became more entangled, until it was impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. It was a feeling you'd only ever felt with Dean, and one you couldn't have explained even if you tried.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean finally broke the kiss, breathing deeply. "I can't hold back any longer. I need you more than I need to breathe, (Y/N)."

"I'm yours, Dean."

The simple act of giving yourself over to him completely had him wanting to do nothing but worship you until the sun came up again.

He didn't hesitate, didn't overthink--your body was calling to him and he answered it gladly. In one single thrust, he buried himself fully inside you, eliciting sharp groans from you both.

"Fuck, sweetheart--I forgot how incredible you feel," he whispered against your heated skin.

You were breathless and aching, the desire for him to ruin you so overwhelming you couldn't think of anything else. "Move," you pleaded desperately, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

His body mindlessly responded to your pleas, hips setting an almost brutal pace. You both needed this--needed the release that could only come from each other.

You clung to him and he to you, the room filling with the salacious sounds of wet skin against skin and moans of endless pleasure.

"I love the sounds you make when I'm inside you, baby," he groaned. "I fucking missed them so much."

"You feel so good, Dean," you gasped.

"So do you, sweetheart."

And fuck did you feel incredible. He loved you so much and you felt it in every single movement his body made. You hoped he could feel just how much you loved him in return.

"You're the only woman who could ever make me feel like this," he whispered.

You knew exactly what he meant--what he was trying to say. Sex had always been different with you. It had always felt more incredible than with anyone else he'd ever been with. The profound bound the two of you shared made everything better--even sex.

"I never want you to stop," you murmured. "It feels so good."

"Shit," he groaned, your words having more of an affect on him then he'd expected. "Keep talking like that and I'm gonna cum."

"That's what I want, Dean. Want you to fill me up."

He practically growled as he bit down on your collar bone, hips slowing as he tried to regain his composure. "Need you to cum first," he begged.

You rolled your hips against his in response and the sensations he was experiencing snapped whatever remained of his self-control. He grabbed your legs and tugged them flush against his chest and began to pound into you recklessly.

His cock slammed into your g-spot with each thrust, pulling sharp cries of pleasure from your open mouth. Your hands grasped at the blankets beneath you, struggling desperately to find purchase anywhere.

He knew he could get you over the edge this way--he knew your body almost as well as he knew his own. Within a few short minutes, your cries of pleasure turned to screams of his name as one of the most intense orgasms of your life hit you like a tsunami.

Before you could come down from your high, Dean found his own, releasing his seed into your pussy. The contractions of your walls around him milked every last drop of cum from him before he collapsed on top of you, spent and satisfied.

Your arms immediately wrapped around him, holding him tightly against you. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest and you were certain he could feel yours. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being in the arms of the person you love most.

"You're amazing, (Y/N)," he whispered into your neck.

"As are you," you mumbled, pressing your lips into his hair.

He held you almost as tightly as you were holding him and you knew he didn't want to ever let go. Your heart ached for the man in your arms just as much as it ached for the man currently sitting in Castiel's cabin.

Love was the most complicated emotion there was, but this far surpassed any normal situation. Dean Winchester was the love of your life in any time period--past, present, or future. You hated seeing the man you loved in pain and seeing two of him in pain complicated matters beyond belief.

"Where's your head at?" he asked softly.

You chuckled lightly--he really did know you better than anyone else.

"Just thinking about this messed up situation we've found ourselves in."

He sighed quietly. "Don't think on it too much, sweetheart. Zachariah will send you back tomorrow and everything will go back to normal."

"Except for the part where both present and future versions of you want me to leave..."

He lifted his head slowly. "It's too late for me...I'm too far gone, too deeply and madly in love with you to ever push you away. But the Dean from 2009? Yeah he loves you more than he's ever loved another person in his life, but he'll learn to live without you. He has to. Otherwise he'll wake up one day in 2011 without you and he'll feel the way that I do. He'll be forced to live with a hole in his chest that no human being could ever fill, and it'll change him, (Y/N). It'll break him."

Tears streamed down your face as you listened to his words. You knew they were true--knew it was how he was feeling, how he'd felt for years. You didn't want your Dean to feel that pain, but you knew deep in your heart you couldn't walk away. There was no timeline where you could turn your back on the one person that made life worth living...but this Dean didn't need to know that.

"No more talking," you said softly. "Let's just sleep a while."

He nodded and rolled over onto his back, taking you with him. You giggled softly as you nuzzled into his chest, finding comfort in his strong arms.

**********

You awoke to the sound of knocking on the door of the cabin. You felt Dean stir beside you, a grumble of annoyance slipping past his lips. You smiled a little at his moodiness--it was nice to see some things never changed.

You pulled yourself up and got dressed quickly, grabbing a clean henley from the small pile of clothes in the corner. It was much too big on you, but it was all you had thanks to Dean's impatience.

You opened the door of the cabin and found a somewhat sheepish looking Castiel standing on the other side.

"Is, uh, is Dean awake?"

"He mumbled something rather rude when I tried to wake him up, so I let him sleep."

Cas chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"I can wake him if you need him."

Cas looked like he wanted to say no, but knew he couldn't. "Yeah, if you don't mind. We need to start planning for tomorrow if we want this to work. People are starting to talk."

You sighed. "I'll get him up."

You stepped back, leaving the door open as an invitation for Cas to come inside. He chose not to, opting instead to wait on the porch while you went to wake Dean.

"Dean? Sweetheart?" you said gently. "You need to get up."

"Five more minutes," he grumbled.

You laughed and shook him a few times. "Come on, handsome. We've got work to do."

"Fine," he groaned. "Fine."

He sat up slowly, eyes dark with sleep. He looked up at you and you offered him a soft smile, which he instantly returned.

"You're so beautiful."

You blushed. "Get dressed before Cas comes in and sees your naked ass."

"He's probably seen it a couple times by now," he teased as he got up. "Now, where'd you put my pants?"

You laughed. "I think you threw them somewhere over there." You pointed to the other side of the room where a small pile of clothes laid.

He smirked slightly and crossed the room, grabbing his clothes and putting them on quickly.

"What's up, Cas?" he asked gruffly when he came into the main room.

"The team wants to know what's going down tomorrow and uh, past you says we need to start making a plan."

He shot you a look, but you simply shrugged. You weren't at all surprised your Dean wanted to make a plan. He didn't like this whole idea in the first place, so it made sense he would want some kind of plan in place.

"Fine. Gather the team and get them in here."

Cas went off to do as asked. The first person to arrive was your Dean. One look at his handsome face had you rushing to him and wrapping your arms around him. He buried his face in your hair and sighed softly.

"I know this is a little awkward," you said quietly to both Deans as you stepped back.

"Not as much as you would think," your Dean responded.

Future Dean nodded, but remained quiet for a few moments. He fixed your Dean with an intense gaze even you couldn't quite read. "Thank you," he said so softly you almost missed it.

Your Dean nodded his understanding. You realized it really was different for the two of them than it was for you. They were the same man five years apart...they understood each other's thoughts and emotions in a way you never could.

Before you could say anything else, Cas returned with Risa and a couple other people in tow. Risa gave both Deans an odd look before turning her dark gaze to you. You couldn't read her expression, but you felt the jealousy coming off her in waves.

"Well this is about to be uncomfortable," you murmured to your Dean, who just chuckled.

Everyone sat down around the table except for both Deans and yourself. You stood beside your Dean, and you both stood slightly back to give yourselves room to observe everyone.

Risa glared at Future Dean so intensely it made everyone uncomfortable. He gave her a confused look and simply asked, "Why are you pissed at me?"

"Something about you having a connection, but then spending the night in another chick's cabin," your Dean quipped.

You snickered softly, as did Cas. Future Dean shot a glare your way, but you simply shrugged.

"Plus your dead wife is magically not dead, so yeah, I feel some kinda way," Risa grumbled.

"The (Y/N) some of you knew is dead. This one is from 2009--same as him," Future Dean said, gesturing to your Dean. "Now that we've got that out of the way, can we please focus?"

No one dared argue with him.

Future Dean launched into his spiel about killing the devil, revealing the Colt to the other people in the room.

"How do you know it's gonna work?" Risa asked skeptically.

"It's all we've got," Future Dean answered. "We got Lucifer's location from that demon we captured last week. We know where he's gonna be for the first time in years."

"The demon might have lied for all you know," Risa snapped.

"Trust me, he was honest."

Castiel leaned towards Risa. "Dean is very well-versed in the art of getting to the truth."

You inhaled sharply, immediately understanding Castiel's meaning. Your Dean stiffened beside you and you felt the quiet rage simmering beneath the surface.

"Seriously? You went back to torture?" your Dean said angrily.

Future Dean looked at you, a resigned look of sadness on his face. You sighed and placed your hand on your Dean's arm and murmured, "Let it go, Dean."

He caught Future Dean's expression and fell silent again. There was no use arguing about his tactics now.

"Now," Future Dean said as he gestured to the map on the table. "We'll be heading in here."

"That's a hot zone," Cas said. "It's filled with Croats and demons--kinda reckless to just go barging in there don't you think?"

"Are you coming or not?" Future Dean asked, ignoring Cas's objections.

"Of course," Cas responded. "I've gotta ask though, why are they coming?" He nodded his head towards you and your Dean.

"I don't answer to you. Just know that they are coming."

Castiel put his hands up in surrender.

"Why don't you all go get supplies ready and recruit a couple more people," you suggested.

Future Dean nodded his agreement and the others left, leaving you and the Deans alone.

"Now why don't you try that again, but give an honest answer this time," you said sternly, eyes boring into Future Dean's face.

He sighed wearily. "I want you both to see what happened to Sam. Especially you." He pointed to the younger version of himself.

"What do you mean?" your Dean asked. "You said he died in Detroit."

"No, I didn't. I said he didn't make it out."

You exhaled sharply, heart nearly breaking as you realized what he was saying.

Future Dean fixed his gaze on you and you knew your assumption was correct. You instinctively reached out to your Dean in an attempt to ground him--you knew exactly how this information would affect him.

"What's going on?" your Dean asked, looking between you and his doppelgänger.

"He said yes," you whispered.

Future Dean nodded, but your Dean simply looked confused.

"The big yes," Future Dean said tiredly. "Lucifer wore him to the prom."

You gave your Dean a sad look. A flash of pain crossed his handsome features and your heart broke for him. You'd told him back in your time that he needed to forgive Sam--needed to mend their relationship. You didn't realize just how important that mending would be.

"He wouldn't do that," your Dean whispered.

You placed a comforting hand on his arm, but didn't bother to contradict him.

"Well he did," Future Dean snapped. "And when you go back, you need to say 'yes' to Michael. Immediately."

"Absolutely not!" you gasped.

Now it was Dean's turn to comfort you, his hand coming to rest on yours. "She's right. A showdown between Michael and Lucifer would torch half the planet."

"Half a planet is better than no planet," Future Dean insisted.

"If it's such a good idea, why didn't you say yes?" your Dean asked.

"Oh trust me, I tried. But by the time I was ready, the angels had given up and fucked off to wherever they are now."

"There has to be another way," your Dean whispered.

Future Dean fixed you with an expression that made everything clear to you.

"That's why you want me to leave," you began softly. "You know I would never approve of him saying yes to Michael. If I'm not around to influence him, then maybe he'll be foolish enough to say 'yes', right?"

Your Dean looked confused, but Future Dean held your gaze and you knew you were right.

"I really don't want you to die," he said gently. "But I also know exactly what you'll say...and I know the impact your words will have on my choices. Because I already made them."

"You told her to leave me?" your Dean asked slowly. "Even knowing what that'll do to me?"

"You'll both be better off."

"You don't get to make that call," you snapped.

Future Dean sighed and shook his head. "You'll both make your own decisions, but I just want you to have all the facts. Gear up. We move out in 20." With that he walked out the door, leaving you and your Dean alone.

"What if he's right?"

"About saying yes to Michael?" you asked in surprise.

Dean shook his head. "About it being better for you to leave."

You sighed quietly. "He's wrong...about all of it."

"I've seen what losing you did to me--to him...and I'm not sure that's something I can voluntarily experience."

You smiled. "I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure you never have to."

Dean returned the smile and pulled you in closely. "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too, Dean Winchester. Always."

**********

You were sitting in the backseat of the truck, listening to Cas tell your Dean about becoming human. It was weird for you to see Cas like this, hell he was driving. It was even harder to see how broken he had become and it only made you want to prevent this future even more.

You closed your eyes, desperate to fall asleep--to leave this fucked up, burned out world behind. You wanted to go home--to 2009. There was still time to change the future, to stop any of this from happening. You would give anything to stop it.

You must have fallen asleep because you were awoken by the gentle sound of your Dean's voice telling you it was time to wake up. You opened your eyes, surprised to see it was now light out.

"We're here, baby," he said softly.

You sighed deeply and nodded. You dragged yourself out of the truck and gathered your weapons along with the rest of the group. Your senses immediately told you something was off and one glance at your Dean told you he felt the same.

"Didn't you say this is a hot zone?" you asked Cas softly.

The former angel nodded.

"Then where are all the Croats?"

"Must be in another part of the city," he responded.

You and Dean exchanged a look, neither one of you believing his response.

Nevertheless, you followed the group, searching the rundown city for the building you were going to raid. When you found it, all of your hunter instincts screamed that something was wrong, but this time you weren't the first to voice it.

"Shouldn't there be a shit load of demons out here?" your Dean asked.

Future Dean shrugged. "They must all be inside."

His answer didn't satisfy you one bit, but you kept your mouth shut, choosing instead to observe him closely. The only person who knew Dean better than you was the man himself, which was proven moments later.

"Alright," Future Dean started. "You guys go in through the second story window. The three of us will sneak around back."

Risa looked more than a little concerned with the game plan. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She glanced over at Cas, who clearly agreed with her worry.

"Trust me, okay? They'll never see us coming," Future Dean assured them.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" your Dean said firmly, his words more a statement than a question.

Future Dean sighed, but stepped off to the side to speak with the two of you.

"You're lying to them," your Dean said lowly. "Don't deny it--I know your lying expressions, I've seen them in the mirror."

Future Dean sighed in annoyance and your Dean threatened to tell the team about his concerns, but Future Dean stopped him.

"I know it's a trap, alright? I'm not an idiot. They'll go in the front door and create a distraction while I sneak around the back."

"You're sacrificing your team?" you asked incredulously.

"They're your friends! And Cas? Come on, man--this isn't you," your Dean added.

"My inability to make the tough decisions is what got us here in the first place. Look around you--this is the end of everything," Future Dean growled. "It's my job to kill Lucifer and save what's left of this planet, so that's what I'm going to do."

"I can't let you do that," your Dean argued.

Instead of engaging in further discussion, Future Dean jabbed the butt of his gun into your Dean's head, knocking him unconscious instantly.

"Dean!" you yelled, unsure if you were calling for yours or yelling at the Future version.

"I have to do this, (Y/N)," he said softly. "I need you to understand."

Tears welled in your eyes. "I understand why you believe that, but I don't agree. It's not who you are, Dean...the man I fell in love with would never sacrifice the people he loves--not for anything."

Future Dean looked down at the ground in silence. When he lifted his head again, his face was hard--a mask of non-emotion.

"I'm doing what needs to be done," he said firmly. "Stay with him and stay out of the way."

You wanted to reason with him, but you knew there was no point in trying. Yes, he was still Dean, but you knew you would never be able to change his mind. He'd made his choices and he'd had to live with them. Now, he was just trying to make up for all the mistakes he believed he'd made.

"Go," you whispered.

He nodded and moved back to join the others. You watched everyone but Dean head to the front of the building, a feeling of sorrow weighing on your heart.

"Dean," you called softly, prompting him to turn to look at you. "Don't die."

He gave you the smallest of smiles and nodded before running towards the back of the building.

You dropped to your knees and shook your Dean firmly. "Dean, wake up!"

After a few minutes, he groaned and his eyes fluttered open. "Fuck," he mumbled.

"Hey!" You helped him into a sitting position. "You okay?"

"My head's killing me."

"He hit you pretty hard," you said gently.

The sound of gunfire urged him to his feet. "We gotta go."

You nodded and let him grab your hand as the two of you ran to the back of the building. You arrived to a terrifying scene--Future Dean was lying on the ground and a man in a white suit stood above him, his foot firmly on Dean's neck.

Future Dean made eye contact with you seconds before his neck snapped and the life left his face.

"No!" you screamed.

Your Dean grabbed you, pulling you back to keep you from rushing forward. Watching Dean die felt like having your own heart ripped out of your chest--it was a feeling you hoped you'd never have to relive.

The man turned around in surprise and your breath caught in your chest. Objectively, you'd known it was Lucifer--you'd known he'd be in Sam's body--but there was nothing quite like seeing it in person.

Dean instinctively pushed you behind him, putting his body protectively in front of yours.

"Dean, (Y/N)," Lucifer greeted calmly. "It's a surprise to see you here--especially since I killed you three years ago and well..." he looked down at Future Dean's body with a nonchalant shrug. "It must be a shock to see your brother like this."

"Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with?" Dean asked angrily.

"Well that would be redundant. I'll kill your lovely wife three years before I kill you," he said simply. "We will always end up here, Dean. This is the way our story ends."

"Deep-frying the planet and murdering billions of people? What a shitty story," Dean snapped.

Lucifer started to rant about loving God too much and being punished for it...but you'd stopped listening. You could feel the pain rolling off your sweet Dean in waves. You knew what he was thinking--he'd failed his brother and in doing so, destroyed the world.

"I'm not falling for that sympathy-for-the-devil crap!" Dean yelled, pulling you back to the present. "The only difference between you and the monsters I've hunted my whole life is the size of your ego."

If the situation had been different, you probably would have laughed. Dean's fearlessness was something you both loved and admired about him. What's more, you agreed with his sentiment.

Lucifer simply smiled. "I like you, Dean. I can see what the other angels see in you." His gaze landed on you and you felt the rage boiling under your skin. "No hard feelings, (Y/N). Your death was a means to an end--it broke what little humanity your precious Dean had left in him. It's what led us to this moment."

Lucifer turned to walk away, but Dean called after him. "You better kill me now or I won't stop until I find a way to kill you."

Lucifer's smile was cruel. "I know you'll try Dean, but I also know you'll never say 'yes' to Michael, and you'll never kill Sam. No matter what choices you make or details you change, your wife will die in 2011 and you and I will always end up right here."

"You're wrong," Dean whispered, eyes filling with pained tears.

You touched his arm gently, reminding him he wasn't alone. He leaned into your touch, but remained steadfastly in front of you--guarding you with every ounce of strength he had.

"I'll see you in two years, (Y/N)," Lucifer said with a condescending smile. "And I'll see you in five, Dean."

Before either of you could say a word, Lucifer vanished, leaving the two of you alone.

"Dean..." you whispered softly.

He turned to you, his expression full of agony. You reached for him just as Zachariah appeared and placed a hand against each of your foreheads, zapping you back to the hotel room in Kansas City, circa 2009.

Both of you turned to face the offending angel, anger your primary emotion in the moment.

"Now you know what's going to happen," Zachariah said, cutting off any rant either of you could start. "Your only option is to say 'yes' to Michael, otherwise billions of people are going to die."

"How do we know that wasn't just another one of your tricks?" you snapped.

"The time for tricks is over," Zachariah stated. "Saying 'yes' to Michael is the only way you can save the world--save (Y/N)--save your brother.

Dean turned to you, his face full of anguish. It made your heart clench in your chest and you worried for a moment he'd changed his mind.

"Nah," Dean said to Zachariah, jaw set in a firm line.

You smirked a little, watching Zachariah's facial expression turn to shock.

"Are you telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"

"Oh I learned my lesson," Dean countered. "Just not the one you wanted to teach me."

Zachariah stepped towards Dean menacingly. You instinctively stepped forward, more than willing to fight the angel to protect the man you loved. Dean placed a gentle hand on yours to let you know he wasn't scared.

"I have you exactly where I want you," Zachariah began. "I'm going to teach both of you a lesson until you get it through your thick skulls. Neither of you are going anywhere until you say 'yes'."

Dean's grip on your hand tightened and his mouth opened to give some sort of retort when you suddenly found yourself standing on the side of a highway. Dean's hand was still wrapped tightly around yours and a slightly confused Castiel stood a few feet in front of you.

"Excellent timing, Cas," Dean said in relief.

"We had an appointment," Cas stated matter-of-factly.

You chuckled softly and stepped forward to wrap the angel in a hug. He was slightly surprised by your actions, but he didn't pull away.

Dean placed a firm hand on Castiel's shoulder and offered him another smile. "Don't ever change."

You and Dean launched into the story of the last few days for you, and Castiel listened quietly.

"How did Zachariah find you?"

"Long story," Dean muttered. "But let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses in the future."

You chuckled again and rolled your eyes affectionately.

Dean pulled out his phone and started to dial a number.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked.

"Something I should have done in the first place."

You smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing...and who he was calling. You were proud of him and you voiced the sentiment as soon as you were alone.

"Thanks, babe. Turns out you were right all along."

You grinned. "I'm always right."

Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Alright sweetheart, calm down." His voice was light and teasing and it warmed you straight down to your soul.

"I love you, you dork."

He smiled and squeezed your hand. "I love you too."

You were both quiet for several minutes, just watching the road as Dean sped towards your next destination.

"It's still the apocalypse," Dean said suddenly.

"Mhmm," you hummed quietly.

"So you know...the world might still end."

"Hopefully not."

"Agreed, but I'm thinking maybe we should get married."

"What?" you said in shock.

Dean shrugged. "I'm just saying...you're my everything and I want everyone to know you're mine. Besides, if this world really does end, there's no one I wanna be with but you."

"You know, normally the guy gets down on one knee."

Dean chuckled. "I can do that as soon as I stop the car."

You laughed. "Typically there's a ring too."

He grinned. "Don't worry baby--I'll buy you a big diamond ring."

You smiled and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently. "I don't really need a ring, Dean--and I don't need you to get down on one knee. If you're serious about it, then hell yeah--let's get married."

Dean looked at you hopefully. "I'm dead serious, babe."

You touched his cheek with a smile. "Then let's get married."

He looked at the straight stretch of road ahead, not a car in sight. He leaned over and kissed you quickly, the affectionate gesture expressing his emotions better than any words he could have said.

When he pulled back to face the road, you leaned across the seat and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. Your voice was low as you said the words that had become a mantra in your relationship, "All my heart and all my soul, Dean Winchester. Always."

His smile warmed your entire body--inside and out. It had been weird hearing Future Dean call you his wife...but your Dean proposing to you now, it just felt right.

You rode the rest of the way in a happier mood than you'd felt in a long time. Dean's mood was lighter too, but you both knew it wouldn't last. There was still a lot of darkness to come, but you were both determined to make sure there were happy moments. After all, love was one of the things that made life worth living.

A short time later, you sat on the trunk of the Impala, watching the man you loved apologize to his brother. You smiled warmly as you watched them, overjoyed at the steps they were both taking to make amends.

Dean turned towards you and waved you over. You hopped down and crossed the short distance, passing Dean to wrap Sam in a tight hug. The much larger man returned the gesture, the tension easing from his body.

"Glad to have you back, Sammy," you said as you stepped back.

"Thanks, (Y/N/N)."

"We're getting married," Dean said suddenly.

Sam's eyes widened in shock and you nearly laughed at Dean's sudden admission.

"End of the world and all that," Dean said sheepishly.

You chuckled and Sam expressed his congratulations.

"No matter what happens," you said softly. "We have each other--all three of us."

Both Winchesters nodded their agreement and Dean slipped his arm around you to pull you close.

"To hell with fate," Dean stated. "From now on, we make our own future."

You leaned into him with a smile, appreciating the sentiment more than you would have just a few days prior. At the end of the day, all you had was each other and the love that bonded all of you together. None of you knew exactly what the future held, but you'd be damned if you didn't fight for a future worth living for.

#supernatural #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #supernatural smut

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

Text

Unraveled 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: thanks for waiting on this one.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The carriage stops outside a brick building. A walk-up in Marleybone, just along Upper Baker Street. An address you couldn’t even dream of living near, let alone within. You peer up at the facade, the orange brick unstained by the coal and smoke of the backstreets.

Gavin appears to open the door and sets a step down before you can emerge. He offers his hand gallantly and you let him assist you down to the road. You thank him as you peer up at the arched front door of 221b.

“You need only knock, miss,” Gavin goes to pat the horse’s haunch as it kicks. “Ask for Mr. Holmes, he is expecting you.”

You grip your bag tight and set your chin. You might not belong but only you are troubled by it. You climb the steps alongside the iron rail and lift the heavy knocker mounted on the thick wooden door. It’s clang rattles even you.

You wait, both hands on the handles of the bag. Gavin appears behind you with the rolls of fabric, breathless as he struggles to keep them from touching the ground. You return your attention to the door as it opens.

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr.--”

“Holmes,” the very man you’re seeking stands before you, “forgive me, my housekeeper... resigned.”

“Not to worry, sir,” you assure him.

“Come in,” he backs up, gesturing you within with his large hand. “And how was your journey? I hope you didn’t come upon any scoundrels.”

“Only upon her destination, sir,” Gavin japes as he steps in behind you.

“Eh,” Holmes tilts his head at the driver, “allow me.”

Holmes takes the rolls of fabric from Gavin. He hugs them effortlessly in on arm as he faces you again, dismissing the driver with no more than a nod. You stand rigidly by the wall, hesitant to go any further. The door closes and the click makes you flinch.

“Allow me to show you around,” Holmes offers, looming in the tight space of the entryway.

“I need only see your sister,” you insist.

“Ah, yes, Enola, you will, but it only polite to get you acquainted with the space,” he rebuffs.

“With respect, sir, I’ve come out of my way and without warning to this appointment. More work does await me at my shop,” you squeeze the leather handles until they squeak, “it is a lovely home, I’m sure, but I’ve come upon business, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t take very long,” he counters, “yet, if you’d rather keep this formal, by all means, I will take you to my sister.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You bite down, wondering if perhaps you were more curt than you should be. The apartment is rather far from your neighbourhood and the travel time alone will impose upon your ongoing commissions. You don’t expect he considered that. He does seem the type to command rather than ask.

He directs you to the stairs, just across from the door, and waves you onward. He follows as your skirts brush the top of your boots with each step. The wallpaper is tightly decorated with framed newspapers and portraits, cluttered together but not garishly so.

You get to the top and he advises you to go left. You obey as he keeps pace.

“Did you... discover what led to that woman’s fate? Or who she was?” You ask as you take measured steps.

He isn’t demure as he walks next to you, crowded against you as his broad figure allows for little space, “sadly, yes and no. Not her name. Only that she was a factory woman. I won’t say much on the matter as it is ongoing and confidentiality is a part of my contract, I would only gird you to keep your doors locked and yourself alert.”

You chew on his answer. It makes you nervous. You know the woman was found close to your shop and home. The news has been whispered for blocks.

“I will be sure to hede your advice,” you say.

You walk past a door as he stops to knock on it. You spin back, skirts swirling around you, and he glances at you as he plants his hand on the door frame. There is activity from within, scratching and creaking. He sighs and stands straight as he slides his hand down the pillar. He raps with his knuckles again.

“Enola,” he booms through, his voice shaking you. “I told you to be ready.”

You hear furious footsteps and the lock flicks back with similar furor. It opens and a young woman with a slumping bun greets Mr. Holmes. Strands fall loose from the clip and her blouse is half untucked as her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. She has a long oval face, flushed as she shows her teeth.

“I told you, I’m busy--”

“Not so busy that you would waste this good woman’s time,” Holmes insists, “she traveled all this way. We discussed this.”

She flutters her lashes and huffs. Her eyes flit over to you and she softens her expression, “if her time is wasted, it is hardly my fault.”

“Hm,” he hums flatly, “isn’t it? It wasn’t I who fed your dresses to the furnace.”

She smiles, a smug look that pinches her cheeks, “I was cold.”

“Sister,” he warns dangerously, crossing his arms, his breadth wider than ever.

“You know what, I welcome her company. Much preferable to your own,” the woman sneers and turns her shoulder to her brother, “come on, then. Suppose I need a dress for the banquet.”

You inch forward. A flare of resent burns in you at the position Mr. Holmes has put you in. Plainly, this appointment was not upon his sister’s behest. She holds the door for you and her brother exhales deeply.

“All you need do is stand still, I’m certain you can handle that, sister,” he rebukes, “do let me know when you are finished and I will call the carriage.”

“Thank you,” you utter without looking at him. He sets the rolls just inside the door and backs up to watch you.

You enter the bedroom and find it cluttered and cramped. There are books in stacks with more littered around the bottom. A dried-up paint palette and an easel draped over with several jackets and unpaired stockings. There is a four-post bed with scrambled covers and a canopy twisted around the poles. Vials upon vials line shelves and an inkwell stands uncapped over untidy sheets of paper.

“Very well,” the woman shuts the door, “I am Enola, the famous detective’s ne’er do well sister and you are the seamstress who will make me a peacock.”

You stare at her and swallow tightly. You offer your name before you begin, “I’ve only come upon his request--”

“Ah, yes, I’m certain you have. He’s still trying to make a lady of me. I see through his guise, though he doesn’t think it. He underestimates me, see. He lies but I will go along for I will more easily avoid his snare if I do.”

You nod and narrow your eyes. The wealthy can always afford to be so eccentric. You don’t think any woman you know would view a new dress as such a curse. She is young, she cannot know.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll only take your measurements,” you offer, “I can always fit upon the dress form.”

“Do what you must,” she sighs, “shall I strip down?”

You put your bag on a chair as she unbuttons her blouse, “not-- if you--” You look up at her as she reveals a corset and reaches to undo her skirt. You focus on your bag and scoop out your measuring tape.

You approach her as her skirt heaps at her feet. She is tall, her legs on long, her figure lithe. You begin your work silently. She raises her arms as you request and puts them back down.

“Suppose if I wasn’t here, I might’ve become a dressmaker. I always enjoyed stitching,” she muses as you scribble down each number, “it seems lonely work. Quiet work.”

“It’s work,” you say as you take out the envelope and unfold the page to examine the dress again. You hold it up and glance past it at Enola.

“May I see that?” She asks but doesn’t await an answer before she snatches the paper. “Oh, is this really what he chose? No, no, no, this won’t do. I want my shoulders covered.”

You slip the envelope back in your bag, “it is only what I was given. If you prefer adjustments, it is your dress.”

“Yes, my dress and my body,” she crumples the paper and tosses it onto the rug.

You close up your notebook and go to the rolls of fabric, “would it be too much for me to do some piecework?”

“If you insist,” she pouts.

You take out your scissors and turn your back to her. She isn’t rude, per se, but you’re not in the habit of associating with this sort of clientele. You get numbers on a sheet and you sew. A living form is not quite your forte.

-🪡

When you finish, you can sense Enola’s agitated impatience. You don’t blame her. It’s plain she didn’t want the dress or your visit. It is more so upon the shoulders of her brother. Mr. Holmes. You’re similarly irked that he would put you in this position.

Enola is already fiddling with some instrument before you can go. You emerge and pull the door shut after you. You stand in the hallway, bag at the crook of your elbow as you hug the fabric. You move with hampered steps towards the stairs. As the top creaks beneath your weight, your name is called from further down the hallway.

“Ah, are you set then?” Mr. Holmes asks as he stops just outside a door, “I was thinking, to make up for your efforts, you might want to stay for tea.”

You look down at your armful and back to him, “that’s very generous, but--”

“I believe I paid an adequate fee for the appointment,” he strides slowly towards you, “but I am open to a barter if it was not sufficient.”

You feel the heavy sovereign tucked into your jacket. You crook your lips and raise your chin, “no sir, it will do for today and the making of the dress. The fabric... I don’t have any as rich as the style requested.”

“Another service I may require of you. If you wouldn’t mind to select the material, I would be happy to reimburse the expense.”

“Would there be a colour? A fabric preferred? Velvet? Satin? Chiffon?” You prompt, “I solely work in cotton and wool, as I forewarned.”

“Perhaps we might find a fabric seller at Covent Garden? You could accompany me on my next sojourn--”

“I don’t know if I would have the time. I could write down some fabrics which would suit the silhouette we agreed upon,” you offer.

“Mmm,” he hums, “you are rather professional. How about tea, then? Melinda from across the road sent some mutton over.”

“The hour should see me back to my shop,” you shift your bag.

“You are fastidious,” he stops before you and puts a hand on the fabric, “please, allow me, you are overburdened.”

“I’m--”

You can’t argue as he takes the fabric from you. You let him have it if only to avoid disaster you lean back on your heel. He angles the rolls under his arm easily and grins. A curl strays down his forehead.

“I suppose you are right, given recent events, it would be best to see you home before the evening sets,” he says, “I would gladly see you home safe, miss.”

He is overly polite, or perhaps you aren’t used to it. It is his home, he supplied the carriage, and he has paid generously. It makes each denial feel trite.

“If you must, but I would be just fine on my own comportment,” you accept.

“It isn’t any fuss, I will fetch a jacket and the driver,” he extends his arm past you, “after you.”

You spin on your heel and face the staircase. You descend with your hand on the railing. As you come to the bottom, you wander towards the entry way and take in the fineness of the decor. Is much more becoming than your slanted rooms.

Mr. Holmes places the rolls just beside the door and takes a jacket from the rack. He pulls it on and tells you to wait before he disappears outside. You linger as you are, sliding your bag down to your hands.

When he returns, he reaches within to retrieve the fabric first. “Gavin is bringing up the carriage,” he declares and offers his free arm, “shall we?”

You consider him. You wouldn’t want to be unkind. You step through the door, pulling it shut as you accept his bent arm, your hand in the crook. He accompanies you down the narrow steps, each step crowded by his.

Gavin appears in the driver’s seat and reins the horse to a halt. The beast looks miserable. Mr. Holmes escorts you to the door and releases you to open it. He helps you with a strong hand and you sit within with your bag on your lap. He shoves the fabric in ahead of him, his head bowed as he fits through the small door.

He closes it with a snap and settles on the bench on the other side of you. You stare across at the cotton, expecting he’d have taken that seat instead. His leg is on your skirt.

You keep your hands on your bag. He knocks on the ceiling and the carriage rumbles into motion. You rock with it along the street, silent as you wring the leather handles.

“I hope my sister did not cause too much stress. I know she can be a lot but she’s old enough now. She should start behaving as a lady,” he spreads a large hand across his thigh. “Perhaps, once she finds a husband, that will be easier.”

You nod, uncertain of a proper response.

“Not to mean... I don’t mean to assume, I am known however for my observations, and I have concluded you are not married,” he continues, “I gather if it were the case, you might not have a shop to sew in.”

“Suppose not,” you reply dully.

“It is only to say that my opinion of my sister isn’t general. A woman such as yourself is admirable.”

“A spinster?” You supply.

“I didn’t--”

“I’ve chosen not to marry, that is true. I am not bothered by that fact,” you say, “isn’t that what you deal in, detective, facts?”

“Fair,” he shifts on the bench, “but not everyone can detach emotion from facts.”

“And why should I be emotional about that fact? I am much more happier than any woman could be with a husband,” you stare at the opposite wall of the carriage. “And I will assume, sir, as I am no detective, that you have neither taken to the altar.”

He curls the fingers on his left hand, “I have not.”

“And I’m certain you enjoy your bachelor lifestyle in your grand apartment,” you return, “while my own is not so extravagant, I find solace in it. On that, I think you might understand me.”

He takes a breath and lets it out with a thoughtful hum, “I suppose we are similar in some way.”

#sherlock holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #unraveled #enola holmes #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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just-aake · 3 months ago

Text

A Feline Connection: First Meetings

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You have two encounters that you never imagined would change the course of your life.

A/N: This is a side story set during a time prior to the events in A Feline Connection series. Please read the series first to understand the characters involved.

Warnings: backstory, slight fluff, light angst, signs of toxic relationship (not from Natasha)

Words: 1906

“So if you want to arrest me, arrest me.”

Your lips curl up into an amused smirk as you rest your chin on your hand, captivated by the impressive words of the legendary Black Widow. You continue to watch the news broadcast with interest as she stares down the camera, her expression unwavering.

“You know where—”

The large screen suddenly turns off, leaving the room in silence. Surprised, you straighten in your cushioned seat, turning to search for the remote.

A hand slides under your chin, tilting your face back over your shoulder.

The intense gaze of familiar, stormy gray eyes meets yours.

You tilt your head back further, lips curling into a playful smirk.

“I was watching that.”

Whitney stands behind you, her expression unreadable as her eyes glance briefly at the now-dark screen, a flicker of something sharp passing through her gaze before it fades to something softer.

She returns her attention to you, a soft sigh slipping from her lips.

Without a word, she leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your mouth, her quiet apology barely murmured as she pulls away.

“Sorry.”

When you smile, accepting her apology, she lets go of you and straightens.

“Come on, let’s get ready for tonight.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The city is quiet tonight, the empty streets echoing only the calls of late-night food vendors.

You gaze down from your perch above, eyes narrowing as you wait for the correct time to act.

Below, a vendor tries to charm a couple into a last-minute snack, his voice bright and persuasive.

But a flicker of movement in the shadows diverts your attention.

A small black cat creeps toward the food cart, waiting until no one is looking to pounce, snagging a piece of meat before slipping back into the darkness.

You smile, watching the graceful creature scurry off into an alley, successful and unseen.

“What a cute little thief,” you murmur, amused.

With Whitney nowhere in sight yet from her scouting, you decide to investigate, descending into the alley as silently as a shadow. The faint scuff of paws guides you until you spot a worn box tucked against a wall.

You approach carefully, hearing a faint rustling from within.

Peering over the edge, your gaze meets wide, curious yellow eyes. You hold still, barely breathing as the little creature tilts her head at you, a soft, inquisitive meow slipping from her.

You smile, extending your hand slowly.

The cat’s gaze narrows with suspicion, but she inches closer, sniffing your fingers cautiously. Her rough tongue flicks over your skin, and you chuckle softly at the tickling sensation.

You take a moment to observe the makeshift shelter she’s claimed. It is nothing more than a worn box lined with scraps of newspaper and a thin, tattered cloth for warmth.

On the side, a torn sign reads, “Please take.”

Your chest tightens at the sight, and you gently lift the cat, cradling her against your chest. She nuzzles closer, purring at the warmth.

Before you can appreciate the small creature further, a sound catches your attention—a familiar footstep, sharp and steady.

You turn to see Whitney approaching, a disapproving frown etched on her face.

“Hey, there you are,” she says curtly. “You need to be focused. We only have a small window of time.”

Her gaze falls to the cat in your arms, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“And put that back.”

You throw her a teasing smirk, hoping to lighten her mood.

“Since when is it my job to leave things behind?”

However, her gaze hardens at your attempt at a joke, her eyes flashing with a warning.

“Put. It. Back,” she repeats firmly, her tone brooking no argument.

Your smile falls as you frown at her, a slight chill running through your spine at her voice. You hesitate, feeling the cat burrow closer.

“You’re scaring her, Whitney,” you say, your voice soft.

“And you need to learn the difference between things that matter,” she murmurs, her hand trailing up to cup your cheek, her thumb caressing your skin gently.

But then her grip tightens, her gaze dropping to the tiny creature in your arms. “And useless things left behind for a reason.”

You unconsciously tighten your grip, cradling the cat closer.

“Now, put it back,” Whitney says with a finality.

Reluctantly, you move to place the cat back in her box, arranging the makeshift bedding into something comfortable. The cat tilts her head, letting out a soft meow as you pull away.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, stroking her head one last time before turning away.

Whitney's hand cups your neck as you stand, leaning in close.

“Good girl,” she murmurs approvingly, moving to kiss you, but you turn slightly, evading her.

Her lips brush your cheek instead, and with a small huff, you grapple away quickly, leaving her alone.

Whitney scoffs in disbelief, her hand falling back to her side, her eyes narrowing as they watch you disappear.

Her glare shifts to the cat’s box.

With a frustrated growl, she kicks it over, scattering the contents.

A startled cry echoes as the little creature scurries into the shadows.

Taking a deep breath, Whitney shakes her head, running her hand through her hair as she regains her composure before following after you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Whitney paces down a hall, irritation clear as she speaks on the phone.

“I don’t care which one. Buy them all if you have to. Just get it here.”

Hanging up, she pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, but something bumps her leg as she rounds a corner. She snaps her gaze down, surprised to see the little black cat stumbling upright from the collision.

Scoffing, she grabs it by the scruff, lifting it to eye level.

The cat hisses, swiping a tiny paw at her.

Whitney rolls her eyes, muttering, “How did you even get in here?”

She’s about to call a guard to remove the creature and send it back into the streets when your door swings open.

Your eyes meet hers with a slight glare, obviously still upset about earlier. But when your gaze shifts to the cat, your expression softens, and you step closer to her.

“You got me the cat?” you ask in surprise, a happy expression crossing your face.

Whitney observes your expression, glancing from you to the cat who meows softly at your attention.

“I…felt bad. So, I tracked her down,” she says, lying smoothly as she drops the cat into your waiting arms.

You beam, stroking the cat, and turn back to Whitney, cupping her cheek before pulling her into a kiss.

She deepens it instinctively, pressing closer, but you pull away, and she has to clench her teeth to keep the irritation of your action at bay.

Her frustration is only slightly soothed when you caress her cheek fondly, giving her a soft look.

“Thank you,” you whisper, smiling.

Whitney gives a slight nod, her gaze thoughtful as she watches you cradle the cat close.

“Anything for you,” she responds, the words smooth and automatic.

You kiss her once more, along with the promise that you’ll drop by her room later, before returning to your room, cooing to the cat, “Do you want to see your new home?”

As you close the door, Whitney watches, a hint of satisfaction mingling with annoyance.

Remembering your expression and reaction to the cat, she scoffs lightly, deciding the little stray had some uses after all.

Shaking her head, she turns to leave, opens her phone, and redials.

“Cancel the order,” she says. “I won’t be needing it after all.”

Inside your room, you set the cat on the coffee table.

“Stay,” you murmur, watching with pride as she sits patiently. “Smart girl.”

You go to the bathroom to fetch supplies to help clean up the cat. When you return, you find the cat staring up intently at the TV that you were previously watching.

“So if you want to arrest me, arrest me.”

Your gaze drifts to the person on the screen, her red hair frames her face perfectly as her sharp green eyes stare into the lens of the camera, steady and confident.

“You know where to find me.”

Her voice filters through your speakers, making you smile lightly in admiration at her fearless statement.

Meanwhile, the cat is entirely entranced by the person on the screen. Her paw raises, almost as if reaching for the woman.

You laugh softly, lowering the volume as the screen cuts to news analysts discussing the country’s changing landscape now that SHIELD is gone.

“That’s the Black Widow,” you tell the cat, lightly tapping her nose. “She’s pretty impressive, just like you.”

When you said the woman’s persona, you noticed the cat’s tail quickened in excitement. You tilt your head curiously as a suspicion comes to mind.

“Widow?” you muse tentatively, watching the cat respond with a happy meow. “Is that your name now?”

She purrs happily in agreement, her gaze returning to the screen.

“Widow, huh?” you murmur, glancing back at the picture of the woman on the screen, observing the face of a person you’ll probably never meet.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Two Years Later

“Widow?”

Your voice echoes along the empty path as you search for the cat.

She’s trained to return after her little adventures, but you still feel the pang of worry and guilt for bringing her with you on this early walk in the first place after you found yourself unable to fall back asleep.

Nightmares about the life you left behind and your past actions still haunting you. Regrets and guilt return as they always have.

Lost in thought, you wander down the path, about to call out again, when you spot a figure up ahead.

Curious someone is here this early, you approach quietly, before your eyes widen, realizing who it is.

There, resting against the tree is the Black Widow herself, eyes closed, cradling a familiar black cat.

Strands of her unmistakable red hair have fallen across her face, swaying gently in the early morning breeze.

Even in her sleep, you can see subtle signs of fatigue etched across her features—the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the slight furrow of her brows as if even her dreams carry weight.

Your heart aches, a wave of sympathy mingling with respect.

This woman, known for her strength and resilience, now rests quietly, a sliver of vulnerability showing through.

As if sensing your presence, Widow peaks one eye open, casting a fleeting glance your way.

Before you can react, Widow nuzzles deeper into the comfort of the Avenger’s arms, closing her eyes as she returns to her new space of warm slumber.

You barely stifle a quiet huff, rolling your eyes slightly at the cat’s usual antics, before spotting a nearby bench.

With a resigned sigh, you take a seat, crossing your legs and resting your chin on your hand. You decide to wait, giving both the Avenger and the little troublemaker their moment of rest.

Eventually, the early morning light slowly creeps over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the path as the world begins to wake.

Then, with a subtle stir, Widow shifts slightly, slowly rousing the Avenger from her rest.

As her green eyes flutter open, she blinks against the gentle light, her gaze eventually settling on you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, her emerald eyes meeting yours with a look of mild surprise.

Slightly stunned yourself, words of greeting seem to elude you, and instead, the only thing that escapes your lips is the simplest of truths.

“You have my cat.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a perspective in the readers past and her first meeting with Widow and Natasha, hope you enjoy. thank you for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @escapereality4music, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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playboysaleen · 2 months ago

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Through Ash and Iron (2)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU. (She/her)

Word Count: 5.9k

A/n: Reader is masc cause this was typically just for me to read but i decided to share it with you all so. Enjoy.

___________________________

The soft chime of a bell echoed through the modest shop as Caitlyn stepped inside. She adjusted the cuffs of her coat, scanning the space for you. The shop was a humble place—wooden counters, shelves stacked with tools and gadgets, and an air of organized clutter.

A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, her brows furrowing in suspicion at Caitlyn’s pristine uniform. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Caitlyn cleared her throat. “I’m looking for your daughter. She—uh—was released from custody yesterday. I wanted to check on her.”

The woman blinked, her suspicion giving way to surprise. “You’re a Kiramman, aren’t you?”

The name seemed to ripple through the shop like a shockwave. A boy, about fifteen with neatly combed hair and sharp, pale features, peeked out from the backroom, his expression caught between awe and curiosity. Caitlyn nodded politely, ignoring the knot forming in her stomach.

“She hasn’t been home,” the woman said with a shrug, her voice carrying an air of dismissal. “Not surprising, really. She’s always been… difficult.”

“Trouble, if we’re being honest,” added a man seated in the corner, presumably your father. He barely looked up from the newspaper he was skimming. “Never fit in, not like our boy here.”

The boy stood straighter at the mention, his demeanor clean and polished—a stark contrast to your rough edges.

Caitlyn’s gaze darted between them, the pieces slowly falling into place. There was something off about the dynamic, something deeper than simple familial tension. The more they talked about you, the more it became apparent that you were the outsider in your own family.

“And she’s nothing like the rest of us,” your mother continued, shaking her head. “Always running off, getting into fights… we’re better off when she’s not here causing trouble.”

Caitlyn’s heart sank, her chest tightening with unease. Her eyes drifted over to a family photo on the wall. The boy’s resemblance to his parents was undeniable. But you… you were missing from the picture entirely.

“Well,” Caitlyn said, forcing a polite smile, “thank you for your time.”

She turned on her heel and left, her thoughts racing as she stepped out into the bright morning light. “She doesn’t even look like them,” she muttered under her breath, her mind spiraling. “Something’s not right. I need help… and fast.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　　

When you woke, your head pounded like a drum, and your body ached in ways you hadn’t felt in years. Your hands were bound behind you, ropes digging into your wrists, and the chair beneath you was cold and unsteady. The room smelled like oil and damp metal, the faint hum of machinery in the background.

You groaned, rolling your sore jaw. “What the hell…?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” came a gruff voice.

You lifted your head, blinking away the haze to see a tall woman leaning against the wall. Her broad shoulders were imposing, and her metallic arm gleamed in the dim light.

“Who are you?” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

“Sevika,” she said simply, stepping closer. “And you are?”

You squinted at her, confused and defiant. “Pretty sure you already know the answer to that if you went through the trouble of tying me up.”

Sevika smirked faintly. “I know what you are. A little street rat with a chip on her shoulder. But I’m curious about who you are… before you meet the person who asked for you.”

“Who?” you demanded, your mind racing.

Sevika ignored the question, circling you like a predator toying with its prey. “You don’t look like much,” she mused. “But I’ve heard stories. Fists like hammers, a temper to match. People like you don’t belong in Piltover.”

“And people like you don’t belong outside a junkyard,” you shot back, gritting your teeth.

Sevika chuckled darkly. “Cute. Got any other tricks, or is sarcasm your only weapon?”

“Let me go, and I’ll show you a few,” you snapped.

The banter continued, each of you trading barbs like a pair of prizefighters warming up before a match. The tension in the room thickened until the door creaked open, revealing Clagg. He was fidgety as ever, glancing nervously between you and Sevika.

“She’s coming,” Clagg announced, his tone almost reverent.

“About time,” Sevika muttered. She leaned down close to you, her metallic arm brushing against your cheek. “You’re lucky she wants to meet you. Otherwise, you’d already be in pieces.”

“Charming,” you bit out, then spat at her feet.

Sevika’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and before you could blink, she kicked the chair back. You hit the ground with a jarring thud, the air rushing out of your lungs.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” Sevika growled, her boots echoing as she walked away.

Still tied to the chair, you craned your neck to yell after her. “You think this scares me? I’ve had worse!”

Your voice bounced off the walls, but no response came. Alone again, you gritted your teeth, your frustration mounting. Whoever had gone through the trouble of taking you, they were going to regret it.

The ropes around your wrists burned as you twisted and yanked, desperate to free yourself. Every muscle in your arms screamed in protest, but you pushed through, muttering every profanity and insult you could think of under your breath.

"Come on, you piece of—" you hissed, jerking harder at the ropes. The chair scraped against the filthy floor as you shifted your weight. "Cowards! You’re all cowards! Can’t even fight me head-on, huh?"

The sound of a creaking door silenced your outburst. You froze, hearing light, almost playful footsteps approaching.

Then she appeared.

The first thing that caught your eye was her hair—a vivid blue, pulled into chaotic pigtails that swayed with every step. She moved with a strange, fluid energy, like she was dancing to a song only she could hear. Her hooded cloak hung loosely around her, barely concealing the mischievous smile spreading across her face.

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop staring at her. It wasn’t just her striking features—the sharp curve of her jawline, the glint of piercings, or the deliberate sway of her stride—but her eyes. They were a haunting, electric purple that seemed to glow even in the dim light. They locked onto yours, sharp and unrelenting, as if she was peeling back every layer of your mind.

She tilted her head, noticing your stunned expression as if she was taking inventory of your soul. Without a word, she strode forward, her boots clinking lightly against the ground. With surprising strength, she grabbed the back of your chair and lifted it upright, bringing your face level with hers.

“Not so loud now, are we?” she teased, her voice smooth yet tinged with mockery.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close she was. Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as she leaned in, inspecting you like you were some kind of rare artifact.

Her hand reached out, almost delicately, tracing a faint line over the scar that ran through your eyebrow. The sensation made you flinch slightly, but her touch was lighter than you’d expected.

“What’s this, huh?” she mused, her finger trailing down to where a tattoo peeked out along the side of your neck. Her head tilted again, curious, as she studied the intricate lines and shapes. “A map? A secret code? Or just something to make you look cool?”

You didn’t respond, your throat dry.

She grinned wider at your silence. “Funny. You had so much to say earlier. All that yelling, cursing. What happened?” Her voice dropped, playful and sharp. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”

Her teasing only made your pulse race. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as she continued to examine you like you were her newest obsession.

Finally, she leaned back slightly, resting her hands on her hips. “You’re a fascinating one, I’ll give you that. That punch you threw at that enforcer? Oh, that was beautiful.” She sighed dreamily, spinning on her heel before whipping back around to face you. “I saw you and thought, that one’s got fire. And fire is just what I need.”

Her words finally broke through your haze. You leaned forward, pushing your face so close to hers that the gap between you was almost nonexistent. Her eyes widened, caught off guard for a brief moment.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice low and steady.

Her lips parted slightly, then curled into a devilish grin. “Takes one to know one, sugar.”

Her grin widened as if your words had only fueled whatever twisted fire burned inside her. Those vivid purple eyes danced with amusement, mischief, and something far more dangerous.

She leaned in closer, her nose nearly brushing yours, her lips curving into a sly smirk. “Insane?” she repeated, dragging the word out like it was a sweet candy she didn’t want to swallow. “Sugar, you don’t know the half of it. But you? You’re a little spark in this dull, gray world. And I like sparks.”

Your jaw clenched, but you couldn’t look away. She was intoxicating, the kind of energy you could feel crawling under your skin. Dangerous. Chaotic. Addictive.

Her gaze flicked down, studying the scar on your eyebrow again as if it told her a story she hadn’t finished reading. “This,” she said, lightly tapping the scar with a manicured finger, “has a tale, doesn’t it? Did you earn it in a fight? Or did someone get the better of you?”

You jerked your head back, her finger hovering in the air where your face had been. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Ooooh,” she cooed, pretending to be wounded, clutching her chest dramatically. “Tough girl, huh? You’re even more fun than I thought.”

She circled you slowly, her boots scuffing the floor as she moved, inspecting you from every angle. “And these tattoos… I’m dying to know what they mean. Are you some kind of treasure map, or are you just trying to look mysterious?”

Your lips twitched into a smirk despite yourself. “Maybe both.”

Her laughter rang out, light and airy, but with that edge that made your skin crawl and your heart race. “I knew I liked you.” She stopped behind you, leaning close to your ear, her breath brushing your neck. “So much potential, all wrapped up in a pretty little package.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you shot back, though your voice betrayed the tiniest hitch.

“Oh, I don’t need flattery,” she purred, sauntering back around to face you. She crouched down, her chin resting on her hand as she peered up at you with those piercing eyes. “I’ve already got you wrapped around my finger.”

You barked a laugh, leaning forward as much as the ropes allowed. “You think you’ve got me figured out? Hate to break it to you, but I don’t play by anyone’s rules.”

Her grin twisted into something darker, more dangerous. “Oh, I’m counting on that.”

Her gaze locked with yours again, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you. The intensity of her stare was overwhelming, like she was peeling back every layer of you, reading the parts you kept hidden even from yourself.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you looking at?”

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Everything.”

The word hung in the air, and for the first time, you felt truly out of control. It wasn’t fear—it was something far more maddening.

“You’re full of yourself,” you muttered, breaking eye contact to glare at the floor.

“And you’re full of surprises,” she shot back, tilting her head. “That’s why I want you, sugar. You don’t even know what you’re capable of yet, do you?”

You snorted, finally meeting her gaze again. “And you think you do?”

Her smirk deepened as she stood, towering over you for a moment. She leaned down, her face close enough that you could feel the heat of her breath. “Stick around, and maybe you’ll find out.”

Before you could respond, she straightened, her manic energy returning as she twirled on her heel. “But don’t worry, sweetheart,” she called over her shoulder, “I’m not done with you yet.”

She paused at the doorway, turning back with one final, piercing look. “Not by a long shot.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you tied to the chair with your heart pounding and your mind spinning.

The edge of Piltover where it bled into the Undercity was a liminal space, caught between the polished steel of progress and the grime of survival. Caitlyn tightened her coat as she approached the meeting spot, her sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit area until she spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Vi.

Vi was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, her usual air of nonchalance masking the weight she always carried in these spaces. She looked up as Caitlyn approached, her smirk lighting up the otherwise somber surroundings.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Cupcake herself,” Vi drawled, pushing off the railing and striding forward. “What brings you to the edge of the world? Couldn’t be my charm.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Vi. Always the comedian.”

“You know me,” Vi said with a wink, gesturing toward a ledge that overlooked the Undercity below. “Come on. Let’s catch up like old times.”

The two of them sat side by side, the hum of Zaun’s machinery rising faintly in the background. For a moment, there was silence, the kind only two people with shared history could share.

“So,” Vi started, leaning back on her hands. “What’s got you out here? I know you didn’t come all this way just to see me.”

Caitlyn hesitated, her fingers brushing the edges of the folded paper in her coat pocket. “I need your help, but… I want to ask you something first.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

“Did you ever know someone—when you were younger—who didn’t quite fit in on either side of the city?” Caitlyn asked, her voice cautious.

Vi’s expression shifted, her smirk fading into something more contemplative. “You’re fishing, Cait. But yeah. There was someone.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Who?”

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared out over the Undercity. “Back when Vander was still running things, there was this kid who’d come around sometimes. Silco’s kid.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Silco had a child?”

Vi nodded, her gaze distant. “Yeah. He didn’t bring her around much. Vander always told us to play nice with her, though. Said she wasn’t like her old man. And he was right. She was a good kid. Quiet, but tough in her own way. Ekko and I used to call her ‘little spark’ because she’d light up whenever she got into trouble with us.”

“What happened to her?” Caitlyn asked softly.

Vi’s jaw tightened, and her voice dropped. “The bridge. You know the story—when everything went to hell, and we lost everything. I always thought she was one of the ones who didn’t make it.”

Caitlyn frowned, her hand brushing her coat pocket again. “She must’ve been important to you.”

Vi glanced at her, a sly grin creeping back onto her face. “What’s with all the questions, Cait? You getting attached to someone?”

Caitlyn straightened, her cheeks heating slightly. “That’s not—”

Vi chuckled, cutting her off. “Relax, Cupcake. I’m just messing with you. But the way you’re talking, you’ve got a soft spot for whoever this is.”

Caitlyn huffed, crossing her arms. “I do not.”

“Sure,” Vi teased, her grin widening. “Now, are you gonna tell me what this is all about, or do I have to guess?”

Reluctantly, Caitlyn pulled the folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Vi. “This is who I’m talking about.”

Vi unfolded the paper and stared at the mugshot. Her smirk dropped instantly, replaced by a rare look of genuine shock.

“What?” Caitlyn asked, alarmed by her reaction. “What is it?”

Vi’s fingers tightened on the photo as she stared at it, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s her.”

Caitlyn blinked, confused. “Her?”

Vi looked up, her eyes meeting Caitlyn’s with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “That’s Silco’s kid. The one I told you about.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s not,” Vi said firmly, her voice steadier now. “I’d recognize her anywhere. She’s older, sure, but it’s her.”

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the weight of the revelation settling over her like a storm cloud. “If she’s Silco’s child… then she’s in more danger than I thought.”

Vi nodded grimly, folding the paper carefully before handing it back. “You have no idea, Cait. If Jinx is involved, this isn’t just danger—it’s a ticking time bomb.”

The two women sat in tense silence, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on both of them.

You remained seated on the ledge(finally untied and freed), your legs dangling over the edge, gazing out at the endless sprawl of the Undercity. The cool air carried the muffled hum of life below, its chaotic rhythm strangely soothing. Jinx's words echoed in your mind, tangled with your own doubts and fears.

"You're different. You've got a fire they can't put out."

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the edge of the ledge. A small part of you hated how much her words resonated. The Undercity, with all its grime and disorder, felt more genuine than anything you’d ever experienced in Piltover. It felt... like home.

But why?

Shaking the thought off, you stood, brushing your hands on your pants. The colored neon signs beckoned below, their strange symbols and shapes leading a breadcrumb trail toward what could only be Jinx’s lair. You followed them, the glowing lights guiding your every step through winding passages and corridors that grew stranger the deeper you ventured.

When you reached the entrance, the sound of laughter and faint music greeted you. The room was an explosion of color and chaos, a living reflection of its owner. But before you could take it all in, something small and solid slammed into your side, nearly knocking you over.

“Whoa there, kid,” you said, steadying yourself with a smirk.

The small figure in front of you was a girl, no older than seven or eight. Her oversized helmet tilted awkwardly over her face, obscuring her features. She straightened it, looking up at you with curious eyes. You chuckled, gently pushing the helmet down so it covered her face again.

“That’s a safety hazard, squirt,” you teased.

The girl let out a muffled huff, adjusting the helmet again before darting behind your legs as if hiding. You turned, bewildered, just in time to see Jinx leaning casually against a wall, watching the exchange with an amused grin.

“That’s Isha,” Jinx said, pushing off the wall and sauntering closer. “She doesn’t talk much, but don’t let that fool you. She’s a little firecracker.”

You crouched down, leveling your gaze with the girl’s. “Isha, huh? You trying to knock me out or what?”

Isha peeked out from behind her helmet, her big eyes locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without warning, she launched herself forward, wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.

You froze, your arms hovering awkwardly before finally settling around her in return. The hug was fierce, filled with an intensity you hadn’t expected from someone so small.

Jinx stood off to the side, her grin faltering into something softer, something almost vulnerable. She tilted her head, studying the moment.

“Would you look at that,” Jinx muttered under her breath, her voice quieter than usual. “You’ve got that thing... that spark. The kind that makes people believe in something better, even when the world’s a mess.”

She leaned against a beam, her purple eyes narrowing slightly as if lost in thought. “I always thought people like you didn’t exist. Or if they did, they’d never make it down here. Guess I was wrong.”

Isha pulled back slightly, her tiny hands gripping your shirt as she looked up at you with a small smile. You returned it hesitantly, unsure what to do with the sudden warmth spreading through your chest.

Jinx crossed her arms, a flicker of something complicated crossing her face. “You’re a piece of work. You make people feel things they don’t even know they’re missing.”

You glanced at her, confused by her tone, but before you could say anything, she clapped her hands, her grin returning in full force.

“Alright, reunion time’s over!” Jinx said, gesturing grandly toward the chaotic space. “Welcome to the fun house. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

But even as she walked away, her eyes lingered on you and Isha for just a second longer, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a secret.

Vi and Caitlyn moved quietly through the shadows of the Undercity, the flickering neon lights casting distorted shapes along the walls. The tension between them was palpable, Caitlyn walking briskly with purpose, while Vi lagged slightly behind, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“Alright, Vi,” Caitlyn snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to face her. “Enough of this. Why are you so anxious about this? It’s obvious you know something you’re not telling me. Just spill it already.”

Vi ran a hand through her short hair, letting out a sharp breath. “It’s not that simple, Cupcake.”

“Don’t ‘Cupcake’ me,” Caitlyn shot back, frustration bubbling over. “You practically froze when you saw that picture. And now, every time her name comes up, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it about her? What aren’t you telling me?”

Vi hesitated, her fists clenching at her sides. She leaned against a graffiti-covered wall, her eyes scanning the dark alley as if trying to find the right words in the chaos around them.

“She’s Silco’s kid, Caitlyn,” Vi finally admitted, her voice low and uneven. “And that’s bad enough, yeah? But it’s worse than that. There’s… there’s something about her—something Silco did to her—since she was just a baby.”

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did he do to her?”

Vi looked away, unable to meet Caitlyn’s eyes. Her voice dropped further, tinged with both anger and sadness. “He gave her Shimmer. Since she was an infant.”

Caitlyn’s mouth opened slightly in disbelief, her mind racing. “Shimmer? That toxin? The stuff that drives people mad? He gave it to his own child?”

Vi nodded grimly. “He called her Spark for a reason. It wasn’t just ‘cause of how she lit up a room with her energy. It was because when she got mad, Cait, there was this… this purple flash in her eyes. It wasn’t natural. And it wasn’t just her eyes—she got strong. Way stronger than any kid her age should’ve been.”

Caitlyn’s hand instinctively moved to her chest, gripping the fabric of her coat as the weight of Vi’s words settled over her. “That’s… inhuman,” she whispered.

“You’re telling me,” Vi said bitterly. “Back when we were all still running around with Vander, she’d hang with us sometimes. Vander told me and Ekko to play nice with her—said she didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Vi let out a shaky breath, her voice cracking slightly. “One time, some goons jumped us. Usual Undercity crap, right? We could’ve handled it, but one of ‘em hit Powder. She lost it. I mean… lost it. It was like a switch flipped. She went from this scrappy, loudmouthed kid to…” Vi paused, swallowing hard. “…something else. She tore into that guy like a rabid animal. Took five of us to pull her off him.”

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the story painting a picture she could hardly comprehend. “How old was she?”

“Maybe eight,” Vi muttered, her eyes distant. “Nine at most.”

Caitlyn couldn’t hide the horror on her face. “And no one did anything? No one tried to help her?”

“Silco didn’t think she needed help,” Vi said bitterly. “He thought it made her special. He was always talkin’ about how she’d be the future of the Undercity. Said she was born to be more than the rest of us.”

Caitlyn stepped closer, her voice firm. “Vi, we need to find her. If she’s still being exposed to Shimmer—or worse, if she gets ahold of it again—she could become…”

“Someone no one can stop,” Vi finished for her, her voice heavy with guilt. She rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding Caitlyn’s eyes. “Look, Cait, I don’t know if she’s beyond saving or not. But if anyone can find her before it’s too late, it’s you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze softened slightly, seeing the weight of the past etched into Vi’s face. “We’ll find her,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll find her. And if there’s even a chance of pulling her back from whatever Silco did to her, I’ll take it.”

Vi gave her a weak smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Careful, Cupcake. You’re starting to sound like a hero.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk on her lips as the two of them continued walking deeper into the Undercity shadows.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

You sat cross-legged in the center of the pillow fort, its patchwork design of fraying fabric and mismatched cushions somehow providing a sense of calm. Isha sat close by, fiddling with another scrap of metal. She handed you a device—a small, intricate thing that looked like a broken clock mixed with some kind of makeshift toy. You turned it over in your hands, your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of it.

“How does this thing even…” you muttered, shaking it slightly.

Isha tapped your arm and held out her hand. You passed it to her, and she pressed a hidden switch with an exaggerated motion, her small fingers moving with practiced ease. The device clicked open, and she handed it back to you, her expression triumphant.

“Ah,” you said, smirking as you caught on. “Got it now. Thanks, kid.”

Isha nodded, pleased, as you reached for a small set of tools and peered into the inner workings of the device. As you worked, focused on aligning the tiny gears, Jinx stood nearby, leaning against a support beam of the fort. Her purple eyes flickered between you and Isha, her fingers twitching idly at her sides.

For a moment, her gaze softened, as though something about the way you interacted with Isha stirred a memory buried deep within her. A fleeting image of another life—of being that child watching someone patient and kind—flashed in her mind. But the memory was jagged, incomplete, and the voices began to stir.

“She’s like them. She’ll leave you, too.”

“Don’t let her in. You know what happens.”

“Softness gets you killed.”

Her hands clenched into fists as her breathing grew uneven. The taunting chorus in her mind grew louder, mocking her, reminding her of every loss, every betrayal, and every vulnerability she had ever exposed.

Then, one voice—a quieter, unfamiliar one—whispered. “Or maybe… maybe she’s different?”

“No!” Jinx’s outburst was sharp and sudden, her hand slamming against the wall of the fort. Both you and Isha flinched, startled. Isha quickly raised her hands, signing something to you, her movements calm despite the tension.

You glanced at her, brow furrowing. “She says it’s no big deal,” you murmured, translating Isha’s message. But something in you didn’t sit right. You set the device down carefully, rising to your feet.

Jinx’s eyes flickered to you as you approached. Her breathing was uneven, her jaw tight as if bracing herself for whatever she thought you were going to do. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped close, reached out, and placed your hand gently on her shoulder.

The contact was electric—not in the physical sense, but in the way it seemed to pull her back from the chaotic spiral in her mind. The voices stuttered, silenced as if they’d been struck mute. She stared at your hand, then at your face, her wide eyes filled with confusion.

“Are you good?” you asked softly, your voice steady.

She blinked, her lips parting slightly as though to speak, but no words came. She didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the storm in her mind had quieted.

“The voices…” she said softly, her words almost childlike. Her gaze locked onto yours, searching. “They stopped.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just left your hand where it was, steady, grounding.

Jinx let out a short laugh, the sound almost bitter as she pulled away. “What are you, a miracle worker now?” she teased, her tone trying to recover its usual sharpness, but it lacked the bite. She crossed her arms, glancing away as though embarrassed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, there was a quiet tension between you—an unspoken understanding that neither of you fully grasped but could feel nonetheless.

She finally glanced back at you, her expression softening. “Thanks,” she muttered, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “For, uh… whatever you did.”

You raised a brow, leaning slightly against the beam. “Don’t mention it.”

But even as she turned back toward Isha with her usual swagger, there was a different air about her. And in the quiet moments that followed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something in her had shifted—just as something in you had, too.

The tense air of Jinx’s lair was broken by the heavy footfalls of Sevika as she strode in, her expression lined with irritation and determination. She stopped a few paces from where Jinx stood, her arms crossed, her purple eyes locked on a distant point in the room. You sat with Isha, fidgeting with the scrap she had handed you earlier, trying to piece it together while she motioned instructions. Both of you froze when Sevika spoke.

“We need to talk,” she said bluntly, her gravelly voice cutting through the silence.

Jinx glanced at her, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “About what? Your new hobby?”

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “The rally. You need to be there. They need to see you.”

Jinx snorted, spinning a small, makeshift grenade in her hand. “Need? They don’t need anything. They just want a show.”

“It’s not about a show, Jinx. It’s about showing strength. If you want people to follow you, they need to see you, not some memory of who you used to be.”

Jinx laughed sharply, shaking her head. “They’ll get over it. They always do.”

From your spot, you glanced at Isha, who gave you a meaningful nod toward the door. Her small hands signed: We should go.

You hesitated, glancing between the two women. Jinx’s smirk was faltering, her fingers twitching as she tossed the grenade between her hands. You nodded at Isha, but as Sevika’s frustration grew and Jinx’s refusal hardened, you couldn’t help but linger, watching the scene unfold.

Sevika’s patience finally broke. “Fine,” she snapped, throwing up her hands. “Stay here. Hide in your fort. But don’t expect anyone to keep waiting forever.” With that, she turned and stormed out.

Jinx stared after her, her smirk fading entirely. She muttered something under her breath, then stalked off into the shadows of the lair, leaving you and Isha alone.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

The streets were alive with energy as you walked through the dense crowd, Isha’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Voices rose in unison, fists pumping into the air as chants echoed off the crumbling walls of the Undercity. The sea of people pressed around you, a strange mix of defiance and desperation in their faces. You couldn’t help but feel out of place and yet… oddly drawn in.

At the center of the chaos, Sevika stood atop a makeshift platform, her mechanical arm gleaming under the dim light as she addressed the crowd with a booming voice.

“They take everything from us!” she roared. “Our homes, our families, our freedom—and they think we’ll just bow down and take it! But we’re stronger than they’ll ever know. We’re the beating heart of this city, and we will not be silenced!”

Her words sent a ripple through the crowd, igniting a fire in their eyes. You stood still, feeling a strange stirring in your chest. Her speech felt like a challenge, a call to action. Around you, people murmured and chanted, their voices swelling with Sevika’s words.

“Where’s Jinx?” someone shouted from the crowd, and the question was quickly echoed.

Your brow furrowed as you looked around, confused. The crowd seemed to be searching, yearning for her. Why are they all so obsessed with her?

Suddenly, Isha tugged her hand free from yours and darted toward the base of the massive, weathered statue that towered over the square.

“Isha!” you called out, pushing through the crowd after her. You caught sight of her climbing up the crumbling base of the statue, her small figure illuminated by the glow of the flare she held high above her head.

The flare’s blue light cut through the darkened sky, a beacon that silenced the crowd for a breathless moment. You felt something deep inside you shift, something raw and instinctive. Slowly, you raised your fist to the sky, the gesture unthinking yet powerful.

The crowd seemed to freeze, their eyes on you, and then one by one, fists rose alongside yours. The chants grew louder, the unity in the air palpable.

Sevika’s eyes snapped to you from her platform, her expression hard to read. For a moment, she looked almost… impressed. She raised her own fist, and the crowd erupted into a deafening roar.

But the unity was short-lived. The roar of engines and the heavy march of enforcers filled the air as they stormed into the square. The crowd erupted into chaos, some scattering in fear, others standing their ground to fight. You were caught in the middle, trying to keep sight of Isha as the chaos unfolded around you.

You spotted her just as a massive enforcer grabbed her, flinging her small body into the stone fountain with a sickening thud. Your breath hitched as you saw her crumple to the ground, unmoving.

A spark ignited in your chest, and for a moment, the world blurred. Your vision tinged with purple, and before you knew it, you were charging toward the enforcer, your movements unnaturally fast.

The enforcer barely had time to react before you were on him, striking with a strength and speed that caught even you by surprise. Blow after blow landed, each one fueled by a fury you couldn’t contain.

A sharp pain exploded in your side as you were suddenly knocked off balance. You hit the ground hard, gasping for breath as you looked up to see Sevika standing over you, her mechanical arm sparking from the spear that had pierced through it. She grimaced but grabbed you by the arm, dragging you away even as you fought against her grip.

“They’ve got Isha!” you screamed, your voice raw with desperation.

“We’ll get her back,” Sevika growled, slamming you into the wall of a nearby alley. Her eyes were fierce, her grip unrelenting. “But we need Jinx. She’s the only one who can get her out of wherever they’re taking her.”

You froze, your breath heaving as her words sank in. Sevika’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained firm.

“Get it together,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for this. You want to save her? Then we need Jinx. Now.”

She released you, and for a moment, you stood there trembling, anger and fear coursing through you. But as the chaos raged on, you nodded, steeling yourself for what was to come.

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Chap 3 getting edited rn :) Thanks for reading! Isha is alive here I DONT CARE

#lgbtq #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman #wlw #caitlyn #vi arcane #arcane #sevika #arcane silco

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beansprean · 7 months ago

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My entry for What We Create In The Shadows vol 4! @wwcitszine

It was a privilege to be able to contribute to this zine among such creative, talented, and fun artist and writers! The mods truly did an incredible job and the zine is BEAUTIFUL! Highly recommend getting a physical copy if you can. :)

You can still get WWCITS until July 28th! All proceeds to to PFLAG!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Detailed drawing of a city street at night; Nandor, Laszlo, Nadja, and Colin Robinson are in the foreground, running for their lives towards the viewer. Chasing them (having caught up to them, really) is vampire Guillermo flying through the air on bat wings, silhouetted by the glowing full moon behind him. He is grinning maniacally with his clawed hands curled upward in triumph, eyes glowing a burning orange as he poses mid-flight, chest puffed out with his newfound power. Nandor is in the front, arms pumping, eyes wide with fear as he looks straight ahead. At his elbow is Laszlo, looking over his shoulder in alarm, one hand clamped around Nadja's wrist to drag her on behind him. Nadja's other hand is holding up her skirts and cradling Nadja doll potato-sack style in her elbow as she rushes along. She looks upward with a snarl, distracted, as Guillermo looms above her. Lagging behind is Colin Robinson, huffing and puffing as he tries to keep up.

The city street behind them is full of easter eggs. A kiosk on the left behind Laszlo is covered in flyers: fundraiser to cover medical bills for Toby, a recruitment poster for the Mosquito Club, an add for reanimations for $350 cash, a Go Flip Yourself ad, a comptroller campaign poster for Sean covered up by one for Colin covered up by one for Evie, a newspaper article about Morrigan Manor, a Wicked poster, a flyer for the familiar mixer, a missing poster for Jenna, a Found poster for Guillermo's bicycle, a handwritten ad that says "Djinn to good home, call Gyermo" with a photo of the djinn lamp, and several stickers including one that says 'werewolves not swearwolves, a Palestinian flag, and the s5 moon promo shot. Sitting atop the kiosk is a frog with curly brown hair - la Guillerana, and above it on the brick wall is a black poster featuring a hooded figure with round glowing eyes that says "The Night Market: if you know, you know." The roof of the building has a clothesline stretched across it where the Cloak of Duplication is hanging. The next building has glass doors and windows across the first floor with soft ambient lighting coming from within. A foldable chalkboard outside says 'closed for privat pardy'. The name of the restaurant is printed above the door: 'love at first bite'. The second floor is a grid of square windows with the blinds drawn, a single ad for Rapula Realty in an upper window. A single anonymous finger parts the blinds on a lower window to peek out. The third floor has three windows and fairy lights draped across the front. A purple flag that says 'human wellness inquire within' hangs from the first window, and the second has one foggy pane with the word 'help' written on it backwards. Black Peter the goat is on the roof, front hooves planted on the ledge to look out at the running vampires in the street. The following building has a grid of windows and a temporary vinyl sign stretched across it that says 'Urgent Care'. More buildings stretch out behind to the horizon.

On the right, there is a small newspaper vending machine with the headlines 'Flying Man Spotted' and 'Strange meteor lands in New Brighton'. The adjacent building has four stories, the only entrance a set of stairs going straight down. Neon pink lights pour from the doorway and lowermost windows. Above the doorway with an arrow pointing down is a neon sign for Nadja's. Below it, a poster exclaiming 'Baby Colin Live!' One of the middle windows has a sign that says 'Nadja and Laszlo Human Music Group performing Thursday nights'. Hanging from the roof precariously by both hands and looking towards the ground in terror is Patton Oswalt. One of the Baron's mutant children is sitting happily on the ledge nearby. A tree is on the roof and has some kind of net hanging from it. The next building is corporate and mostly windows, the bottommost portion open and flanked by yellow poles, a yellow and black divider blocking the entrance. An awning above it says 'Jesk Parking'. Inside, there is what looks to be a pile of rats. Two bats fly past. A vinyl sign stretched over the building front is an ad showing a man hugging a pillow that says "Get the Guy Pillow! Buy 100 get 1 free! Guys only!" The roof turns suddenly to greco-roman architecture, a row of stone columns lining the edge. Sitting at the very top are the two gargoyles having a riveting conversation. The next building is 3 stories and has a trans flag hanging from one corner and a progress flat from the other. The first floor has an alcove with a door flanked by two windows, one featuring shelves with jars of white liquid, the other a palmistry poster that reads 'free palm reading with every ejaculation'. The store name above reads 'Satchel Serafina' More text on the second floor reads 'Home of Memo's Man Milk, gathered lovingly by hand.' Beyond this building is a small grassy area behind a fence with a dead old tree and some graffiti that says 'Simon the Devious' with a crown. There is a nearby sewer drain under the sidewalk where a hand is reaching out. More buildings stretch out behind to the horizon. /end ID

#wwdits #wwcits #shadowsart #guillermo de la cruz #vampire guillermo #nandor the relentless #laszlo cravensworth #nadja of antipaxos #colin robinson #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #wwdits s5 #my art #fanart #image described

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justice4gyeongsu · 25 days ago

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━━━ 'CHAPTER FOURTEEN' [WHEN DAWN BREAKS]

SYNOPSIS ➢ an old friend becomes a new person of interest, not everyone is happy about it.

PAIRING ➢ lee suhyeok x male!reader

AU ➢ enemies-to-lovers au!

CONTENT WARNING ➢ this chapter contains; flashbacks, violence, alot of angst, signs of depression, jealousy, signs of ptsd, intimate scenes, fluff sprinkles, anxiety mentions, barely legal drinking, flirting, death, reoccuring ptsd, mentions of gore, blood, cannibalism [let me know if i missed any!]

NEXT I PREVIOUS

after trudging through the desolate streets for what feels like an eternity, the group finally reaches a critical juncture. you're walking behind kyungho, your senses on high alert as you tiptoe down the empty street. everyone's weapons are at the ready, prepared for a potential ambush by a horde of zombies. kyungho suddenly stops and leans against the building, peeking around the corner. the rest of the group follows suit, pressing themselves against the wall as they wait for kyungho's signal to proceed.

kyungho drapes his arm over your shoulder, gently guiding you to take a look at what's ahead. you carefully peer around the corner, your katana clutched tightly in your hand. kyungho's face is inches from yours, his warm breath on your skin as he points down the street. "there's two of them down the street," he whispers, "but the store is right there." he nods toward the back of a two-story building situated in the middle of the street. your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight, your stomach growling with anticipation at the prospect of finding food and shelter.

kyungho begins to outline his plan, "if i head over to unlock the door, you have to protect my—" but he's cut off by suhyeok's sudden bold move. suhyeok sprints down the street, bat in hand, and strikes the ground once, as if to announce his presence. then, with swift and deadly precision, he takes down the two zombies, smashing their faces with his bat as they crumple to the ground.

the group watches in awe, peeking around the corner to take in the scene. kyungho's eyes widen in surprise, and he chuckles, "or he can just do that." the tension is broken, and the group quickly scatters, moving towards the store. wujin, cheongsan, and suhyeok form a rear guard, watching the group's backs with their baseball bats at the ready, ensuring no other zombies sneak up on them. meanwhile, kyungho swiftly retrieves the keys from his bag and unlocks the door. he gently pushes you inside by the waist, ushering you into the safety of the store.

as you step inside, you're enveloped in darkness, the only light coming from candles scattered around the store and the faint slivers of sunlight peeking through the newspaper-covered windows. the air is stale, but the store seems quiet, a haven from the dangers outside.

as the last person steps inside, kyungho secures the door by wrapping a sturdy chain around the handle and locking it with a massive lock. the sound of the lock clicking into place is music to everyone's ears, and they let out a collective sigh of relief. as they look around, their eyes widen in shock and amazement. the store is a treasure trove of food and drinks, with fully stocked aisles and corners filled with cold beverages. "dig in, guys," kyungho says with a smile, patting your back softly as he walks by.

the group erupts into a frenzy of activity, scrambling to grab as much food and drink as they can. you sprint to the drink section and find the largest water bottle you can, twisting off the cap and chugging the water greedily. some of it spills down your neck, but you don't care – the refreshing taste is like heaven.

daesu's voice rings out across the store, "where's the ramyun?!" he shouts, racing through the aisles until he spots an entire section dedicated to his beloved noodles. he drops to his knees, overcome with emotion, and begins to sob. "thank you, god," he whispers, his hands clasped together in gratitude.

meanwhile, namra stands off to the side, observing the chaos with a detached air. her stomach growls with hunger, but she's not craving the usual food that would normally satisfy her. she's developed a strange, unsettling appetite, one that she can't quite explain. as she scans the surrounding area, she strains her ears to listen for any signs of movement or potential threats outside. but the only sounds she can hear are the contented noises of her companions: the smacking of lips, the gulping of drinks, and the groans of pleasure as they devour their food.

hroryeong's voice breaks the spell, "i could actually cry," she says, her eyes welling up with tears as she savors a full chocolate bar. sure enough, she begins to sob, overcome with emotion. wujin offers her a sympathetic pat on the back before chugging a soda bottle, some of the fizzy drink spilling onto the floor as he does so.

kyungho double-checks the security of the front doors now, tugging on the handles and jiggling them to ensure they're securely locked in place. he tests the doors, pulling and pushing to confirm that they don't budge, his actions methodical and deliberate as he makes certain that the group's temporary sanctuary is safe and secure.

you're winded by the time you've made it halfway through the bottle, and you lean against the cold beverage door to catch your breath. as you pause, your mind begins to wander to all the peers you've lost, and the fact that they'll never get to experience this moment of relief with you. the thought brings a pang of sadness, and you feel a lump form in your throat.

you make a silent vow to yourself to consume everything in their honor, a way of celebrating their memory and the struggles you've overcome. as you turn around, you're met with namra's gentle gaze, and she offers you a twinkie. you look up at her, and she hands you the snack, her slender fingers brushing against yours.

"thanks," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. namra's response is a small, enigmatic smile – a smile that you'll come to recognize as her signature expression.

as you gaze at namra, her eyes fixed on the ground, you pose a question that seems to have been avoided by everyone around you. "you okay?" the words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken concerns. namra's silence is palpable, but instead of responding, she reaches out and grasps your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours.

without a word, she leads you to the front of the store, where newspaper-covered windows block our view of the outside world. the air is thick with tension as she stops in front of the makeshift barrier. "if you need me to scout out supplies, i can do it without putting anyone at risk of getting caught," she says, her voice low and determined. you sense a deep-seated resolve in her words, a willingness to take on the challenges that lie ahead. "i'll come with you," you offer, but namra's expression turns resolute as she shakes her head. "too much of a risk," she whispers, her eyes locked onto yours, conveying a depth of understanding that goes unspoken.

as you begin to inquire about namra's hunger, the creaking of a door opening captures your attention, and you turn to see a doorway on the opposite side of the store. a steep staircase leads up to the second floor, and kyungho gestures toward it with a gracious smile. "there are beds upstairs, you're all welcome to rest there," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "i'll be keeping watch down here, behind the register."

you return his smile, feeling a sense of gratitude toward this stranger who has taken you in. "thank you, that's sweet of you," you say, as you gently tug on namra's hand, encouraging her to follow you upstairs. the prospect of rest and a safe haven is a welcome respite, and you can sense namra's reluctance giving way to exhaustion as she allows you to lead her toward the staircase.

as you begin to ascend the stairs, the creaking of the wooden steps beneath your feet echoes through the quiet space. namra follows closely behind, her eyes fixed on the stairs ahead. you can sense her weariness, her body language screaming for rest. the upstairs area is dimly lit, with only a few faint rays of light peeking through the grimy windows. you see a few beds scattered about, each one neatly made with a thin blanket. the air is stale, but it's quiet and peaceful, a welcome respite from the chaos outside.

kyungho calls out from downstairs, "make yourselves at home." he points to a small area that you realized was a bathroom. "if you guys need to freshen up, there a shower."

"you're saying there's a shower?" you ask, your eyes widening in astonishment. the mere mention of it is almost too good to be true. you can't recall the last time you had the luxury of a shower, and the thought of being clean again is almost overwhelming. the group's collective stench had become a norm, something you'd all grown accustomed to.

kyungho nods, a charming smile spreading across his face as he leans against the doorway, his arms crossed. he seems to be savoring your reaction, and you can't help but laugh, a delirious, disbelieving sound. kyungho joins in, his laughter warm and genuine. "man, you guys have probably been through a lot," he says, shaking his head in sympathy. namra, who had been watching the exchange, turns to you and whispers that she'll go share the good news with the others.

as namra heads off to spread the news, you can't help but feel a sense of excitement and trepidation. a shower sounds like a luxury, but it's also a reminder of how long it's been since you've had access to basic amenities. you glance over at kyungho, who's still smiling at you, and feel a sense of gratitude toward this stranger who's offering you a glimmer of hope. "thank you," you say, your voice sincere. "this means a lot to us." kyungho's smile widens, and he nods, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "you're welcome," he says. "i'm just glad i can help. now, go enjoy that shower. you've earned it."

"that'd be nice, but i think i'll let the girls go first," you say, as you wander into one of the rooms, taking stock of the space. you notice that there are more than enough mattresses for everyone, and a sense of relief washes over you. kyungho observes your actions, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"what a gentleman," he teases, his voice laced with a playful tone, as he leans against the doorway, watching you with a warm smile.

his words bring a flush to your cheeks, but you can't help but smile, feeling a sense of gratitude toward this kind stranger who's taking you in. you shrug off the compliment, feeling a slight blush rise to your cheeks. "its common sense," you say, attempting to downplay kyungho's praise. but he just chuckles and nods, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "well, whatever your motivations are, it's appreciated," he says, pushing off from the doorway and heading back toward the stairs. "i'll go get some more blankets, get comfortable." he disappears down the stairs, leaving you to continue exploring the makeshift shelter.

as kyungho descends the stairs, you take a moment to look around the room again, this time noticing the small details that make it feel more like a home. there's a small bookshelf in the corner, filled with worn paperbacks and dog-eared pages. a faded rug covers the floor, adding a touch of warmth to the space.

you hear the sound of footsteps coming from the stairs, and as the group makes their way upstairs, their faces light up with wonder and relief. the sight of a functional bathroom and comfortable sleeping quarters is almost too good to be true. wujin, ever the enthusiastic one, can't contain his excitement. "i call the first shower!" he shouts, already making a beeline for the bathroom. but before he can take another step, hari reaches out and grabs his ear, pulling him back with a playful scold. "women go first, idiot," mijin chimes in, her voice dripping with amusement and a hint of teasing. wujin rubs his ear, looking sheepish, but can't help grinning at the good-natured ribbing.

you can't help but laugh at the lighthearted exchange between wujin and the others. meanwhile, cheongsan and suhyeok wander into the adjacent room, their eyes scanning the space filled with beds. suhyeok lets out a deep sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as he takes in the cozy atmosphere. "this is gonna be so nice," he breathes, his voice filled with gratitude.

as the group begins to settle in, they all remove their shoes and leave them outside in the hallway, a habitual gesture that speaks to their growing sense of comfort and security. the tension and wariness that had been palpable just hours before seem to be melting away, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared relief.

onjo takes charge, assigning the rooms with a practical sense of fairness. "the girls will take this room, and the boys can take that one," she declares, pointing to the room closest to the bathroom. the others nod in agreement, and the group begins to settle into their respective spaces.

just then, the sound of footsteps echoes up the stairs once more. kyungho appears, his arms laden with a pile of knitted blankets. "hey, i found a few more blankets," he announces, offering them up to the group. "anyone who tends to get cold can grab another one."

you consider reaching for an extra blanket, but then think better of it, realizing that some of the girls might need it more than you. and indeed, they quickly claim most of the blankets, leaving only two remaining in kyungho's hands. cheongsan notices your ripped shirt and gestures for you to take one of the remaining blankets. "you should get one, y/n," he suggests, his expression concerned. you nod, feeling a bit self-conscious about your torn clothing. you walk over to kyungho, giving him a smile as you take one of the blue blankets from his outstretched hand.

daesu's eyes light up with a warm smile as he whispers to himself, "kyungho's so nice." wujin catches the comment and nods in agreement, a matching smile spreading across his face. however, suhyeok's expression takes a different turn. his eyes narrow, and his face clouds with suspicion as he notices kyungho's gaze lingering on you. his eyes flicker with unease, and he seems to be sizing up the situation.

kyungho, oblivious to suhyeok's concerns, continues to offer his hospitality. "whoever is showering first can go ahead," he says, his eyes scanning the group. "i can hand-wash your clothing and leave it out to dry. in the meantime, there are clothes in the drawers in your rooms. i'm sure they belonged to the people who owned this place before, but they would've wanted you all to wear them." the group exchanges warm smiles and nods, grateful for kyungho's kindness. hroryeong's face lights up with a shy smile as she thanks kyungho again for saving them. kyungho responds with a thumbs-up and a reassuring smile. "no worries, really. you guys are all doing me a favor by not letting me be lonely," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

the boys chuckle at kyungho's comment, but suhyeok remains stoic, his expression unreadable. the group's laughter and chatter fill the air as they begin to settle in, the warmth and comfort of their new surroundings slowly seeping in. kyungho watches them with a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes in the scene.

as the girls start to make their discussion on the bathroom, eager to take advantage of the shower, kyungho turns to you and asks, "do you need anything?" his voice is low and considerate, and you feel a sense of gratitude toward him.

meanwhile, suhyeok's eyes never leave kyungho's face, his expression a mask of suspicion and wariness. it's clear that he’s still not convinced of kyungho's intentions. "no, it's okay, i'm good," you say, waving your hand dismissively. "i'm just ready to get out of these clothes." you gesture to your dirty, torn clothing, feeling a sense of self-consciousness about your appearance.

kyungho's eyes follow your gesture, and he takes a step closer to you. he reaches out and gently takes hold of the torn part of your shirt, his index and middle fingers loosely grasping the fabric. "yeah, looks like you've been through a lot," he says, his voice filled with empathy. as he speaks, kyungho tilts his head to get a better look at the damage. his eyes scan the torn fabric, and then drift to the scratches on your skin, visible through the tears.

suhyeok's interruption grabbed both of your attention. "is the backdoor downstairs the only exit?" he asks, his eyes locked intently on kyungho. you turn to look at suhyeok, but only for a brief moment, before your gaze drifts back to kyungho. there's something about kyungho's calm and gentle demeanor that puts you at ease, and you find yourself drawn to him.

kyungho's expression changes, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, before he quickly composes himself. he points to the rooms, his gesture expansive. "besides the windows that slide open, yeah," he explains. "you're more than welcome to go out through the front door, but if any of them see you out there, you'd bring them right to the rest of us." kyungho's voice is laced with concern, and it's clear that he's thinking about their safety. suhyeok's question has brought a sense of unease to the group, and you can't help but wonder what's behind suhyeok's inquiry.

kyungho's question hangs in the air, and everyone's eyes turn to suhyeok, waiting for his response. "were you thinking of leaving?" kyungho asks, his tone neutral, but his eyes searching for answers.

suhyeok's expression is inscrutable, his arms crossing over his chest as he responds with a curt, "just curious." the words are dismissive, but the tension in his body language suggests that there's more to it. without another word, suhyeok turns and walks into the boys' room, leaving the rest of the group to wonder about his intentions. a small flag pops up in your mind, warning you that there's more to suhyeok's question than meets the eye. you're not sure what's driving his curiosity, but you have a feeling that it's not just idle wondering.

hroryeong's voice rings out, announcing that she's taking the first shower. you take the opportunity to head into the boys' room, where you see that most of the guys have already staked their claims on the beds by placing their weapons beside them.

you make your way to the bed that's deepest in the room and place your katana down beside it, claiming it as your own. as you look around, you notice daesu standing by the sliding windows, his eyes gazing out at something in the distance. his expression is melancholic, and you can sense a deep sadness emanating from him.

just then, wujin's voice cuts through the air, grabbing everyone's attention. "who wants to take the first shower after the girls finish?" he asks, his eyes scanning the room. you look up at wujin and shrug, "cheongsan should. he did a lot for us," you say, nodding in cheongsan's direction. suhyeok chimes in, his voice a little softer than usual, "yeah, cheongsan, you go first."

daesu lets out a deep sigh, his arms folding over his head as he complains, "man, it was really warm outside." his voice is laced with a whiny tone, and wujin can't help but grimace in response.

wujin's eyes dart to daesu, and he covers his nose, his voice muffled as he says, "maybe daesu should go first..." the suggestion is met with a chorus of agreements from the other boys, including you, as the pungent aroma wafting from daesu's armpits begins to fill the room. daesu's expression turns defensive, his arms slowly lowering as he accuses wujin, "stop lying! you can't even smell anything." wujin's face scrunches up in indignation, and he begins to argue, "why would i lie?" the two boys start to bicker back and forth, their voices rising in a comedic display of denial and accusation.

you step out of the shower, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. the warm water has washed away the dirt and grime of the day, leaving you feeling clean and revitalized. your damp hair clings to your face, and you try to push it back, away from your forehead. you're surprised to notice that your hair seems longer when it's wet, and you make a mental note to get it cut soon.

you slide open the wooden door to the boys' bedroom, expecting to see the others lounging around. but to your surprise, the room is empty. you assume that everyone must be downstairs, and you're left alone in the quiet, peaceful space.

you look down at your outfit, feeling the soft, lightweight fabric of the plain dark blue pajama shirt and pants. it's a simple but comfortable ensemble, and you appreciate the feeling of the gentle cotton against your skin. you take a deep breath, feeling relaxed and at ease, and begin to make your way downstairs to join the others.

you make your way down the stairs, and your eyes scan the room, taking in the scene. some of the girls are gathered around kyungho, their faces aglow with excitement as they listen to him talk about his studies. they're practically swooning over his every word, and you can't help but chuckle at the sight.

your gaze drifts to the corner of the room, where hari and mijin are sitting together, chatting quietly. they're both smiling, and their body language suggests that they're having a relaxed and enjoyable conversation. you continue to scan the room, searching for wujin. you spot him and cheongsan standing in front of a shelf, engaged in a heated debate. they're arguing over which brand of garlic chips is superior, and their voices are rising in excitement.

you call out to wujin, letting him know that it's his turn to take a shower. his face lights up, and he instantly tosses the bags of chips to cheongsan. "i'll be right back!" he exclaims, before turning and making a beeline for the stairs. wujin's enthusiasm is palpable, and he's in such a hurry that he trips twice on the stairs before he reaches the bathroom. you can't help but laugh at his antics, and you shake your head in amusement.

as wujin disappears, you can't help but smile at his energetic behavior. you turn your attention back to the rest of the group, noticing that kyungho is still regaling the girls with stories of his studies. hari and mijin are still chatting quietly in the corner, looking relaxed and comfortable.

cheongsan, on the other hand, is still standing in front of the shelf, looking triumphant as he holds up the bags of garlic chips. he catches your eye and grins, clearly proud of having won the argument with wujin.

you chuckle to yourself, feeling grateful for the sense of camaraderie and friendship that's developed within the group. despite the challenges and dangers you've faced, you're all managing to find moments of joy and laughter together. as you continue to observe the group, you notice that suhyeok is still sitting off to the side, looking a bit subdued.

you feel a pang of frustration with yourself as you realize that your heart is trying to get the better of you. you're drawn to suhyeok, despite his odd behavior, and you find yourself wanting to check in on him, to make sure he's okay. you curse your heart for its weakness, and force yourself to look away, trying to ignore the concern that's rising up inside you.

just then, cheongsan speaks up, his voice low and understanding. "he's gonna be alright," he says, his eyes following your gaze to suhyeok. "i think he's stressing because this wasn't part of the plan."

cheongsan's words are like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality. you realize that suhyeok's behavior is likely due to the unexpected turn of events, and that he's probably just feeling overwhelmed. you nod in understanding, trying to push aside your concern for suhyeok and focus on the bigger picture.

you turn to cheongsan, your eyes filled with hope as you ask, "you think we can reach the mountain?" your voice is laced with a mix of worriesome and trepidation, and you can't help but feel a sense of uncertainty. cheongsan's expression is reassuring, and he nods confidently. "we'll make it, all of us," he says, his voice firm and resolute. "so stop worrying so much about it." he adds, his tone playful as he reaches out to push your shoulder gently.

you nod, trying to muster up a smile, but it's tinged with worry. you can't shake off the feeling of unease, and you're not sure if you'll really be able to make it to the mountain safely. but with cheongsan's reassurance, you try to push aside your doubts and focus on the task at hand.

"have you seen namra?" you ask cheongsan, and he points to the front of the store. you follow his gesture and see namra kneeling beside a small bonsai plant. the plant looks like it was carefully tended to before the apocalypse, and you can't help but wonder who might have been growing it.

you approach namra quietly, but she turns around before you can sneak up on her. "how'd you know i was behind you?" you ask, feeling a little surprised.

namra's response is casual, but it sends a flutter through your chest. "i recognize your steps," she says. "you always step like you're careful something might jump in front of you." her words are simple, but they reveal a level of awareness and attention to detail that makes you feel seen. you kneel down beside her, feeling a little self-conscious about your habits. "i guess it's a bad habit," you say, clearing your throat. you both sit there in silence for a moment, looking at the bonsai plant. the quiet is comfortable, and you feel a sense of ease with namra that you don't always feel with others.

namra's eyes are fixed on your face as you gently rub the leaves of the bonsai tree, oblivious to her gaze. she takes a moment to glance behind her, noticing suhyeok sitting on an upside-down bucket, staring at his knuckles. he's wearing an all-white thin pajama set, and namra can't help but think that he looks softer, more vulnerable, in white.

she turns her attention back to you, her expression careful. "he likes you," she says, her voice low and matter-of-fact. you snap your head towards her, your eyes wide with surprise. "wait, really? you think so?" you ask, your voice filled with excitement.

namra nods, her expression serious. "he cares a lot about you. did you know that?" she asks, her voice soft. you look around, as if checking to make sure no one is listening, before responding.

"well," you say, a smile spreading across your face, "i thought maybe he was into guys, but i wasn't sure." you admit, shrugging. namra's expression changes to one of disbelief and confusion. "you weren't sure?" she asks, her voice incredulous. you nod, matter-of-factly. "yeah, it's kinda hard to tell."

namra's eyes sparkle with curiosity as she asks, "even after he kissed you?" her words are innocent, but they send a shockwave through you. you stop dead in your tracks, turning to her with a confused expression. "what did you just say?" you ask, blinking rapidly as you try to process her words.

namra's face flushes with embarrassment, and she looks away, her voice barely above a whisper. "i saw, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to." she's clearly uncomfortable, and you can tell she didn't mean to spill the beans. your mind is reeling as you try to understand what's going on. "what? kyungho didn't kiss me?" you ask, feeling bewildered. namra's expression changes to one of confusion, and she looks back at you. "kyungho?" she repeats, clearly unsure what you're talking about. you nod, waiting for her to explain what she meant. your heart is racing with anticipation, and you can't help but wonder who she's talking about. it couldnt be..could it?

namra's words hang in the air like a challenge, and your entire world freezes in that moment. "i'm talking about... suhyeok," she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. you're stunned, unsure of how she could possibly know about the kiss. it was in the middle of the night, and you thought you two were being quiet.

your mind is racing with questions, but before you can even process your thoughts, namra speaks up again. "i won't tell anyone if you don't want me to," she says, her expression reassuring. she can see the shock and confusion written all over your face, and she's trying to put you at ease.

you blink slowly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that namra knows about the kiss. "how...?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. namra takes a deep breath before explaining, her words spilling out in a gentle rush. "i couldn't sleep that night," she says. "i heard and saw everything that happened."

you let out a sigh and bury your face in your arms, still kneeling on the ground. namra's hand finds its way to the top of yours, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. you feel a sense of comfort from her touch, and her words that follow only add to the feeling.

"i could hear his heart beating," she says softly. "it was steady throughout most of it." you lift your head, confusion etched on your face. "..so?" you ask, seeking clarity on what she's trying to say.

namra's gaze drifts behind her, to where suhyeok is sitting, looking troubled. "which means he wasnt lying," you follow her line of sight, and your gaze softens as you take in the sight of him. suddenly, flashbacks of the two of you walking home together every day flood your mind. the feeling of safety and friendship that you experienced during those walks blossoms in your chest, and you can't help but feel a sense of affection towards suhyeok.

you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "then you'd also know how he was scared to be seen with me..." you bring your fist to your heart, feeling it racing in your chest. you're not sure what emotion is causing it, but you know you need to calm down. as you speak, you can feel a lump forming in your throat, and your eyes start to well up with tears. you bite back a pout, trying to hold back the emotions that are threatening to overwhelm you. your eye line begins to water, and you look away, trying to compose yourself. the memory of suhyeok's fear of being seen with you is still raw, and it's clear that it's still affecting you deeply.

you take a deep breath, trying to calm down and process your emotions. namra's hand is still on top of yours, and she gives it a gentle squeeze, offering you comfort and support.

"hey, it's okay," she says softly, her voice full of empathy. "he was scared, but that doesn't mean he didn't care about you. people are complicated, and sometimes they do things that hurt us without meaning to." you look up at namra, feeling a sense of gratitude towards her. she's always been a good listener, and her words of wisdom are just what you need to hear right now.

you take another deep breath, feeling your emotions begin to settle. you look over at suhyeok, who's still sitting on the bucket, looking troubled. you can't help but wonder what's going through his mind, and whether he's still scared of being seen with you. namra's words are cryptic, and you look at her with confusion. "i asked him... back at the storage closet," she says, leaving you wondering what she's talking about.

but then she adds, "i asked if he liked you," and your eyes go wide with surprise. you're eager to hear more, and you wait with bated breath for namra to continue.

however, suhyeok's name is called out by daesu, and he reluctantly gets up to head over. namra's gaze follows him, but then she turns back to you. "what did he say?" you ask, staring into her eyes, hoping to find some answers. namra's expression is sympathetic, and she says, "he didn't say anything." you sigh, feeling a pang of disappointment. but then namra adds, "but, he looked at me and i heard his heart beat rise quickly." her words are like a ray of hope, and you can't help but feel a spark of achievement.

you feel a flutter in your chest as you process namra's words. the fact that suhyeok's heart beat rose quickly when she asked him about you suggests that he might have feelings for you after all.

you look over at suhyeok, who's now talking to daesu, and you can't help but wonder what's going through his mind. does he really like you? and if so, why hasn't he said anything?

namra's hand is still on top of yours, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. "don't worry," she says softly. "i'm sure he'll come around eventually." you nod, feeling a sense of gratitude towards namra. she's always been a good friend to you, and her words of encouragement mean a lot. as you continue to talk to namra, you can't help but steal glances at suhyeok, wondering what the future might hold for the two of you.

you pause, collecting your thoughts before speaking. "it's not that," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. namra looks at you curiously, sensing that there's more to your words.

you take a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before admitting the truth. "i'm not sure if i even want him anymore," you say, your voice laced with uncertainty. namra's expression changes, and she looks at you with surprise. she didn't expect you to say that, and you can tell she's wondering what's going through your mind. you look away, feeling a little vulnerable. you're not sure why you're unsure about suhyeok. you care about him deeply, but you're not sure if your feelings for him are romantic. you're confused, and you don't know what to do.

namra's expression softens, and she nods understandingly. "it's okay to be unsure," she says gently. "feelings can be complicated, and it's normal to take time to figure them out."

you nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. it's nice to know that namra understands, and that you're not alone in your confusion. "do you think... he'd wait for me to figure things out?" you ask hesitantly, looking over at suhyeok, who's still talking to daesu. namra follows your gaze, and then turns back to you. "i think he might," she says with a small smile.

you can't help but laugh as you wipe your eyes, making sure no tears fall. "when did you become a love doctor?" you ask, amusement dancing in your voice. you scoff and look away, a small smile still playing on your lips. namra's eyes sparkle with mirth as she catches your teasing tone. "did you just scoff at me? ms. namra?" you tease her further, trying to stifle a grin. namra shakes her head, a smile still plastered on her face. she stands up, her movements fluid and effortless. "you're ridiculous," she says, her voice laced with affection. she looks down at you, her eyes shining with warmth. "but i'm always here for you, no matter how ridiculous you get deskmate."

namra offers you her hand, and you take it with a smile, feeling a sense of gratitude and affection towards her. "likewise," you say, your voice sincere.

but then namra's expression changes, and she whispers a name that makes your heart skip a beat. "so... kyungho?" she says, a small smile playing on her lips. your ears turn bright red as you realize that you've unintentionally shared your secret crush. you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you, and you look away, trying to play it cool. but it's too late, namra's already seen the look on your face, and she knows that you have feelings for kyungho.

you try to brush it off, but namra's knowing gaze makes you feel like you've been caught red-handed. you can't believe you let your secret slip out, and now namra knows that you have a crush on kyungho.

namra's smile grows wider, and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "don't worry, your secret is safe with me," she whispers, her voice full of amusement. you look at her, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. you're glad that namra is being understanding, but you're still mortified that you let your secret slip out.

"thanks," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. namra nods, still smiling, and you can't help but wonder what she's thinking.

you hear a familiar voice calling out to you, and you turn to see horyeong smiling and waving you over to her. "y/n-ie!" she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. you can't help but notice kyungho standing on the other side of the register, his muscular arms and chest on full display in his muscle shirt. hari, mijin, and horyeong are all gazing at him with interest, and you find yourself sneaking a few peeks as well.

mijin smirks at you, "kyungho-nim is gonna pour us some drinks." she says, and you raise an eyebrow in surprise. "really?" you ask, looking around at the others. daesu stands up, enthusiasm written all over his face. "count me in!" he exclaims, raising a finger in the air. hari chimes in, "add two more," with a nonchalant nod in kyungho's direction.

kyungho smiles at hari, "you got it," and begins mixing drinks with a combination of soju and beer. you watch with curiosity, unsure of what to expect. as someone who's recently come of age to drink legally, you've never really had the opportunity to try alcohol before. your father's struggles with alcoholism had always made you wary of drinking, but now you're not so sure.

hroryeong's bright smile is infectious as she asks loudly, "onjo, you want one?" she's clearly excited, and you can't help but notice that she seems happier than usual. you attribute it to the presence of kyungho, who's still busy mixing drinks behind the register. maybe his handsome face has brought out her confident side, especially after she's freshened up from her shower. onjo shakes her head, declining the offer, and cheongsan chimes in, "leave us out." hroryeong nods, unfazed, and continues to chat with the others, still beaming with enthusiasm. the atmosphere is lively, and you can't help but feel a little left out, wondering if you should join in on the fun and try one of kyungho's mysterious drinks.

kyungho's smile is still plastered on his face as he gestures behind you, asking "what about you big-man?" you turn to see who he's addressing, and your eyes land on suhyeok, who looks decidedly annoyed. he's wearing all-white pajamas, which somehow makes him appear less intimidating than usual.

daesu's laughter rings out as he chimes in, "yeah, c'mon bare-su!" he exclaims, using suhyeok's well-known nickname. you can't help but feel a twinge of distaste at the nickname, mainly because it's a reference to suhyeok's peculiar habit of not wearing socks with shoes. suhyeok's expression remains serious as he crosses his arms, leaning against an aisle. "count me out too," he says, his voice firm. you can't help but wonder why he's being so stubborn.

kyungho's eyes lock onto yours, and he asks, "what about you, y/n-ie?" the added cuteness at the end of your name makes you feel a flutter in your chest, and you can't help but feel a little shy.

"me?" you ask, shocked, as if you're surprised he's even considering you. hroryeong's smile falters as she looks between you and kyungho, a confused expression on her face. she seems to be wondering how close the two of you really are. meanwhile, daesu's eyes narrow slightly as he looks at kyungho with suspicion. kyungho raises an eyebrow, his expression daring you to say no. "yeah, sorry. is it cool if i call you that?" he asks, his voice low and smooth.

you laugh, feeling a little self-conscious, and reply, "sure, i don't mind." you pause for a moment before adding, "i don't mind a drink either," as you fidget with your pajamas, feeling a little more aware of your appearance.

kyungho's low, smooth voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but straighten your posture, feeling a little more alert. "good," he says, his tone dripping with a quiet confidence that makes you feel a little fluttery inside.

just as you're processing the effect of kyungho's voice, you're startled by a sudden movement beside you. hroryeong is pushed aside, and suhyeok's long arm reaches over you, placing a plastic cup still in its bag on the table in front of you. "i'll take one," suhyeok says, his voice low and even, but with a hint of authority. you don't dare to look up at him, sensing a subtle tension in his tone. instead, you keep your eyes fixed on the cup, wondering what just happened.

the atmosphere around you seems to shift slightly, with a subtle undercurrent of tension. kyungho's eyes flicker to suhyeok, a hint of surprise and curiosity in his expression.

hroryeong, who had been pushed aside, clears her throat and steps back, her eyes darting between suhyeok and kyungho. "alright, so... two drinks, then?" she asks, trying to break the tension. kyungho nods, his expression neutral once more. "yeah, two more drinks. coming right up." he turns back to the counter, his movements fluid and efficient as he begins to prepare the drinks.

as kyungho continues to prepare the drinks, the tension in the air seems to dissipate slightly. suhyeok, however, remains standing beside you, his presence still radiating a sense of quiet intensity.

daesu, seemingly sensing the awkwardness, attempts to lighten the mood. "what made you change your mind?" he asks, his voice cheerful and curious. suhyeok's response is low and even, "just thought i'd join in." his tone doesn't invite further questioning, and hroryeong wisely decides not to push the issue. meanwhile, kyungho slides two drinks across the counter, his eyes meeting suhyeok's for a brief moment before he looks away. "enjoy," he says, his voice neutral. you pick up your drink, feeling a little uncertain about what to expect.

as daesu calls for a toast, everyone raises their drinks in unison, cheering and clinking their cups together. you join in, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the group. as you take a gulp of your drink, the liquid burns its way down your throat, making you grimace.

as you tip your head back, your eyes wander from the cup to suhyeok, who's also downing his drink. your gaze is drawn to the column of his neck, stretched out as he tilts his head back. suddenly, you're struck by the size difference between you and suhyeok. his broad shoulders and tall frame make you feel almost dainty in comparison. you can't help but stare, feeling a little awestruck by suhyeok's imposing presence. his eyes, still closed as he swallows his drink, seem to be savoring the moment, and you find yourself wondering what he's thinking.

the tranquility of the moment is shattered by a loud, booming voice echoing from the stairs. "why the hell didn't you guys save me one?" wujin's angry shout sends a ripple of amusement through the group.

daesu, quick-witted as ever, shouts back, "we were waiting, brother-in-law!" his response is met with a burst of laughter from the others. hari, however, takes a more... creative approach. with lightning-fast reflexes, she grabs the nearest object and hurls it at daesu's head. the room erupts into chaos as daesu ducks and weaves, narrowly avoiding the projectile.

mijin's arm brushes against your shoulders as she attempts to draw you into a friendly embrace. "did you like the drink?" she asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

you gaze down at the bottom of your cup, recalling the unexpected flavor. "it wasn't exactly how i imagined it would taste..." you admit, trying to be diplomatic. mijin's laughter chimes in, and she playfully teases, "yeah." you both share a laugh, your grimaces mirroring each other's as you remember the drink's unusual taste.

as the night wears on, the group finds themselves in a circle on the floor, surrounded by the refrigerated drinks. the hours have slipped away, and midnight is fast approaching. the air is thick with laughter and the smell of snacks and ramen.

more than half the group is now tipsy or downright drunk, and the jokes are getting progressively sillier. wujin, still chuckling, nudges cheongsan and begs him to repeat a joke. cheongsan rolls his eyes, claiming it wasn't that funny, but mijin disagrees, her laughter echoing through the room as she leans against hari, who's also giggling. kyungho gets up to grab a water bottle from one of the fridges behind them, but before he can even take a sip, daesu snatches it from him and starts drinking from it too. the absurdity of the situation sends you into a fit of giggles, and you double over, holding your stomach in laughter. namra watches you with a warm smile, clearly amused by your reaction.

still riding the wave of laughter, you propose, "lets take one more shot!" daesu and wujin erupt into cheers, their enthusiasm infectious and making you even more hyped. in this moment, you're grateful for these two friends, knowing they'll always be up for a good time.

wujin shouts, "yeah, let's do it!" as he nudges suhyeok, who responds with a calm smile and a casual flick of his hair. mijin teases him, "i feel like you're not on the same level as us..." suhyeok just laughs and says, "i'm just feeling warm."

kyungho chimes in, "hey, you could be a good drinker." mijin and hari exchange shocked glances, seemingly surprised by the suggestion. the room falls silent for a moment, awaiting suhyeok's response to kyungho's provocative comment.

suhyeok's enigmatic response, "something like that," hangs in the air as you take the soju bottle and begin pouring shots for those who want them. "hroryeong, you want some?" you ask, but she shakes her head, her eyes already half-closed as she leans back against the aisle. "no, i'm done," she says, her voice laced with exhaustion. daesu seizes the opportunity to tease her, "she can't keep up!" he laughs, and the room erupts into a fit of laughter. you're caught off guard, and your giggles become uncontrollable. you put your head down, trying to compose yourself, but it's no use. the laughter is too much, and you're happy to let it consume you.

as the laughter overtakes you, you feel someone gently pry the bottle from your grasp. you don't even bother to open your eyes, too caught up in the hilarity of the moment. instead, you let your body relax, laying back on the ground as the laughter continues to shake your frame.

onjo slips into your spot, taking over the task of pouring shots for the others. you're vaguely aware of onjo, cheongsan, and namra being the only ones still sober, but even that thought is enough to send you into another fit of giggles. the three of them seem to be enjoying the show, watching their friends with amused smiles.

namra's gentle hands guide you back into a seated position, and she tenderly fixes your disheveled hair. onjo's compliment, "aigoo, y/n, you're so cute," makes you blush, and you pull your knees to your chest, feeling a little self-conscious.

you bow your head, murmuring a soft "thank you," which prompts cheongsan to chuckle and shake his head. just as kyungho is about to ask if everyone is ready for the shot, you suddenly speak up, "wait! where's joonyeong? he needs one." your words are met with an awkward silence, and the laughter that had filled the room just moments before dies down. you look around the circle, expecting to see joonyeong's familiar face, but he's nowhere to be found. "did he go upstairs?" you ask, a hint of concern creeping into your voice. you shout his name, "joonyeong!" but there's no response. namra and onjo exchange an uncertain glance, before turning to look at you, seemingly surprised by your seriousness. the room remains silent, with all eyes on you, as you wait for a response that doesn't come.

daesu's slurred words cut through the awkward silence, "what did you say?" he asks, his eyes squinting slightly as he tries to focus.

you brush your hair out of your face, feeling a warm flush spread through your body as the alcohol takes hold. "huh? joonyeong," you repeat, your tone casual, as if you're discussing something mundane. you shrug, looking around at the others, who are still wearing serious expressions. "what? should we not invite him?" you ask, a hint of confusion creeping into your voice. you laugh, thinking it's all some kind of joke, but the others' somber faces only add to your confusion.

namra's soft voice breaks the silence, "y/n..." she says, her words trailing off as she hesitates to repeat the painful events of just a couple of hours ago. but before she can continue, cheongsan interrupts, "asleep." his voice is firm, but his eyes betray a hint of sadness. "remember? he said he was tired," he adds, his words a gentle lie.

the group's attention turns to cheongsan, their faces a mix of confusion and sadness. you, however, seem to accept his explanation, thinking for a moment before nodding, "oh, you're right. i kinda remember that now." you point at cheongsan, a look of vague recollection on your face. the others exchange somber glances, their expressions a mix of sorrow and confusion. it's clear that they're struggling to understand how you could have forgotten, or perhaps, how you could have thought joonyeong was still alive. the atmosphere in the room grows heavier, weighed down by the unspoken truth.

kyungho, sensing the awkwardness in the air, attempts to shift the mood with a sudden declaration, "okay, let's take this shot then!" the others, grateful for the distraction, quickly grab their shots and cheer before downing them.

as you tilt your head back to take the shot, your hand seems to move of its own accord, spilling some of the liquid down your chin and onto your neck. you hastily swallow the remaining drink in your mouth, wincing slightly at the burning sensation. wujin's enthusiastic "woo!" cuts through the air, followed by nods of agreement from the others. "that was good," he declares, savoring the taste. hari, meanwhile, admits, "i wish i knew drinking games," a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

you bring your fingers to your neck, assessing the damage from the spilled drink. your eyes, now hazy from the alcohol, gaze upward to find kyungho gently wiping your chin with a small towel. he flashes a warm smile, asking, "did you even drink any?" his smile is infectious, and you can't help but laugh. for a moment, you're tempted to lean into his touch, but a tiny voice of dignity within you protests, urging you to maintain some semblance of composure. "i did, i promise," you reply, trying to sound convincing, before a hiccup escapes your lips, betraying your inebriated state.

onjo stands up, adjusting her pants as she announces, "okay, i think i'm gonna take hroryeong upstairs and sleep." you immediately protest, "no! onjo, stay here," but she's resolute.

hari chimes in, "i'mma head upstairs too," and together, hari and onjo carefully lift hroryeong and begin to make their way up the stairs. you watch them go, feeling a pang of disappointment. as you turn to mijin, you ask, "you're staying, right?" but mijin looks uncertain, glancing back and forth between you and hari, who's now disappearing up the stairs. you tease her, "whatever, just go," and laugh, trying to make light of the situation.

mijin hesitates for a moment before she too decides to head upstairs. "alright, i'll go," she says, before turning to leave. you watch her go, feeling a bit deserted.

the group has dwindled significantly, leaving only a handful of people remaining. you glance around at the others, noticing that the atmosphere has become more subdued. kyungho catches your eye and smiles, and you can't help but smile back. "so, what's next?" wujin asks, breaking the silence. he looks around at the others, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "should we play another round?"

the playful banter between mijin and wujin continues, with the others watching with amused smiles. kyungho chuckles and shakes his head, "you two are something else." suhyeok, who had been quietly observing the exchange, suddenly speaks up, "actually, i think wujin has a point." he says, his voice calm and measured. "we could play a game. something to liven things up." the group's attention turns to suhyeok, intrigued by his suggestion. "what kind of game?" daesu asks, his curiosity piqued.

"how about 'rock, paper, scissors, shot'?" you suggest, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "we can play a best-of-three series, and the loser of each round has to take a shot."

mijin's eyes sparkle with excitement. "oh, i love that game," she says, already pouring herself a shot. "it's so simple, but so brutal." wujin chuckles. "yeah, and it's a great way to get drunk quickly." kyungho nods, a competitive glint in his eye. "alright, let's play. i'm going to crush you all."

the air is electric as everyone prepares for a thrilling round of "rock, paper, scissors, shot." kyungho's voice cuts through the tension, "ready?" the group collectively holds their breath, focusing intently. "rock, paper, scissors!" kyungho exclaims, and in unison, everyone reveals their hand.

namra and cheongsan opt out, leaving you, wujin, daesu, mijin, and suhyeok to battle it out. the results are in, and daesu and mijin triumphantly shout, "we got scissors!" a glance around reveals that everyone else had chosen paper. you can't help but sigh, knowing daesu and mijin are off the hook. wujin breaks the silence, "okay, us four, let's go." the others prepare for another round as kyungho's voice rings out once more, "rock, paper, scissors!" but this time, you notice your vision starting to blur. you blink hard, struggling to refocus.

as you take stock of the situation, you breathe a sigh of relief to see wujin and kyungho are safe, but your anxiety quickly returns as you realize you and suhyeok are the last two remaining. kyungho's enthusiastic shout of "come on y/n!" breaks the tension, while wujin offers suhyeok a supportive pat on the back. the group's energetic chant of "rock, paper, scissors!" fills the air, and you throw a rock, only to have suhyeok try to sneak in a scissors before swiftly changing to paper. you catch him in the act, smacking his hand away, and the group erupts in laughter, with suhyeok joining in. namra observes the scene, noting the way this lighthearted moment has effortlessly dissipated the tension between you and suhyeok.

as suhyeok reaches for a cup, the room erupts in a chorus of cheering, with everyone chanting his name. he chugs the contents instantly, and the crowd goes wild. your gaze lingers on him, and you can't help but notice how captivating suhyeok looks in this moment.

your eyes grow heavier, and your head spins slightly. daesu slurs, "y/n is so drunk," but it's clear he's not one to talk, given his own inebriated state. you turn to him, shaking your finger in mock scolding, "you're worse than he is!" mijin points at daesu, cackling uncontrollably as she topples backward. namra's voice trails off as she mentions heading upstairs to check on the girls, and in an instant, she's gone. the sudden absence isn't even registered until an hour later, when a careless reach for her reveals only empty space.

kyungho's subtle posture hadn't caught your attention - he was leaning on his side, head propped up, and gazing at you with an intriguing smile. mijin, however, had noticed and couldn't help but react with a raised eyebrow. she nudged wujin and discreetly pointed to kyungho, prompting wujin to tilt his head in confusion.

in a slightly slurred tone, mijin asked, "so, kyungho, are you...into guys or girls?" the question hung in the air, and you froze, apprehensive about the potential fallout. even in your intoxicated state, a thread of fear managed to weave its way into your relaxed demeanor. kyungho paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. his gaze drifted to the bottle in his hand before he replied, "i like what i like." as he spoke, his eyes locked onto yours, and he took a sip from his bottle. daesu, who was leaning against wujin, caught the intense look and immediately sought wujin's confirmation, as if to validate what he thought he was seeing.

daesu's voice cuts through the air, a hint of forced nonchalance betraying his drunken state. "so, what's your thoughts on my friend here?" he asks, his gesture in your direction drawing attention to you like an unwanted spotlight.

you feel your face grow warm as the conversation continues, your embarrassment simmering just below the surface. "guys, shut up," you interject, your voice low and even, as you turn to wujin. "can you pass me that water bottle?" you ask, nodding towards the refrigerated doors behind him. wujin complies, retrieving the bottle with a bit of clumsiness, his movements a reminder of the evening's events.

kyungho's response is laced with a hint of mischief. "let's just say, i like what i see," he admits, his words sparking a contagious laughter from mijin, who playfully punches him in the arm. her eyes sparkle with giddy excitement at the subtle confession. meanwhile, you maintain a poker face, sipping on the cold water that brings some relief to your embarrassed flush.

kyungho's smirk returns as he recounts your first meeting. "seriously, i was drawn to his charm," he says, his gaze locked on yours. "he was sweet," he adds, his expression sincere. you nod in agreement, giving a thumbs up that sets off a round of laughter. however, not everyone shares the amusement. suhyeok's eyeroll and scoff don't go unnoticed by kyungho, who turns to face him with a serious, low tone. "you don't think so?" the room falls silent, with all eyes on suhyeok.

suhyeok's gaze drifted sideways, his annoyance palpable as he was met with yet another overly flattering comment. "i didn't say anything," he muttered, his tone subdued. kyungho, however, wasn't one to let things slide. "oh, come on," he pressed, taking a sip of his drink. "you were thinking something. the eye roll was a dead giveaway." his words hung in the air, making you feel uneasy for the second time. in that moment, you couldn't help but wish namra was by your side.

suhyeok shakes his head, his expression a mix of concern and amusement. "i think you've had one too many, friend," he says, nodding towards kyungho's drink. kyungho raises an eyebrow, his voice laced with a hint of defiance. "i'm not even tipsy, but i'm a man who values honesty. if you're going to call me out, i'll tell it like it is. apparently, that's not your style." the air is thick with tension as the two lock eyes. sensing the unease, you intervene, your voice soft and soothing. "how about we play another round?”

mijin breaks the tension with a nervous chuckle, "come on guys, let's not ruin the night." wujin chimes in, his awkward smile a testament to the discomfort in the air. "i'm game for another round, but..." kyungho sits up, his eyes fixed intently on suhyeok, "actually, can we clear the air? if suhyeok's not cool with me flirting with y/n, i'd like to know why." the atmosphere grows heavier, the group's attention now squarely on suhyeok.

suhyeok's demeanor shifted in an instant, his eyes transforming into those of a wolf poised to strike. the atmosphere grew thick with tension as you felt a shiver run down your spine. desperate to escape the uncomfortable encounter, you attempted to stand, but a wave of dizziness washed over you, forcing you back into your seat.

concerned voices filled the air as wujin asked, "y/n, are you okay?" mijin's grip on your arm tightened, her eyes filled with worry. "i'm really tired all of a sudden," you stammered, struggling to keep the tension calm. mijin swiftly took charge, helping you to your feet and draping your arm over her shoulders. "let's get you to bed," she said, guiding you upstairs as you stumbled, your vision blurring. "everything is so... fuzzy," you mumbled, rubbing your eye with your free hand.

wujin broke the silence with an awkward suggestion, "i think we should call it a night." he patted suhyeok's back as he stood up, suhyeok agreed by standing up and ttrailing behind mijin and you.

meanwhile, daesu's voice slurred as he slapped kyungho's back, "tomorrow, we drink again!" kyungho returned the gesture, playfully slapping daesu's back in response. “ofcourse!” he said with a bright smile.

kyungho was left to solitude, tasked with gathering the scattered trash while everyone else retreated upstairs. meanwhile, mijin struggled to lift you, her efforts hindered by your shifting weight. your outstretched hand grasped for the wall, but it offered little support. "y/n, come on! use your strength to help me out," mijin urged, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. just then, suhyeok swooped in, gently prying your arm from mijin's grasp and draping it over his shoulder. as he bent down to match your height, he simply stated, "i've got him." mijin nodded in agreement, affectionately ruffling your hair as you gazed down at your feet.

her voice dripped with amusement as she giggled and hurried up the stairs, peeking over the railing to catch your struggle. you leaned into suhyeok's embrace, placing a reassuring hand on his chest. "this is impossible," you whined, to which suhyeok offered a gentle nod and a soft whisper of encouragement: "you've got it." meanwhile, wujin's voice echoed up the stairs, "come on, y/n!" as he helped daesu, equally drunk, navigate the steps.

daesu's sudden declaration, "i think i need to go to the bathroom," is quickly followed by a gagging sound, prompting suhyeok to swiftly scoop you up in his arms. he rushes into the room, gently placing you on your bed. you can't help but laugh at the frantic pace. suhyeok inquires about your well-being, and you nod reassuringly.

just then, wujin's voice echoes from outside, calling for suhyeok's assistance with daesu, who's struggling to make it up the stairs. mijin's cackles can be heard, while suhyeok rushes out of the room to lend a hand, leaving you alone.

as you waited for the others to arrive, you found yourself fidgeting with your clothes, the silence a gentle hum in the background. the sound of footsteps and muffled voices drifted in from the hallway, signaling the boys' passage as they escorted daesu to the restroom. it was then that cheongsan slipped into the room, his voice barely above a whisper as he asked, "is he sick?" your response was a fit of giggles, accompanied by a nod, leaving cheongsan to wonder what had transpired.

cheongsan slid the wooden door shut with a soft creak, seeking refuge in his bed. he collapsed onto the mattress with a contented groan, his voice dripping with relaxation as he murmured, "this is going to be the best sleep ever." you trued to copy him, but your comfort was short-lived. a sudden lump formed in your throat, prompting you to sit up with alarm. "no, no, i need to stay upright," you whined, clutching at your chest with growing unease, fearful of succumbing to the same queasiness that had afflicted daesu.

"i need some water," you whispered to cheongsan, who sprang into action, sitting up with a jolt. his voice was laced with concern as he asked, "are you sure?" you nodded, becoming increasingly aware of the inky darkness that enveloped the upstairs. the alcohol was already wreaking havoc on your vision, and the shadows seemed to be closing in, making your head spin.

the door slid open once more, and suhyeok's voice cut through the darkness, "daesu is throwing up..." but before he could finish, cheongsan swiftly intervened, his voice tinged with urgency. "suhyeok, grab a cold water – y/n needs one, now." suhyeok vanished into the night, his footsteps a distant echo as he hastened downstairs. cheongsan shifted to your bedside, his gentle hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. "you're okay, y/n. hang in there," he whispered reassuringly, as you pressed your fingers to your forehead, fighting to stay awake.

meanwhile, suhyeok's feet pounded the stairs, skipping two at a time, as he hastened to fetch water. his mission was to help his friends rehydrate and sober up, despite his own slightly tipsy state. the cold air seemed to have a sobering effect on him, and he focused intently on his task. he yanked open the refrigerator door and scanned the shelves, his eyes locking onto the largest water bottle. as he pulled it out, he noticed it was the last one. his gaze wandered behind the refrigerator, where the open freezer door caught his attention. beyond it, a deeper freezer door came into view, adorned with a thick chain and lock. suhyeok's curiosity was piqued, and he found himself wondering what could be hidden behind such a secure door. his reverie was shattered by a sudden voice. "hey!" kyungho's greeting made suhyeok jump, his heart racing as he stood up straight, water bottle still in hand.

kyungho descended the aisle with a jog, small packets clutched in his hand, his expression a mask of contrition. "hey, man, i wanted to apologize. what i did earlier was stupid and immature," he admitted, his head shaking in guilt. suhyeok's gaze darted to the staircase before returning to kyungho, his response a simple, acknowledging nod. kyungho extended the packets, a peace offering of hangover remedies. "take these, give some to whoever needs them upstairs. i'll be behind the register if you need anything, anything at all," he said, his tone sincere. suhyeok's eyes flicked to kyungho's frame, a fleeting thought crossing his mind – he could take him down if needed, though it might require some effort. instead, he chose to accept the offering, nodding curtly as he took the packets and closed the fridge door. with a sense of urgency, he hastened back upstairs.

cheongsan moved with gentle purpose, lighting the lanterns scattered throughout the room. the soft glow of the flames cast a warm, golden light, transforming the space into a haven of comfort and tranquility.

you gazed around, taking in the cozy atmosphere, and turned to cheongsan with a smile. "this feels amazing, doesn't it?" you asked, and cheongsan's face lit up with a nod of agreement. "yeah..." he murmured, his voice barely audible, "i wish gyeongsu could've seen this." though spoken under his breath, the words carried to your ears, and you shared a laugh with cheongsan at the thought of gyeongsu's antics. "he would've eaten so much," you chuckled, the image conjuring up a warm, fuzzy feeling.

the door slid open once more, and you anticipated suhyeok's return, but instead, wujin stumbled into the room, his face a picture of distress. "guys, i couldn't take it anymore – he got it everywhere," wujin exclaimed, collapsing onto the floor with a dramatic flourish. cheongsan's eyes widened in shock, "no way, really?" he asked, incredulous. your concern, however, was focused on daesu's well-being, "is he okay?" you inquired, worry etched in your voice. just then, mijin's unmistakable cackles echoed from the hallway, and you couldn't help but ask, "is that mijin?" but your question was cut short as you doubled over, falling forward onto your bed, consumed by a fit of laughter.

wujin's laughter harmonized with yours, "yeah, the girls are trying to get her to sleep," he chuckled, clearly amused by the situation. cheongsan slipped out of the room, likely to lend a hand with daesu. just then, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the doorway, and suhyeok appeared, his voice low and cautious as he whispered, "wujin, watch out." but wujin remained immobile, too caught up in the hilarity of the moment.

suhyeok expertly navigated around him, his eyes fixed on you as he approached. he tosses something in his hand in the forner of the room with annoyance, it sounded like sugar packets but you ignore it. he twisted open the water bottle en route, the soft gurgle of the liquid a soothing serenade. as he sat down in front of you, his expression turned concerned, "you okay? do you feel sick?" he asked, his voice gentle. you smiled and shook your head, feeling an unexpected wave of relief wash over you now that suhyeok was back by your side.

as you gazed at suhyeok, you couldn't help but be captivated by the soft, golden light of the lanterns dancing across his features. the gentle glow seemed to accentuate his inviting expression, making it impossible for you to look away.

your eyes lingered on his hair, which lay flat against his forehead, appearing impossibly soft. suhyeok's sudden command, "open," startled you, and for a moment, you hesitated. your gaze dropped to the water bottle, now poised near your lips, with suhyeok's hand positioned beneath to catch any stray droplets. the tender gesture only added to the sense of intimacy, leaving you feeling momentarily breathless.

you parted your lips, and suhyeok carefully tilted the water bottle, allowing you to sip from it. as you swallowed, his fingertips from his other hand brushed against your throat, sending a subtle feeling in the bottom of your stomach. your gaze drifted upward, meeting suhyeok's eyes, and you felt a flush rise to your ears under his gentle scrutiny. your eyelids grew heavy, blinking lazily as you succumbed to the soothing sensation. the scene was almost surreal, with you resembling a deer calmed by a wolf's gentle touch. wujin, still sprawled on the floor, watched the exchange with an astute expression, as if he had just stumbled upon a profound realization. his eyes sparkled with a knowing glint, while you continued to drink.

suhyeok set the water bottle down, allowing you to catch your breath. you murmured a shy thank you, but suhyeok didn't respond, instead focusing on closing the bottle and placing it beside the bed. the moment was interrupted by cheongsan's shout, "wujin!" which jolted wujin out of his trance-like state.

he cursed under his breath, "shit..." before reluctantly pushing himself up from the floor and shuffling out into the hallway. however, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, tiptoed back to the room, and carefully slid the door closed before continuing on his way. cheongsan's voice echoed down the hallway once more, "wujin!" this time, wujin responded with a shout of his own, his tone tinged with annoyance, "i'm coming already!"

the room fell silent once more, with only the two of you remaining. suhyeok hadn't uttered a word, instead focusing on removing his socks as he padded over to his bed. you watched him intently, your gaze fixed on his every move, much like a devoted puppy awaiting instructions. suhyeok carefully placed his socks beside his bed before walking back over to you, his movements fluid and deliberate. he knelt down beside you, his hands gently cradling your foot as he began to remove your socks. the tender touch sent a warm feeling in you chest, and you couldn't help but bask in the soothing sensation.

suhyeok carefully set your socks aside, mirroring the precise manner in which he had handled his own. the silence was finally broken by your soft, grateful whisper, "thank you."

suhyeok stood up fully, his eyes never leaving yours, and said, "you should rest now. you've had a long night." his voice was low and soothing, a gentle command that brooked no argument. he reached out and carefully pulled the blankets up to your chest, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. you didn't pull away, instead letting the warmth of his hand linger on yours. "i'll be right outside if you need anything," he continued, his voice a soft promise. "just call out, okay?"

suhyeok turned to leave, his footsteps quiet on the floor, but you called out to him again, your voice barely above a whisper. "suhyeok?" he stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to you, and waited for you to continue. "i need you," you said, the words feeling inadequate for the comfort and care he had shown you. suhyeok turned around, a familiar look on his face, and nodded slightly. "what is it?," he replied, his voice low and gentle.

you hesitated, unsure of what to say next, but before you could gather your thoughts, a loud voice echoed down the hallway, "suhyeok!" wujin's boisterous call made both of you turn towards the door, suhyeok's eyes flicking towards the hallway before returning to yours. "can it wait?" he asked, his voice low and questioning. you nodded slowly, feeling a pang of disappointment, but also relief. suhyeok gave a small nod before turning to leave, sliding the door closed behind him. the moment the door clicked shut, you were alone with your thoughts, and they came flooding in. your face grew hot, a deep red spreading across your cheeks as your mind whirled with thoughts of suhyeok. you couldn't shake the feelings that had been building, and you felt overwhelmed. in a desperate attempt to drown out your thoughts, you closed your eyes and pulled the blanket over your head, hiding from the emotions that threatened to consume you.

#all of us are dead #allofusaredeadfanfic #angst #enemies to allies #lee su hyeok #male reader #suhyeok x male reader #suhyeok x reader #all of us are dead x reader #gay #all of us are dead x male reader #zombies #top!lee suhyeok #bxb #fluff #lgbt #cheong san #choi namra

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