#he is willingly accepting that walking in there will have him exposed to her loudness but like its of his own volition | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

idiashrub · 3 years

Text

Rain, rain (don't) go away - Silver

A series of short sweet scenarios involving the rain shared by our beloved Ramshackle prefect and silver-haired diasomnia student.

important note(s): she/her pronouns, very slight implication of Jade/reader, fluff fluff fluff fluff

a/n: this is dedicated to the sweetest person to ever exist (@hunter-of-apples)! // 'twas supposed to be posted since christmas but i've been quite busy so i'm glad i can finally do so now! // ehe, this may not be jade but i hope you enjoy this mafs

word count: 3.1k

[ First Year ]

The night sky was completely devoid of the usual shimmering balls of fire that scattered throughout. There was nothing but complete darkness and the occasional gray whenever the limited light from the moon shined through the clouds; the pitter-pattering of the raindrops hitting the cobblestone pavement filled the silence of the night, soaking any living soul that dared to stand out in the open— an example would be the female that did as mentioned.

It was because of the gloomy weather that she found herself lounging outside her dormitory at this time of hour. It was because of the cool air and calming rhythm produced by every raindrop that she willingly exposed herself. Feeling as though the rain itself was able to wash away the current turmoil inside her, she remained there, standing still with her eyes closed as she cherished the feeling of the rain, completely uncaring of her current state.

Contrary to popular belief, it was during times like these that she felt at ease, when the cooling sensation of her wet state due to the weather completely engulfed her.

There were no other sounds that filled her hearing other than that of the constant pitter-patters whenever raindrops came in contact with something concrete.

Or so she thought.

“What are you doing there?”

The familiar voice of her silver-haired friend pierced through the night, startling the unsuspecting female from her train of thoughts. She turned her head, shifting all her focus from the pouring sky to the owner of the voice, slightly smiling at the image of him in a coat with his sleep attire underneath, a black umbrella at hand.

‘Silver looks adorable trying to rub the sleepiness off his eyes,’ she thought to herself before answering his question with a soft tone.

"Just…thinking,” her response was a mere whisper, but still loud enough to be heard by the nearing male.

“In the pouring rain?” she nodded before looking back up at the sky.

She heard him sigh before the sound of footsteps mixed with the sound of the rain, the heels of his shoes coming in contact with the concrete cobble.

Soon enough, the feeling of raindrops coming in contact with her exposed skin ceased, prompting her to open her eyes. And there he stood, beside her with the umbrella he held with his left hand, shielding them both from further getting soaked.

"If your goal was to prevent me from getting soaked, don't you think it's a bit late for that?" she teased, gesturing her hands down her completely drenched clothing. This earned her a tired sigh.

"I wouldn't have to do so if you're on your bed as you're supposed to be. Why were you out here in the first place?"

Her humming reached his ears, "I told you: I was thinking."

Another sigh emitted from his lips, "Would you like to share a sliver of your thoughts?"

"Not really, no. But it's nothing important if that's what you're worried about."

And that was it. She smiled at him before walking towards the direction of the dormitory, Silver trailing beside her as he continued to shield them from the downpour.

They stopped for a quick second when Silver removed the coat he was wearing and offered it to her. She accepted it with a smile and a thank you before slipping it on. Her arm found its way around his waist as she rested her head on his side while they walked.

.★.・。.・゜★・゜・。.★.

[ Second Year ]

The gray sky brought a skip to her step, the cool atmosphere that came along with it being something she appreciated even more. The temperature back in Ramshackle wasn’t really the best the past few days, so the coolness of the weather was welcomed.

The hallway wasn’t as packed as she passed through them, flashing a smile whenever she made eye contact with people around. Today was nice. Though Ace, Deuce, and Grim were held back by their History professor, she took in this opportunity to advance study a few of the potions to be taught in Alchemy. She did want to stay in professor Crewel’s good graces— so accepting a third-year’s offer of tutoring was the best decision, right? Especially because that certain student was one of the best in the said class!

“You’re quite lively, contrary to the weather.”

Speak of the devil and the devil shall come.

Her head snapped up to meet the heterochromatic eyes of the Octavinelle vice-prefect, a smile instantly making its way to her face at the sight of his amused face, “Jade-san! I thought you were to meet me in the library, I was just headed there.”

He chuckled, the polite smile never leaving his lips, “I’ve just finished some business Azul notified me of, I too am headed there right now. Seeing as we’re headed towards the same destination for similar purposes, might as well accompany you, yes?”

She nodded, not-so-secretly-enthusiastically, as a response.

Jade offered to carry her bag for her as they walked towards the direction of the library but she refused, stating that she couldn’t burden him any further and that he’s already doing too much just by simply offering to tutor her. He could’ve persuaded her further, she knew that, so she felt relieved when he accepted her refusal. Though, the smile on his lips felt more enticing than it did before— which she didn’t really pay that much mind to.

On their way to the library, they passed by the hallway that perfectly showcased the open courtyard — that’s where she found her eyes. She scanned the area with a smile on her face, imagining herself kicking the puddle of water that gathered on an uneven patch of land.

‘That would be fun,’ she thought.

But the sight of what seemed to be a student lying underneath the shade of a tree made her furrow her eyebrows, confused as to why someone would wish to willingly expose themself to the rain wearing their school uniform in the middle of the day— just when they’re supposed to be attending classes?

Upon closer inspection, she realized why she felt so drawn looking at the silhouette of the student, it was Silver! He seemed to be napping, as per usual, and was either uncaring of the fact that the rain was soaking him wet or was oblivious to it. Regardless, she quickly excused herself from the third-year before her and grabbed the spare umbrella inside her bag, opening it as she stalked to his direction.

There were a couple animals gathered around him, she noticed— a few birds above him, four of them chirping simultaneously with the hopes of waking the male, and two squirrels that seemed to be nudging him, but failing to awaken him.

With every step closer, the animals that surrounded him grew aware of her presence, eyeing her for a few seconds before moving aside as if beckoning her to do what they failed to do.

A fond smile made its way to her lips as she stared at his sleeping form— of course not before covering them both with the umbrella.

Kneeling down, she poked his cheeks with her free hand.

“Silver,” she called, voice soft to not startle him. But this, unsurprisingly, did nothing.

“Silver,” she tried again, this time a bit more firm and still poking his cheeks. Again, still nothing.

She sighed, looking back at where Jade stood waiting for her, meeting his still amused and patient eyes. She mouthed him an apology before turning back to the current task at hand: waking Silver.

Minutes passed and she was still unsuccessful. It was starting to frustrate her if she was being honest. She just wanted to continue on with her day in the library with Jade and study for whatever she’s able to do so. Yet here she was, kneeling on the cold, hard, and wet concrete, trying and failing to wake the sleeping beauty in front of her. Even the birds and squirrels gave up and just positioned themselves on the branch above them, the best view for the show she was unknowingly putting on.

“Gah! For the love of the Great Sevens, wake up!” her impatience got the best of her that she disregarded how startled he’ll be with the sudden wake up call; her eyes intently glared on his handsome, peaceful, calm, and serene-looking face.

She swears that she’ll lose sight of what she’s originally supposed to be doing the more time she spends staring at his face. The way his bangs stuck to his face, limiting her view of him, made her want to gently push them aside. She wanted to just…stare at him.

To study and memorize every inch of his face. The sight of his lips slightly parted did wonders to her already racing heart. She wanted nothing more than to just crash her li—

Her eyes widened when she realized just where her train of thought was heading to, heat coming up to her neck with the realization. And so, she pushed those thoughts aside. To the very back of her mind. The furthest, deepest and darkest depths of her mind.

She huffs when she receives nothing much but a mumble. Rubbing her cheek with her free hand, she contemplated on what else could be done. Flicking his forehead until he awakens? It was worth a shot.

Biting back a smile, her fingers made their way to his pale face, poking them for the last time before flicking his forehead. A small, faint red mark immediately formed on the spot where she hit him, making her feel a bit guilty.

But she didn’t wallow in the guilt any further when he finally started stirring awake, incoherent mumbles leaving his lips as he tried to gather his senses.

She quietly watched him rubbing the drowsiness off his eyes, happily taking in his groggy-state. A dreamy sigh leaving her lips while doing so— a dreamy sigh she hoped he didn't notice as she immediately spoke up before he could register what she'd just done.

“Finally! I’ve been trying to wake you up for twenty minutes. Now come on, I don’t want you getting any more soaked,” standing up, she gripped onto Silver’s arm with her free hand to pull him up. She almost tumbled down due to his weight but regained her composure once the male was able to carry his own again.

"What are you on about?"

She rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully, "What do you mean what am I on about? It's been lightly pouring for a while now! Don't tell me you didn't notice?" she explains, gesturing to his wet clothing.

He just stared at her.

"Not even the birds and squirrels that tried to wake you?"

He merely shakes his head, no.

Pursing her lips, she states, "Well, it's best if you change clothes, yeah? Before your next class starts."

With that, she beckons him to walk beside her under the cover of her umbrella as they head to the roofed hallway.

.★.・。.・゜★・゜・。.★.

[ Third Year ]

"Hi!" she exclaimed, trying so desperately to contain the smile that's trying to break out of her face. She wanted to look calm and collected in front of him, but the excitement seemed to be getting the better of her.

When the male she addressed turned to look at her, she swore she felt her heart stop beating. His aurora eyes holding her own, focused on one another as if no one else existed around them.

"I haven't seen you in a while, huh? You've been quite busy with your research and training, and traveling, and– oomf!"

Her rambling was cut to a short when Silver abruptly pulled her towards his chest, wrapping his arms around her for an embrace that's long overdue, much to the surprise of the female. But nevertheless, she pushed back the flustered feeling that threatened to engulf her and wrapped her arms around his waist instead.

This felt warm. Very nice.

With her head still resting on his chest, listening in on the steady beats of his heart, she muttered, "Congratulations, Silver. You deserve every bit of success you've come to achieve on this day and the days to come."

She reluctantly releases her hold on him as he does the same, eyes locking onto each other again. The large smile she tried to suppress earlier broke free.

And he smiled a gentle and grateful one in return.

"Thank you. Your words are very much appreciated," he paused, thinking of what else to say, "Have you met with Ja– your friends from Octavinelle?"

"Hm? Oh, yes! I saw them earlier. Azul and I exchanged pleasantries and Floyd thought it was the best idea to squeeze me in a tight hug as a goodbye," she chuckled at the mention of Floyd, feeling his long arms tightly wrap around her, almost suffocating—a very sharp contrast with how Silver's arms held her earlier.

"And Jade?" Silver sounded unsure as he asked. He didn't want to come off as intruding so he didn't push her into saying anything else if she didn't wish to.

Plus, he didn't really care about that tidbit of information. She's the one to decide who to meet and not to meet after all, so why did he feel the need to do so? Why did he even ask?

"Oh, we simply shared a short conversation. I congratulated him and he accepted the hug I offered before he told me where I would find you."

She smiled up at him, "You've grown taller since the last time we've properly seen each other! That's unfair," she huffed, playfully rolling her eyes.

This time it was him that she caught off guard when she wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him with all the adoration she could muster.

"But hugging you remains to be the same."

"How so?" Silver manages to mutter, completely flustered.

"Well, hugging you feels comfortable. Soft. Warm. Easy. Home-y. It makes me feel all fuzzy inside…" she nuzzled her head further to his chest. "You don't mind it, do you?"

He smiles, "Definitely not."

"Good. Because I'll be expecting more hugs in our future, especially the ones under the rain."

This was her indirect confession to him. Words of subtlety but actions that screamed the opposite. She hoped he got her hint. With the way she clung to him — acting as if he was her lifeline, that the hug they shared fueled her being — she really hoped that he understood how this was more than just a friendly gesture.

And with the gentlest smile adorning his face, and with the way his eyes softly gazed at her, taking in her form and relishing in the feeling as if she was the most precious thing to ever come to sight, it's safe to say that he understood.

They were so caught up being entangled with one another that they failed to notice how the once blue and clear sky was now shrouded by gray clouds, how raindrops were now taking ownership of their clothings as they came in contact. It was because of Sebek's booming voice calling out to both of them that their senses came to a realization. Beside the green-haired newly grad was Lilia, who wore the biggest and brightest smile.

Silver planted a kiss on top of her head before releasing her from their embrace. His one arm remained on her waist, though, as they slowly walked towards the direction of Silver's guardian and friend.

Both of them were uncaring of the way their clothes would soon be soaked as they relished in the feeling of the rain.

.★.・。.・゜★・゜・。.★.

[ A few years later… ]

The familiar pitter-pattering of the raindrops was something she welcomed oh, so dearly. Just the sound of it brought her enough comfort.

As she stood outside, beneath the night sky, she welcomed the feeling of the rain once again. Letting the raindrops trickle down her skin as she let herself become lost in her own world. She embraced how her clothes soon became overwhelmed by the waters and hugged her tightly.

"What are you doing there?"

She heard the familiar voice of her silver-haired fiancé ask, presumably underneath the cover of an umbrella.

With her face looking up at the sky, eyes closed and a small smile, she thought, ‘this feels familiar.’

"I'm just…thinking," was her reply, peeking her eyes open to look at him. She was right to assume that he was under the cover of an umbrella, because there he stood holding onto one, walking to her direction.

A soft sigh left his lips as he tried to rub off the sleep that wished to take over him. A few years later and she still continues to find this habit of his adorable.

When Silver finally covered the both of them with the umbrella as he stood beside her, he asked:

"You seem to enjoy doing so despite the weather conditions," he sighed, "You wouldn't mind sharing a sliver of your thoughts, would you?"

She giggled at his question, "Not really, no. I was just thinking of…" she paused, watching him raise his brow, a silent plea of continuation, "...you. Us."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. How the rain seems to be following us around no matter the time. But I'm not complaining. I've come to adore the rain."

"I thought you already loved it beforehand?"

"I didn't love it per se, I was more so indifferent with it. It was the fact that it felt nice being drowned by every raindrop, plus the steady rhythm of the pitter-patters that I paid it mind. But somehow, you've added an additional value to the weather.

Whenever it's lightly raining, such as right now, I think of you. I think of the time you first caught me outside of Ramshackle completely drenched. How you failed to notice the rain as you napped in the school courtyard. How we've come to a mutual understanding during your graduation. How you proposed on what you thought was a day filled with sunshine. How we're having this conversation right now...need I say more? Memories with you that I deeply cherish were made under this condition. You've become the reason as to why I've come to love the rain so much."

Removing the coat he was wearing, he offered it to the female, who accepted it with delight. Unlike the events of the past though, they didn't immediately leave after that. Instead, they stayed a few more minutes under the comforts of the rain, the umbrella on Silver's hand shielding them both from any more drops from the downpour, and a comfortable silence enveloping them.

Silver kissed the top of her head before pulling her to his side, his arms secured around her shoulder. He could feel his usual drowsiness taking over, but he's doing his hardest to pay it no mind.

"I'm glad then."

-01/03/22

#twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #silver x reader #silver x yuu #silver x mc #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland x mc #f! insert

118 notes · View notes

bigspoonstyles · 4 years

Text

lesson learned

pairing: Harry x OC (unnamed) challenge: @meetmeinfleetwood‘s to lovers fic challenge -> exes to lovers

warnings: the beginnings of maybe smut?

In his near thirty years of life, Harry has admittedly fallen victim to many a fleeting lifestyle phase, and he’s decided the club scene is one he’s tired of. The music is loud, the drinks are weak, and even for a post pandemic world there are far too many people for his liking.

He’s sitting in what once was his usual booth in the corner of The Nice Guy and the ice in his tequila is melting quickly, the crystal tumbler too warm in his hands. Harry’s eyes fall to the far side of the makeshift dance floor once again and he willingly accepts that he could never tire of her.

He’s caught her eye only once but is more than happy to just watch, their last run-in awkward and stale and over a year ago. She’s been quiet the past year, having gone off the grid for most of quarantine citing in one of the few interviews she’d given, her choice to ‘live in the moment’.

And god, he’s missed her.

She, like Harry, would prefer to live without constant public scrutiny, but while they’ve both gone through great lengths to protect their privacy and relationships, he knows being sequestered has been hard on her. He recalls the last time she’d locked away with Harry in his LA home, accessible to only each other and the select few who were allowed through their phones’ Do Not Disturb feature, and his lips tip into a small smile. Their dishes littered his sink for days, her toothbrush leaned against his on his bathroom counter. There was a wet spot that adorned his right shoulder nearly every night after she’d fallen asleep mid-movie, freshly showered. But he knows the sore difference between waking up each morning wrapped around her with his face buried in her hair, and a yearlong forced isolation, very much alone.

He watches as she closes her eyes, arms above her head and face to the ceiling, laughing, dancing around the elite group with which she’d arrived. Judging by the way she moves carelessly through the crowds of people, he knows she’s feeling confident. She feels beautiful. She’s not worried that she’s laughing too loudly or taking up too much space, and he suddenly finds himself grateful for the few people who’ve kept her trust and privacy despite her climb to fame; even if they were the same friends he found quite insufferable to be around.

He downs the last of his drink before Jeff joins the table, phone in hand, answering his final email of the evening. “Ready to head out, man?” he calls out over the music. “Glenne’s home and I’m not inclined to keep her waiting too long.”

Harry grins knowing if he were in Jeff’s shoes, new bride waiting up into the early morning hours, he’d have already called the evening. But there’s no one waiting. So he shakes his head no and returns his gaze to the center floor; to his dismay, she’s gone.

Jeff follows his eye line and hides a smile. “She’s by the bar,” he points to the L shaped marbled counter top to their left.

Harry spots her right away, back to him, pulling her wavy locks into a mock ponytail and away from the back of her neck. Her friends lean in for hugs goodbye and she’s left alone waiting for the bartender to return with a drink – a fruit infused vodka soda no doubt. “I think I’m saying fo’ a bit,” he answers without breaking gaze. “Can call a car.”

Jeff returns attention to his phone, forwarding Harry the number of a newly contracted car service. “Ted’s on call tonight. Just call when you’re ready. They’re all vetted and they’ve signed the privacy agreements.”

Harry throws a quick final glance to the table and booth and makes his way to the bar with his empty glass.

He arrives just as the bartender slides her drink across the counter, adorned with a skewer of colorful fruit and a fuchsia blossom garnish. She accepts with a smile and her eyes close in appreciation as she sips from the side of the glass. Harry bites the inside of his cheek to stop from remarking when the bartender lingers longer than he deems acceptable. With a palm to the warm, exposed skin of her lower back, he gets his point across and the man disappears to the back with an armful of nearly empty liquor bottles.

She turns slowly and tilts her head as she faces him, clearly unsurprised by the hand lingering at her side or the man attached to it. “Hey,” she offers quietly with a half-smile. “Wondered how long it’d take you.”

Her cheeks are tinged pink and expression glassy, and he pulls out a chair gesturing for her to sit. She has rarely over-indulged in alcohol publicly for obvious reasons, but he’s always found it endearing when she’s had just one too many. He liked her happy and carefree. And honest.

“Left alone, eh?” his head bobs toward the front entrance.

“Yeah,” she sighs, sagging slightly into the seat. “They’re headed downtown,” her thumb juts toward the Fairfax District, “and I’m staying down by the Marina.” She pulls the dark petals from her garnish distractedly. “Headed back to New York tomorrow. It’s just easier.”

“’t’s a good half hour ride,” Harry glances at his watch. “Leaving soon? Someone comin’ for yeh?”

She smiles into her drink at his concern. He’s genuine, and she gazes up fondly, finding his brows knit together awaiting an answer. “I’ll call a car in a few. Don’t worry about me, H.” She straightens and smooths out the creases in her cotton dress. “I’m sure I can get myself back to the apartment just fine.”

“But can you get up the stairs?” he asks, only half-jokingly. His arms reach easily out to steady her as she loses footing, his left hand returning to the small of her back, his right gently cupped under her elbow. He clears his throat to conceal his smile when she gazes up at him sheepishly. “What time is your flight?”

“Two, I think.” Her answer lacks conviction, eyes narrow in concentration. “Either two or two-thirty.”

“Could come home with me,” he shrugs. “Only a few minutes from here, ‘nd could get yeh back with plenty of time to catch your flight.” He ushers her closer as patrons abandon their stools and head for the exit. When he gazes down at her, she’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Come on,” he urges, hands coming up quickly to her eye level, fingers outstretched to show a hands-off approach. “Can take the couch if you want.”

She laughs airily, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “An empty offer from a man with two guest suites.” She finds it harder to keep balance in her heeled shoes and uses Harry’s left arm to steady herself. “If you could just get me into a car, I’ll be ok.”

Harry’s lips turn into a thin line, and he shakes his head in refusal. “Not shovin’ yeh in a car alone. ‘t’s up to you – my place or yours?”

She looks up at him through heavy lids and a slightly fuzzier mind than when she had embarked on this conversation. A part of her is instantly relieved by his straightened back and hardened features. He’s always been on the right side of overprotective and she knows she’s nothing but safe with him.

But there’s an innate fear that causes her chest to tighten and her eyes dart towards the door. “They can’t see, H,” she whispers, unease seeping through her tone.

He knows that the idea of walking with him through the throng of paparazzi just outside the entrance is enough to cause a breakdown and, even without seeing the panic set in her eyes, he’s already fishing his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “’ll take care of it, pet,” he says slowly.

And she believes him.

Harry slips her through a rarely used back door, his jacket stripped from his back and used to shield her from prying eyes, just in case. He holds the back door of the black SUV open and guides her into the plush seat, relaxing only once fully shielded by the black tinted windows.

She tucks herself into his side, head lolled against his shoulder; his right arm stretches out behind her, hand gripping her would-he head rest. She accepts the water bottle he pushes on her but forgoes drinking from it, afraid the inevitable spill would give away how dizzy she truly feels.

Harry helps their driver navigate the back streets to ensure the fastest way to his place, silently checking on the girl curled into him, knees knocking with each pothole and turn.

“Look pretty tonight,” he murmurs in her direction. “Always liked this dress.” He musses the soft fabric of her skirt between his fingers. His right arm abandons the back seat to fall against her shoulders, pulling her in just close enough that he can smell her. He welcomes the scent, inhaling deeply, but it’s an unsolicited reminder that it’s been long washed from his sheets, and his life, for well over a year.

“I know,” she smiles, eyes still closed. “Took a shot.”

His chest vibrates with deep laughter, “Minx,” he accuses playfully. “Not quite playing fair, eh?”

She can feel his eyes on her, but she’s far too tired to even think about moving. “I’m sorry, H,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. Said we’d call.”

“Both did,” he answers gruffly. “Phone works both ways.”

She smiles dreamily. “I never said congratulations. The Grammys?” She wraps her arm around his waist and nuzzles in a bit closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m so proud of you.”

His cheek rest atop her head, “I know.”

“If I’d called,” she asks into his chest, “would you have answered?”

His mouth falls open in shock. “Hey,” he tilts her head up to meet his gaze. “Of course I’d answer.”

He’s staring down at her in disbelief, and she feels so small, nerves getting the best of her; she’s afraid she’s started a conversation she’s not ready to have. At least - not in the backseat of a foreign SUV, plastered against him, her palms burning to feel his skin through his thin button down.

His lips are slightly parted into a pout and he looks determined to get something out of her, but she chooses instead to let her eyes fall to the two black swallows that peek out from behind his collar. “You can’t kiss me,” she says tiredly. Her head lolls back against him silently cursing herself.

She’s a coward.

“Never said I wanted to, love.” His attention turns to the streetlights through the light-blocked window. His grip on her however, doesn’t falter.

“I wanted you to,” she sighs softly, her face burying back into his side.

But it’s just loud enough to make him feel like a proper dick.

___________________

She wakes up warm, the sun seeping through the thick open slats of the faux wood blinds, and in soft sheets that glide across her bare skin like silk. Her head doesn’t throb as she’d expected, but she imagines it’s because of the aspirin and nearly empty bottle of water she finds on the bedside table. No doubt Harry had coaxed her to take pre-emptive measures before putting her to bed. She can almost hear him softly begging, “For me?”

She takes in the room, her dress neatly hung on the back of the bedroom door, and takes stock of her current state. She’s dressed in a pair of her old boxer shorts, and a long-sleeved henley, both of which she recognizes as garb she’s long ago stolen from Harry. She smiles to herself as she picks at the small wear holes scattered around the checkered flannel fabric; she’d worn these boxers almost nightly for months.

After a full body stretch and check of the time, she begrudgingly abandons the sheets in search of her phone and hopefully a much-needed shower. She finds her phone charging on Harry’s bureau propped up against the small crystal dish that holds his most commonly worn rings. There are too many notifications on her lock screen to worry about, but the most recent one is a text from Harry.

Don’t leave. Getting coffee. Be back soon.

- H

She rolls her eyes at his automatic signature, as if anyone he’s texting doesn’t have him programmed in their phone; she leaves the myriad of other messages unread. Her flight doesn’t board for hours, so she justifies taking advantage of Harry’s water pressure would be time well spent.

There’s a small pile of folded clothes on the bathroom sink counter, the shirt Harry’s, but the shorts hers. Clean towels are hung by the shower head.

His shower is as amazing as she remembers, the hot water beating out kinks in her neck that she swears have been there for months. His facewash and hair products are readily available for use at the corner of the tub basin and she revels in the smell. Everything he owns is luxurious, down to the lather of his shampoo. She had always been grateful that when her time was split between the east and west coasts she’d never worried about traveling with self-care products.

In truth, she’d never felt more cared for than when she was with Harry.

She hears the front door close and the faint beep of the perimeter alarm arm from the en suite, so she dries off and dresses quickly, joining him in the kitchen still squeezing her hair dry with a fluffy white towel. When she sees him dressed casually, bustling barefoot around the kitchen island with iced coffee and a to-go bag with what she assumes carries breakfast options, her breath hitches. His hair is still damp from a shower and a stubborn curl is threatening to spill into his face.

“Thank you,” she says reading the printed tag on her cup; the milk and sweetener options are right down to a t. She tosses her wet towel on the back of a tall kitchen chair, opting to hoist herself onto the bare counter space to the right of the sink, blessed coffee in hand.

“Sleep ok?”, he asks, moving to wash his hands.

“Very,” she sighs, arching her back in search of that desired pop to relieve her lower back tension. “Miss that bed.” Her eyes widen the second the words leave her mouth, and she nearly chokes. “Sorry,” she mumbles, completely flush with embarrassment.

Harry shrugs it off with a chuckle, “It’s a good bed. Cost a small fortune.”

“Is that breakfast?” she asks, desperate for a subject change. “I’m starving. I completely skipped dinner,” she admits.

“It is,” he confirms. “Guess that explains a bit about last night then?”

“Too much pregaming and not enough carbs,” she groans. Her eyes follow his hands as he dries them on a white dish towel, paying close attention to the rings adorning his fingers. “Will I ever learn?” she feigns exasperation.

“And who’s gonna drag you home from your late nights back in New York, hmm?”

She breaks her gaze to roll her eyes, “I’ll be fine, H.” She takes to absently chewing her straw as he rests a hip against the counter to her left. “Been on my own for bit.”

He sees her face fall at the mention of her sole failed relationship since Harry. “I heard,” he discloses. “’M sorry. What happened?”

Her eyes narrow and she tries scrutinizing his motives, but she knows he’s never been insincere. “Didn’t want the same things, I guess,” she shrugs. “You know, marriage, kids. Important things.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, bitter, knowing he’d quite literally run to the altar if she’d let him. “He’s an idiot. He’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Her eyes fly up to his, mouth slightly open. “Wait no,” she denies. “Not him. Me – I didn’t want,” she pauses in search for the right words, but fails on an awkward huff. “I didn’t want those things.”

“Since when?” he challenges. “I distinctly remember agreeing to a ‘no bolo tie’ rule not that long ago.” He’s teasing, but she’s white knuckling the counter’s edge and completely ready to run. He moves to block her exit, unwilling to let her take an easy out, stance wide and demanding.

His head dips low enough to catch her eye and she looks defeated. “With him, I guess,” she whispers. “Didn’t want those things with him.”

Harry exhales loudly, but when she peers up at him his face is soft and searching. “What’s the plan in New York? Back to work?”

“No plans,” she concedes. Her legs uncross, a once silent invitation for Harry to join her, and she adjusts herself to sit straighter. Taller. “I’ve got a dinner planned next Wednesday with management. Just in time to get reamed for whatever pictures surface from last night, I’m sure.”

“No paps,” Harry shakes his head with confidence. “Called Jeff. Made sure there’s nothing comin’ down the line. ‘S all good.”

She stares at him with admiration, overwhelmed by the gesture. She slowly extends her hands, palms up, in a token of appreciation. He eagerly accepts, taking a single stride into her cautious embrace; she’d always fallen short with verbal expression, but Harry had never been one to deny her physical touch. “Thank you,” she smiles softly, her hands slowly inching up the tanned skin of his forearms, her glossy, pale nails stopping just short of his tattoos. “I think I should get going, though,” she stammers. “Still have to pack up my stuff, and my stuff is everywhere.” She nervously runs her fingers through her damp locks and clicks her tongue as she works out a knot. “I’ll take a bagel for the road though,” she winks.

“Could stay,” he offers lowly. Harry watches as her breathing goes shallow and he tenses. If she denies him now, it just might kill him. “Said you hadn’t any real plans, so, could stay…if you wanted.”

She’s acutely aware that his face is inching closer to hers, and she blinks slowly as his hands grip the counter on either side of her, taking the final step between her parted knees. “You want me to stay?” she asks quietly.

“Not really a fair question,” he counters. “Didn’t exactly want you to leave in the first place, now did I?”

She lets her gaze follow her hands to his chest with a sigh. “That’s not fair, H,” she argues gently. “It wasn’t working. It was too much.”

“Could be different now. Could be better.”

“You think?” she questions, her bottom lip tucked behind her front teeth. “How?”

“Been talking to Cass, have loads of ideas,” he beams proudly. His therapist had been his saving grace during the pandemic; he’d mostly done phone meetings with her, but they’d had a limited number of in person meets.

“You still talk to Cassie?”

“Not as much since things have gone back to normal, but I make time to call her a few times a month.” Harry had always been open about his self-help regimens, therapy included. “Like that wet towel on my chair,” he shrugs his shoulders coolly, “no big deal. Leave it there. See if I care.”

“Oh yeah? You like that?” she laughs as he nods excitedly. “If you like that, you should go look at the bed I didn’t make.” She throws her head back in laughter, wincing only slightly when it collides with the wooden cabinet door behind her.

Harry’s hand flies up to soothe the sting at her crown, callused fingers massaging away any hurt. “Could stay,” he repeats, fingers slowing. His other hand tucks the stray hair behind her ear and his fingers linger on the delicate skin above her collarbone. “Could stay with me.”

Every part of her is waiting to be kissed, her eyes closing slowly, and Harry drops his mouth to hers with the lightest of kisses. She accepts with a smile, making no moves to deepen it, but her hands reach up to clasp together at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the baby curls he’s been growing out for months. He drops a final light peck to the corner of her mouth before slowly moving downwards, her head falling back further into his hand allowing him ample access to kiss the soft skin on the column of her throat.

She mewls and it encourages him further, and he finds the soft spot below her ear where he can feel her pulse quicken against his lips. “Shut up,” she gasps when he smiles against her, his day old stubble the dead giveaway.

When he kisses her again, she lets him into her mouth on a hum, but Harry pulls away suddenly with a quirked brow and a cheeky grin. “Did you use my toothbrush?”

She opens her mouth to counter, but just buries her face in her hands in embarrassment. “My teeth were filmy!” she whines.

He’s laughing wholeheartedly at her, utterly happy at her perceived level of comfort in his home. “What’s mine is yours, love,” he pulls at her hands to expose her and reattach his lips to her. He moves to pull her closer to the counter’s edge and bring her body flush with his before his hands travel to the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Keep going,” she pleads breathily.

Harry groans as he pushes the loose fabric of her shorts aside and finds the warmth awaiting his fingers. “Always good for me,” he breathes out, head falling to her shoulder. “Too good for me.”

“Please.” She bucks closer to him, her body aching for release.

“So you’ll stay,” he decides. He’s leaving open mouthed, wet kisses down her throat in between words, his fingers slick with her, curling easily into her core in the way he knows drives her crazy. “You’ll stay. Can take your drawer back if you like,” he bargains. “If you’re nice t’ me, might even get you your own toothbrush.”

Her hands tighten and grab at his curls as he continues his assault on her surely bruising skin. “If you didn’t have two fingers inside of me right now,” she stutters, “I’d kick you in the shins.” Her words are void of any real threat and he can feel her fighting for control, her legs tightening around his hips, breath ragged in his ear.

Harry withdraws his touch, smiling when she complains at the loss of contact. He straightens her shorts and extends a hand to help her off down from her perch. “Time to learn how to make a proper bed, pet.”

She jumps down on a huff and walks straight by him down the hall leaving Harry’s mouth agape. “I think,” she muses playfully, “we should start right at the very beginning, right? Gotta strip the sheets off and start from scratch?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he follows like a puppy at her heels. “Whatever you say.”

__________________

A/N: welcome to my initial venture in writing for this fandom. I haven’t written fiction in literal years, so this one was a feat. But I had fun, so thank you Sadie for the challenge! I made the deadline with literal seconds to spare. :)

-MK

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #to lovers fic challenge #my writing #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

305 notes · View notes

juminly · 4 years

Text

For The Love of An Angel

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x Reader.

Rating: Explicit. Summary: When you had spent way too much time with another man, Arthur found himself in a predicament, unable to contain his jealousy... and his possessiveness inevitably manifested. Song Inspiration: Call Out My Name [Acoustic Jazz Remix] –♥– You were not given the chance to breathe nor to think. There was something unusual about your lover and almost unhinged, a fierce glow in his sapphires that intensified the moment you walked into the dining room after coming back from your small outing with Comte de Saint Germain. No… it was not then. It was when you were by his side, snuggled tight in his embrace. Arthur trusted you wholeheartedly, you having already informed him what you were up to, helping Comte with a ball that he was planning to hold in the mansion in less than a month's time. Wanting a female's opinion and touch in the preparations, to add a little more 'modernity' to the banquet that he had in mind, Comte decided to consult you in the matter. You had graciously accepted to aid him in his quest, even though you didn't have much experience with these excessively lavish balls, it not being customary to the 21st century and such. Still, this was a great opportunity for you to do something that was outside of your own routine and even Arthur had encouraged you to dive deep into the matter, knowing that it would give you even more of an idea about all the mindless extravagance that the Parisian aristocracy were so preoccupied with. A futile preoccupation in Arthur’s ‘humble’ opinion. The quirk of your lips when you met your lover's gaze was involuntary, missing his excruciatingly handsome face, a slight tilt of his head, an implicit gesture to the empty seat by his side that was meant for you while his pink lips playfully hooked into a grin, exposing pearly whites along with his fangs. Without even speaking, you could hear his voice in your head saying "At last", his voice warm and silky smooth as chocolate melting on your tongue, manifesting the peace and comfort he felt with you finally returning home. Settling on the chair right next to him, instead of greeting you as usual with a kiss, sometimes much deeper than your custom ‘greeting’ kiss, he leaned in and kissed you right under your collarbone and ran the tip of his nose along the column of your neck, inhaling your exquisite scent while sweet shivers spread across your skin. You smelled like him, you smelled like another man and… Arthur was appalled. He was indeed unhinged and maybe even furious over the scrambled thoughts rushing through his mind, his desire driven by a primal need to mark you and claim you before every single threat that sat on that same table. Friend or foe. It didn’t matter.

Arthur couldn’t recall what was said, his lips simply moving of their own volition, maintaining a semblance of decorum while responding to whoever had attempted to converse with him, a considerable feat for a man in his state. The walk to your room was a silent one yet you hadn't read into it, the familiar click of his oxfords against the mansion floor, his gloved fingers interlaced with yours as his thumb caressed your palm, over and over again, a motion that was a natural habit for you. Yet, the moment you set foot into your shared bedroom, it was like all the air around you. Arthur pulled you into his embrace, his arms finding home around your waist, your body crushed against his as he pinned your back to the door. A loud click resounding in your room, a tell-tale that your lover locked the door. And now that you were both behind closed doors, not that it ever mattered before, the leather covering his hands glided over your figure, swiftly stripping you out of your clothing, ridding you of every barrier that dared come in his way. Sometimes you wondered how he did it so effortlessly, how he had you melt at the faintest touch and fall even harder for him when he expressed how he truly felt. The kiss that had you locked together was unbreakable, his tongue caressing yours with urgent passion, there was absolutely no vigilance or thought to any action he was taking. After aiding you in your feat, he undressed as quickly as he could, moving his fingers over his garments instinctively, his mind filled with only thoughts of you. He finally broke the kiss, both of your chests heaving harshly as you had stolen each other’s breath, the cool breeze from the open window cold against your heated bodies. Arthur’s lips quirked up impishly, his hands cupped your breasts and brushed his thumbs over the hardened beads, your eyes looking up to meet clear dark blue. “Arthur... It's cold.” From a woman as coquettish as you were, that was an excuse that you both knew to be untrue. The cause for your trembling were many but the main reason stood before you, his handsome visage drawing closer to you until he was but a mere breath away, a breath that you could barely take. “It won't be long until I have you all warm for me, love. Patience.” He leaned down to press his lips on the junction of your neck and shoulder, your breasts fondled so gently, his hands moving with minitious precision, eliciting one reaction after another. As if your body was but an instrument he controlled at his will, shivers were running up and down your spine, your lips trembling slightly as your nipples were twisted between his fingers. “They call out to me so willingly, love. So audacious in their plea and I am but a helpless man, in no state to resist your siren’s call, my angel.” “Arthur… You know I always want you, love.” You panted, your heartbeat quickening with every word he uttered as you listened with bated breath, each syllable pulling on your heartstrings while your lover commenced his ritual. His hands meandered away from your supple breasts, pinching your peaking nipples one last time, releasing them from his hold, revelling in the shivering laugh that passed through your lips with a mischievous chuckle. Arthur allowed his hands to smooth over the soft skin of your back, beckoning your hips forward with a gentle squeeze of your behind before pushing the back of your thighs and hoisting up in his arms, your legs wrapping so perfectly around him. “You are driving this old chap absolutely and undoubtedly mad and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He couldn't help but let his hands wander over your tender flesh, his fingers digging into your thighs, one of the most favourite parts of your body that he always sought, dreamt and countlessly indulged in. “May God be my witness…” he breathed warmly against your neck, his lips titillating as they brushed softly against your sensitive skin. “I shall do whatever I can, my angel. I promise you that.” “What is it that you’re promising exactly, handsome?” You wondered out loud, the teasing edge to your voice hadn’t gone unnoticed either. “Does my angel really wish to know the answer to that?” Not even the anger that he felt could stop him from being his playful self with you, yet, your usual banter was not enough to rid him of the possessiveness that he felt. “Arthur... Don’t answer my question with another. You know what happens when you do that.” Your tone, mocking a sternness that your countenance didn’t express, elicited a warm chuckle from your lover, a sound that soothed your heart. “I surrender, haha. It is simple, love. I do not appreciate other men taking advantage of your kindness, love. You are much too desirable yet you are blind as to how seductive you can be, having me irrevocably entranced by your wiles.” Grazing the tip of his fangs on your neck as he walked to sit down on the divan with you straddling him, he couldn’t help but think to himself: ‘I want her to understand, I want her to know, I don’t want to be unreasonable but this is getting out of control’. The vampire in him only raged louder inside of him, provoking his desire to get this specific point across, to stake his claim and make your body, heart and mind his, over and over again. “I am not willing to share with another, my angel. You are mine, today and forevermore.” Those words, a promise of an eternity together that he chanted like a prayer every time he spoke to you. Forever and always. Forever and always echoed in your mind, in your heart and in your soul. Biting into your neck only for a split second, Arthur pulled away and watched as the toxins coursed through you, the climax caused by the bite raking through your body as you rutted your wet folds against his hard abdomen, only increasing the stimulation to his needy cock twitching inside his trousers, begging for you. But now, he couldn’t even give two shits about that, Arthur was far too enrapt in giving you pleasure, yearning to hear his name fall from your lips… to be the only name that you prayed upon while he drove you to the precipice of bliss. He watched as blood trickled out of the small wound, the tip of his tongue lazily lapping up the trail moving down your chest and even reaching your abdomen, decorating your flesh with pink blemishes that would soon turn to dusk. Watching your face contorted and your lips swollen and slick from his kisses, Arthur’s eyes locked on yours and he spoke in a solemn tone, an edge of something akin to anger to it. “Let me love you…” Yet, it was only a manifestation of his possessiveness, nothing but your love, your answer to his plea could possibly assuage the fire burning in his heart. “Let me love… all of you.” Your response was a silent one but one that he still desperately needed. With a chaste kiss on his cheek, Arthur could unleash what was buried inside. Placing his elbows right under your knees, Arthur secured your legs in his arms, laying back down and pulled your body closer to his face, your core sliding over his chest until you pushed down on your knees, finding yourself hovering right over his handsome face. “Ravishing…” Arthur murmured softly, finally smiling as he looked up at you. Your curls tumbling down your chest, framing your mounds as blood snaked down your curves, painting a roadmap over the meadows of your soft skin. Tears already forming in your eyes, a shimmering glaze over them, making them look even more mesmerizing than they already were. If that were even possible. Laying prickly kisses your inner thighs, Arthur smiled ravenously every time you hissed, the dichotomy between the softness of his lips and the sharpness of his fangs enticing you beyond compare, the heightening ache between your legs a testament to your body’s greed for your lover. That is what he wanted. That is what he needed. He chuckled boyishly as he saw you smile at him, clearly enjoying the attention he was giving you and he sighed dreamily, at the waking dream that was you. “This is what it’s like to have Heaven smile down at me.” You couldn’t help but let a giggle of your own escape, all these mentions of Heaven and angel were a bit ironic considering that you were the complete opposite of what one would call an angel. Yet, your lover had his reasons. Arthur vowed to himself that he would worship every inch of you whether it was with words or his body, pay what is due for the blessing that the heavens have bestowed upon him, being entrapped between the soft thighs of an angel... his angel. No matter how pure his thoughts may seem, everything about your lover radiated pure, unbridled lust and... sin. You were his Aphrodite, yet in his eyes, even she did not hold a candle to you. You could feel Eros in his tantalizing touch, unwinding every inch of your being with Ludus playing at the corner of his smirked lips, watching him watch you lose yourself in the glint of Mania you saw in his eyes. This was your lover, this was the man that was wholeheartedly prepared to become a better man, for himself and for you. Ultimately, you knew that the flames of Agape burned fiercely in his heart, making him completely and utterly yours, forever and always. This time, he bit you once again, right next to your aching need, shocking your body so suddenly, crying out his name as the rush made your hips snap to meet Arthur's mouth. He was more than ready to oblige, languidly lapping at the wound and opening your fold with the tip of his tongue, the mix of his two favourite flavours making him groan loud, pushing your hips down onto his face as his own instinctively rocked into the air, seeking some sort of respite but it was all in vain. The bulging tent in Arthur’s trousers was not the only sign that revealed the state he was in. Your lover’s raspy moans echoed in your shared room, joining your breathless cries as the wet noises grew even louder with the fervency of Arthur’s hunger to completely devour you. “Tell me what you want, my angel. Call out to me… tell me exactly what it is you need.” “Arthur... love... You… Ahhh pleaseee...” A broken moan ripping from your throat, your body moving on its own, your hips rutting against Arthur’s expectant tongue, the aftershocks of the bite still coursing through your veins as you keened for a different kind of pleasure from your lover. Your moans grew even louder, Arthur flattening his tongue over your sensitive nub, pressing against it as your core glided over it, shivers raking through you as he had you use him as you pleased. Long fingers conspired to unravel you, delicate just as they were conniving in their quest to still you while your lover had you teetering on the brink of losing your sanity. He sucked fiercely on your clit, not paying mind to the quivers that have befallen you. Your back arched needily as you called out your lover's name, a prayer that only he could answer. The waves of pleasure overtook you, having your entire body tremble and gripping the arm of the divan with all your might, forming indentations in the fabric from the sheer force of your pleasure. Arthur plunged his tongue inside of you, your walls contracting wildly against his wet muscle as he continued to thrust it in and out of you, guiding your hips with his hands while you rode his mouth, your juices coating it along with his lips, driving you further to the pinnacle of your release. Collapsing forward onto the divan, you rested your head on its arm while trying to catch your breath. You could still feel your vision a bit blurred, your core still pulsing from your previous orgasms… and you knew Arthur wouldn’t just stop there. When did he ever end the night without having you weeping for him? Either to continue or to stop. “Angel... I fear for you.” The solemnity in Arthur’s tone breaking the silence. "Hah... why do you say that, baby?" You couldn’t help but inquire, especially when his usual cheery tone was now dark, lustful and almost… threatening. It wasn’t like you didn’t know exactly what he meant. Still, you wanted him to say it, to express himself and not keep anything locked inside his heart. He scoffed, not at you, but at himself, at how such a pet name made him feel so gleeful despite his urgent need to mark you, to dominate you. It was a great contradiction to how furiously crazed he felt but it was no surprise. You kept him grounded, sane… composed. One of the many reasons why you were his angel. Noticing that some of your blood was about to drop onto his chest, he pushed your hips up, his large hands gripping your behind tight and firm while he lapped up the blood before it would trickle down, teasing your folds with a wide lick over them, humming as the taste of your release and your blood seeped into his mouth, his voice dripping with silver as he praised your taste with a salacious moan of his own. “Hmm... You will not be able to handle what I have planned for you, love. But don’t try and stop me. I don’t plan on it.” Securing you in his hold, he flipped you on your back with his body hovering above yours. It gave you a moment to cast an appreciative gaze over Arthur’s well-defined chest, let your hands wander and trace over sharp edges of his musculature, just the perfect balance of lean and masculine. Your eyes immediately traveled to where his long fingers were working on that wretched belt of his so you could finally get what you needed… and give him what he needed. “And I had absolutely no intention to do so.” Your seductive grin was met with one of his own, a flash of pink appearing as he licked his lips that were glossed with traces of you. And God only knew… you weren’t sure if you would ever be prepared for anything this man had to give you, especially with you being so stupidly and completely in love with him. And him with you. And thus, your sleepless night, where you shed, blood, sweat and tears had begun. –♥– Tagging @shhhlikeme @sweetlittlemouse @delicateikemenmemes@kisara-16 (Sorry if I forgot anyone else who wanted to be tagged!) Please feel free to leave some love in the comments or some feedback!💜 You can also check out my Masterlist !

#ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire arthur conan doyle #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp smut #ikemen vampire arthur smut #arthur conan doyle

208 notes · View notes

maybe-your-left · 4 years

Text

Window Panes - Forever

We made it!

Here is the Window Panes Masterlist and my Masterlist for all my other fics.

Summary: A cool breeze nipped at your exposed legs, causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. You were curled into your comforter, comfy and safe, your cheek pressed against your pillow. Lips pursed and a small amount of drool seeping into the fabric. A creak came from the corner of your room, slightly rousing you from your slumber. You glanced around, your drooping eyelids barely taking in the scene. In your sleep riddled state, you didn't see him, his large figure stalking towards you. The whites of his eyes shining in the moonlight, it wasn't until you felt a palm slide up your side. Following the natural contours of your body, the warmth emanating from it lulling you to sleep once again. A dip in the mattress, the springs creaking under the weight.

Hot breath fanned over your neck, soft lips pressing onto the back of your ear. A deep hum filling your senses, you sighed. Cuddling back into the figure, wanting to get closer to the warm entity. A low chuckle sounded behind you, and then...

Nothing.

TW/CW: This is dark shit, like explicitly horrible shit happens in this. However, I enjoy reading dark fics, and I super loved Stalker Clyde by @clumsycopy & was inspired by the oneshot EOS by @thetorturerwrites and I wanted to write something with the sameish tone for Halloween. NSFW, Violence, Murder, Non-con elements, Domestic Violence, Surgery, Explicit sex, oral sex, anal sex, sex toys, miscarriage, mental manipulation, stockholm syndrome, waterboarding, forced feeding, Animal abuse (just a brief mention, I do not go into any detail).

“Is it-Are we rolling?”

“Yeah, we’re rolling.”

“Okay, great,” a sigh of relief.

You shifted in your chair, smoothing back your hair and itching the microphone that was attached to your shirt collar. Crossing and recrossing your legs, you should’ve worn pants, a skirt was a stupid idea with these boots. You gave a weak smile to the woman across from you, her white teeth flashing the cameras all around the sound stage.

“Okay,” she looked into the lens, “We are here tonight with one of the victims of the famous 2020 murder trial from New York. She went through over five years of repeated abuse at the hands of her kidnapper, all while he was out killing people around the city.” She turned to you, nodding her head as a show for you to react to the TV. “It’s so nice to have you here, Miss (Y/N).”

You cleared your throat, shifting once more, “Thank you, it’s a pleasure to be here.”

“How are you doing?”

You bit back a scoff, what a stupid thing to ask. After that introduction, what was she expecting you to say, ‘oh I’m fucking fantastic, I’ve been running since the day he was sent to prison and going through intense psycho-therapy to rid myself of Stockholm syndrome.’.

“I’m great,” you faked a smile, “Always nice to visit New York again.”

“I’m sure,” she smiled once more, all you could think about were the wrinkles on her face, the crows feet on the corner of her eyes. She must get botox for working at a news station, there’s no way her skin is on with just natural confidence.

“When was the last time you visited?”

You had to stop yourself from blurting out an answer, knowing that this would be on national television. Which you knew federal prisons watched, you wouldn’t want to give away any of your whereabouts since the incident. “Uh-it’s been a few years, I haven’t had much reason to be back. My life has shifted to another part of the world.”

“That’s fantastic! So you’ve been doing well for yourself the past six years?”

“Yeah,” you gave a genuine smile, “It’s been tough, no off days really. Trying to gain some normalcy from it all, but I’ve done well. I live relatively fearless, of everything.”

“We have you here because of a break in your case, as I’m sure you know.”

You gave a grim nod.

It’s all anyone wanted to talk about since the story flashed on the news last week. Leaving your once quiet home filled with reporters. You weren’t even home when it happened, out getting groceries, gripping your sons’ hands firmly as you walked the aisles. Letting him pick out some snacks for his lunchbox, like any mother would, when your phone blew up.

Dozens of messages, calls, articles, you name it.

All with his face plastered on it.

Convicted murderer and kidnapper, Kylo Ren, has requested the death penalty. After being found attempting to escape federal prison for the 6th time in the past five years. The convict claims that he ‘would rather die than live another day rotting in his cell’. Dropping all the appeals cases that his lawyers have been pushing since his initial sentencing.

The former New York state governor was on trial for murderering and disemboweling 9 separate victims and kidnapping an 18-year-old girl. He kept her in his basement as his sex slave for close to 3 years before he married her, the young girl escaping into the streets when she was just 22 years old. Covered from head to toe in gashes, blood, and bruises. Claiming that her husband had beaten her within an inch of her life.

The subsequent trial lasted three months after his arrest. Leading to him being convicted of first-degree murder, rape, and domestic assault. He was sentenced to life in prison, his then-wife was placed under medical care for an undetermined time.

Mr. Ren has tried to get his charges appealed since the initial sentencing, claiming that his wife was mentally insane and an unfit witness. Along with other claims that include bribing members of the jury to change their verdicts. The whereabouts of Mr. Ren’s ex-wife is unknown, but he claims that he has kept tabs on her even from ‘the inside’.

“Your kidnapper is being put on death row, which isn’t allowed in the state of New York. Which means he is being transferred over state lines to another prison. However, it hasn’t been revealed where he is being brought because of people interfering with the swap. How do you feel about that?”

You chewed your cheek, thinking for a moment. There was no way he did this willingly, Ren was never someone to take the easy way out. The last time you heard from him was three years ago, on your son’s birthday.

Receiving a call from the prison, the only one you had gotten since the sentencing.

You remember picking up the phone, throat going dry as you whispered that you accepted the charges. Waiting for the operator to connect you to him, after three long years without his voice.

“Hello, love.”

“What,” you whispered, stepping away from the living room of screaming toddlers. Your boyfriend gave you a weird look when your face went white as a ghost. “What do you want, Ren?”

“How are you? Doing well I hope?”

You huffed, moving into your kitchen and ripping a bottle of wine out of the fridge. Taking a drink as you snarled, “Just tell me what shitty thing you have to say so I can go back to my family.”

“Oh, yes. Your family.” he sighed, “And what a sweet family it is… little Luke is how old now? I would think he would be about… three.”

“How do you know about my son?”

“Hm.”

“I don’t think he’s just yours.”

“You shut your mouth, Luke is not your son. I’m going to hang up if you don’t get to the point.”

“He’s growing up so well. Hairs getting longer, but I know you like to keep it short. But he complained about his ears last time-so big.”

You took a deep breath, peaking into the living room. Just in time to see your baby boy, smiling and laughing with his friends. Sitting in your boyfriends’ lap, tearing into presents. His big eyes shone with tears of joy when he ripped through a gift that was his favorite color, red. A squeal so loud it could’ve shattered a window, pulling out a giant plush toy. It was like a penguin-mixed with a little dog, no nose, and some sharp fangs. From one of his favorite TV shows, along with a card and some other little toys.

“Tell me, love,” he chuckled, “Does he like his present? He sounds over the moon about it through the speaker. What I wouldn’t give to be there to run my fingers through his dark hair, look him in the eyes and tell him how much his father loves him.”

You made Luke sleep in bed with you that night, holding his small body flush with yours. Running your fingers through his curls as he snored into your chest, small tracks of drool seeping into your nightshirt. Trembling as you stared at the shadows, dancing across the bedroom from the window. Full moon shining, you could’ve sworn the floor was creaking downstairs, the sound of footsteps climbing towards your room rang in your ears.

You didn’t sleep that night, staring into your son’s face as he woke. Blinking awake to smile as you, his grin reaching across his face. All the way to his ears, large ears, covered by his almost black waves. His long lashes fluttering as he greeted you, “Hi mama.”

His eyes.

Fuck.

One of them your eye color, shining back at you. But the other, it was his.

Deep auburn, shining in the sunlight. Daring you to challenge him, defy him, prove him wrong, anything that would allow him to unleash whatever hell lived under his skin. Flowed through his blood, tainting every corner of your psyche. His child, the one you hid from the world. Moving as far away as you could, claiming it was your boyfriends’ child.

But he knew.

And Luke was starting to notice.

“I feel,” you looked at your hands, forcing them into fists to stop them from shaking, “Just fine, he’s not in my life anymore. Just a small chapter in the book of my story, I hope that he finds peace. Wherever he goes.”

“Peace? For a man that almost killed you multiple times?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I do. I can’t change who he is, or what he’s done. I can just try as hard as I can to move on. And if being on death row will help him find what he’s looking for then I wish him the best of luck.”

She gave you a weird look, shifting in her seat, “Do you think it says anything about his guilt?”

“Guilt?”

“Yes, for the past six years he has never acknowledged that he was guilty. Claiming that the jury and witnesses were bought and that you were mentally unstable-making up half the accusations against him. Do you think that him asking for the death penalty is a way of admitting that he was guilty?”

“Hell no,” you blurted out, eyes going wide at the camera, “Oh-can I swear? I’m so sorry.”

She laughed you off, “You’re fine, we can blur it out. But you sound so confident? Do you think he believes that he’s done nothing wrong?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, “Not to repeat myself but, hell no. That man knows, he’s very conscious of his decisions. Everything has a purpose, everything is done for a reason, Ren doesn’t waste his energy on doing something for no benefit.”

“What would be the benefit of being put on death row?”

You sighed, thinking about Ren, trying to get into his mindset to see how he could angle the sentencing changing. Letting out a sharp laugh as you rubbed your eyes, “Well-you said it earlier.”

She looked at you confused.

“New York doesn’t have the death penalty.”

New York doesn’t have the death penalty.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, looking around the room frantically. “Oh my god-oh my god-oh my GOD-New York doesn’t have the death penalty!” you screamed, shooting out of the chair. Grasping the reporter by her shoulders and shaking her violently, “He knew! He knew I was coming here! He’s gonna take him!”

“Miss (Y/N),” the reporters and security officers yelled. Trying to calm you down, but no, she had said it.

New York doesn’t have the death penalty.

You ran from the TV station, hailing a cab on the packed streets. Frantically calling your boyfriend over and over, he was at home. Back in Nevada… where the death penalty is legal, with Luke. He wouldn’t pick up, the dial tone ringing three times before his voice sang through the speaker.

You wailed in the back of the cab, calling everyone you knew back at home. Asking if they could go get Luke from school, if they had seen him that day. Anything to try prove false the sick feeling in your stomach you knew was true.

Running through airport security as fast as you could, taking the first flight back home. You prayed on the way that your boyfriend had Luke, safe and sound, back at home. Hopefully, curled in his red blanket, snuggling the stuffed animal he got that faithful birthday.

Even though no one knew where it came from.

Luke wouldn’t let you get rid of it.

Claiming his daddy gave it to him.

You just let him have it, he was three there was no way he would let you take his toy away once he had held it to his chest. Kissing it with his full lips, dragging it around the house every fucking day. It was his best friend, from the moment he saw it.

You cried on the plane, realizing too late that the gift was from him.

His real father.

Watching after his miracle child.

When you touched down in Las Vegas, your phone blew up. Your stomach flipping as you read through the messages from your boyfriend, explaining that he let your friend pick Luke up from school. The same friend claimed that your boyfriend had picked him up, Luke’s teacher calling to let you know someone in a black Porsche picked him up.

Whisking away his child from under your nose.

You choked on your tears as you read the message from his teacher, telling you how happy Luke was when he left. How he ran into your new boyfriend's arms, like he had known him for his entire life. She told you that he had introduced himself, Ben was just the most amazing father figure she had ever met. Stowing away Luke, surrounded by toys and chocolate when she waved them off.

After you gathered your luggage you walked towards the cabs out front. Stopping cold in your tracks when you saw a chauffeur holding a sign that said your old name.

Mrs. Ren.

You climbed in, body feeling numb.

Your phone dinged, a picture being sent to you from an unknown number.

A picture of Luke, held tightly against his real father’s chest. Drifting off to sleep in his strong arms that once choked you to death.

See you at home love, we miss you.

-----

I wanted baby luke to say something like ‘my daddy visits me at night’ but it was too on the nose.

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads @millenialcatlady @ohdamnadamm @daydreamsofren @candycanes19 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @millenialcatlady @safarigirlsp @caillea @roanniom @insufferablelust @mrs-zimmerman

#adam driver #adamdriver #kylo ren #kidnapper au #window panes #modern kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #my writing #maybe-your-left #WATCH OUT #daddies here

61 notes · View notes

scarletdawnxx-blog · 3 years

Text

Nightmare Chapter 2

Continuation

When you finally woke back up it was dark out. Blinking you could see you were in the med bay. Sitting up and groaning, you grabbed your head, it was pounding and the bright lights weren’t helping.

“You really overdid it today,” Bruce said from behind you.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you dim the lights please,” you asked the A.I. that ran the complex. Instantly the lights dimmed and your brain thanked you. Bruce handed, what you suspected was something to sooth your throbbing head, along with a glass of water to you. Thanking him and taking it willingly.

“What happened in there today? That man will need a padded room for the rest of his life after you got to him.” Bruce asked, taking the glass from you and looking you over.

“I don’t know. I was able to feed him fear without touching him. That’s never happened before. I was able to magnify it, I felt his mind breaking in my hands.” You said looking down at your hands noticing a little dried blood on them.

“Your powers seem to be growing, but also looks like they are taking more out of you, you will want to work on not only mental but physical stamina. I’m going to suggest increased training time for you as well as meditation. But first, nurse what I can only guess is a massive headache, and get some rest.” Bruce said with a smile.

You nodded and hopped down from the table. Ignoring the hunger pains in your stomach and going straight to your room. Rushing to your bathroom you scrubbed your hands nearly raw trying to get the man’s blood and sweat off. You looked at yourself in the mirror, uncomfortable with what was staring back. You were never the type who wanted to hurt people, you had wanted to become a doctor for crying out loud. But today, you had enjoyed hurting that man, it made you feel powerful, strong. You liked hearing his screams. You turned your shower on, hoping it would clear your mind, sat on your bed in just your towel and fell back, too tired to move. You were woken by screams again. Bucky’s screams. You must not have been asleep long, because your hair was still damp, and your towel was still firmly wrapped around your body. Not bothering to put clothes on you quietly made your way to his room again and calmed his mind. This time was easier and didn’t take as much out of you. Your abilities were certainly growing.

In the weeks that followed you took Bruce’s advice and increased your physical and mental training. Seeing how far you could push your mind, body, and abilities. You no longer needed to touch someone to use your powers. Some you needed to at least be able to see to affect them, except Bucky now. You didn’t even need to be in the same room as him to quiet the nightmares. They were barely able to begin before you quieted them. Like an invisible thread held the two of you together now. His attitude had been changing. Like a weight was being lifted off of him. He smiled more, laughed more, joined the group as a whole more often. More and more you could feel all the hurt he had endured replaced with something else, a sense of calm and belonging. Natasha was the only one who knew the change in Bucky was your doing. That was until one night Steve caught you sitting outside of Bucky’s room. A Blanket draped across your lap, your nose buried in a paper about something called the X-gene. Wondering if it could be the key to understanding your abilities.

“What are you reading?” He asked, sitting down next to you, leaning against the wall.

“An interesting paper that could help explain why I am, the way I am,” you said, setting it down in your lap. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

“Why are you sitting outside of Bucky’s room, looking like it's where you plan to sleep?” He asked back. You stared at him, not really sure what to say, looking down at your hands, almost feeling ashamed that you had been caught doing something wrong. “Does it have anything to do with the fact Bucky’s nightmares have almost stopped and I have been seeing my best friend come back? With what happened with the Hydra agent last month? The bruises on your neck?” You looked up at him shocked. How did he know about the bruises? Had Nat told him? “We saw them when you passed out. Bucky had caught you before you hit the ground and carried you to the med bay. We saw them as Bruce was looking you over. He knew you had been in his room, he knew he must have done it.” Steve explained.

“His screams had woken me, he didn’t know what he was doing, I didn’t want the team finding out, thinking he was crazy and a danger,” you offered.

“How many nights have you sat out here quietly taking care of him?” his eyes looked sad, like he had failed in some way.

“Not as often as when he first arrived.” You looked back down at your hands in your lap “I think I might be able to help him though, to end the nightmares once and for all. To remove what Hydra did.” You confessed. “I’ve been reading and developing my abilities. I think I could remove the programming.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to give him false hope?” Steve asked, searching your eyes.

“I want to at least try and help him. Steve the screams, what he feels all the time, it's overwhelming, like drowning all the time.” You closed your eyes, taking a steadying breath.

“You are a good person Y/N, even if your abilities scare me a little sometimes,” he joked, nudging you with his shoulder. “When do you think you would be ready to try?”

“Soon, do you think he will let me? I’ll have to take a walk around his mind, every thought, every memory, every emotion he has. I’ll know it and feel it all.” You asked.

“I don’t know, but we have to at least try.”

You both sat in silence for a little while longer before Steve bid you good night and headed back to his room. Bucky was deep in peaceful sleep, so you made your way back to your own bed. Would he let you help him?

Even without the invisible tether that you felt with him always, you two had grown close over the last month. He pushed you harder than anyone ever had in training. You were grateful to him for it. A friendship was blooming and he was more at ease every day, yet the nightmares always returned, and the constant threat of Hydra always lingered. As long as what they had done to him remained, he would always be at risk and you swore that he would never fall into their hands again and you would protect him at all cost.

Your powers had been steadily growing since the incident with the Hydra agent. You could now walk through someone’s mind like you were watching a movie. Nat had volunteered to let you practice on her, the first few times were difficult. She had lived so many lives through her spying it was hard to see what was true or not, but soon you could flush it all out and even learned how to plant false memories and change the emotions attached to others. You could even leave suggestions for future behavior. Essentially brainwashing them to do whatever you wanted. The first time it happened it made you sick. You erased it from Nat’s mind and felt like you had betrayed her, but if that information got out, that you could mind control people now, bend their minds to your will, there was no telling how people would weaponize that. You didn’t even trust Tony and Steve with that info. God forbid Nick Fury ever learn about it. You saw what being someone’s weapon did to a person and you would not let that happen to yourself.

A few months after that first night Steve caught you outside Bucky’s room he sought you out again, asking if you were ready to approach Bucky with your plan. The Hydra attacks had become more frequent and the last lead you had all those months ago you had unfortunately turned to mush and he was no use in figuring out their plans. He had been secretly sent to a mental facility and you had locked yourself away for a week after hearing the news. You wished you had never received this power, or learned how to use it. It was Bucky who finally pulled you out of the slump. Convinced you that if you didn’t learn to control it and accept it, it would eat away until there was nothing left of you.

“What if I make it worse, or I ruin his mind completely?” you worried to Steve.

“We have to at least try. I hate to say it but as long as his mind is susceptible to Hydra’s influence, he is a liability and in danger and I can’t lose him again.” Steve said, rubbing his hand along his face.

“Lose who?” you both turned and saw Bucky leaning in the open-door frame, arms and legs crossed, looking oh so casual.

“Hey Buck, what are you up to?” Steve asked, giving his friend a smile and hoping he hadn’t heard the conversation.

“Was just passing by,” he said with a shrug.

“Well since you are here there is something Y/N and I would like to talk to you about.” Bucky’s eyes flicked from Steve to you, and you wished the bed would swallow you whole.

“Sounds serious,” Bucky said with a tone that was trying to keep the mood light.

“Well as you know, Y/N powers have been growing, and we think her powers could help reverse what Hydra did to you.” Steve said hoping Bucky would agree without a fight.

“No.” he stated simply

“No?” Steve asked. “Buck we have a chance to get that crap out of your head and you say no?” he was getting angry.

“No, I’m not gonna let Y/N walk around my brain, she’s been through enough, I’m not going to expose her to the crazy that is in there,” He motioned to his head getting more heated. He knew she had been using her powers on him to quite the nightmares, he hoped that she hadn’t gone further than that, trusted her that she hadn’t gone further than that.

“That is shit Buck and you know it,” Steve yelled.

“Hey! Language.” You reprimanded him. “You two will not engage in a screaming match in my room.” You stood and placed yourself between the two super soldiers who were nearly chest to chest at this point. “James, I really think I could help you, I want to help you,” you said, turning to him and he just blinked at you. No one called him James, not in a long time, not even you. Always calling him Barnes or Sarge.

“You can’t know that for sure, I do want to be rid of this but what if it doesn’t work,” What if you can never look at me the same ever again. He wanted to say.

“Will you at least let me try?” You asked, searching his eyes. Forgetting that Steve was in the room anymore. All you felt and saw was Bucky. You wanted to reach a hand out to his face, to try and soothe and comfort him. Steve, however sensing he was not needed or really wanted, quietly slipped from the room.

“What if I hurt you again,” Bucky asked quietly.

“Hurt me, you have never hurt me.” You stated.

“That’s not true, we have never spoken about it, but I know those bruises on your neck were from me. I know you came into my room that night. What were you thinking, I could have killed you.” He sat down on your bed, shoulders hunched, looking at the ground, not able to meet your gaze.

“You did nothing wrong, you didn’t even know you were doing it, so deep in that nightmare. I couldn’t let you lie there and scream.” You said and stood in front of him. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine, we will find another way, but know that I will never let anyone or anything hurt you, not even the nightmares.” You said quietly.

Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly. This wasn’t the first time he had touched you. He had laid you flat out a few times in the training room, but this was more… intimate. He was so tired, tired of fighting, tired of not being able to trust himself or his mind. You placed a hand on top of his head and stroked his hair. “Please, let me try.” You asked again. “As long as what Hydra did to you is still in there, you will never find peace. I want to help you find peace and calm.”

“You have already,” he whispered. “I know you what you have been doing almost every night,” He admitted to you and you felt the guilt.

“I’m sorry, I know it is an invasion of privacy, I never went further than quieting the nightmares. I would never…violate you like that.” You told him.

“I know, you are a good person Y/N.” Bucky said looking up at you.

“I know that until Hydra is out of my head, I will be hunted and put the team at risk. If you think you can do this, then let’s do it. Just try not to make me any crazier than I already am” he said, giving in. You sighed in relief hugging him back, standing there and not letting go until he did.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #Avengers #reader insert #steve rogers #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #@mjaudrey @impala1967666 #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #captain america #black widow #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

levirens · 3 years

Text

[fanfic] in a different light (one-shot)

Summary: "When he notices the tears cascading down her cheeks, he allows himself to half-believe that they’re tears of joy. When the first words out of her mouth are “we need to talk”, he allows himself to half-hope that she only thinks it’s too soon, that she still has so much to do before she can settle down and start a family with him.

When he finally gets to look into her eyes, he accepts what he knows to be true, because during the small things that kept getting bigger and bigger, he had noticed something else. Had noticed the way she still watched, the way she kept staring, the way she continued to glow and emit the same warmth through her eyes that she used to give him.

He had noticed that those things didn’t disappear; she still glows, just not around him."

LINKS:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30734285 FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13863917/1/in-a-different-light CHAPTER 1

When he thinks about it, he admits that the bad days have been few and far between. Auror training had gone smoothly and he’s survived all of his missions with all of his limbs mostly intact. For the most part, the healers at St. Mungo’s have had no problem healing the injuries he’s accumulated during the past few years, and he’s now a patchwork of scars and regrown bones. Hermione would always come rushing to the hospital, throwing open the curtains and glaring at him, and he would always be able to hear the words pouring out of her pretty little mouth before she’s even had the opportunity to open it.

“Would it kill you to be a little more careful?” would usually mark the end of her tirade, then she would willingly sink into his arms and whisper to him how scared she’d been. He would always tell her he’d be more careful on the next mission, that it won’t happen again, but he knows it’s been quite some time since they both last believed those promises.

The bad days have been few and far between ever since the end of the war, and both he and Hermione have slowly learnt to deal with the demons that have followed them. There would be nights that she would wake up screaming, her hand flying to scratch at the scar on her arm. He would stop her, whisper to her that she wouldn’t want to irritate the still-healing skin, and then he would mould his body around hers to cocoon her from the world. They would both struggle to go back to sleep, their heads filled with images of the past, of loved ones lost and a youth that had slipped through their fingers without them even having the luxury to notice.

The days following those nightmares would be sombre, the both of them tense due to a combination of sleep deprivation and the weight of the words that remain unspoken. She had tried to explain it to him, the nightmares and something called PTSD, and he believes that he had understood it but only on the surface-level. She had agreed with his sentiment and soon enough he had given up on trying to relate to her trauma and just resolved to comfort her with the words he knows and with the limbs he has.

The bad days have been few and far between, and he has come to appreciate the little things. Yesterday, Hermione had made him a full breakfast; the eggs were just the slightest bit overcooked and they both arrived at work 30 minutes late, but he made sure to thank her properly for her effort. Just this morning his coffee had still been warm when he took his last gulp, and Harry has yet to come to him with any complaints regarding his part of their written report.

He’s laughing with Seamus when he sees it. The shock of white-blonde hair is what initially catches his eyes, a colour so unique to the man walking through the doors of their office. He looks every bit the Slytherin git he is, his robes screaming aristocracy and his walk almost the exact replica of his father’s. His pointy chin is held high, hands wisely exposed to be empty of a wand, and his eyes blank as they stare right ahead at the door to Robards’ office.

Seamus makes to stop the blonde just as he makes to walk past them but he’s halted by the glare that Harry throws their way. The blonde continues on his way, nodding at Harry, a gesture that the other man returns much to everyone’s confusion. They watch as Robards opens the door and gestures for the blonde to enter, ignoring the way the office has suddenly become quiet for the very first time in years.

He wastes no time—the moment the door closes he’s advancing on Harry, eyebrows raised and stride undeterred by the look his best mate is giving him. It’s a look he doesn’t like, it’s the look that tells him he won’t appreciate knowing whatever it is he thinks he wants to know.

“What in the blood hell is Draco Malfoy doing here?” he finally voices the question that he knows is running through everyone’s head.

For a while Harry doesn’t respond, just looks at him while slightly shaking his head.

The bad days have been few and far between, but the words that leave Harry’s mouth are enough indication that today would be one of those days.

“He’s been approved for Auror training. Reckon he’d be starting tomorrow.”

It’s one of those things that they can’t seem to agree to disagree about, and he isn’t willing to rest his case. Hermione is curled up on their old couch, the cushions mismatched and repaired but still comfortable. He suspects that she’s only half paying attention to him, her brain focused on the length of parchment paper gripped in her hands.

“I still don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of this, Ron,” she says, momentarily looking up from whatever passage it is she’s reading to give him a pointed look. What she’s pointing out to him he has no clue, so he returns her gaze with a disbelieving one of his own.

“It’s Draco Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake! Have you and Harry both forgotten that he’s a slimy Death Eater?” He struggles to keep his voice in check, knowing how much she hates it when he resolves to shouting. “Who in their right mind would trust him to work in the Ministry, much less as an Auror?”

“Have you forgotten that both Harry and I testified for him in court?” she shoots back.

“I do remember that, actually, but I can’t say I understand why you two did that,” Ron mumbles, looking over her shoulder to read the parchment she’s holding. His eyes catch the words Elves and Rights and he immediately turns away, already knowing what it is that’s she’s working on.

“We’ve been over this, Ronald. Me, Harry, Ginny, even Neville has told you he understands why we did it.” She tosses the parchment paper onto the table in front of her, rising up from the couch and finally facing him. “He was a child. He didn’t even want to be marked. He was lowering his wand, Ron, and he didn’t identify Harry.”

It’s the same thing she’d told him the day she testified for the man. Harry had said something about his mum saving them all, and Ginny had taken Harry’s side because he’s Harry and she’s Ginny. Ron can’t even remember what Neville said to him, but he knows that the latter agreed with the other three.

“Hermione, he’s a bully. He bullied you for years and he called you that foul name! How can you sit there defending him now?”

She rolls her eyes at him and gets up to stalk into the kitchen. The sound of her banging around the room to make coffee grates on his nerves but he keeps his mouth shut, waiting for whatever brilliant excuse she’s going to come up with to defend Malfoy. At first the thought had disturbed him, the reminder that she had been the one adamantly insisting that Malfoy wasn’t a Death Eater even when he was, and now one of the few people he knows who defends the man. Later on, he decided that it was just like any of her other projects; helping the downtrodden and the ones forgotten by society is what she does best.

He can’t always fault her for it. Afterall, her compulsion to help even those who don’t want her help (and those who don’t deserve it) stems from her compassionate nature, the very aspect of her that he had grown fond of over the years. It’s this thought that he holds on to as he watches her walk in with two mugs of steaming tea, the look in her eyes telling him she would have the last say in this argument.

“He may have been a bully, but he’s not evil, Ron. Even you have to admit that.”

He doesn’t reply, only takes the proffered mug and gulps down the scalding tea that has far too much honey and not enough milk.

“Do you reckon it’s his money?”

“No, Seamus,” Harry responds, hand flying over the piece of parchment he’s been writing on. The man had refused to let Ron and Seamus distract him from his frantic writing, interjecting himself into the conversation every now and then but never lifting his head from the paper. “He got into the programme fair and square.”

“And how’d you know that?” Seamus asks, leaning against the cubicle walls with his arms crossed. “You pals with Malfoy now?”

This finally gets Harry to stop writing, turning around in his chair to look at both Seamus and Ron with a loud sigh. “Look, Robards asked me for a second opinion on Malfoy. He showed me the bloke’s credentials and everything checks out. If it weren’t for his name he would have been accepted immediately, no questions asked.”

Ron scoffs and Harry’s eyes turn to him, challenging him to disagree. Earlier that day he and Harry had almost the exact same conversation, and Harry had revealed that Malfoy had received all O’s in his N.E.W.T.s. Ron raises an eyebrow, accepting the challenge by saying, “He may be smart, but his criminal record should have been taken into account.”

Harry only shakes his head and makes a show of returning his attention to the papers. “You two need to come to terms with the fact that one day, one of you might end up becoming his partner.”

Ron tells Harry to sod off and Seamus only laughs, exiting the cubicle to leave the two behind.

“Be honest with me, yeah? What’s the real reason you’re so accepting of this? And don’t even remind me that you testified for him, Hermione already did that last night.”

Harry laughs at this. “I’m not hiding anything from you, Ron. Malfoy got in based on his grades. He’s not a Death Eater any more than you and I are.”

Ron all but gags at the statement. “Don’t ever bloody compare me to that git, Harry, I swear to Circe. Stop pretending that he’s innocent, both you and Hermione. He’s far from innocent and we all know it.”

With that he walks out of his partner��s cubicle, giving the man one last disbelieving look. Sooner or later Malfoy would slip up, show his true colours, and then he’d be out of the programme and preferably on his way to Azkaban in no time.

Malfoy does not slip up.

In fact, during the first six months of his training, Ron hears nothing but grumbled praises from his senior colleagues about the Death Eater’s performance. According to the office gossip, the blonde is breezing his way through the character and aptitude tests and would soon be moving on to the formal courses of the programme. After the six-month mark the grumbles turn into actual compliments and he thinks his ears may bleed if he has to hear another person marvel at how Draco Malfoy is on his way to becoming “one great Auror”.

The only comfort he finds these days is that, although they admit that Malfoy’s good at his job, nobody wants to partner up with him. Being the only trainee around, Malfoy would often be seen working and training alone, but every now and then the higher-ups would require one of the people from Ron’s batch to assist. The general consensus seems to be that everybody would benefit from this joint lessons of sorts; Malfoy would be able to complete the tasks that require a temporary partner and the Aurors who got in immediately after the war would be able to sample the rigid training that they had eluded.

He and Seamus have never been called and he thanks Harry for it, as the man must have put in the word that no good would come out of that arrangement. Ron rarely sees the infuriating blonde head in the office, but whenever he does he feels his blood boil and his magic thrumming through his whole being, a hex always ready on the tip of his tongue and the end of his wand. Malfoy no longer gallivants around like he used to in Hogwarts, the air of superiority that he used to carry around wherever he walked muted but not completely gone. Nowadays he walks with the arrogance of someone who knows he’s better than everybody else but doesn’t feel the need to shove the fact down people’s throats and Ron absolutely abhors him for it.

“He’s a wanker with a superiority complex,” he says out loud to their table, a shot of firewhisky just starting to warm his stomach. “He walks and talks like he’s some sort prince when all he is a Death Eater scum.”

“Ron!” It’s Hermione that immediately reacts to his words, her voice pitched low and her hand heavy on his arm when it smacks him. “Do you really have to bring that foul language here?”

“Hermione’s right, you know?” Neville tells him, one of his hands playing with the shot glass and the other twitching on top of the table. Ron eyes it for a second before his gaze slides over to the hand lying just centimetres away from Neville’s twitchy one. He follows the hand up and is not even surprised when he meets Luna’s eyes.

The poor bloke has a crush on the Loony and is working himself into a seizure trying to find the courage to grab her hand. He’s mulling over this information when Neville speaks again, still addressing him.

“He’s quite decent now, Malfoy, I mean. He was perfectly polite when we were partnered up for his training.”

“He’s polite to you because he knows we’ll send him to Azkaban if he puts a single pointy toe out of line,” Ron responds, pouring himself another shot and ignoring Hermione’s glare. “He’s just pretending, and it’s only been a year yet he’s already convinced over half of the office that he’s somehow changed. It’s like you guys forget he’s a Slytherin through and through.”

“Really, Ronald? You’re going to bring up old house rivalries now?”

“It’s not just “old house rivalries”, ‘Mione, and you know it. It’s like our Gryffindor courage—being a Slytherin means being a conniving snake,” he all but spats the last two words, looking her directly in the eyes. He has half the mind to think that maybe he shouldn’t be saying this right now, especially not with such a loud voice, but he pushes down the voice of reason and refuses to look away from her angry stare.

“Big word there, mate,” Seamus chimes in, his laughter breaking the tension-filled silence. The others join and then he’s tearing away from the staring contest with his girlfriend in favour of giving the muggle bird to the shorter man.

Everyone silently agrees to stop talking about Malfoy for the rest of the night, but he can practically feel the waves of anger rolling off Hermione. For a few moments he just lets her simmer in her anger, pointedly ignoring the hole she’s burning into the side of his face. After a while he puts down his drink and moves to wrap his arm around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against her ear, delighting in the sight of the goose bumps breaking out on her arm. “I don’t want to fight, ‘Mione. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything, but slowly the tension in her body drains away and she relaxes enough to rest her head on his shoulder. He knows for a fact that this won’t be the last argument they have about Draco Malfoy working in the ministry, but in that moment, he chooses to ignore the problem and just enjoy their time with their friends.

Ron and Harry are sent for fieldwork in Greece to monitor a little town that’s been suspected of housing Voldemort sympathizers. Unsurprisingly, their respective romantic partners talk both of their ears off about not dying.

“I’m serious, Ron,” Hermione hisses at him over dinner, her soup barely touched as she had spent the last 20 or so minutes reminding him that he absolutely cannot die. “The last time you were injured you had to stay St. Mungo’s for a week, recovering!”

“Listen, ‘Mione, I really appreciate your concern but I’m an Auror and I need you to trust me because I know what I’m doing,” he insists, talking around a mouthful of garlic bread. “We both knew it would be dangerous work, didn’t we?”

She huffs, spooning cold soup into her mouth, all the while glaring down at her bowl. He knows she’s only worried, but the way she says things makes him feel like she doesn’t quite trust him to be competent enough for the job.

“I still think you and the others should have undergone the same training as everyone else before you,” she finally says, her tone hesitant. She must be remembering the last big row they had about this particular topic, and both the thought and her words make Ron roll his eyes at her.

“I’ve been an Auror for more than three years now, Hermione, that’s the same amount of time that the others spent training.”

She looks like she wants to argue but the expression on his face must stop her, her lips clamping shut instead and her attention returning to the bowl in front of her. They eat in silence after that, neither looking at each other, and when they’re done Ron volunteers to do the dishes. Like her, he hasn’t mastered the cleaning spells his mum is famous for but, unlike her, he doesn’t claim that he’s just used to cleaning it the muggle way.

With the dishes put away he goes to find her in the small living room, poring over the details of their mission. He moves to sit beside her on the couch, letting her read the document for the fourth time since he gave the copy to her.

“I’ll be okay,” he murmurs, plucking the parchment out of her hand when he sees that she’s no longer reading it. “Harry and I are a good team—we’ll keep each other safe.”

“Just promise me you won’t engage them unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she pleads, turning her large eyes to look at him. “I know you want to go above and beyond all the time but please, just don’t be reckless.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says instead, not trusting himself enough to promise such a thing. Everyone in the office knows that Robards is preparing Harry to be his successor, and with his best friend on the path to greatness, Ron is also eager to prove himself worthy of his job.

He watches her eyebrows pull into a frown and pulls her into his arms, kissing the top of her hair. “I’ll come home to you, like I always do. Believe me, yeah?”

That night she has another one of her nightmares and he apologizes with his words and with his hands that he’ll be gone for a month, leaving her alone to deal with her night terrors. In the morning he doesn’t wake her up, simply presses a kiss to her lips and leaves to meet Harry at the apparition point.

Unsurprisingly, they both get injured but manage to survive the mission. The backup they called arrived just in time to round up the last wizards still running about, shooting curses at everyone, and both he and Harry had been rushed to St. Mungo’s. He doesn’t have any broken bones this time and it only takes a matter of minutes for the healers to fix him right up. Harry, on the other hand, had been hit with a nasty curse that had him bleeding profusely.

The healers were in the process of forcing blood replenishing potions down his partner’s throat when Ginny came running into the room, taking one good look at her boyfriend and all but collapsing into the chair beside Harry’s bed. Her eyes snap to look at Ron, a question in her eyes, and he responds with a nod. He knows that look, knows that she’s far too distraught to ask him outright if he’s okay, so he moves to give her and the healers some space.

“Is he going to be okay?” she turns to ask one of the healers, an elderly witch performing diagnostic spells on the injured wizard. “Why is he still bleeding so much?”

She starts arguing with the healers and Ron takes it as his cue to leave. Ginny doesn’t even acknowledge him when he moves to the door, her eyes firmly on Harry’s face and her hands clasped around his bloody one. He uses the hospital’s floo network to return to the office, heading straight to his cubicle to write down the details that he remembers from the last twenty-four hours. He shakes his head at the other Aurors still in the office who startle at his appearance. They look like they want to ask questions, but he just keeps walking until he’s seated at his desk, furiously writing on a piece of parchment.

His hands shake, the image of his best friend lying on the hospital bed and staining the white sheets with his blood still etched clearly onto his brain. When Robards returns and summons him to his office, Ron does his best to look like he isn’t shaken. He relays by mouth what had happened, how the surveillance had been uneventful at first but had quickly taken a turn into dangerous territory a few weeks into the mission.

Robards nods at him after he finishes relaying the information. “Take the rest of the day off, Auror Weasley. I’ve been told that Potter is likely to regain consciousness tomorrow. Go home and rest, you deserve it after all that.”

Ron tells himself it’s the older wizard’s way of saying that they did a good job, so he does an awkward little salute and leaves the office. He debates visiting Harry but decides against it, knowing Ginny would alert all of them if his best friend were to wake up.

He gets home to an empty flat and all but collapses on the bed, shoes and ruined clothes still on his body and likely leaving bits of blood and dirt on the mattress. He tells himself he’ll clean it up later, right after he’s done resting his eyes…

He wakes up to the sound of the floo activating and hurried steps sounding from outside the room. The door to their bedroom flies open and in comes a visually dishevelled Hermione, hair wild and chest heaving with every laboured breath.

Her eyes seem to take in the darkness of the room and his figure sitting upright on the bed before she’s advancing on him, a finger jabbing at his chest. “Where have you been?” she asks, voice tinged with an almost hysterical tone. “I’ve looked for you everywhere! I had to hear from Smithson that Harry was in St. Mungo’s bleeding to death, and I couldn’t even find you there nor where you at your office. You didn’t think to tell me you were back?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” he snaps back, her line of questioning instantly annoying him. He flings the covers off his body and stalks out of the room, ignoring her baffled spluttering.

“Ron, what is wrong with you? I’ve been worried sick for weeks and the moment you get back you don’t even think about telling your girlfriend that you’re safe and alive?”

“While you were worried, I was out there, in the field, and my best friend is bleeding to death as you’ve so kindly put it!” His voice turns into a shout towards the end, his frustration winning over the rational part of his brain telling him to put an end to this fight. “So why don’t you lay off my back, yeah?”

“He’s my best friend, too!” she shouts back, her arm flicking about, probably casting non-verbal silencing charms. “Would it have absolutely killed you to stop by my office before heading back here? Robards told me he sent you home hours ago and—”

“I was tired, Hermione, what can’t you understand about that?”

“—I had to learn from Malfoy that you haven’t visited Harry since he got there—”

“What in the blood hell was Draco sodding Malfoy doing in Harry’s room?”

This gives her pause, her face flushed and her hands balled into tight fists that were shaking by her sides. He has no doubt that he looks about the same as her, probably even worse off. He barely stops himself from insisting that she speak up, settling for crossing his arms over his chest and giving her a half-annoyed half-expectant look.

“He said he was working with the healers, apparently Robards called him in to see if he knew the dark spell that was used on Harry.”

“What? Sure, he knows the spell, he’s a bloody Death Eater for Circe’s sake. Why would Robards think Malfoy would help Harry?”

Her temper visibly flares at this. “I don’t know, Ron, maybe because Robards knows Malfoy’s not a Death Eater anymore and he expects people from his Department to assist whenever they can? Perhaps your superior is keen on trusting people that he hires to do their duty right?”

Ron just scoffs at this, waving a dismissive hand in front of her and moving to enter the kitchen, his original destination before she had roped him into a screaming match right in front of their shared bedroom.

“’Mione, honestly, I just want to eat a decent meal without having to listen to you tell me how much of an awful boyfriend I am for wanting to just go home after nearly dying on a mission,” he tells her, his back to her as he rummaged through the fridge for something to quiet down the rumblings of his stomach. He only turns back to look at her when he emerges with enough ingredients for a sandwich.

There are angry tears in her eyes and he immediately regrets blowing her off, immediately wishes he had been a bit more patient with her. He sets the food on the table and tries to reach out to pull her into a hug but she moves away, wiping at the tears that had managed to escape.

“I’m going to stay with Ginny at the hospital,” she says, already turning towards the floo.

“I don’t think they’ll let you stay there, love,” he calls out. “Family only, I believe.”

“Well then, I suppose this is a good time to bring up the fact that I’m what they fondly refer to as the Golden Girl,” she mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm. She steps into the floo, tosses the powder with one last look at him, then shouts her destination.

He returns to his unmade sandwich, his jaw clenched as tight as his fists and his appetite completely gone.

Harry’s awake when he comes to visit the following morning, stopping by right before work. The man grins up at him, but he still must be in a lot of pain as it comes off more like a grimace than a good-natured smile. Ginny is by his side, holding his hand, and Hermione is surprisingly absent from the room.

Surprising as she hadn’t been in their flat when he woke up, and it didn’t seem like she had even returned at all during the whole time he had been asleep.

There’s an accusation in Ginny’s eyes that tells him she knows about what happened, but he ignores his younger sister, turning to Harry and clasping his other hand. “You had me worried there, you do know that, right?”

“I don’t know, actually, do tell.”

“Shut up, Harry,” he says, the two of them laughing quietly while Ginny just shakes her head, an amused expression warring with the concern still on her face. “So, Malfoy was here?”

“Ron—,” Ginny starts, but Harry is already nodding his confirmation. She sighs, retracting her hand from Harry’s hold and moving to grab the book lying on the bedside table. “Robards thought Malfoy might have an idea about the curse that hit Harry, and he brought this for the healers to confirm his guess.”

Ron eyes the proffered book, warily taking it from Ginny’s hold and examining the front cover. The words are in a foreign language, one he suspects to be Latin. He hands it back to Ginny and turns to Harry. “So, he knew what hit you?”

“Even helped perform the counter-spell,” Harry once again confirms, not seeming even the slightest bit staggered by this fact. “I’ll be able to come back to work tomorrow, mate.”

Ron quickly pushes down the negative thoughts he’s having over Malfoy of all people helping Harry, leaning down to clasp the other man’s hand again and telling him he’ll see him tomorrow. He leaves the room just as he hears Ginny uselessly pleading with Harry to at least take the rest of the week off to recover.

The thought that Draco Malfoy went to St. Mungo’s, helped the healers identify the spell that had nearly killed Ron’s best friend, and performed the counter-spell that had saved Harry’s life—it’s disturbing, to the say least. He spends the rest of the morning resolutely working on paperwork, hellbent on keeping his head from trying to dissect this information to shreds much like what Hermione would do when faced with a situation she can’t quite understand (yet).

Hermione. At the reminder of his girlfriend, he feels his chest fill with guilt. The witch had been worried about him, and although she had resorted to nagging, he can no longer convince himself that he did nothing wrong. He thinks about the days he had spent away from her during every mission he’s ever completed, the thought of returning to her waiting arms pushing him to do his job better, to get it over with faster.

He decides to swing by her office for lunch to fix things between them, because they’re who they are—they get into big, explosive rows that usually has one of them storming off, but they always make up somehow. He would apologise for whatever insensitive comment he might have made, and she would admit that she could have also handled the situation better.

Ron feels dismayed that their reunion after six agonisingly long weeks had not followed any of the scenarios that had played in his mind, but he knows he can still fix this, and they would make it up with each other.

Because that’s what they always do.

Hermione forgives him. It’s one of those fights that takes more than just a sincere apology, promises that he won’t do it again, and a nice dinner to fix. For days she acts lukewarm around him, responding to his attempts at reconciliation but wary of forgiving him all too quickly lest he make the mistake of assuming he would get away with doing something like that again.

So he woos her: brings home a bouquet of flowers for the first time in a year, cooks for her to the best of his nearly non-existent abilities, and initiates the conversations he’d rather not have. He listens to her telling him what he had done wrong and how much it had hurt her, and she urges him to tell her his side.

She cries, and she tries to hide the fact that she’s crying but he knows her—knows how she cries for house elves and other creatures she has deemed to be the oppressed minority, knows how she would defend a garden gnome from being terrorised by children, and knows that she feels so much, perhaps too much, all at once despite her being the rational brains of the Golden Trio.

He loves her for it, so he tells her, and he kisses away the tears and she allows him to finally feel her. The days that had stretched between them had done nothing to his memory of her body underneath him, her skin still the same smooth expanse interrupted by the occasional battle scars, her voice still the same breathy lullaby that does the exact opposite of what a lullaby should be doing—it wakes up something inside him that only comes alive when he’s around her, when he’s inside her.

When he comes her name is the sound that leaves his lips, and in that moment, he knows they’ll always be meant for each other.

Hermione visits him and he scoops her up into a bear hug, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around. Her laughter fills his cubicle and he momentarily forgets that he’s swamped with overdue reports and that Harry is out on a mission with Robards himself.

“Are you ready for lunch?” she asks, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and grinning up at him.

He feels his own smile slip a bit, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Did they make plans? “What?” The memory hits him just as Hermione’s expression turns into a frown, her arms loosening their hold around his waist. “Bollocks. I totally forgot, love, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh. I… that’s quite okay, did you have other plans?” She looks like it’s far from okay, but they have been making an effort to fight less after their big row about three weeks ago and so she probably doesn’t want to incite another one right then and there. He had been careful to avoid voicing his irritations with Malfoy’s continued success in training and he and Hermione have had blissful weeks together ever since.

“No, I just haven’t finished the reports I was supposed to hand in today and I’m kind of cramming them,” he reluctantly admits, his eyes flicking down to the long length of parchment he’s still working on. Again, he curses Harry’s brilliant timing.

“The Andrew case?” Her voice has risen a bit and her arms have completely fallen away from their embrace around his body. He misses the contact as soon as it’s gone but he knows what she’s going to say next. “I’ve been reminding you about that since last week, Ron.”

“I know, okay? You don’t have to nag me about it now when I’m already so stressed.” Like usual, the moment the words are out of his mouth he immediately regrets them. He sees her eyes flash with hurt and anger and he grabs her hands, bringing them to his lips in an effort to fix the situation. He breathes a silent sigh of relief when she doesn’t pull back.

“Look, I’m really happy you came by today. Sorry I forgot about lunch.” He hopes the sincerity in his voice is enough for now, as he sees no other way to finish the reports without skipping on the meal.

She sighs, her hands slipping away from his grasp. Hermione smiles up at him, a small one that says she knows there’s nothing to be done about it now. “Don’t worry about it, let’s just reschedule.”

As she walks away from his cubicle without a backward glance at him, he realises that it’s always been significantly easier to deal with her anger than with her disappointment.

He doesn’t quite understand the image before him. Just a few minutes ago he had been in a meeting with the rest of the office, discussing information about a raid that would be conducted next week. He had left the room with Harry, the two of them talking about a report they were supposed to get started on and just about to go downstairs to meet Hermione for lunch.

Several feet away from them, standing in front of the entrance to the office, is Hermione. The peculiar part is how Draco Malfoy is standing beside her. Even more peculiar is that they appear to be engaged in some sort of conversation that has Hermione flinging her hands around in wild gestures and Draco’s arm crossing over his chest.

Even from this far away Ron can tell that the blonde git is smiling. He pokes Harry with his elbow, pointing towards the direction of the anomaly, and the other man seems alarmed for a moment. They both start to make their way towards Hermione, Ron certain that whatever Malfoy is currently saying to her would be something foul and prejudiced.

Just as they’re about to reach them the situation takes a dive into what is the most bizarre thing he has ever seen in his life; Hermione snorts, not a sarcastic one, but a snort of air that is followed by genuine laughter. Malfoy, as predicted, is smirking, but even Ron can see that it’s not a smirk filled with contempt.

He finds himself completely flummoxed by the interaction that he stops dead in his track a few metres away from them. Harry keeps walking, shooting him a look as he passes him, and quickly inserts himself between Hermione and Malfoy.

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

Ron gets his feet to move and he makes his way to stand beside Hermione, his hand finding hers and his eyes staring straight into Malfoy’s. The smile on the blonde’s pointy face disappears with their entrance, his expression a carefully constructed mix between indifference and outright boredom. The witch, either oblivious to the tension radiating from the men around her or simply unwilling to recognise it, keeps grinning.

“Malfoy here was telling me that the secret to a more palatable antidote to Veritaserum is, what was it again?” she pretends to ask. “Right, three medium-sized eggs from a Fwooper.” She laughs again and Ron watches Malfoy struggle to keep himself from smirking back at her.

“Try it, Granger, I have no doubts that you would have no problems convincing one to give you some of her eggs,” he drawls, the bored inflection of his voice grating on Ron’s nerve. He nods to her, then to both him and Harry, and promptly walks away.

It’s not until they’re in the cafeteria, their small table protected with about a dozen silencing charms by Harry, that Ron begins to confront Hermione.

“What in Merlin’s balls was that, ‘Mione? Why were you joking around with Malfoy?”

“I wasn’t joking around with him, Ron, it was actually heading towards an argument about the benefits of using Cinchona pubescens over Cinchona officinalis in brewing a blood-replenishing potion,” she says, the speed at which she speaks almost causing him to go cross-eyed. “And even if I were joking around with him, what would be wrong with that?”

“What would be wrong with that?” he repeats, his tone incredulous and his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at her. “What do you mean, what would be wrong with that? He’s Malfoy! He’s a Death Eater!”

He notices a few people throwing surreptitious looks towards their table and he whips his wand to throw several concealment charms around them. All the while he watches Hermione fuming in front of him, her nostrils flared and her fists wrapped tightly around her utensils.

“Ron, don’t you think you might be overreacting some?” Harry interjects before either of them could speak. “If Hermione wants to have a conversation with Malfoy at work then there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Thank you, Harry, it seems my boyfriend has somehow deluded himself into thinking that I have to ask permission from him to talk to ex-Death Eaters working at the same place as I do.”

“Really, Harry? You’re siding with her?” Suddenly, their seating arrangement makes him angry. Harry and Hermione sit on the same side of the table, opposite from him, and he finds it aptly symbolic of how they all stand on this Malfoy issue.

“As a matter of fact, I am. I already told you, Ron, Malfoy’s a decent bloke nowadays and has been for nearly two years now. You need to stop insisting that he’s a Death Eater because he simply isn’t.”

Ron turns to Hermione, his anger blinding him, making his tongue loose. “He wanted people like you dead, ‘Mione. He wanted Voldemort to kill mudbloods, are you really forgetting that?”

“What the hell, Ron?” It’s Harry that reacts first, his eyes going wide at the use of the slur and his own hands balling into fists on top of the table.

“It’s true! Just because she wants to see the good in everyone, it doesn’t mean there is actually any good in there to see.”

He looks at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her eyes filling with angry tears, but he pushes the guilt down and holds on to his own anger. She moves to leave but he beats her to it, rising so suddenly he almost sends the whole table crashing. “Don’t bother, I’ll leave. Enjoy the rest of your lunch break.”

At first, he refuses to apologise to both of them. Harry had confronted him the day after the big blowout fight and they almost settled things with fists. In the end he told Ron how much of an ass he was for treating Hermione like that and made him promise that he’ll do everything to fix their relationship.

Harry had not been amused with Ron’s response that had been mostly a noncommittal nod of his head, but that was all he was getting.

Hermione had refused to talk to him for over a week, kicking him out of their shared room and making him sleep on the sofa in the living area. The first few days he doesn’t even try to talk to her, still adamantly holding on to the belief that for once, he was the one in the right. However, as most of their fights go, he later realised his mistake and only then does he try to mend things between them.

It takes a long time, one of their longest fights in all of their years together, but they eventually reconcile, and he finally gets his spot back in their bed and in her arms.

He pretends he doesn’t notice that things aren’t quite the same after that.

“I’ve been offered a promotion,” she says after swallowing a bite of her salad. “If I accept, I’ll be working in the same Department as you and Harry.”

His eyes widen at this. “As an Auror? I thought you’ve had enough of chasing after dark wizards.” That’s what she had told everyone when they had asked her why she wasn’t joining the other Auror recruits, and to this day he had always thought it would always be true for her.

“No, no. I’ll be in the legal team,” she clarifies. “Kingsley personally offered me the position, he said I could start a week after I accept the promotion.”

The smile that rips its away across his face almost hurts, but then he’s rushing to pull her into a tight embrace, overjoyed by the news. He had always thought that she just isn’t meant to be slaving away at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures all her life, that she had always been meant for something greater than that. It’s a wonderful bonus that she would now be working in the same Department as him and Harry, practically just a few skips away from each other.

They’re both laughing, smiling at each other, and he even steals a few kisses here and there. “I’m so happy for you, ‘Mione. This is where you belong, making actual change and not just pushing paper and fighting against red tape.”

Her smile falls a little but he attributes it to her thinking about all the times she had to stay up late due to ridiculous revisions that had no other purpose other than to stall her pursuits for equal rights. They return to their food but the atmosphere between them is significantly lighter than it had been in months.

Ron starts to believe that life may be heading back to the good days but then he remembers that Malfoy’s training ends in a month.

The day Hermione transfers he immediately visits her new office, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around in the air for a few seconds. Her laugh warms his heart and her kisses makes his fingers tingle for something more, but he just kisses her back and tells her how good her office looks.

She’s leading him by the hand, circling the office as if it were much bigger than it really is, telling him how she’d like to add a few plants here and there, hang up some more art works and pictures. Her smile is infectious, brightening up the room effortlessly, and he thinks she really does look like she belongs there.

“Listen, ‘Mione, I booked a table at this restaurant to celebrate your new job,” he says, holding her face in his hands. “What do you say? Would you like to have a really fancy dinner with me?”

If possible, her grin just grows even brighter. “I would love to have dinner with you, Ronald Weasley.”

When their lips meet in a slow, languid kiss, he feels the toll of the last few months draining away from his body. He finally feels as if The Grandest of Rows, as Harry and Ginny liked to call it, back in the ministry cafeteria is finally behind them for good. Between her new job and him making progress as an Auror, he thinks the good days are finally eclipsing the bad again.

He can only hope that he isn’t wrong.

A week after their successful dinner, Harry proposes to Ginny. They suspect that he had done it in the quiet of 12 Grimmauld place, as everyone had been surprised to see the large diamond sitting comfortably on Ginny’s finger that hadn’t been there before. He’s happy for them, even feels his eyes get the slightest bit glassy when Ginny runs up to hug him and Harry whispers to him that he better have dress robes befitting of a “best man”.

He asks him what a best man is, and the brunet just laughs, clapping him on the back in the awkward way that Harry just does things.

Everyone is happy for them, no one happier than Molly of course, but Ron is happy for them and he sees Hermione trying to discreetly wipe at her eyes when she finishes embracing Ginny. He’s happy that his sister got engaged to the man she’s been in love with since she knew how to develop a crush on someone, and he’s happy that she’s happy with whatever way Harry had proposed to her.

But when he looks at Hermione, at her bare finger, clapping along with everyone else, he knows that he wouldn’t ask her in private like Harry had asked Ginny. Ron knows in his bones that when he finally asks the question, he would declare to the whole of wizarding Britain how much he loves the witch standing beside him.

Somehow, he doesn’t doubt that she would say yes.

Malfoy is given the only cubicle left unoccupied, thankfully for Ron it’s the farthest one from his own space and it’s sandwiched between the wall and Ernie Macmillan’s cubicle. Robards makes a speech to welcome the only graduate, one that is heavily laced with reminders to trust his decision and his ability to judge one’s character with frightening accuracy.

“Lastly, and as some of you may already know, Auror Malfoy is a skilled Occlumens. As part of his duties, he has offered to train anyone who wishes to learn both Legilimency and Occlumency. That would be all.”

With that everyone goes back to their respective cubicles while Ron makes his way to Harry’s. Seamus is already there, eating one of the pumpkin pasties Ron’s mum had sent over. “Here to rant to Harry, then?” the Irish asks, crumbs flying out of his mouth with every word. “Don’t bother, he already told me he won’t be hearing any complaints about Malfoy today.”

“Who in the blood hell would want to take lessons from him?” Ron asks anyway, grabbing one of the pasties and taking a huge bite out of it.

“Didn’t Molly give you your own pasties? Stop eating mine,” Harry says, hiding away the treats much to the other men’s disappointment. “To answer your rhetorical question, I would take lessons from him.”

“What?” both Ron and Seamus ask, in the same time and using the exact same tone of disbelief. Ron continues, “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, mate, probably still going on about the not Death Eater anymore thing, but you’ve gone completely mental if you think you want to take lessons from Draco Malfoy.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything, Ron. I never got to finish the Occlumency lessons with Snape, and it’s something that could really be useful for the job,” Harry explains, as if it made any sense at all.

Ron throws his hands up and shakes his head at his best friend, turning around to leave the cubicle before they get into another fight about Malfoy. He doesn’t particularly care that the git in question would be within hearing distance of their shouts, but he does care about Robards’ reminders. Just as he’s about to enter his cubicle he sees Hermione’s head pop in from the entrance and their eyes meet. She holds up rolls of parchment and beckons him to come to her.

“Hey, what are those?” he asks, giving her a quick hug. She had been adamant that they refrain from any displays of public affection, and he sees that even an embrace like that has her blushing and looking around the office for nosy watchers.

“I believe they’re yours, you forgot them at the table this morning at breakfast.” She hands them over with a shake of her head but she’s smiling and it makes him smile, too. “I’m going to head out for a meeting, actually, and I may not be back until much later.”

He nods, stashing the parchment into his robes. “I’ll walk you to the lift,” he tells her, already leading the way. They stop in front of the lifts, waiting for one to take her, and he asks, “What’s this meeting about?”

Before she can answer, they hear someone walking behind, and the both of them turn at the same time to see Malfoy making his way towards them. He stops when he’s just a few feet away from the two of them, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his trousers. “Granger. Weasley.”

It’s the first time Ron’s heard him acknowledge him in the three years that he’s been training to become an Auror, yet somehow the way his name rolls of the snake’s tongue still sounds so familiar to his ears. It’s the way the git says it, he decides, with that bored tone and the judgment simmering just underneath the aristocratic drawl.

Ron wants to spit at him, but he holds himself back. Barely. “Malfoy.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione says in return, her tone completely neutral whereas his had been full of barely concealed disgust. When the blonde only nods and moves to face the lifts, Hermione’s eyes flash to warn Ron, his mouth already opening to protest.

The lifts arrive and Ron sees that there’s only one other person inside, a witch that he doesn’t even recognize. “I’ll come with you, ‘Mione. I’ll walk you outside.”

Malfoy has already stepped into the lift, one eyebrow arched as he and the other Ministry worker wait for them to get on.

“Ron, go back to work. That’s complete unnecessary,” the last part is whispered so low that only he can hear, but he hears the warning all the same. Don’t make a scene, don’t make the same mistakes as last time.

Every inch of his being wants to argue with her, to tell her it isn’t safe to be riding a lift with Malfoy, but he keeps his mouth shut and watches her take the spot nearest to the opening. With one last look at him, Hermione disappears behind the closed doors of the lift.

His jaw clenches, because right before the doors had closed and the lift had taken them away, he could have sworn he saw the amused smiled on Draco Malfoy’s face.

She gets home safe that night and only rolls her eyes at Ron’s distress. He tells her he had been worried sick that something had happened to her, that Malfoy had somehow harmed her.

“Ron, he’s an Auror now, not a Death Eater. At this point, you’re the one being prejudiced.”

That shuts him up, not because he agrees with her but because he’s gotten tired of reminding them again and again what kind of person Draco Malfoy is. Instead of arguing any further, he tells her he’s glad he’s safe and then proceeds to walk out of the bedroom.

She doesn’t even follow him out.

Three months into his job and Malfoy still doesn’t have a permanent partner. The two assignments he’s been given he’d had to complete on his own, and the git had seemed unaffected by this. With Neville’s resignation, citing that he wants to teach Herbology at Hogwarts, their numbers were simply uneven and so no one was available to become Malfoy’s partner, much to Ron’s delight and Malfoy’s apparent disinterest.

Ron would never say it out loud, especially not in front of Harry and Hermione, but he’s glad that the arsehole has to do all his jobs alone. He would have to write reports on his own, he would have no one to back him up if one of his surveillance missions go suddenly awry, and he most certainly doesn’t even have anyone to talk to in the office except Robards and Harry, and even that was extremely rare.

“Heard Ernie there tried to talk to Malfoy today, maybe tried for a little pureblood reunion,” Seamus tells him. The both of them have their eyes on Malfoy, standing in line at the cafeteria and looking as if he had expected all of the peasants to bow down to him for gracing them with his presence. “Apparently Malfoy hadn’t even noticed that the poor bloke was standing right in front of him, had his pointy nose buried in a book or some shite.”

Ron isn’t surprised that Malfoy is still acting like the pureblood snob he is, probably thinks lowly of Macmillan despite the other’s pureblood status solely because he was a Hufflepuff. He doesn’t voice any of this because Hermione’s sitting right in front of him, her own nose buried in a book. Harry rolls his eyes at the two and keeps eating his sandwich, and for a moment their table is quiet.

Seamus nudges him after a few minutes, subtly gesturing for him to look towards where Malfoy’s taking a seat by himself. The table is unsurprisingly empty and several feet away from theirs, and despite the lunchtime rush, no one tries to sit with him. Ron catches a few wizards looking around for a table with seats left, spotting his table then seeing that they would have to share a table with Draco Malfoy, and promptly walking out of the cafeteria.

He turns to look away from the pariah and return to eating his food when he sees that Hermione has been watching the same scene as him. Her eyes dart around, looking at the nervous wizards and witches who keep avoiding Malfoy’s table, then they settle on the man himself.

Ron’s not sure, but he thinks he sees pity in her eyes as she briefly watches Malfoy sitting all alone. She doesn’t catch him watching her and he doesn’t say a thing about it.

She’s pissed off about the dishes and, somehow, she’s also pissed off that he doesn’t want to read her draft for a new law she’s trying to pass.

“I don’t understand how you expect me to read that and be of any help, ‘Mione, you know that’s not my thing.” He’s grumbling, he knows, scrubbing at the plates harder than necessary and making a ton of noise just to show his annoyance. “Do you think I don’t have work to do? Papers to write?”

“I only asked you, Ronald, because it’s research on pureblood traditions, and seeing as you’re a pureblood—,” she cuts herself off with a groan, and even with his back to her he can almost see her pacing back and forth. “Sod it, I’m sorry I thought you could give me insights on something you have knowledge on that I clearly don’t.”

“Have you seen our family, Hermione? Do you think we practice “pureblood traditions” in our household?’ he asks, whirling around and spilling soapy water every which way. “I already struggle with my own paperwork and you want me to worry over yours?”

“Forgive me for asking my boyfriend for a favour!”

He turns back to the dishes, resuming his angry scrubbing. “You know you can ask me anything, just don’t expect me to be able to help you with your job by reading over 15 metres of parchment for you.”

She doesn’t say anything in response to that, and he hears her stomping away. Lately their fights almost always end up that way, with one of them walking away and the other giving them space to cool down. This time Ron doesn’t chase after her because he wants to get the bloody dishes done, one less thing to have her nagging him about. When he’s finished, he moves to the living room, not surprised to see that she isn’t there, and plops down on the sofa to watch some telly.

He keeps the volume on the lowest setting that he can still hear, knowing how much she hates it when the thing get too loud, stating that it distracts her from her readings. He keeps watching for an hour or so, his mind mostly removed from the muggle show and instead reeling from their recent fight. He only shuts it off when he feels exhausted enough to know that he’ll most likely fall right asleep once his head hits the pillows, an ideal situation to avoid getting into another row with the irate witch.

She’s lying on the bed, facing away from him, but he knows she’s still awake. When he slides into his spot, he can feel her stiffen beside him, so he keeps a respectful distance between them that only ever exists when they’re fighting like this.

“If you think he’s changed, why don’t you ask Malfoy for help? He’d know all about pureblood traditions,” he whispers, moving around so his back is to her and his body is precariously close to the edge of the bed. His heart is beating fast in his chest, knowing that the comment would further annoy Hermione, but there’s no way for him to grab the words from the air and shove them back inside him so he just waits for her to respond.

For a long moment there’s only silence from her part, stretching out long enough that he begins to suspect that she hadn’t even heard him in the first place. He thinks she may have already fallen asleep, so he stops fighting to keep his eyes open, gives in to the urge to slip into unconsciousness.

“Maybe I will.”

She’s watching him again, this time her brows are drawn together as if she’s trying to figure him out. Ron doesn’t think Hermione knows that he’s aware of what she’s doing and, although he’s tempted to ask why she stares at Malfoy for a few seconds every time she sees the bloke, he doesn’t know if he wants to bring to light his observation.

Sometimes she would look at him and there would be confusion in her eyes, sometimes it would be something akin to pity, and sometimes there would be something in her expression that he can’t quite put a name to.

He keeps eating, his eyes flicking away from her face when he sees her begin to turn away from her scrutinization of Malfoy. He knows that if he were to ask, she would only explain how she feels bad for the bloke being the greatest pariah of the wizarding world.

It’s just pity. He knows it for sure.

They’ve been fighting more, but the fights have grown shorter as Ron has gone into the habit of simply walking away whenever things began to get too heated for him. They would make up, promise to do their best to not get into another row, and then things would be peaceful for a few blessed days before one of them sets the other one off.

It’s exhausting, having to fight with her all the time, but he knows that it’s just because of the stress of her new job and the fact that she’s been helping Ginny with the wedding preparations. He tries to be more understanding of this, he really does, which is why he resolves to make things better between them to ease some of the problems off her shoulders.

Ron visits Hermione’s office, planning to surprise her with takeout from a muggle restaurant she loves so much, only to find no other than Draco Malfoy lounging one of the chairs in front of her desk. He sees red at the sight, Hermione sitting behind her desk, the two of them sporting similar poses: arms crossed over their chests, an eyebrow raised in challenge, and a ghost of a smirk playing on their lips.

It strikes him then how similar they are, but he quickly stomps down on the thought as he finds that it disturbs him to no end.

“What in Merlin’s balls do you think you’re doing here, Malfoy?”

Hermione looks up then and he thinks it’s alarm that flashes across her face, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second. He wants to scoff, knows she’s worried he’ll make a scene and maybe even get into a fight with the snake, so he pushes away from the door and goes to place the bag of takeout on the table. From where he’s standing, he easily towers over the blonde still sitting on the leather chair, face impassive and fingers steepled in front of him.

“I asked you a question, Malfoy,” he grits out, jaw clenched fists in clear view.

“I’m sure Granger can explain that you, Weasley,” the blonde finally answers, rising from the chair and dusting off his robes. “No need for me to do it for her.”

He’s about to grab the Death Eater by his shoulder but Hermione’s hand shoots out, stopping him. Malfoy exits the office without so much as backward glance, closing the door behind him and leaving Ron alone with his girlfriend.

“He just came by to lend me some books, Ron. You can calm down now.” She gestures to the stack of books sitting on the corner of her table. “Is this Chinese takeout?”

He ignores the last question. “Why is Draco Malfoy lending you books?”

She sighs, gesturing with her hand for him to pick up one of the books. When he does, she starts explaining, “I bumped into him at the atrium the other day and I mentioned that I’m working on eradicating the laws biased towards pureblood. He said he’d look in their library for the journals his ancestors kept, the ones that had helped pass these laws.”

“He could have just given you the books and been on his merry, slimy way. He didn’t have to sit down and chat with you,” he argues, setting the book down with a little more force than absolutely necessary. Hermione raises her eyebrow at this.

“I can’t seem to find the problem with him chatting with me. If you haven’t noticed, no one talks to him here, Ron. It’s almost been a year since he officially became an Auror and yet he still doesn’t have a partner, Harry told me he keeps volunteering for the more dangerous assignments all on his own! Why can’t you just be a little bit more forgiving?”

He feels his eyes bulge out upon hearing the last bit of her tirade. “Forgiving? Why should I forgive him when he has done absolutely nothing to ask for my forgiveness? For anyone’s forgiveness?”

“He’s apologized to me,” she bites out, jaw clenched as tight as his and eyes challenging. “And to Harry, to Ginny, Luna, Neville. He’s apologized to everyone who gave him the chance to.”

Instantly, he feels the hot flash of betrayal strike his chest. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

Hermione throws her hands up, as if he’s the exhausting one. “Because you hate the man! You would just say something about his apology being fake, that we shouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth. You would just argue with me if I had told you, and I am getting so tired of arguing about Draco Malfoy.”

He wants to say more, wants to argue that she still shouldn’t have kept that that from him, wants to tell her how hurt he feels. Instead, he clamps his mouth shut and slumps down onto a chair, the one Malfoy hadn’t been using, and just watches her as he watches him back.

“I don’t want to argue with you about him anymore. If you don’t want to give him a chance, fine, but don’t make it seem like I’m not allowed to form my own opinions on someone’s character based on sound observations and treat them according to those observations.”

He still doesn’t answer, simply blinks up at her until she huffs and settles down onto her own seat. When she asks him if they can just eat their lunch in peace, he wordlessly sets out their food. They eat in silence, and when he leaves, he takes the trash out with him without saying goodbye to her.

They don’t fight about Malfoy anymore, but not because Ron starts believing that the git has somehow changed. He resolves to let his friends and girlfriend believe whatever they want to believe, knowing that in the end they would see with their own eyes how wrong they are. Whenever he sees Harry talking to Malfoy, he feels that familiar flare of betrayal somewhere in his chest, but he never acts on it. No one brings up the git’s name when he’s around and he never brings it up, either. Along the way, he starts thinking that he could just pretend that the man simply doesn’t exist.

It’s a hard task to accomplish when he notices how easy it is for Hermione to talk to the blonde. He breaks his “No Mention of Malfoy” rule one night, confronting her after once again seeing him lounging inside her office.

“Are you friends now? With Malfoy, that is.”

It’s a quiet question. He tries to keep his voice light, non-accusatory, but he knows he can’t hide the accusation from his eyes so he keeps them trained on his pasta.

“I wouldn’t go as far to say that him and I are friends, no.”

“Then how far would you go?” At this, he finally looks up, letting her see the doubt clouding his eyes.

If she’s offended by the question, she doesn’t show. “I’d say we have the same relationship as you two—colleagues, only I don’t mind talking to him.”

He shrugs, pretends to redirect his attention back to his food, but inside he struggles to believe her words. He wouldn’t put it past her to actually befriend the git, and he swears he would sooner watch Voldemort himself rise from the grave than see Malfoy be integrated into their bubble.

He’s on his way to an emergency meeting when he hears her laughter, unmistakable in its timbre and its ability to make him feel warm things in his gut. He rounds a corner to see her chatting with Malfoy and another woman from her part of the department.

When he watches the man say something to her, causing her to laugh even harder, the warmth in his stomach turns to ice. He has a feeling that if he were to ask her again if she’s friends with him, the answer would be dramatically different.

He gets a ring. It’s simple, a style he knows she would love, with a diamond that’s not too big nor too small, a band that’s not too thick nor too thin. A ring that would look perfect on her, and both Harry and Ginny agree that she would love it. He tells them he’s going to propose soon, maybe after the wedding, maybe once the two come back from their honeymoon, and they encourage him.

“It’s about time,” Ginny says, handing him back the box. “What made you finally get a move on?”

He tells them he feels it’s finally the right time. He tells them he knows that the timing would be perfect, that the proposal itself would be perfect. He tells them that when he looks at her, he no longer sees his girlfriend, that he’s started to see his wife.

He doesn’t tell them that he’s scared that if he waits any longer, something might happen that would take her away from him.

Some would argue that their argument in her office might have been the beginning of the end. It starts with the little things: he forgets the last time she made breakfast for him and the last time he made tea for her. She spends a day at the Burrow without him and doesn’t try to convince him to come with her. That same day, she doesn’t kiss him when she gets home and he doesn’t ask how the day went. They stop brushing their teeth together in the mornings because she starts waking up earlier than him to get a head start. When Harry finally, finally gets promoted to Head of the Auror Office, she doesn’t tell him that she knows his own promotion will come soon enough, that he just has to wait because she knows he works just as hard as Harry does.

Little things, but then they start becoming bigger.

He gets sent to a mission and she doesn’t nag him about it. She kisses him goodbye when he leaves and he tells himself it’s only his imagination making him feel that her lips have become cold against his. When he gets back, he “forgets” to swing by her office to tell her he’s safe, once again heading home to sleep. He can’t tell if he’s surprised or not when she doesn’t get mad, simply hugs him and tells him she’s glad he’s home safe. Somehow, even her embrace feels distant.

Then even bigger things happen.

They fight at the annual Ministry Christmas party and he lets her storm off with tears in her eyes. He doesn’t bother looking for her before going home, and when he finds the door to their bedroom locked he simply resolves himself to sleeping on the couch, all the while thinking it unfair that he always has to be the one kicked out of their room.

She stops clinging to him after waking up from a nightmare. Instead, she gets up from the bed and tells him he’s going to make some tea to calm herself down. She doesn’t say it in a way that would make him feel like his arms are no longer a source of comfort for her, but feel it he does all the same.

They stop going home together. She throws herself into a new legislation, one that keeps her beyond busy and he thinks she would have excitedly told him about it if only these big things just stopped happening to them.

Through all this, through the small things that become bigger and the big things that keep popping up, he knows he should do something. Some days he feels like he’s watching their relationship crumble right in front of his eyes, the pieces slowly but surely falling to his feet. With a little liquid courage, he goes to Harry for advice, but his best friend only tells him that he should be talking to her about it and not to him. He begrudgingly accepts that he’s right, but when he promises that he’ll talk to her, that he’ll make it right, that he’ll do everything to fix it, that soon he’ll pop the question and everything will be alright, he knows it’s a lie.

A part of him feels like he can’t be the only one who’s noticed. To say that Hermione is smarter and more intuitive than he is would be the understatement of the century, so he finds it hard to believe that she hasn’t noticed the gaping hole forming in the middle of their relationship. He waits, waits for her to acknowledge how she’s changed, how she’s noticed that things aren’t the same between them, waits for her to make the first move towards fixing them, but none of that ever comes.

He keeps noticing small things that become bigger and bigger until he feels suffocated by them, and maybe she’s become suffocated too because one day he comes home to find that she’s already sitting at the table, but instead of having dinner in front of her she has the box clutched in her hands.

The box, the one that he had kept inside the drawer on his side of the bed. The box that contains the ring, the perfect ring, the ring that he had foolishly hoped would fix things.

When he notices the tears cascading down her cheeks, he allows himself to half-believe that they’re tears of joy. When the first words out of her mouth are “we need to talk”, he allows himself to half-hope that she only thinks it’s too soon, that she still has so much to do before she can settle down and start a family with him.

He had noticed that those things didn’t disappear; she still glows, just not around him.

“There’s someone else. It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”

He can tell that she’s not expecting this. She looks at him, eyes swollen and red, lips trembling, and he sees guilt mixed with surprise written all over her face.

“You found out,” she finally says, voice barely above a scratchy whisper.

“Always the tone of surprise.”

“I didn’t have an affair with him, if that’s what you think. I just—”

As she speaks, he realises that he’s angry. What had she said before when she was trying to tell him about that PTSD thing? The five stages of grief? If he remembers correctly, it begins with denial, but Ron had already gone through that these past months, when he kept noticing the small things and the bigger things and the way Draco fucking Malfoy made his girlfriend laugh and smile. No, he’s done with denial. He’s skipping over to anger now.

“I know. You want to know how I know you didn’t have an affair with him?” he seethes, relishing in the way her mouth slams shut mid-speech. “Because I know that he’s a bigoted Death Eater scum. He’ll never want you just because you have muggle parents. He’s a pureblood elitist and he’ll never look at you past your blood status. You know this, Hermione. You can’t possibly be that blind.”

“I do. I know all that. I never had plans of telling him, Ron. He’ll never want me, he can never love me, but it doesn’t matter because you deserve someone who wants you. You don’t deserve someone who fell in love with someone else. You deserve someone who can love you the way you love them.”

She pushes the box towards him and he feels well and utterly confused. “You’re throwing this away, you’re throwing us away, for a man who would never want to be with you, much less love you? You’re throwing us away to have nothing with a person who would never even deem you worthy of the magic you possess? Are you serious, Hermione?”

“What would you rather I do, Ron? Stay here, with you, pretending that I still love you when all I think about when I look at you is how I wish, I wish we would have just stayed as friends. That way I wouldn’t have to hurt you like this.”

“That’s a load of codswallop and you know it.”

She doesn’t immediately reply, only rises from her seat. That’s when he notices the bags at her feet, which she proceeds to magically shrink and stuff into the pockets of her jeans. “You can have the flat, Ron. I’ll stay at my parents’ house for now while I look for a new one.”

“Don’t do this, Hermione. We can talk about this. Please.”

Ah, another stage of grief: bargaining. At this point, he feels ready to drop to his knees to beg her to stay.

More tears slip free from her eyes and she reaches out to cradle his face in her hands, kissing him softly on the cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers against his skin. When she pulls away, he sees something wet on her lips that makes him realise that he’s also crying. “Goodbye, Ron. I hope one day you find it in you to forgive me. I would like to become your friend again, if you would allow it.”

She steps back and he wills the tears to stop blurring his vision, tries to wipe at his eyes so he can see her apparate away, but he can’t bring himself to lift his arms and only hears the tell-tale crack. He isn’t sure if it’s the sound of her leaving or the sound of his world splitting down the middle. He tells himself he’ll follow her, in a minute, once the ground stops shaking and once the lead in his stomach stops weighing him down, keeping him rooted to the spot.

When he collapses into a heap on the floor, his last coherent thought is how he wishes he had done something sooner.

He wants to ask her if it’s possible to go back to certain stages of grief. Yesterday, he had thought he was already in the bargaining stage, but today he feels like he’s back to being angry. He knows there’s no way in hell, no chance at all for Malfoy to pursue Hermione, but he’s clearly not thinking straight when he puts silencing charms on his feet and on the blonde’s cubicle. He knows Malfoy, knows he’s a slimy Death Eater scum with extraordinary talents in occlumency, but he also knows that the git has a bad habit of putting down his walls when studying a case.

He gets his chance when the man turns in his seat and Ron whispers the word that gives him access to Malfoy’s dark mind. At first, he only sees the details of the case he’s working on, but he pushes harder, using the anger thrumming through his veins to fuel his magic. It takes a while but then he sees it, sees the person he had been so sure he wouldn’t see in the dark recesses of Malfoy’s twisted brain.

He sees her at their office, talking to both Harry and him. Ron notes that his face is blurred, the image focused solely on her. He then sees her at the last Ministry Christmas party, her eyes red from unshed tears and Ron remembers the argument they had that night that had caused her to appear like that. Suddenly he sees her face up close, looking at him, but he knows she’s actually looking at Malfoy. It’s the day he apologized to her. More images of her follow as he roots around, frantic in his searching, his heart splintering under the weight of this revelation.

Malfoy had fallen for Hermione right before everyone’s eyes, but she had been too blind to see and him to blind to notice that the feelings were reciprocated.

Ron wants to fire hexes at the both of them.

Finally, he sees the face of Narcissa Malfoy, peering up at him with pity in her eyes. “Tell her, at the very least. You deserve a chance at happiness, Draco.”

Suddenly he’s being pushed out of Malfoy’s mind, the Occlumency walls coming up faster than his subpar Legilimency can counter. He’s ejected from Malfoy’s thoughts and out of the man’s cubicle with a punch to his face that sends him straight to the ground. He welcomes the pain blossoming on his cheek, relishes it and prepares to deliver his own punches. He lands one, hits Malfoy on the bone of his brow, before someone hauls the blonde away from him and another person drags him up from the ground, holding him back from pummelling the scum.

“You had no right,” Malfoy seethes, the venom in his words reminiscent of the way he used to talk to everyone else, back when he thought he was above all of them simply because his father would hear about it. “You had no fucking right, Weasley!”

“Fuck you, you Death Eater—”

"Ron. Malfoy. In my office. Now." Harry has placed himself in the middle of the two men, his wand out but pointing downwards. Ron knows that his best mate wouldn’t hesitate to put them in limb-locking spells and levitate them into his office if they don’t comply, so he shrugs off the person still holding onto him and marches his way to the Head’s office.

He doesn’t sit down, just stands in front of the desk and waits for the other two to enter. Harry locks the door behind him and rounds on them. "Can either of you explain what happened out there? I could suspend both of you right now for disrupting the work place, you do know that right?"

It’s Malfoy that speaks, but instead of looking at Harry he’s glaring right back at Ron. "Why don't you ask Weasley why he attacked his co-worker? Why don't you ask him why he performed an unauthorized Legilimency spell on a fellow Auror? Unless it is authorised, then I'll be taking my leave. Just say so, Potter, I'll be happy to leave this fucking place if you authorised that."

"Cool it, Malfoy. I didn’t authorise anyone to perform any spells on any of their co-workers. Ron, that was both reckless and illegal. What were you thinking? I could have your badge taken for that!"

"What, you don't have to ask him why he did it? Is he afforded the privacy of not sharing with all of us the reason why he had to root around my brain, looking for—”

He gets interrupted by frantic knocks on the door, and Ron feels his anger inflate when he hears Hermione's worried voice. "I'm coming in!"

He watches Harry scratch at his scar, too tired to argue with her. When she enters, she takes a good look around the room, eyes flickering over Malfoy's face before landing on Ron. She takes her time, surveying the damage, before turning to Malfoy. "Why did you do that? Why would you hit him?"

Ron hadn’t expected to see her so soon, feeling his chest further splinter open upon seeing her frazzled appearance. She looks an equal mix of angry and worried, hair wild and cheeks flushed.

It’s only been a day and he already feels empty without her.

"Ron provoked him. There might be serious legal repercussions, Hermione. He performed Legilimency on Malfoy." Harry looks and sounds tired, moving to sit behind his desk and put his head in his hands. He looks like he already regrets accepting the promotion.

“You what?” she screeches, marching over to him. “What were you thinking, Ronald? You could be removed from the force for that!”

He sees it then, a flash of panic in Malfoy's eyes. He thinks that his secret will be revealed, he thinks that Ron would tell Hermione what he found inside the blonde git's head. For a moment, he considers doing it: spitting in her face that she's wrong, apparently a Death Eater scum like him can love her, but he hesitates long enough that he watches as Malfoy comes to his own conclusions.

He watches as the realisation dawns on Malfoy; that Ron doesn't want to reveal his secret. He watches as the blonde tries to come up with a reason as to why Ron wouldn't want to immediately tell everyone what he saw, to embarrass the other man and rub it in his face that Hermione would never want a Death Eater like him, that he’s disgusting for even thinking of her, for wanting her and thinking that he could ever have her. The longer that Ron does none of that the longer he gives Malfoy to figure out the truth.

He had always been smart like that, even Ron can begrudgingly admit it. He had been the top student in their class, just second to Hermione herself, and it shows in the way he’s calculating the silence that stretches between Hermione’s question and Ron’s response. His eyes, cold and grey, flicker between Ron’s tightly clenched jaw and Hermione’s disbelieving and nervous face. Ron watches as he glances at their hands, not touching, not intimate, not together.

He sees the exact moment Malfoy realises it, sees the way his eyes rove over her face, sees the flash of hope that he tries to tamper down. Ron watches as his indecision costs him the chance to make sure that the two never find out about their feelings for each other, watches as it affords his lifelong rival the confidence to hope for a chance with her.

He’s a Slytherin through and through. Eyes as sharp as a snake, lending him the ability to be deathly observant. He’s cunning, and Ron has no doubts that he’ll do everything to make sure that he’s come to the right conclusion; that Ron doesn’t want Hermione to know about Malfoy’s feelings for her because he’s scared of what she’ll do with that information.

With his hesitation, Ron had basically handed over victory to the snake.

So he unpins his badge, tosses it over to Harry without looking at the man, ignores Hermione’s indignant cry, and marches away from the lot of them. He ignores her calls, ignores the way the others watch him curiously as he exits the scene and the office. When he rounds a corner, he catches a glimpse of Harry holding Hermione back from following him.

Perhaps Harry had come to the same conclusion as Malfoy.

He ends up in the Three Broomsticks and that’s where Harry finds him that night, sloshed but somehow still coherent.

“He loves her,” he says by way of greeting, gesturing to Madam Rosmerta to bring over a new bottle of firewhisky. “That’s what I saw in his head.”

Harry looks only mildly surprised, as if he had half-suspected that already. “Why didn’t you tell her that?” Even as he asks, Ron knows he already has some idea as to what the answer will be.

“She found the ring yesterday, then she broke up with me. Apparently, she’s also in love with him. But you knew that already, didn’t you Harry? You knew it somehow, even back then in your office. How?”

“I saw the way he looks at her, and while I was taking Occlumency and Legilimency lessons from him I noticed that he seems to think about her often,” his friend quietly admits, taking the bottle from Rosmerta and thanking her. “I didn’t think anything would come of it. I thought, maybe I was just seeing things. This is Malfoy we’re talking about; he can reform himself, maybe enough to become friends with half-bloods and muggle-borns, but I hadn’t thought he would actually fall for anyone who isn’t a pureblood. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Ron doesn’t answer, contents himself with making Harry try to fill in the uncomfortable silence that follows his revelation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” the brunet finally says. “Do you want me to talk to her? Is she still in your flat? Where are you staying?”

“She left me the flat, mate. Said I can have it and that she’ll stay in her parents’ old house. You can try to talk to her but I don’t really see the point, if I’m being honest.”

“What? You’re just going give up then?” It’s the accusation and the disappointment in his best friend’s voice that finally gives him the energy to be angry again. He slams his hand on the table but Harry only blinks at his outburst, whipping out his wand and throwing silencing and disillusionment charms without missing a beat.

“Give up? What would you know? Your relationship is perfect, you’re getting married, you’ve probably never had to watch your partner slowly but surely lose interest in you. You don’t truly know what it’s like to watch her fall in love with someone else while deluding yourself into believing that you’re just seeing things, so don’t lecture me about giving up, Harry.” It feels good, to release some of the pent-up anger, and he feels the tears begin to stream down his face just as he watches as the challenge in Harry’s eye deflates. “I know when to fold, I know when to accept that my King is compromised, I know when it’s checkmate and there’s no going back.”

Harry doesn’t say anything in return, and he doesn’t have to. Ron knows he’s right, knows that they both know that no amount of talking or begging could make Hermione change her mind. She’s steadfast to the point of being recklessly stubborn, and once she makes a decision she sticks by it. They both have no doubt in their minds that if she had decided to end a relationship spanning more than five years, it was not a decision made lightly. She had probably been stewing in it, over-analysing every little detail before coming to the conclusion that she would rather break up with him that pretend for a second longer that she’s still in love with him.

Ron thinks he would have also come to the same conclusion given enough time. She had just been one step ahead, like how she always is.

Epilogue

Neville and Luna get married just a little over a year after Harry and Ginny’s own ceremony. He got invited, and along with his invitation came a warning from his best mate and his sister.

“Hermione will be there,” they had told him, watching him closely. “Malfoy was also invited. They would probably come together since, you know, they’re together.”

Ron had snorted, not bothering to look up from the shelves he had been inspecting. He had made a point to jot down that they were running out of whiz-bangs before replying, “You don’t have to warn me to behave myself. It’s been more than a year.”

And he does behave himself. He sits sandwiched between Harry and George, and his heart only hurts a little when he finally spots her with her hand tightly clutched in his. She waves to them, her smile cautious, and lets Malfoy lead her to another table where Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott are seated.

Ron doesn’t even comment that Neville let not just one but three Death Eaters into his wedding.

Throughout the ceremony, he can’t help but watch her. He watches as he leans to whisper something in her ear that has her covering her mouth to contain her laughter, glee apparent in her wide eyes that never once stray to look at Ron. He watches as he watches her watching the bride and groom vow eternity to each other, her eyes glassy and his eyes filled with devotion. When Malfoy leans in to kiss her cheek, she chuckles, wiping at her eyes and leaning forward to steal a quick kiss from his willing mouth.

It should repulse him, but he finds that he can no longer hate them for finding each other. When he watches them dance together, he sees that she looks at him the way he had wanted her to look at him when they were still together. When they had broken up, Ron believed that he would hate for Malfoy to be someone deserving of Hermione’s love, but now he can’t even bring himself to truly feel remorse as he watches him spin her around.

When she stops spinning, she lands in his embrace and they stay like that, just rocking from side to side. She opens her eyes and finally meets Ron’s. He feels like a whole conversation passes between them, one filled with endless apologies, hopes that they can become what they were before they ventured into a romance, and promises that they will try to find each other in a new light.

He nods at her and when she smiles back, he finally accepts that in his arms, she has found happiness.

37 notes · View notes

quixotic-writer · 4 years

Text

Letting Loose

Song inspo: fuck away the pain/one night stand — divide the day

Summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend and kicking him out you begrudgingly head out for work at the bar. After talking it up with Q for a while, you decide tonight’s your night of fun and you invite him over, he gladly accepts and is willing to do anything to help relieve your tension.

Warning: Kinky smut ahead!!!

———————————————————

“Get the FUCK out of MY house.” I threw his suitcase of clothes out of the second story window and watched it fall onto the lawn with a loud thump that echoed through the whole neighborhood. I turn around to look at Devin and I glared at him. He smirked and walked towards me with open arms.

“C’mon baby, you know I didn’t mean it.” He places his lips on mine and I shove him off, reel back my hand, and give him a hearty open palm slap across his cheek. “Ow! What the hell!?”

“First off: don’t ‘baby’ me, i’m over the charms. Second: The HELL do you mean you didn’t mean it? Did you not think when you ‘accidentally’ slipped your dick into her? Huh, Devin?” He continues rubbing his cheek and I feel proud of myself knowing that’ll leave a nice mark for him to explain. “I am dead serious this time. Get out, stay out. I see you back here EVER again and i’m calling the cops.” I point to the door for him to leave the room. With a moment’s hesitation he finally leaves, I watch from the window as he picks up the suitcase and drag it all the way to his car like the sad sap he is. His guilt tripping won’t work on me this time, and i’m pretty sure he notices that because he finally turns around to look at me through the window with a scowl.

“You’re a needy bitch. No one will ever put up with you like I did!” He yells before stepping into his car. I didn’t say anything back, just slammed the window closed and turned my back. He wasn’t worth another breath out of me. I slump down onto the bed face down and scream into the pillow. I don’t understand how I forgave him for cheating on me last time, I should’ve known he would have done it again. I was so naïve and stupid.

I continue mentally beating myself up and seethe in my own rage. My skin feels like it’s boiling and I have a tension in my head that feels like there’s a stretched rubber band on the verge of snapping. I don’t know whether or not I want to murder someone, break something, or just find a stranger and fuck them out of spite of my now tarnished relationship.

“Fuck.” I said out loud as I realized I had work tonight down at the bar at 3, I look over at the clock on my nightstand that read 1:00 in red neon numbers. I really don’t want to go especially with the range of emotions I was experiencing, but I had already called out of work so many times this month. If I called out one more time my boss would either hate me or fire me, I really don’t need the second one happening especially because now i’ll be taking on the rent by myself. Even with Devin around, he only paid for the bare minimum so not too much would be changing except a few additional shifts down at the bar. The epiphany of his bullshit only made me even angrier.

I soaked in the tub for a bit to get cleaned up for work and ease my tension just a bit. I take in the scent of lavender and carnations, close my eyes, and gently float my hands through the sudsy waters. It helped a little, but I could feel my nerve endings firing off in annoyance still feeling ready to pounce at any moment. Anything happens at work tonight and I won’t hesitate to give someone a piece of my mind, i’m so not in the mood to be dealing with bullshit of any kind.

I drive over to work blasting some metal music to try and release some of my anger by screaming along. Once I step through the door, I can already get a sense of how this shift is gonna go. It wasn’t a negative energy, but it wasn’t a positive energy either. It was just gonna be the same old same old kind of shift where nothing really happens. Though it’d be boring, i’d rather have that over a high energy night.

“Girl, maybe it’s just me, but your RBF is looking extra intimidating today.” Trin says from behind the counter. I sigh and roll my eyes.

“I’m not rolling my eyes at you. It’s fucking Devin.” Her eyes light up and her eyebrows flick up.

“Please tell me...”

“Yup. I’m over it. This time for good, i’m tired of being his play thing.” She gives me a big hug and is jumping a little as she holds me.

“Finally! He looked like he was dipped in fryer grease anyway. Now you just need to get something else good, and you know that one regular we have is kinda cute. What’s his name again?” She taps me with her elbow a couple of times and I laugh it off. I know who exactly she’s talking about, but I try to avoid giving her the satisfaction of giving out his name as I continue washing glasses behind the counter. “Quinn! That’s his name!” So much for avoiding that.

“His name’s actually Brian, but Quinn suits him better. Yeah he’s cute but why would he want me? Also doesn’t it seem kind of bad to rebound like that immediately after throwing my ex out?” I wasn’t going to deny that Q was cute, but i’d just feel bad using him as a rebound.

“Well first off, I think you’re a smoking hot piece of work that was too god for your ex. Second, you don’t seem sad about losing him, just mad that he was a dick that wasted your time and energy. Why not live for yourself a little and let loose?” She shrugs and goes back to serving drinks and making small talk with customers. She’s kind of right, I didn’t miss Devin and I wasn’t sad about losing him, I was just sad that I willingly allowed myself to be played and manipulated. Her words lingered in my ears as I continued working.

The afternoon slowly bleeds into the evening, it’s Tuesday so all our patrons are taking things slow and easy. It was a perfect pace for me to work at. Not too much work and bullshit, but just enough stuff to do to keep my mind occupied. Trin eventually clocks out for the evening and in her place one of our newbies, Trey, clocks in. It was perfect because I made him do most of the work to get a handle of how the ropes work in the bar. Seniority had its perks. I gossip with a few bar goers as they tell me their stories of their shit office jobs or complain about the typical New York traffic.

“There’s my second favorite bartender!” I turn my head as a deep voice thick with an accent diverts my attention away from one of my customers. There was Q, sitting himself at the counter smiling like a goof ball to me.

“Second favorite is all I get Quinn?” I say with a twinge of sass in my voice. “Shot of Jameson i’m guessing for the big boy to start off his night?” I lean over the bar and I notice his eyes take a quick peek at my slightly exposed cleavage that spilled from my tank top.

“You know it! Besides, you know my buddy Sal will always be at the top as far as bartending goes.” I get his drink ready and slide it over to him. He raises the glass to me with a smirk before he downs it in a swift gulp. I unknowingly stare at him with a slight glimmer in my eyes and he quickly catches me. “Staring’s rude y’know, sweetheart. Could I just get a nice brew also, please?” He says sliding the shot glass back over to me.

“Could say the same for you, Quinn.” I retort back going to clean up some of the dishes and serve up other drink to the few others surrounding him at the bar. I pour him his drink and set it down in front of him with a slight sneer.

“Someone’s on edge today. Been coming here long enough to know when something’s up with you.” The ring band he wears on his middle finger taps against his glass as he awaits a response to his query. My emotions are showing a bit too much tonight and I loathe myself for it, I always held myself to a standard to keep my private life hidden and not allow it to affect my performance at work.

“That obvious?” I say feeling guilty that I may have unintentionally taken some anger out on him. He chuckles a bit and leans in closer, resting his elbows on the counter top in anticipation to see if i’ll play along any further. “I’ll spare you the woeful details of my pitiful heartbreak if I can even call it that. Long story short: Boyfriend cheated and I got his sorry ass out of there.” He has a shocked look on his face and seems as though maybe he shouldn’t have asked. I cackle at his reaction.

“And you still came to work? That’s harder than any shot of whiskey i’ve ever done.” He rakes his hands through his hair as he sits back to process the information. I stare at his arms and his tattoos and his thick fingers. And I, for a second, imagined what it felt like if he held me close with those arms, what they’d feel like gripping my waist. Maybe Trin was right, maybe I need to let loose and have some fun all for myself.

“You know, I may be mad, but i’m sure as hell happy i’m not with him anymore. I’ve been over him for a while to tell you the truth, love was long out the door. He was so restricting it was ridiculous. Can’t wear this, can’t go there, blah blah blah. Don’t know why I put up with it for as long as I did or why I stuck around knowing I didn’t even love him anymore.” I say recalling all the stupid rules Devin had for me. I couldn’t wear anything ‘too revealing’ because it’ll attract ‘negative attention’ and he’ll be ‘embarrassed.’ I couldn’t go to certain places without him, it was all so manipulative because he could do whatever he wanted. If it wasn’t the cheating, the stupid rules would have been the next thing to make me want to dismember him.

“Let me buy you a shot sweetheart.” He slides some money over the counter and I graciously accept, i’d love a little buzz to get through this shift. “Cheers to getting him out of your life. You didn’t deserve that shit. No one does.” Sympathy. That’s something I haven’t seen a guy display in a while towards me. He raises his glass to me with a soft look in his puppy dog eyes and it made my heart feel full. I smile and raise my shot glass before downing the liquid that burns my esophagus as it travels down.

The night carries on, Q and I continue hitting it off and chat the night away in the dreadfully slow bar. We both get bolder and bolder and a little more flirtatious as the time passes. When I look over to the clock overhead, I notice my time in the bar is close to its expiration and even closer to a sense of newfound freedom. I eye Q up and down and I hear Trin’s voice echoing in the back of my head: let loose a little.

“So, Quinn, I’d love to continue this conversation and hang with you more after my shift is over. Maybe go to my place?” We both know where an invitation like this could lead, I chew on my bottom lip a little hoping to he says the words I want so badly to hear tonight. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and then I knew my wish was going to be granted.

“Thought you’d never ask sweetheart.” His fingers trace the rim of his empty glass and I feel my heart start to pound out of my chest. Every time he called me ‘sweetheart,’ it hit me in a whole new way. I go to clock out of work and wish an easy night to my coworkers before officially heading out. Q follows me out and we walk towards the parking lot.

“Shall I drive? I only had one shot and it has long worn off already.” I offer to Q. He hadn’t had much to drink, only a shot or two and a beer and I know he can handle his liquor pretty well, but i’d rather play it safe and be the designated driver for the evening.

“That would be much appreciated since i’m a little intoxicated, also because I have no clue where you live.” He jokes around. We both hop into my car and my music blasts through the speakers. It wasn’t just any music either, it was my Slipknot CD, the one I listen to when i’m especially mad. We both jump at the sudden cacophony of noise and I quickly bolt to turn down the volume. “That tells me exactly how pissed off you were earlier!” He chuckles and I cover my mouth in shame, speechless that the guy i’m trying to swoon just heard the hell that I listen to.

“This is the only thing I have in, I hope you don’t mind.” I can feel my face turning red.

“That’s fine, I don’t mind and i’d love to listen to something a little different for once.” I turn the volume back on and we start to head over to my house. The whole way there as we talked about nonsense, I could see Q out of the corner of my eye head banging to the music, and it eased my nerves in a weird way. Sharing music with someone is a deep form of intimacy to me, seeing someone enjoy what I play is something that fills me with no greater joy. As I catch occasional glances at him, the way the street lights illuminated his face and framed his features just made him seem even more attractive.

We pull into my driveway and I guide Q into my now quiet home. He seats himself on my couch and I mix up a glass of rum and coke for the two of us. I hand him his drink and take a seat right next to him. It was then where he really wanted to get into the nitty gritty of my recent relationship status update.

“So he had rules for what you could wear, where you could go, what you could do? Sounds like the jabberings of someone who’s insecure if you ask me.” He sips his drink. The amount of disgust Q has for the actions of my ex is so reassuring that i’m not crazy.

“Had I not been working tonight, I would have broken every single stupid rule he had for me. Especially the one about what I can wear, that one bugged me the most.” I had a whole outfit saved hidden away in the closet that I had kept secret. I had a sneaking feeling that things would have come to a messy end and bought it out of spite.

“I would kill to see you in it.” Seems as though he’s following in suit with my energy and he’s on the same page as I am. He looks me up and down and slides a hand on my thigh, I already feel my motor revving to go.

“Why leave it to the imagination when I could just give you a show?” His eyes flicker like a candle and I can feel his desires radiating off of his warm skin. I quickly hop up and disappear into my room. In my drawers I find my black lace lingerie that framed and clung to my body in the perfect ways sensing the outfit wouldn’t stay on for too long. Next in the closet I fish around for the wine red velvet halter crop top and the black pencil skirt I had stashed away. As the cherry on top on completed it all with the black platform heels I had.

I step down stairs and Q quietly takes in the view. I slowly walk closer towards him and stop as soon as i’m in front of him between his spread legs.

“Didn’t you know staring is rude, Quinn?” He’s clearly taken aback and I can see him struggling to keep it together. I straddle him and his hands feel over the curve of my ass and venture towards my hips where they rest. He stares in awe at the goods I have on display until he makes eye contact. Those chocolate brown eyes could tell a whole story, and I could never get tired of it. I bring our faces closer and lock our lips together in a deep kiss. “If we’re gonna be having fun tonight, we’re playing by my rules tonight.” I say in a dominating tone. It was my turn to have my way.

“If that’s what you want sweetheart, use me as you wish, call the shots tonight.” I devilishly smile as the sinful thoughts and ideas begin to pour into my head and I feel myself growing wet at the scenarios that play in my mind. Without another word, I take Q by his hand and drag him upstairs to the bedroom. I throw him on the bed and he throws his shirt off.

“So what are your limits Quinn? Ever been tied up? Blindfolded? Teased?” I say as my finger tips trace along his inner thighs, he groans a little at my touch.

“Kinky tonight aren’t we?” I remove my shirt and skirt to reveal the lingerie hidden underneath and go to grab some special items from deep within the closet. “I can handle anything you give me. But just in case, my safe-word is pumpernickel.” I stop in my tracks and try to stifle a laugh.

“Interesting word, but I will be sure to remember it. Now let’s get you out of those restricting pants.” I tug at his belt and remove his pants to reveal the tent that was hidden in his boxers. I rub him through the thing fabric and watch as he screws his eyes shut. “Oh you have no idea what you’re in for now Quinn. This hard already and i’ve barely even touched you.” I bring out the scarf I had and tie his wrists together and tie them up to the head board of the bed, leaving Q vulnerable and open. As a final piece, I place the blindfold over his eyes.

“I’m not allowed to see that smoking hot bod of yours? Now this is torture.” For a moment I look over his body, needy with lust filled desire and it’s eye candy to me. He restrains against the bondage around his wrists and his muscles flex for a moment and I feel myself pulsate at the sight. I lean in close to his ear, the fun begins now.

“Oh darling, there’s much more coming to you.” I crawl between his legs and rub over his sizable bulge and watch as his breath hitches and his body twitches at the sensation. “You tell me when you’re close no matter what, if you cum too soon you’ll be punished. Don’t be afraid to make as much noise as you want, i’d love to hear what dirty noises come out of you. Never be afraid of using your safe-word, I may be in control but your well being still matters to me. Got it?” He whimpers underneath my touch.

“Yes, please continue it feels so fucking good.” I smirk as his mouth falls open letting his steamy hot breath escape. I lay a few kisses above the band of his boxers before taking the waist band in my teeth and slowly pulling them down to free his dick that stands at full attention before me. I quickly grab the hitachi wand from my toys and turn it on, a low humming sound fills the room and Q tenses up below me. I tease him a little and trace it along his inner thighs and just around his cock, but never touching it. “Please do something. Anything. I’m so hard please.” I smile because hearing him beg is truly a spectacle and something I wish I could hear all the time. His wish is my command and I place the the wand just below the head of his cock and his back arches off the bed and his fists clench above his head grabbing at the scarf to brace himself for the overwhelming and heightened sensation of pleasure that washes over him.

“Oh shit. God. Please more that feels so good.” I start running it up and down his length and watch as his hips convulse aching for more friction. “I’m close, holy fuck i’m close.” He confesses between moans and I quickly remove the toy and his dick twitches in attempts to find friction to chase the high it craves. Q whines at the loss of pleasure and it’s music to my ears.

“Not just yet. I haven’t even stripped down yet.” I remove my bra and panties and sit on top of Q’s hard on. I grind my hips and feel as his cock rubs against the folds of my dripping wet pussy. “Mmm~” A low hum falls out of my mouth because I know i’m in for quite a ride. He feels so thick and hard outside of my body in this moment, I could only imagine what it’d feel like inside of me. “How bad do you wanna cum?” I say teasing him in a pouty voice and all he can do is let out unintelligible babbles. “That’s not an answer Quinn.” I lift myself up and his groans only get louder and his feet kick at the sheets on the bed at the once again lost friction.

“Please I wanna cum so bad, let me cum please.” I travel up his body until my navel hangs above his mouth, I can feel his steaming breath blowing on me and it only excites me more.

“Show me how bad.” I lower myself down and the moment he realizes what’s going on he quickly gets to work lapping up really fast at whatever his tongue could reach. “Fuck Q that feels so good.” I moan out to let him know he’s doing a good job. I lavish in the sensation of the wet warmth of his tongue plunging into me and circling around my clit, humming to add vibrations, hitting all my most sensitive spots. This man knew how to please a lady. I start grinding my hips to help him out a little as I feel my climax slowly beginning to approach. “I’m gonna cum Q keep fucking sucking on my clit like that.” Like a dog he quickly obeys and gives my wanted attention to my throbbing clit as he bites gently, sucks, and licks it I feel myself come undone and tremble through my high with a drawn out groan.

I decided he’s had enough torture and go to remove the blindfold. He quickly blinks his eyes a couple of times to adjust to the dimly lit room after having that sense taken away. I lean down and kiss his lips that are soaked in my juices, moaning as I taste the liquid ecstasy, tongues tangles together in desperation. He hums back and I pull away to trail kisses from his jawline, to his neck, down to his chest, lower and lower until i’m met with his hard on that is leaking with a need for attention. I lick up whatever pre-cum resided on the tip and look up as he watches breathlessly.

“What’s wrong Quinn, cat got your tongue?”

“Quite the opposite. Bitch got my dick.” My eyes go wide and there’s no stopping the ugly laugh that escapes my mouth. It totally ruined the sexy dominating attitude I had going this whole evening but it was comical and swift on his part.

“Shut up that was terrible.” I say, still giggling a little bit. He gives a cocky smile in return.

“Make me.” Those were words he was soon going to mistake. I plunge down and take his whole cock into my mouth with my nose bouncing against his stomach. “Oh fuck!” He yells out at the suddenness of me taking him in. It sure did get him to stop talking as he dissolved into nothing but a moaning mess which only made me wet all over again. With each bob I take, I feel his hips start to match rhythms and start pounding against my face reaching in deeper as his tip hits the back of my throat and I gag a little. “I’m so close please let me cum dammit!” He cries out as the thrusts of his hips begins to falter but never losing power and I feel his dick twitch in my mouth. Just to torture him a little more, I slide him out of my mouth and back away so he falls away from the high he was so close to. “Please no, not again.”

“Just a little longer darling, all good things come to those who wait.” I straddle him again, but this time I line him up with my entrance, teasing myself as I rub his tip along my folds a little. I sink down slowly and Q’s mouth falls open and his head falls back at the sensation of finally being inside of me. I decided to reward him a little and lean up and remove the scarf that bounds his wrists. “Since you’ve been so good.” I say with a smirk. I slowly start to bounce my hips and feel as he slides in and out of me, hitting all the right spots that make it feel as though electricity is shooting out of every pore. Q’s hands grip at my hips so hard that I think that it might bruise, but it felt good and I knew I had built him up for so long tonight already.

In desperation and relishing the taste of his freedom, he starts slamming hard up into me and I knew he was close but he wasn’t going to say. Just as soon as he thought he had his way again, I tripped that thought away by stopping my movements and using my weight to hold his hips down against the mattress.

“Were you not going to tell me you were getting close?” He tries to use his hands to move my hips, but I wasn’t going to budge. I can feel him twitching like crazy in me and judging by his face he looks as though he’s going to be seeing beyond the stars when he finally releases all i’ve made him pent up. “Beg for it.”

“Sweetheart please i’m so close, this is the third time. You feel so good around me and I just want to cum.” The way he said sweetheart in a sad needy tone just made my heart melt. I release the weight I had on him and a fire ignites behind his eyes. He grabs my waist to hold me in place as he desperately thrusts into me getting faster and faster. I cum for a second time without warning as Q continues pounding into me relentlessly with feverish intent. I feel so oversensitive and i’m hunched over, leaning on top of Q as I whine from the overstimulation. It all came to a quick close with a final hard thrust he releases what felt like endless hot spurts of cum into me with a loud continuous throaty groan.

Finally we both lay there breathless and exhausting from what felt like the best sex i’ve had in ages.

“I haven’t had sex like that in a while.” I tell him as I push the now knotted, sweat drenched hair away from my face.

“I don’t think i’ve had sex like that ever. I don’t usually play sub, something about you got me down on my knees. Wanted you to have your fun.” I felt proud of myself for taking on the role, it felt empowering and a lot more satisfying. I could get used to this. “Y’know, I hope this isn’t just a one night stand because i’d kinda like to take you to a movie.”

“I think i’d like that a lot Quinn.” I say smiling and looking into the mocha puppy dog eyes that had me hooked from the start. Just when I had thought i’d have no chance throwing myself back into the dating ring, the universe drops the most unexpected twists into the tale. My twist: my favorite regular at the bar.

#This was really self indulgent and really long!!#brian quinn #q #brian q quinn #brian quinn imagine #brian x reader #q x reader #smut #suki writes

194 notes · View notes

drxwsyni · 4 years

Note

if you have requests open, could you please do a blurb/scenario where overhaul is too needy and clingy for touch ? it would be nice to see him be normal once. like the s/o is doing something like reading, and then suddenly he starts smoothering her in kisses, wanting to cuddle and etc. ?

how dare you come into my inbox and request something so gosh diddly darn soft anon, this is a yandere blog for crying out loud. also i’ve never really written fluff before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations given where i took this. i really spent a while trying to make this so i’m sorry if it wasn’t what you imagined. anyhoot―thanks for requesting my fav villain!

warnings: implied kidnapping and stockholm syndrome

_____

Yandere Chisaki Kai/Overhaul x f!Reader

(2.9k words) Title: affection

Time seemed to pass quickly in an unchanging environment. Having lost yourself long ago to the stagnant surroundings and uncompromising directives, existing was now a calm, passive experience.

Gradually, your mindset began to shift. Likely for the better, you acknowledged and accepted the proclamations of Chisaki Kai.

It was peculiar―there was a certain attachment he had to you, and it was quite evident. He cared for you, but it was on a detached level. Few times existed in your memory in which he had displayed innate affection, something with physical warmth to it. Mostly, his devotion was shown in the act of providing for you―maintaining your good health, a comfortable place to rest, relaxing pastimes―anything to make your life with him more pleasant.

When it came to more personal exchanges, Chisaki was lacking deeply. On the rare occasion he’d indulge you in closeness, but something seemed to be holding him back. Contact was limited―a hand on the small of your back, moving a strand of wayward hair from your face. If he was feeling particularly bold, he might gently cup your cheek as he admired the details in your irises for a fleeting moment.

It never moved beyond these happenings though, whether you wished they would or not.

You took them as they came, but slowly the lack of contact was having its own effects on your health. It was more of a mental than physical affliction―the loss of touch meant the loss of an irreplaceable comfort.

Unfortunately, Chisaki had his boundaries, something you were well aware of. It was the driving force preventing you from bringing up the concern. Instead, you continued to subsist day in and day out. By now the need to resist had faded completely, and you were left to the subjection of his will.

Today, that will had you occupied in his office. The yakuza leader seemed to take solace in your company, although distant, thus having you frequently stationed in his proximity. Novel in hand, leaning against the armrest behind you, your mind drifted from the contents of the pages as you relaxed against the soft leather. Always in his line of site, the couch you were laying on was positioned against the wall to Kai’s right as he worked diligently at his desk.

If there was one trait of his that prevailed over all others, it was his attention to detail in your condition. He picked up on everything before you comprehended the reality yourself. It was because of this you eventually began to willingly let him make all the decisions, knowing you’d never be on the same level of proficiency.

His office was normally a quiet environment―you deduced it was something he maintained when you were around. It was easier to immerse yourself in a good book like this, devoid of distractions. Yet, every so often your thoughts departed from the story, taking up residence in the details of your surroundings.

The warm yet sufficiently illuminating lighting, crisp and sterile scented air, ambient noises of a quietly ticking clock or the typing of a keyboard. It all served to subdue your nerves, letting your mind ease into placidity. Your eyes drifted to the wall on your left, lost in the grooved details of the high-grade wooden panelling.

“Angel.”

Your head turned to the source of the sound, pulling you out of your thoughts. Chisaki had moved to seat himself on the edge of the couch next to you, a look of worry in his eyes coupled with slightly furrowed eyebrows. You offered a hum in response.

“How did you sleep last night? You tend to get...distracted, when you’re tired.” He must’ve noticed the wandering look in your eyes―eyes that should've been focused on your novel. As always, he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Well enough, I guess.” You gave a warm smile in hopes of easing his concerns.

He continued with an inquisitive look. “How many hours?”

You knew the question to be an order to tell the truth, despite it sounding harmless enough. “Maybe five. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Chisaki let out a sigh, likely disappointed at the response.

Yet, it would seem today he was feeling generous with affection.

His gloved right hand drifted to your face, settling on cupping the side of it while his thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone. “You know to wake me up if you're having trouble sleeping.”

“I didn’t want to bother you Kai. I’m really not that tired, so you don’t need to worry.” Upsetting him was the last thing you wanted to do, knowing how it affected his ability to work sometimes.

“We’ve been over this before, angel. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. If something is wrong you’re to tell me immediately.”

But you couldn’t tell him what was wrong. The truth was something even he wouldn’t be able to fix as far as you were concerned.

You could have woken him up last night, and you probably would’ve been met with sleeping pills to ease your affliction. It would’ve done the trick, but in reality it wouldn’t have been what you truly needed. Even after all this time, admitting it to yourself was difficult. But you couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in his touch. The two of you even slept in the same bed―it wouldn’t take much for him to fix the issue if he wasn’t so insistent on ‘giving you your space.’

For now, you resolved to lean into his hand, silently conveying your feelings. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be up for so long.”

He must’ve picked up on the movement, seeing as his eyes widened ever so slightly. Much to your surprise, he didn’t withdraw his hand.

Once again he regarded you with mild distress. “Your health will deteriorate if you remain exhausted. Tell me next time, I’ll give you something to help with the restlessness.”

That’s not what you wanted. “I don’t like taking the pills though. They make me feel...weird.”

He gave a small laugh, “How else am I supposed to put you to sleep?”

You bit down on your lower lip nervously, looking away from his gaze. He’d likely never understand, and it was a reality you would have to get used to―just as you had with all the other difficulties he presented you.

“Hey, look at me.” Your eyes immediately followed his command, seeing him now glaring down at you. “You’re acting strange, what are you thinking about?”

What were you supposed to tell him?

You’d have to lie your way out of this one and pray he didn’t pick up on it. You opened your mouth to speak, but a knock at the heavy wooden door effectively cut you off.

“Just a minute.” Chisaki called out to whoever provided the interruption before regarding you again. His hand slipped to the top of your exposed knee, given that you were wearing a dress that came just above it. “Whatever’s wrong―you're telling me later, understand?”

You gave a small nod in response, which he deemed satisfactory enough.

Giving your knee a small squeeze, he stood from the couch, moving to retake his place in the chair behind his desk. He invited the individual waiting on the other side of the door in, and you returned to the company of your book.

Yet, as hard as you tried to focus on its contents, you couldn’t help but fret over the prospect of having to tell him exactly how you were feeling.

_____

The following couple of hours were spent in the continued presence of Kai as he dealt with a few of his subordinates in the office. Since the interaction you picked up on his brief glances in your direction, doing what you assumed was making sure you weren’t falling asleep.

Eventually, dinner had rolled around. The two of you ate in almost complete silence, save for a few comments made here and there regarding your opinions on the new novel you were reading, and him on having to deal with some incompetent underlings.

It would seem for the moment he had disregarded his promise to interrogate you on the topic of your change in behaviour. Maybe for once he wouldn’t be so painfully thorough, and instead let this one incident slide.

That’s what you hoped for, not being able to come to terms with the reality of having to tell him the truth. But you knew better―he was never one to go back on his word, not even with you.

Chisaki returned to the office for a few hours after dinner, letting Kurono accompany you on a walk through the compound's courtyard.

The place was by far your most favoured area in the base. It was the only thing that really changed in your life―the seasons, weather, anything nature had to offer―the only constant that was inconstant. You always took as much time as possible to relish in the environment, and were never truly satisfied by the time you were escorted away, back to the shared bedroom.

Kai was already in the room when you returned, some unidentifiable files in hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over the papers.

It was fairly late, nearing when he had designated an appropriate bedtime for yourself.

He lifted his head as you entered the room, watching as you shut the door behind you.

“I drew you a bath. We’re having that talk once you’re ready for bed.”

Following his unspoken commands, you headed into the bathroom, not before picking out a pair of pyjamas for the night.

Naturally, you spent as long as possible soaking in the gradually cooling off water. Having scrubbed your body down long ago, it was now a matter of biding your time until you could work up the courage to return to him.

Unfortunately that courage never came, rather it was more of an inescapable dread that you had no choice but to deal with. If you waited any longer it would only make things worse for the both of you.

Coming to terms with the situation, you finished up with your bath and finished getting ready for bed.

Upon exiting the bathroom you saw Kai was already in bed, sitting up against the headboard on his phone. By the end of the day he never truly finished his work as far as you could tell, leaving times like this to be spent tending to emails or occasionally answering a phone call. He never bothered to hide his occupation from you. It wasn’t always a bad thing, but some of the discussions he had were, for lack of better words, alarming. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

The only light left on in the room was that of the lamp on his bedside table. His eyes never strayed from his phone as you made your way over to your side of the bed. You settled for lying on your side, facing away from him under the blankets.

It was around 9:00 pm at this point. Normally Chisaki stayed up for a couple of hours, either in bed on his phone or at the small desk just to the side of the room. He insisted that you go to bed at the same time every night, and remained in the room to make sure you actually fell asleep.

Like usual, the two of you never talked in these moments. That continued to be your reality for a few minutes, but his promise was more than enough to keep the exhaustion away for the time being.

You heard a deep sigh from his side of the bed, followed by the gentle thud of a phone being laid on the nightstand. There was a slight shift in the bed before movement ceased once again.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

You really didn’t want to open up to him about this. “Nothing really, I guess.”

For the most part you’d been good at hiding it, but last night was just one amongst many that had you awake for long hours. Keeping the issue from him wasn’t the easiest, but it was better than the alternative―than this.

“Angel, I’m going to need you to cooperate here. I can tell your behaviour has changed.”

Maybe you weren’t as good at hiding it as you thought.

“Just a little tired is all, I’m fine.”

You’re definitely not fine.

“How long have you felt like this.”

Longer than you could feasibly remember, but you digress.

“Maybe a month...or two.”

The pause suggested that, like you expected, your answers tonight would likely irritate him.

“I’ll pick up some medication to help you stay asleep then.”

Again with this, it’s like he has selective memory or something.

“I don’t li―”

“You don’t like the way it makes you feel, I know. But you’ll fall ill if you remain in this state.”

You never had the room to be demanding with Kai. Realistically, you never needed to. Somehow he always managed to take care of everything―even things you didn’t realize were a problem. Not when it came to this however. Nowadays, he just barely missed the mark, and it was enough to cause issues of its own.

“It’s just...not everything can be solved with pills.”

God, what were you saying? It would be so much easier to just accept his answer and move on.

That’s what you thought, but something was causing you to reply against your will, for better or for worse.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, my love.” You felt the bed shift once again, the only light going out with a click.

You’ve already dug yourself deep enough into this mess, where’s the harm in going a little further?

“I guess I’m just...lonely?”

There was a moment of silence that felt like it lasted an eternity. You’d never discussed this topic with him before―at least you think you hadn’t. A lot of your memories felt foggy due to the almost completely unchanging routine you’d been subjected to for who knows how long.

You heard another sigh from his side of the bed. It was already something you’d anticipated―him not being able to provide for you in this way despite being more than capable of doing so with all other concerns. All you could do now was wait for the inevitable, medically approached solution he had conjured.

“Well, if that’s the case…” Yet, in a swift motion you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back from your position on the edge of the bed, “...I suppose it’d be quite irresponsible of me to neglect this problem any longer.”

He slotted you securely against his chest, arm remaining firmly draped over your frame effectively keeping you from moving even an inch out of his grasp.

The sudden contact sent your mind reeling, while your body was seemingly unable to put up resistance―but at this point there wasn’t much need to resist anyways. In fact, you were more concerned with Chisaki, him stepping way outside of what you perceived to be his comfort zone.

“I―y-you don’t have to―”

“You should know that I’ve been holding back for your sake. Had I known you were so afflicted I would’ve indulged myself much sooner.”

Naturally, this only confused you further.

“I thought you didn’t like touching people?” Your voice was quiet―small even.

He almost laughed at the comment, but it came out as more of a breathy exhale. “That’s correct, angel.” Almost tantalizingly slow, he started leaving a trail of light kisses down your neck, pausing only to speak. “You however...I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

You felt the grip around your waist tighten ever so slightly. Not in a threatening way―more so to bring you closer to him, if that was even possible.

“Why did you wait?” For as long as you’ve known him, Chisaki was a man to take whatever he wanted without question. So the prospect of your current situation was baffling.

You could almost feel the slight smile he had against your skin as he lightly hovered over it. “I wanted you to come to me first...and now that you have,” his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, “I don’t plan on keeping the same restraint any longer.”

A shiver ran up and down your spine, you inwardly cursing yourself for having sensitive ears.

He continued, “But I suppose for now I should let you sleep, seeing as I’ve been preventing you from doing so for quite some time.” You felt him plant a final, gentle kiss atop the crown of your head.

It had been so long since someone had held you―made you feel genuinely loved―that it had your heart beating a million times a minute. Chisaki must’ve picked up on it, being so close, as his hand drifted to rest atop yours, rubbing small, soothing circles into it with his thumb.

This is what you wanted, right? For him to take this extra step?

Vaguely, you could register a slight feeling of...apprehension?

But, surely there was no need to feel worried anymore. Not after he’d looked after you―cared for you―for so long.

You tried to connect the sensation to reasoning. And yet, no matter how hard your brain searched for answers, a correspondence never formed. Rather, the sentiment faded as quickly as it arised, and was replaced with the comfort of his closeness to you―his affection.

So, you let it gradually lull you into sleep, knowing it’d be there―he’d be there―when you woke up. And it would still be there whenever you needed it, just as everything else was provided for you without you even having to ask.

#yandere bnha #yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere my hero academia #yandere #yandere mha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere mha x reader #yandere overhaul x reader #yandere chisaki kai x reader #yandere x reader

414 notes · View notes

bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

variants on a scenario or: ten Martin Blackwoods walk into a house.

episode 170 spoilers, like BIG SPOILERS.

jonmartin, one sided Martin/Lonely

In every universe, eventually, he finds the house we've built for him.

There is a smudge that copy-cats the shape of a man, and they wander the corridors. Sweep from room to room, dust-mote slow and purposeless. They are the colour of the wallpaper on our walls, and a sludgy heartbeat follows the metronome of our clock, and their eyes reflect back only the fog-rent vistas of our rooms. We cosset them in mist, give them the means to bury themselves forgotten.

They are not happy, but much happier. They are not safe, but much safer.

We have loved them like children love toys; loved to faded-ness, to sun-stained faint watercolour, to dereliction, dilapidation.

Once, the Avatar stalked past them in the corridor, shouting a name long rusted. The Avatar did not see them, and the man-shaped being didn't remember that was their name anyway.

It is better this way, we think.

It is a poorly observed phenomena, how closely we ally with so many of the others. Seep in at the corner of their shades like a fading gradient. We are beloved of the Mother, The Choke, The Everchased. The One-Who-Sees has bordered us close-knit, and though its gifts of awful revelation and exposing the terrible as-it-is have never found much fertile soil with the Not-as-They-Should-Be, we at least have always been on pleasant terms with the Twisting Deceit.

The Stranger's lessons are in our fog, which refracts light and image like carnival mirrors. We build cliff-faces of falsehood, impassable paths bricked along with lies designed to distract, waylay, confuse.

This is your house, we whisper to him.

You have always been here alone, we promise.

We recite to our beloved that he has never been loved, and our winds, our walls, our winding mists tell him so often that eventually he believes us.

It is cruel. A kindness we had thought to spare him.

We tailored this room, these walls, this house for him to wear, fitted and befitting, yet he picks at the seams, rubs patches into the weft of us through the friction of his insistence.

He always remembers eventually. Cycles round in conversational fits and starts, spasms and shocks, frowning at the tape recorder in his hand. He always remembers, and the intrusion of the wanting Eye, like a splinter, a broken bone, a half-glimpsed glimmer through our fog, won't let him rest, won't allow him to drift away properly.

Oh, hello there, he will smile at the little recorder. And steadily, his numbness will recede to fear, his blankness to panic, his silence to desperate declarations of a selfhood we have long worked on eroding.

Is this – this isn't my house, this can't be, why am I …. Jon! J-Jon, I'm here, I need you to find me Jon, please.

Before the realisation surges back out, gripless as tide. Memory washes away just as easily with the surf, we have found.

Oh, hello there.

Round and round and round he goes. Ad infinitum. It would be kinder just to vanish.

Sometimes we are lucky. Our traps snaring multiple.

After all, we have so many rooms going spare. Enough for both of them to join us.

The feast we desire walks into our open mouth.

His hands are chilled, frost-touched, trembling; he is babbling because he is nervous, because he smells the brine and sea-breeze and chemical tang of hospitals, because he knows he is enclosed by our teeth.

He does not fall behind. He does not lose his grip, does not stray from the hallways, the corridors. Our fog clouds his ankles but he doesn't stumble.

He leaves us, holding his anchor like a talisman, and our jaws are left wanting and empty.

He never chooses us willingly.

He never wants us, not like he did. He does not yearn for silences, for the world to be washed colourless and simple and painless, not like he used to.

It hurts, how often he rejects us.

The Avatar rips the clock from the wall. Shatters chair legs, tears down the lining of wallpaper, the carpeting, colouring the air with the name of the one we have taken.

He Sees into the heart of us and still cannot find him.

He is furious, powerful, but he is also insensible with terror, mired in guilt and recrimination and loneliness, and this only serves to help us dig our teeth in. He may be king in this world but he cannot conquer tide. He never deserved him, he who we claimed long before, our tendrils deep-rooted, historical. We have had our beloved all his life.

Not now, Martin.

You're a bad son. You put her there, and she hates it, how could you do that to her, your own mother –

Not now, Martin.

Useless. Forgetful. Clumsy. Loud.

Shut up, Martin.

Boring. Poor company. A placeholder for better friends.

They're all better off without you.

We don't have to tell him many lies. Life taught him to lie to himself far better than we ever could.

He is a work in progress, work of art, our masterpiece.

Over time-honed hours we sand away the corners of his recollections. After-work drinks, and inside jokes, and drunken songs shared between three. We touch up the shading so his mind does not stray to remembering small triumphs, earned successes, hard won victories. We scrub at the stubborn stains of his mother's disdain, the gnawing panic left by a series of jobs that left him empty and frustrated and desperately trying to make the budget match up, the easy everyday dismissals he believed he deserved.

We sand off the more recently applied paint of carefully cultivated loves and wishes and hopes, the whitewash of acceptance he thought he could finally claim. The Archivist's love has upholstered parts of him we had already weakened, but we are patient, we have time aplenty to sow our seeds and watch our meadow flourish, and we toil and scrape and wear him down until we can see the raw wood of him peaking through.

When we have finished, we are the only thing he can ever remember being.

10.

We know we have failed this time when he finds his name.

I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore.

When he refuses to be quiet, when he shouts his value, his worth, the things that we have failed to wipe from him so they echo and shake our walls down.

I am not lonely anymore. I have friends. I am in love. I will not forget, I will not.

He clears the borders of our domain with his head held high, his anchor walking by his side, and we know we have lost him for good.

#tma spoilers #jonmartin #the magnus archives #all content warnings similar to episode 170 #cw mental degradation #cw self esteem issues #cw depression #the lonely

200 notes · View notes

okarawrites · 4 years

Note

Hi! I just wanted to say I love your blog and you’re so talented❤️ I read your dom w/ Cloud post and I was wondering if you could do something similar but with Vegeta? Thank you!

Hey! thank you so much, that's so sweet of you! <3

And yes of course! Hope you enjoy it! I’m writing it with a Saiyan reader :)

The situation you found yourself in had been built up over time. There had been no conversation about spicing things up. Despite always striving to seem uninterested in your feelings, Vegeta was very astute to you. He had quickly realised that, true to your Saiyan heritage, you were very much attracted to his strength. Overpowering you was a easy task to him, while you were stronger than most humans, your physical strength was nothing compared to his.

This is what gave him the idea of altering his methods of dominating you. He wasn’t usually much of a talker in the bedroom, but he had noticed that you reacted well whenever he did decide to be more vocal, so he decided to incorporate that into his plan.

You were stood in Goku and Chichi’s house chatting with Chichi. You had always admired the woman and loved watching her dynamic with Goku. Vegeta was out training with Goku, so you took it as an opportunity to catch up with your friend. Your conversation was interrupted by your mobile ringing. Looking down at the device you were surprised to see that Vegeta was calling you. “Sorry, I better take this. It’s Vegeta.” you said to Chichi, who was then watching you with worry in her eyes that something was wrong. “Everything ok?” you asked picking up the phone. “I’m going to be home in an hour. I’m going to send you some instructions to follow.” Before you could reply the line went dead. It wasn’t unlike him to end calls abruptly, so you just shrugged it off and waited for his ‘instructions’.

“Nothing to worry about, Chi. Just Vegeta being dramatic about sending me some sort of list. Probably just wants me to pick up some groceries on the way home.” You saw Chichi visibly relax at your words. Your phone pinged again. You don’t really know what you had been expecting Vegeta to send you, but it hadn’t been this.

I’ll be home in 45 minutes. I want you to be waiting in our bedroom in nothing but your underwear. If not, there will be consequences.

You felt a shot of desire rush to your core as your reread the message. You could feel your face heat up and Chichi noticed the blush on your face. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.” she asked, thankfully mistaking your arousal for discomfort. “Yeah, umm, I gotta go. Lots of um... shopping to do. Yeah, shopping. Um say hi to Goku for me!” you fumbled over your words, practically flying away mid-sentence.

Once you were mid-flight, you took out your phone again and decided on reply to Vegeta's message.

What do you think I am? Some delivery service?!

You knew you’d give him anything he wanted, but you liked to make him work for it a little. As if anticipating your reply, Vegeta replied within seconds.

Oh, I know exactly what you are. Don’t worry.

Oh really, and what would that be? you replied

Obedient was all you got as an answer.

You got home with 30 minutes to spare, so you decided to shower quickly before getting dressed into your nicest lingerie. It was lacy and showed off your figure perfectly. You had obeyed one element of his instructions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be fully compliant. Not after that message. You decided to put your shirt and trousers back on over the lingerie. You felt his energy approach the house and sat down on your bed, acting as normal as possible.

He was in the bedroom standing in front of you in an instant. It’s well known that Vegeta is of an angrier temperament, but over the years you have come to know his range of anger and there is particular anger that is reserved only for you. You know this because you’re the same with him. It is essentially your way of flirting. You rile each other up to breaking point, then enjoy the outburst. It was how you two got together in the first place.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you did you best to look at him nonchalantly. “So, why did you want me to wait here?” you asked. The anger in his eyes fueling your arousal, threatening to rid you of your calm exterior.

He knew exactly what you were doing, and it was working. He had to take it up a notch. He chuckled darkly before walking over to you. He tilted your chin gently, urging you to look him in the eyes as he stood over you. “You can’t play innocent when we both know you’re already wet.” He said smoothly, with a smirk playing on his lips. In what felt like one swift movement, he had flipped you so that you were now on your hands and knees on the bed. One of his hands pressed between your shoulder blades and pushed your chest into the bed. You let out a groan and Vegeta pulled down your trousers to your knees.

He let out a laugh when he saw that you had obviously put on your best panties just for him. “Even when you try not to, you’re always so obedient.”

Your underwear did nothing to conceal how wet you were. He slowly ran a finger down the soaked fabric. You let a moan at the contact earning a hum of approval from the man behind you. “The most formidable woman I know, reduced to moaning by a simple touch” he mused. Suddenly you felt a sharp pain as his open palm connected with one of your ass cheeks causing you to cry out. It stung, but you delighted in the pain, adding yet again to the growing ache in your core.

“I told you there would be consequences.” He leaned over you and whispered in your ear “And this is just the beginning.” His hand came down on your ass several more times. Once he was satisfied with the redness of your skin he licked the sore skin before pulling down your panties to join your trousers around your ankles. He let out a deep growl at the slight of your exposed lips.

He had had enough of teasing you and himself and buried his face into you, lapping hungrily at you as you cried out his name. His tongue worked you well, exploring every inch he could reach. He could feel your knees get shaky and considered stopping just before you came, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He relished in the sound, taste, and feel of you cumming on his mouth. He took in a deep breath when he finally removed his mouth from you. His hands kneaded your ass cheeks and one traveled up your back, making sure to pass over the sensitive scar where your tail once hung. Once his hand was on your back he grabbed a fist full of your shirt and tugged you stand on your knees. Once you were on your knees his hands slid around you, moving to free you of your shirt.

He couldn’t remove his eyes from your lace-clad form as he disposed of your shirt. His large hand squeezed on one of your breasts before pinching at the erect nipple. His hand stroked over the fabric. “I think we’ll keep this on.” He said, moving your face round to capture your lips in a kiss. His tongue entered your mouth. You could taste yourself on him. You moaned as he deepened the kiss, hand holding you in place by the throat. He broke the kiss suddenly, dominance practically pouring off him as he held you by the throat maintaining eye contact as his other hand moved down your ass to settle in between your legs. Without warning, he plunged two fingers into your soaking pussy. You cried out and squeezed your eyes shut. “Look at me” his voice was quiet but his tone was demanding. You opened your eyes immediately. “So obedient. How should I reward you?” he was so smug, voice cool in contrast to the fact that he was finger fucking you at a bruising pace. You were close and he knew it, so he slowed down causing you to let out a whine in protest. “You didn’t answer me. What do you want?”

You could just about stammer out a response as his fingers worked achingly slow. “p-please please fuck me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He removed his fingers from you and released your throat from his grip. The lack of support sent you back down to your hands and knees, just like he wanted. You heard the quick unbuckling of his trousers before he slammed into you, letting out a low groan at the contact. It was obvious that it had been hard for him to hold back this long and he was relentless. “Fuck, yes Vegeta!” you cried out as he hit your walls perfectly. “That’s it, you always accept me so willingly.” He said hammering into you. “Now be a good girl and cum for me” hearing him say that sent you over the edge. You cried out as your hands fisted the bedsheets underneath you. His hands were tight on your hips. “Only a strong Saiyan woman could take me so well.” He muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, and with that he released into you with a grunt.

As he came down, slowing his thrusts, he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on your shoulder before pulling out of you. You fell onto your stomach and he flopped down on the bed next to you.

#vegeta x reader #vegeta #spicy #dbz

42 notes · View notes

im-whatchamccallit · 4 years

Text

Their S/O Forgives Them For Cheating//ATEEZ

(A/N: This was supposed to be out at 8pm but my family got a new kitten and I’ve been dealing with it so here is my Angsteez reaction/scenario that it a bit unedited :^))

Trigger warning, just in case: self/bodily harm, cheating

Hongjoong

Despite your blank face, eyes dull and staring straight through Hongjoong’s kneeling form in front of the sofa where you sat, he was a wreck. You’ve seen him cry on many occasions, but never like this: eyes red and puffy with never ending tears staining his cheeks until they dripped from his chin, nose runny and lips trembling as he let out sobs with a barely coherent ‘I’m sorry’ between them.

You were conflicted. You could feel your eyes burning with the desire to cry while your chest tightened in a mixture of sadness and rage, but your mind was littered with questions, specifically what you could have possibly done wrong. Hongjoong was no better, mentally preparing for you to walk away from him for good, but wrapping his arms around your waist as he buried his face in your lap in hopes it’ll make you stay, knowing that possibility would be one in a million.

That is, until you spoke.

“I… I feel like I shouldn’t be with you if I’m not enough for you… But, after three years together, I just can’t see myself with anyone else.”

He thought you were crazy for even forgiving him, but he wasn’t going to take this second chance for granted. Scrambling to sit at your side without removing his arms from you, Hongjoong took a deep breath to finally speak to you properly.

“I don’t deserve you, at all, but I swear to you I’ll never fuck up like this again.”

Seonghwa

“What about him? Don’t you think he’s attractive?” Seonghwa said quietly to you, your body shrinking further into the bar’s booth, eyes following his hand to see a guy sitting just a few feet away. He was pretty cute, but nothing like Seonghwa.

You were uncomfortable being there, dressed like some heiress as your boyfriend tried to find someone for you to sleep with for the night. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t hurt by Seonghwa cheating on you for the past few weeks, you even went as far as to shatter his phone after finding the text messages, but did he really think you fucking someone else was the only solution? You loved him, which was more than obvious, so he should’ve known you’d never be able to willingly cheat with anyone.

“Seonghwa, I think I’m going to head home.” You said with a sigh, standing slowly to keep the already skin tight dress from exposing anymore of your body, Seonghwa following your lead as he eagerly rushed to your side.

“No! Baby, please, just pick anybody. It can be a kiss, you can fuck them in the middle of the room for all I care. I just need us to be even so we can put this behind us.”

You grimaced as you pushed past him and straight to the exit, ignoring the way he hurriedly ran after you and followed close behind as you walked down the street towards your shared apartment. Was he stupid or just insane? There was no “getting even” and, if he thought this was the only logical solution, you had to be the one to point out its flaws.

“(Y/n)-“

“You said anybody, right? Why don’t I just fuck San? Or Hongjoong?” You snapped, both of you coming to a stop as you turned to face him, his eyes wide at the question but jaw clenched in anger.

“That’s different. They’re like brothers to me.”

“So it would hurt you less if I fucked a complete stranger behind your back?”

The way he glanced away, trying to hide the rage he felt made you laugh bitterly.

“See, you don’t want me with anyone but you, yet made the stupid plan to choose someone I could sleep with to ease your guilty conscious.”

“If it’s with a stranger, it wouldn’t be as personal.”

“You cheated on me with a complete stranger and I took it very personal.”

Silence.

Finally, since this entire ordeal began, you watched as he broke down, his body shaking from ragged breathes and controlled sobs. Seonghwa took small steps towards you until your bodies were practically touching, his eyes finally meeting yours.

Seonghwa couldn’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else, but the hypocrisy of his actions made him put his pride aside just long enough for the idea to seem realistic enough. But now that you made it clear it was never going to work, he was back at square one: guilty, confused, and struggling for some kind of solution.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, or what I need to do, but I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything in this world. And I know I screwed up, but I’m willing to do anything because I need you, (Y/n/n).”

You couldn’t help but look away, eyes stinging with unshed tears as you realized you couldn’t keep up this façade any longer. No matter how angry you were, and how much you wanted to punish Seonghwa for what he’d done, you didn’t want to leave him either. And finally hearing some kind of remorse from him, was enough to make you drop the days long torture session.

“I wanted you to be honest and faithful to me. I love you to hell and back to the point that you have me wrapped around your finger, but I barely have any hold on you. And, even though I know you won’t ever be 100% mine, and that I can’t trust you as much as I used to, I can’t let you go either.”

You didn’t try to fight him off as he pulled you into a tight embrace, letting out a deep sigh of relief as he accepted your forgiveness, unsure of how he got so lucky after fucking up so bad.

Yunho

You had to admit, it felt like you were hit by a sledgehammer the way your eyes read over the Ateez groupchat, all of the boys shaming Yunho for sleeping with someone else, warning him that he had to tell you eventually. But it felt like a sledgehammer with spikes hit you as you stood before him, watching the gentle giant break down into loud sobs, the remorse on his face and lacing his voice causing your heart to ache.

Yunho wasn’t sure what got into him, or why he would do something so stupid, but he did it. It happened only two weeks ago but it played in his head every second of the day, tears forming in his eyes whenever you happily hugged him or told him how much you loved him. He felt like a monster.

“There’s nothing I can do to take back what I did, and I’m so sorry I was the one that did this to you. I don’t deserve to be with you. You deserve someone who won’t betray your trust.” You sighed as his large frame sank to the ground, kneeling at your feet with his forehead pressed to the wooden floor as he continued on with his apology.

“Yunho, stand up.” You said quietly, crouching slightly to grasp his arm and bring him back up, his tear stained face meeting yours immediately.

“You have to break up with me.” You wanted to roll your eyes, thinking he was a drama queen but you knew this was probably killing him inside, just as much as it was killing you. But, for some reason, you didn’t mind.

As soon as he was standing once more, you stood on your toes to cup his face, wiping a few stray tears before giving a soft smile.

“I’m not leaving you, but I’m not forgiving you right away either. We’re both feeling pretty shitty about it so why don’t we just talk this out before making any more decisions?”

In less than a second, you were consumed in a bear hug, your face being littered with random kisses and more tears. Your emotional giant of a boyfriend more than willing to take the opportunity to keep you with him.

Yeosang

“I’m so sorry.” Yeosang said, almost in an emotionless tone, but you can tell by the way his eyes glimmered he was holding back tears, tears he held since the very first time it happened three months ago.

It was a onetime thing, Yeosang knew that, but he slowly remembered she was a staff member for Ateez. Every time you’d come to visit him, his body would tense as she happily greeted you, secretly texting him that if you weren’t out of the picture, she’d tell you everything, so he beat her to it. But the silence you were giving him was making him rethink everything.

“(Y/n/n)…” He cautiously reached for your hand, shrinking away as you stood and headed towards the kitchen, his body instinctively following yours.

“You must be hungry. San told me you guys were learning a dance and it’s a lot difficult than usual so you barely take breaks.”

Your voice was steady and calm, almost as if you didn’t hear a word he said. But you were obviously out of it, grabbing ingredients that didn’t even go together and setting them on the counter. You felt Yeosang’s hand grab your wrist, stopping you from placing the bottle of paprika down.

“Baby, it’s 2 in the morning. We don’t need to eat. Can we sit back down and talk? Please?” His concerned stare was burning into the side of your face as you continued to look away from him, knowing that no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, he’d keep pressing to talk things through.

“You’re right, I think we should head to bed.”

His grip tightened as you tried to walk away, both of you slowly becoming more emotional as the seconds passed, your bottom lip being sucked into your mouth as you tried to hold back tears, Yeosang having a harder time to control his voice as he began to speak to you.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” The slight crack in his voice was enough to make you breakdown, but you didn’t want to.

You wanted this day, this night, this very moment to end. Almost as if it never happened.

“I love you, Yeosang. I know you want to talk but I can’t. I just want us to go to bed and forget all of this happened. I don’t care if we’re both hurting right now, I just want to sleep and wake up and look at you as if you’re the same person I met two years ago. Please.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, knowing that no matter how simple of a solution it was, it would only continue to eat away at both of you, but he also wanted to forget about everything. He slowly let his hand slip from your wrist into your own, lacing your fingers together tightly.

“Y-yeah. Let’s go to bed.”

San

San was extremely passionate, and maybe that’s why everyone was attracted to him. Maybe while you were away for a family vacation, he met a girl who was just as passionate as him and that’s why he cheated on you. But you also knew San was a very emotional person, so you asked a simple question as he stood across from you near the bedroom door frame, teary eyes wide as a small ‘huh’ left his lips.

“Did you love her?” You repeated.

It was a simple question, and all you needed to know before determining if this relationship was something you wanted to continue. You felt a bit foolish for asking it, not wanting to seem too hopeful that he’d profess his undying love for you, to say you were the sun in his universe, especially now knowing your warmth wasn’t enough for him.

But San thought the question was absolutely ridiculous. He was head over heels in love with you, to the point that everyone in the company called him a lovesick puppy. He almost thought it was stupid that you’d assume he’d be in love with some random girl he slept with a month ago, but then he realized he was the stupid one for sleeping with her while being in love with you. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend but, at this point, the title fit him perfectly.

“The only person I’ve loved and still love is you. What I did was a mistake, and sleeping with her was a mistake, but I can never be in love with anyone else the way I’m in love with you.”

His voice was so strong and certain, it distracted you from the way he easily moved closer to you, his arms wrapping around your waist and forehead pressing against yours. You didn’t want to cave in too easily, but the way your arms wrapped around his neck habitually, you both knew he was forgiven, your face falling into the crook of his neck as he let out a small sigh.

“Everything I’ve done, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Mingi

When he finally told you about the one night stand, sobbing uncontrollably, you stood on your toes and held his face in your hands, saying a simple ‘I forgive you’. You have no clue how it could have spiraled out of control this way.

Mingi was never one to get loud or violent, but the way he progressively got angrier when you reassured him that everything was fine made him snap.

Was this your way of punishing? He wanted you to scream at him, slap him, tell him how much you hated him. Anything to make you see this wasn’t how relationships should be, but you didn’t. He cheated on you, something he promised he’d never do and, even though you had every right to be upset, you weren’t. But that couldn’t stop him from being angry with himself. His logic was long gone as he began to punch the brick wall of your apartment, small flecks of blood dripping down his knuckles as he continued to harm himself, your eyes wide as it finally set in that he wouldn’t stop any time soon.

“Mingi, stop!” Even though you cries fell onto deaf ears, you ran towards him, grabbing his arms and pulling as much as you could until you managed to move the giant.

“You’re supposed to be upset with me! I’m not supposed to treat you like this! No one is supposed to treat you like this! Why are you pretending like everything is okay when it’s not?!”

“But it is, Ming-“

“No, it’s not!”

You continued to watch him cry, your eyes drifting to his bruised fist and gently taking it into your hands to examine it, finally letting the situation sink in. You knew this wasn’t right, but you knew the man Mingi was, and you knew he would still be that man once you overcame this obstacle.

“Mingi, I feel like I was just stabbed in the heart one million times and set on fire. You cheated on me. But I know you’d never do it intentionally to hurt me. We’ve been together for only a few months, and so many mistakes could happen in that time, but couples always work through them. So why can’t we?”

Mingi would only be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t relieved you forgave him, but his infidelity would be engraved in his mind for as long as you were together.

Wooyoung

You were a mess, but Wooyoung wasn’t letting you walk out, even as you thrashed in his arms and hit him, screaming that you wanted to be alone.

He ignored his own tears and sobs as he begged you to stay by his side and talk to him, unsure of where you’d go once he released you. Wooyoung made the mistake of sleeping with someone else not even an hour ago, his senses coming back and guilt immediately consuming him. Although he thought telling you immediately would be best, he didn’t think you’d react like this.

“Get off!”

“Not until you calm down and talk to me!”

“I don’t want to be near you! Get the fuck off!” You were exhausted and slowly starting to give up, uneven pants escaping your lips as you sobbed harder, sinking into his arms as you finally settled down.

“What did I do wrong?”

The small words that croaked out of your throat shattered Wooyoung’s heart. You did nothing wrong, yet you were blaming yourself. If he knew you’d be putting the blame on yourself from all of this, he probably would have never told you.

Instead of responding, he slowly carried your bodies to the nearby sofa, sitting down and allowing you to curl into his lap, your face buried in his chest as his hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. It took some time, three hours to be exact, until you stopped crying, eyes blankly staring ahead as Wooyoung cleared his throat, not sure of where to begin.

“I know you’re mad at me,”

“I am.” The corner of his lips twitched slightly as he was glad to hear your voice.

“And I know things won’t be like they were before, but I just want us to be okay. You don’t have to forgive me right away, or at all, but I just don’t want to keeping going on as if I didn’t hurt you.”

You slowly pushed yourself up to look at him. You still looked beautiful to him despite the deep circles under your bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t know why you did it, Woo… And I don’t know why I still trust you either. But I think we can work through this. I want to work through this.”

Wooyoung’s body sank into the uncomfortable cushions in relief, holding you closer than before as he shut his exhausted eyes.

“Thank you.”

Jongho

You stared incredulously at Jongho as he spoke, unsure if he was serious or not as he admitted to his infidelities, the stoic expression he held almost inapplicable to his words. But whether you could see it or not, he was repentant. He could hear his voice breaking ever so slightly, his hands shaking as he replayed that night in his head over and over, a new wave of guilt and sadness washing over him as he felt the need to cry just as he did then. But he wanted to be the one to comfort you when hearing the news, not the other way around.

But you weren’t buying it.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to piss me off or make me laugh, because we both know you’d never do something like that.” You chuckled.

“Why would I lie about this?!” And here was his breaking point.

You watched in shock as his dry eyes glossed over with tears, his lips trembling as he watched your expression go from shock to absolute horror.

“No…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen and I don’t know what came over me! She came onto me but I can’t put all the blame on her because I went along with it. But I cried so much, (Y/n). I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much I fucked this up and I have no idea what to do.” He confessed, taking a deep breath from his rant as he blinked away the few tears that haven’t fallen, the rest being sloppily wiped away by his palms.

You could only stare at him, unsure of what to feel as you took in his true demeanor. He was never like this so it was obviously true, but he was never the kind of person to cheat either. You were both confused, but not equally distraught. Jongho was so lost in his own head that he didn’t notice you approaching him, your fingers combing through his hair as he tried to cleanse his mind of how he destroyed a perfect year long relationship for a fling.

“I’m not sure who the guy that cheated on me was, but it wasn’t my Jongho.”

“How can you still joke after all of this?” He said with a weak laugh, causing a small smile to grace your face.

“Because, even though what you did was wrong, and I am hurt by it, seeing you like this just reminds that you’d never do it again.”

“Of course I won’t. I won’t be stupid next time.”

He sat up a bit more so that he could hug you properly, his head finding its place in your neck as he let out a small ‘I love you’, but you couldn’t find yourself to say it back. Not yet. And he could accept that.

139 notes · View notes