#i’m still working on a long fic but like

[cherry-zip]

─ • CSC .ᐟ Tie a Cherry

› content �� Choi Seungcheol x fem reader ⊹ genre .ᐟ smut and cute ending ✎ word-count ┆ 2k. ⌁ summary ┆Choi Seungcheol comes home late from work, dressed in his suit and tie, to find his girlfriend waiting in pink pajamas. With a playful pull of his tie, she drags him to the sofa, ready to unwind with a sexy Valentine’s Day gift, filled with affection and desire. ⨯ content warning .ᐟ dry humping, making out, cheol is hot.

✧ happy valentine's day - here's my first even nsfw fic as a gift ✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! this is my first even nsfw fic so bear with me.

› minor do not interact, you will be blocked

It’s nearly midnight when you hear the familiar sound of Seungcheol’s key turning in the lock. You’ve been waiting for him all night, watching the clock tick steadily past the hours he usually gets home. Though you know how busy he can get with work, it doesn’t stop the small knot of worry from forming in your stomach. Seungcheol had let you know beforehand that he was going to come home late today but that didn’t stop you from waiting.

Had it been any other day you would have already gone to bed, but, it was Valentine’s Day, and you felt the need to stay up for him tonight. You didn’t mind him not being home for this special day—you knew how important work was for him, and it was something that you were okay with.

He would make it up for you. He always did.

Finally, the door creaked open, and there he was —your tired, overworked boyfriend, standing in the doorway with his suit still on. You can practically feel the weight of the day hanging around him. He looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he slipped his shoes off.

You watched him for a moment, taking in the sight of him, knowing just how much he’d been pushing himself lately. You can see the strain on his face, the last thing he needs is to be left alone with his thoughts. You wouldn’t let that happen, not tonight at least.

You approached him before he could get too comfortable, stepping softly toward him while wearing one of his shirts paired with pink shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The kind that made you feel both cozy and confident. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow playfully, but there was a hint of concern behind your teasing gaze.

"You’re late," you say, a gentle accusation in your voice.

Seungcheol looks at you, his lips curling into a tired but genuine smile. "I know, I’m sorry," he says, his voice low, but you can hear the weariness in it. "It’s been one of those days."

You know exactly what he meant. He said it all the time. But it never stopped you from worrying, especially when he’s gone all day, getting caught up in the never-ending cycle of meetings, deadlines, and calls.

"You’re always saying that," you tease, but it’s softer than it sounds. "You’re always working so hard. Are you ever going to let me take care of you?"

A brief pause follows, and you see the hint of guilt flash across his face. You hate when he feels guilty, even though you know he can’t help it.

"I promise I’ll make it up to you," he says, stepping closer as if trying to reassure you—and maybe himself, too.

And he will make it up to you, one way or another. But before he can say anything else, you act on impulse. You reach for his tie, grabbing hold of it with a sudden surge of energy.

"Hey!" Seungcheol laughs in surprise as you pull him toward the couch. He stumbles slightly, but you guide him down easily, tugging him until he’s sitting down.

“Stop laughing,” you say, smirking. “I’m trying to help you relax.”

You sat on his lap, straddling him as your hands worked on his tie, undoing it with practiced ease. His jacket was already slipping off his shoulders, but you weren’t done yet. You could feel the stiffness in his body, the tension clinging onto him even after the long day. You won’t let him stay like this. Not while you’re here. Not while he was under you.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmured, the words soft but firm. "You deserve a break."

He chuckled, but there was something softer behind his laughter. "You always know what I need," he says, his voice low, a little tired but somehow full of affection.

You look at him as you work, your fingers deftly loosening his shirt, watching the tension melt away from his face as you carefully help him strip off the layers of his workday. There was something soothing about this process, it felt grounding in a way, especially when he leaned into your touch. His warmth was comforting—like a weight you’ve come to rely on, something that was as familiar as your own heartbeat. And him, just him - looked so good. 

You’re so in love with this man.

“You always look so serious in that suit,” you tease again, glancing up at him. "It’s good to see you out of it for once."

Seungcheol smiles, a little tired but appreciative. "I’m serious about work, you know that."

“And I’m serious about making you relax,” you reply, your tone playful but affectionate. You begin to unbutton his shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin as you move down each button, carefully peeling away the layers of his day. “Just let me do this for you."

He doesn't fight you. Not really. Instead, he lets you, letting out a slow breath as he sinks into the couch, his hands resting high on your thighs. He looks like he’s falling into a peaceful calm, his posture loosening, the weight of the day falling away.

“Are you cold?” he asks suddenly, his voice soft, as he looks down at your pajamas.

You shrug, not really caring.“I’m fine,” you say with a smile. "But you—" You pause, your eyes flickering to his half-unbuttoned shirt and the tiredness still clinging to him.. "You’re not fine. Let me take care of you, okay?"

He smiles again, the fatigue melting from his eyes as he watches you work. He’s always so serious, always the one taking care of everyone else. 

But tonight? 

Tonight, he was yours to take care of. 

And you clearly had something in mind to make him feel better.

You lean down to kiss him. He hums into the kiss, bringing you even closer to him, arms holding onto your waist tightly. He felt himself growing addicted to feeling the comforting warmth of your body. His tongue softly bit at your bottom lip, making you open up, welcoming his tongue to lick into your mouth. Your hands glide up on his chest to find the nape of his hair. He loves when your hands are in his hair, tugging at it, making him growl loudly. The atmosphere gets hotter from the kisses he gives you, you can’t help but let soft whines escape your lips.

Your reactions made Seungcheol smirk while he kissed you, but that wasn’t going to last for long. Instinctively, you roll your hips down onto him, making him groan against you. All you’ve done so far is kiss, but you both got so worked up—and you loved it.

You keep rolling your hips, small whimpers escaping your mouth as you chase any kind of friction you can get. Your hands slid down onto his shoulders, needing more support as you grinded harder against him.

Seungcheol could feel himself getting hard from the way you were grinding on him and from the way you were whimpering in his mouth. He grabs your hips tightly, shifting you right on top of his clothed cock. You don’t seem to notice at first, but when his cock twitches against your thigh, you pull away from him, staring down.

“Don’t stop moving,” he groans out, you feel his mouth on your neck, slowly biting down as he starts giving you hickeys. “Fuck, I love your moans so much, you sound so good for me.”

He pulled back from your neck so he could see how good you looked, only for him. He curses silently when he sees how much of a mess you are; flushed face, parted mouth letting out moans, and your eyes rolling back in pleasure. You could feel his clothed cock twitch under you.

“Your body is so hot Cheol, so warm, so hard.”

You were desperate in your movement and will to make him cum hard, knowing the man under you felt just as good. You felt proud knowing that it was you who was making him feel that way. You felt the need to get yourself off with him, you needed him.

His hands wandered down, grasping at your ass. He was no better than you, letting out low grunts every single time his hips rolled to meet yours. He helped you roll your hips, grinding harshly down on him.

Seungcheol could easily flip you over and fuck you hard on the sofa but he doesn’t. You had this special moment for him in mind, to pleasure him and he was more than content with where you were now. He tilts his head back, a hiss of air escaping from his clenched teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. He can't stop the little laugh that follows the exhale because you're driving him crazy. Your lips attack his throat as your hips descend sinisterly on his.

“Fuck...” he wanted to get all those clothes off but at the same time, the way you were rubbing against him felt too good. He couldn't even think about telling you what he wanted. He felt like he was going to cum like that.

“You're so hard for me Cheol.”

You hear his low laugh against your jaw before Seungcheol bites the flesh there. You were a fucking tease. He revels in the sound of your breath catching as he wiggles against your own arousal. Your trousers were soaking wet from wanting him so badly.

“You're trying to make me come like this”, Seungcheol's hand tangles in the hair on the back of your head, making you moan his name, as he pulls to look into your eyes. He laughs at the smile on your lips at his words and the feel of your hips rolling against his bulge.

“Will you Cheol? Cum with me just by doing this?” Your head fell on top of his shoulder, licking and biting the available skin.

His hands grip your hips, setting a pace for you as he grinds you harder against him. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, not when he’s holding you and letting out groans of your name. Watching you restlessly chasing your climax pushes him over the edge.

You enjoy the silence only the sound of you both breathing heavily can be heard, slowly coming down from your high. Seungcheol holds you regardless of how hot you two feel.

“Can we just stay like this for a while?” he murmurs, his voice almost barely above a whisper. "I haven’t been able to relax properly in so long."

Your heart swells, and without saying a word, you shift closer to him, resting your head against his chest. You love the feeling of his strong arms holding you; you would never refuse him. The familiar rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his skin — that was all you needed to know that everything was okay.

"Yeah," you reply softly, your voice barely audible. “We can stay like this as long as you need.”

The world outside falls silent, and all that’s left is the sound of his heartbeat and your own, in your quiet home. You cherished these moments.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers after a long while.

You raise your head to look at him, your fingers gently brushing across his jaw. "You do," you reply simply, your voice full of affection. "You just need to remember how to breathe sometimes."

He smiles, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. "I’ll try to remember. Happy Valentine’s Day my love, I’ll make it up for you."

You know he will make it up eventually. It’s during moments like these—when his arms tighten around you— that you realize nothing else matters. Work, deadlines, all the pressures—those things can wait. What matters now is the peacefulness between you and the way you fit together in this small, quiet space.

For tonight, home isn’t a place. It was just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside forgotten.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆big thanks to @kyeomofhearts for beta & proof reading the hell outta this fic ☆彡 honestly can't thank you enough, even if i have to bully you into writing more @ credits┆also gonna thank @shinysobi, @tusswrites and even the crazy @hisnowbie2 for helping me out coming up with a title ☆彡

❀ a/n┆ yes, this is real. My first ever NSFW fic is officially out

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip" 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

[moonstruckme]

love of my life, queen of all things smut and marauders..........I have a request if you don't mind 😈 I was thinking of this with Sirius, but it could truly be whoever you think fits. But what do you think of a fic where reader x Sirius have sex for the first time (FWB, relationship, whatever fits the vibe), and Sirius finishes and moves his attention to reader who goes "oh it's alright, I've never been successful at that part of sex before...." & then it becomes this fun challenge for Sirius who spends the rest of the evening finding out what works for her until he finally gets her off 😃 xoxoxoxooxoxoxo

Thanks for the request and for weathering the long wait gorgeous Elle <3

cw: smut mdni, reader is afab and has trouble with orgasming

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Fuck.” Sirius’ forehead crashes into yours, his breath hot on your lips. “Are you close?” 

“You should come.” Your voice is tight, strained, though not nearly so much as his. 

“Not before you.” 

“Please, Sirius.” You both moan as he thrusts deeper inside you, your legs squeezing tight around his middle. “Please, I want you to.” 

“I don’t—shit.” 

His brow tenses along with the rest of him as he spills into you. You feel the condom fill up with a heady satisfaction. You run your hands up his back soothingly, until he relaxes into you. 

“Fuck, gorgeous.” Sirius tilts his face to kiss at the slope of your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would…you just feel too good, have you gotten that complaint before?”

You laugh. “It’s not usually a complaint.” 

“No, but in this case…” He tuts, picking his head up to look at you. You expect to be self-conscious—it’s your first time seeing each other like this, and part of you is still fighting the urge to cover up and preserve your modesty—but the heavy drag of his gaze only makes you feel admired. “Well, anyways, sorry. How close are you?” 

“Oh, it’s okay.” You smile at him. Your finger traces the line of a tattoo on his bicep. “Don’t worry about it. I had fun.” 

Sirius blinks, and then his brows come down. “Hold on, that’s not fair. I want to get you off.” 

“Sirius, it’s really fine. I’m not…” You hesitate. You and Sirius have been friends for a while; it’s not as though you haven’t shared secrets before. And given what you’ve just shared with each other, you shouldn’t probably be embarrassed, but… “I haven’t exactly been…successful at that part of sex before.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows furrow as though he doesn’t quite understand what you mean. 

“I haven’t come,” you clarify. 

His eyes widen, lips parting. It’s horrendously attractive, worse with him still inside you. “You haven’t?” 

You shake your head. 

“Not ever?” 

You shake your head again. 

“Not even by yourself?” 

“Let’s just assume the answer to all of these questions is going to be no.” He shifts in you slightly, and you squirm. “Can you…?” 

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” Sirius pulls out of you, looking somewhat awed. “So, forgive me, but what exactly are you getting out of this if you don’t expect to come?” 

You give him a droll look. “I guess I’m just a giver.” 

It’s more true than you let on. You enjoyed yourself more than you expected just now, watching Sirius come, knowing it was the sight of you and the feel of your flesh under his hands that did it. You hope he lets you do it again.

“I don’t have to come to have good sex,” you say in a more genuine tone. “It’s still fun for me.” 

“Right. Right, yeah, but—” 

“Listen, I’m only telling you so you don’t take it personally. It’s not a you thing, it’s just…” You gesture helplessly. “I’m not sure I can.” 

Sirius looks indignant. “I’m sure you can.” 

“I haven’t found any proof.” 

“Well, it’s—there’s a first time for everybody, doll. Can I try?” 

You sit up, drawing your legs closer and forcing him to sit back. “I told you, it’s not you.” 

“It could be me, though.” He grins roguishly. 

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Don’t make this a pride thing.” 

“I’m not. I’m not, babe.” Sirius scoots towards you. He looks at you, sincere. “But it could be any number of factors, you know? Maybe you just haven’t tried the right thing, or there’s a lubrication issue, or something. It would be fun to try.” 

You rub your lips together. “It’d probably be a waste of time. And I don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t work.” 

“I won’t be,” he promises. He crawls toward you on the bed, taking your ankle in hand to tug you closer. Your heart riots at the sight. “Let’s waste some time, gorgeous. I’ve got nothing else to do tonight. And you said you have fun even if you don’t finish, right?” 

“Right,” you admit. 

Sirius grins, flashing canines. “Lay back, then. Let me play with you a while.” 

It doesn’t take long to figure out that lubrication is not the issue. Between Sirius’ hands and his mouth, you’re spilled like warm honey across his sheets in minutes. He bites marks into your thighs, goes from gentle to masochistic to gentle again with his hands on your breasts, curls his fingers inside you so that you make sounds you don’t recognize. All the while, he calls you sweet names rolled up in taunts, making your cheeks burn and your body seem to give up any will of its own. It begins to feel cruel; the combination of who Sirius is and what he can do to you.

But it’s when he uses his tongue that you start to tremble. 

Your hand clamps blindly down on his shoulder, caught between keeping him close and pushing him away. Sirius’ hum, heavy with smugness and intrigue, is a vibration like you’ve never felt before. He takes your clit into his mouth. 

It’s altogether too much and not enough. You shift your hips, gasping, but after a while your breaths even into a steadier pant. You start to adjust to this new pleasure. Just when you think you’ve got it under control, you’re safe, Sirius slips his wicked fingers into your entrance again. 

“There you are.” His voice thrums with satisfaction as he kisses your clit. “You’ve been so good, sweetheart. So patient.” 

“Sirius, I—”

“What?” 

“I feel—” 

“What, pretty girl?” 

“Sirius.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” He nibbles ever so gently at your clit, making you jolt away from him. Your walls clench around his fingers. “You’re just so much fun when you’re worked up like this, I can’t help myself.” 

He curls his fingers into that torturous spot along your inner wall, and what you want isn’t more sensation, but you can no longer find the words to tell him so. You dig your nails into Sirius’ shoulders and squeeze your eyes shut, feeling on the precipice of something great and terrible. Some kind of wreckage. 

“You’re okay, doll,” Sirius soothes. “You’re just fine. You like this, don’t you? Don’t you want to come?” 

With his low, sweet question, you do. You wreck like a ship against the shoreline. Splintering, screaming, crashing and drowning. Sirius laughs like the enemy vessel as you do.

It’s some time later when the stars clear from behind your eyes. You let out a shuddering breath. “Fuck.” 

“Mhm. That’s usually how it goes.” Sirius is all tenderness now. He kisses up your sweaty, overworked abdomen until he reaches your collarbone, where he nibbles rewardingly. “Good job, sweetness. And good job me, if I do say so myself.” 

You open your eyes to peek at him through your lashes. “Aren’t I supposed to say so?” 

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your chin. “Fairly sure you just did. I wouldn’t have guessed you had sounds like that in you.” 

“Me neither,” you admit. 

“Well, now I’ve got something new to work towards, I suppose.” 

“Sirius,” you sigh. “That was the first time I’ve ever come, and it took nearly an hour. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do that again.” 

“Oh, such a defeatist.” Sirius cups your face in his hands, thumbs moving sweetly down your cheeks as he presses a firm kiss to your lips. “I meant getting those sounds out of you again. But don’t worry, gorgeous, we’ll manage both.”

[igotallthecake]

Pairing: Clark Kent x male bottom reader.

(FIRST STORY BTW)

A/n requests open!

Summary: you and your best friend Clark went out to go drink after a long day at work. Getting drunk and wasted. You two are now in your bedroom having a dick measurement competition, and obviously he wins. And you two had a deal. The loser has to get pounded in bed so hard all night till noon. Well buckle up for a long night of fucking.

Warnings: ass eating, top Clark, bottom m!reader, ass slapping(r!receiving), size difference, rough sex. No breaks. Face down ass up.

“C-Clark this is so embarrassing!!” You had no idea how this happened. First you two were drinking, second you guys were doing a dick measuring competition which you lost sadly. And now here you are face down ass up with ur ass out and ready to be fucked, and with Clark who had all his clothes stripped with his huge massive cock hanging right in the middle of his Luscious thighs.

Clark smiles so mischievously. Oh his stupid fucking grin, knowing he gets to pound his best friends fat ass just makes his cock jump. “Cm’on y/n. We had a deal, whoever wins gets to fuck the other. You promised..” Clark pouts. Resting his chin on your ass. “Well that was until I was the one getting fucked!!” You protested. “ please? Just this once..” those stupid puppy eyes..he always gives you those puppy eyes when he wants something really bad. But who could say no to a face like that?. With a of your eyes You sigh in defeat. “Fine..but only this once!” Clark smiles and nods.

He grabs both of your cheeks. Spreading them to take a look at your pretty pink and hairless hole.

Licking his lips he sticks out his tongue and teasingly licks a huge stripe up your ass. “Mhm..” you moan quietly. Covering your mouth with your hands. Legs already shaking from the pleasure. He licks the inside of your hole. Slithering around your gummy walls. His hand raises and landed straight on your ass. Leaving a huge red imprint. You flinch at the pain but feel a bit of pleasure from it. He gives your ass a few harsh spanks and rubs the sore spots. He continues to lick your hole until it’s nice and lose and ready for him.

“You ready for this cock hm?” His cock is as hard as a rock. He lines it up to your hole and pushes the tip in. “Y-yes daddy! I want it so bad..!” With that he slams in. Practically making your belly bulge from the force. You moan so loudly you forgot to even cover your mouth. Your eyes rolling at the back of your head. Pounding in and out of your hole so hard. Clark’s cock starts to twitch. He grunts through every thrust, getting closer and closer to cumming. And so were you “c-cummi daddy!!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head (I mean who’s wouldn’t??) gripping the sheets “cum with me baby. Cmon cum with daddy.!” Grunting and whimpering bounces off the walls. Clark’s thrusts gets more sloppy and messy. He moans cumming into your hole. Filling every crevice and painting your gummy walls with white slimy cum. He pants, collapsing beside you, chest breathing up and down rapidly. “That..t-that was so good..fuck my ass hurts though..” you both laugh and sigh, Clark grabs you by the waist. Bringing the blanket up and big spoons you. He inserts his cock in your ass and adjusted it in. “W-wait I thought we were done?!” You said with those stupid cute and confused eyes. “Cmon puppy..this is only the beginning we still have all night to go..maybe even all evening..so prepare yourself ;3..”

Bang bang bang moan all night and yeh

A/n: hey my puppy’s I hope you enjoyed that it’s literally my FIRST. Ever fic I have done in..literally ever. I hope you enjoyed and byeee

@boypied @starboye pls notice me I made this for you😞💔❤️🫶🫶

A/n; p.s please anyone try to motivate me I need it to write more bc I’m lazy

[downbad4sylus]

“Don’t you have other friends…?”

part 1

synopsis: Sylus goes on another business trip so you decided to spend the weekend in Skyhaven with Caleb. Everything is great, until it isn’t.

content: sylus x afab!reader; use of Y/N; established relationship; big caleb cameo; caleb acts like caleb; mentions of injuries; teeny tiny baby zayne cameo; angst; mostly proofread

tags: @miffysoo @pinky27freak @rcvcgers @worshipthecrow @aikonecrosis @blorbohunter @wandering-spirit-1383

word count: ~4.8k (sorry)

a/n: so this is a continuation/part 2 to “come to drug my girlfriend again” with a much bigger caleb cameo. not sure if i’ll be adding more to this or not, but in the meantime i’m working on a purely-sylus-nsfw fic bc this latest event has me feral lmao

Knocking softly on Sylus’s office door, you waited for his reply of “come in” before entering. He sat in his chair, as casual as always, glancing up from his papers to watch you approach.

“Why do you look so nervous?” he drawled, leaning back and crossing his arms.

You were nervous.

Sylus was leaving on another business trip tomorrow and would be gone the entire weekend. You really didn’t want to be alone the whole time, so you reached out to Caleb to see if he was free, and it just so happened that he had the weekend off.

But telling Sylus…well, you weren’t sure how he would take it.

Sylus had never gotten mad at you, had never so much as raised his voice. Even when you were fighting—which wasn’t often—he would remain calm and collected, not at all fazed if you were yelling. You didn’t think he’d yell at you now, but he wasn’t exactly happy when he found out your childhood best friend had drugged you.

“What’s the matter, kitten?” Sylus asked, pulling you from your swirling thoughts. He grabbed your hand between both of his and traced soothing patterns on your palm. “Talk to me.”

You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves. “I’m going to Skyhaven while you’re gone,” you said, “to hang out with Caleb.”

His fingers froze, and you caught the minute twitch of his brows. “Don’t you have other friends you can hang out with?”

“Tara and Greyson are away for a weekend together so Zayne is picking up the slack at the hospital. Xavier is out doing whatever sketchy shit he refuses to tell anyone about. Rafayel is in another country for an art exhibition. And Simone and Andrew are holed up at the Association working on modifying weapons.” With each friend listed, Sylus’s brows drew closer until there was a deep crease between them. “But Caleb has the weekend off and said I could come spend it with him in Skyhaven.”

Sylus closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose, and you stayed silent as he processed this information. He knew you would’ve already bought train tickets, not that he would be able to convince you stay in Linkon—or even at the base—regardless.

“Y/N,” he said finally, opening his eyes to fix you with a hard stare, “the thought of you alone with him for an entire weekend, while I’m gone, does not sit well with me.”

You opened your mouth to defend your decision, but pressed your lips together when he held up a hand.

“I wasn’t finished,” he admonished, but his tone was soft, gentle even. “I know how much it means to you to spend time with him, so I’d like to propose a compromise.”

“Okay,” you breathed. “What’s the compromise?”

“For the sake of my sanity, I can be agreeable to you going as long as you answer my texts or calls in a timely manner so I know you’re okay, and you let me know what you’re doing so I don’t think something’s wrong if you don’t answer me right away.”

Considering the circumstances, you didn’t think Sylus’s requests were unreasonable. In fact, you loved the idea that despite being busy with business, Sylus would still be texting and calling you.

So you nodded excitedly. “I can do that, absolutely.”

He visibly relaxed, squeezing your hand as he whispered, “Thank you.”

You pressed a kiss to his brow. “It’ll only be a few days.”

Sylus huffed. “It sounds like you aren’t going to miss me, sweetie.”

“Not one bit,” you teased with a wide grin.

His red eyes darkened with a dangerous glint. “No?” He rose from the chair, now towering over you. “Well,” he sighed, fingers grazing your cheek, “I guess I’ll just have to give you something to remember me by.”

—

Stepping off the train and onto the platform in Skyhaven, you adjusted the collar of your shirt, hoping it still covered the hickey Sylus had left on your neck. He was a biter, and last night was no different. You had to give him credit, he said he was going to give you something to remember him by and he delivered on that promise. You chuckled to yourself, trying and failing to ignore the delicious soreness between your legs.

You fired off a text to your boyfriend, letting him know you’d arrived at your destination. He replied within seconds, saying he was glad you had a safe trip and to let him know when you got to Caleb’s.

“Y/N!”

Your head snapped in the direction of your name, finding Caleb waving excitedly as he jogged to where you stood on the platform. You smiled at your childhood best friend and met him halfway.

Caleb pulled you into a tight hug, one you returned, happiness flooding through you at seeing him again.

“How was the ride?” Caleb asked, pushing you back by your shoulders. His gaze caught on your neck, his eyes narrowing slightly as sense of possessiveness flared in his chest.

“It was fine,” you said, oblivious to his reaction. “A normal train ride.”

Caleb smirked, his expression smoothing. “Good to hear. You hungry? We can grab somethin’ to eat on the way back to my place, unless you want me to cook for you.”

Your smile widened. “I want you to cook for me!”

“Yeah? Your boyfriend can’t cook as well for you?” he teased, cocking his head.

“Caleb!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Please don’t start, I just got here.”

He laughed, throwing his arm over your shoulders and tucking you against his side. “I’m kidding,” he insisted. “I know no one’s food is as good as mine.”

You shook your head, but did not disagree with him, something he noticed right away. “Can you make chicken wings? I haven’t had yours in so long.”

“Of course, pip-squeak. You mind if we stop at the store to get the stuff I need?” He started steering you away from the platform toward the exit.

“Not at all, it’s been a while since we last grocery shopped together,” you said. “Remember when we were little and I lost you and Gran in the store?”

Caleb chuckled. “Yeah and you started cryin’ so loud we heard you from a couple aisles over?”

You laughed too. “Hey, you probably wouldn’t have found me otherwise.”

He jostled your shoulders. “You know I wouldn’t have left that store without you.”

You peered up at him, finding him already staring down at you with such fondness it made your heart squeeze. “I know, Caleb.”

Caleb kept his arm around you until you reached his car where he finally released you in order to open the passenger side door. You gave an exaggerated curtsy before you got in, Caleb’s laugh still audible even after he shut the door. As he rounded the car toward the driver’s seat, you pulled out your phone and updated Sylus on your plans.

Going to the grocery store to grab some stuff for dinner. How’s business?

His reply came shortly after Caleb slid into, and started, the car.

Whats for dinner? and business is fine boring as always without you here.

“Who are you textin’?”

“Hm?” You looked over at Caleb. “What was that?”

“I asked who you’re texting,” he repeated. “You’re smilin’ at your phone all weird.”

“Weird?!” you exclaimed. “I am not!”

“Are too,” he taunted. “Are you gonna answer my question?”

You dropped the phone into your lap with a huff, Sylus’s text still unanswered. “If you must know, I’m talking to Sk—um, Sylus.”

It was still strange calling Sylus by his real name to someone who wasn’t a part of his inner circle, but you knew better than to use his alias in front of Caleb.

“Been apart for a couple hours and you’re already textin’?” Caleb asked.

“We text all the time, Caleb,” you said, lifting your phone again to respond to your boyfriend.

Caleb’s making me chicken wings. I’ll send you a picture when they’re done. I miss you.

Sylus sent an emoji of a dove cuddling a crow.

Miss you too sweetie. i look forward to seeing your dinner later.

As you texted, Caleb’s grip on the steering tightened until his knuckles were white. It hurt him to think that you wouldn’t be giving him your undivided attention during your visit, and well, he just couldn’t have that. He’d have to come up with a way to solve this little problem of his before the weekend was over.

—

You decided not to send Sylus the picture of your chicken wings until after dinner since Caleb seemed to tense up every time you so much as touched your phone.

Dinner was delicious though, and you were happy to have shared the meal with Caleb.

The day had gone well, the two of you reverting back to your old ways, teasing and joking with each other like no time had passed.

Your heart was warm as you strolled into the bedroom you called your own at Caleb’s house, the one that was once his. You unwrapped the towel around your body, having just gotten out of the shower, and changed into comfy clothes. Caleb was showering now, then the two of you would settle in for the night to watch a movie. You took this opportunity to give Sylus a call.

He picked up after the first ring.

“Sweetie.”

Your face split into a grin. “Hey Sy.”

“All done for the night?” he asked.

“No, Caleb and I are going to watch a movie but I’m waiting for him to finish up in the shower so I figured I’d check in on my super important, big bad businessman boyfriend.”

Sylus snorted. “Super important, huh? I would much rather hear about your day, sweetie.”

“No, uh uh, you first. You know you can’t get away with that anymore,” you admonished.

“Fine, fine,” Sylus sighed, though you could hear his amused smirk through the phone. “It wasn’t all that exciting. I sat through a day full of meetings, keeping myself entertained by texting my beautiful girlfriend. Then earlier tonight I went to an auction where I bought you a few pieces for your growing jewelry collection. And now I’m talking to you.”

“That all sounds exciting to me,” you said, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “Are you tired? I know how meetings during the day can exhaust you.”

“I’m okay,” Sylus murmured. “I’ll sleep for a few hours before I’m back in more meetings.”

“Don’t overwork yourself, please.”

“I won’t, sweetie. Now, it’s your turn, tell me about your day.”

You inhaled through your nose. “Well, Caleb and I went grocery shopping after he picked me up from the train station. We hung around for a little once we got to his place before we started dinner.”

“Oh? And did you help make dinner?”

You giggled. “No, you know I didn’t.”

Sylus chuckled. “You are a terrible sous chef.”

“Hey! You love it when I’m your sous chef!“

Caleb knocked loudly on the bedroom door. “Pip-squeak! Are we gonna watch a movie or what? I already popped the popcorn.”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” you yelled.

“Go watch your movie,” Sylus said softly. “Text me before you go to bed, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I love you, Sy.”

“I love you too, sweetie. Thanks for calling.”

“Of course, I’ll text you later.”

Caleb was waiting for you in the hall, as if he had been standing there listening to your call with Sylus (he was).

“How’s your boyfriend?” he asked, the picture of innocence.

You rolled your eyes at him and headed to the living room. “He’s fine, thanks for asking.”

Caleb scoffed. “Yeah, nooo problem.”

You whirled around and punched his right shoulder.

Caleb, feigning hurt, gripped his shoulder. “Ow Y/N, I think you broke it. You’re gonna have to take me to the hospital now.”

You laughed and punched him again.

“Oh that’s it.”

You squealed as Caleb reached for you, barely dodging his fingers before breaking into a run to avoid being caught. He chased you around the living room and into the kitchen where you two got in a stand off on either side of the island.

“Caleb stop!” you cried as he mirrored your every move. “I thought we were watching a movie!”

“You’re the one who assaulted me, pip-squeak,” Caleb protested, smiling from ear to ear.

“I’m sorry okay?!”

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re sorry?”

You raised your palms in surrender. “Yes, so sorry, I shouldn’t have done it. I take it all back.”

“Hmm.” Caleb tucked a contemplative hand under his chin. “I guess you seem sorry.”

You stretched your arm across the island, pinky first. “Pinky swear.”

Caleb flashed you a conspiratorial smirk and locked his pinky around yours. “Okay, you’re forgiven.”

“Yay! Can we go watch our movie now?”

“Yeah, come on pip-squeak.”

—

Sylus’s texts grew more infrequent the following day, and you knew it was because his worry was assuaged knowing your first night was without incident.

You were a little relieved, not because you didn’t want to talk to your boyfriend but because Caleb had made several comments about you being on your phone too much. He even went as far as to say Sylus was “breathing down your neck.”

“He’s just making sure I’m okay,” you had shot back at him. “You haven’t exactly given him reason to trust you, Caleb.”

Caleb couldn’t argue that. And maybe if he were in Sylus’s position, he’d be acting the same way. Worse, actually, he’d be acting much worse.

It was the only tiff you two had gotten in, and it far from ruined the nice weekend you were having.

Today, Caleb took you out to show you around Skyhaven. You went sightseeing and shopping, making Caleb carry your bags which he did enthusiastically and without complaint. And you decided to end the day with a nice dinner that Caleb paid for, the two of you now making the trek to the parking garage Caleb had parked in earlier that morning.

“I can take one of those bags, you know,” you said, eyeing the three bags hanging from Caleb’s right forearm.

“It’s no problem, I’m fine to carry them,” he insisted, shooting you a wide grin. “You really didn’t buy that much.”

“Can’t have a million bags to bring on the train with me tomorrow,” you quipped.

Caleb chuckled. “No of course not, that would be highly inconvenient.”

“I’d look like a lunatic!”

“Now that’s a little dramatic, pip-squeak.”

“I’ve never been dramatic a day in my life.”

Caleb abruptly stopped walking and just stared at you for a few seconds before bursting into hysterics. You followed suit, laughing so hard you doubled over.

“Okay, stop, stop,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t breathe.”

That only sent Caleb into another wave of laughter, clutching at your arm as if he needed to ground himself.

It took at least ten minutes for you and Caleb to calm down, both of you leaning against the wall of a nearby building, trying to catch your breath.

“Ah man, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” said Caleb, wiping tears from under his eyes.

“Yeah me too,” you said, looking up at your childhood best friend. You grabbed his left hand and squeezed. “I’m really happy you’re back Caleb.”

“Y/N,” Caleb breathed. “I’m really happy I’m back too—“

Your Hunter’s Watch chose that exact moment to start frantically beeping. Your heads jerked toward the Metaflux fluctuation mere yards away.

Caleb dropped the bags he was holding and pulled out two guns from underneath his jacket.

“I didn’t bring any weapons, give me one of your guns,” you said, holding out a hand.

“I can handle this, just stay here,” Caleb retorted.

The Wanderer appeared, sending any nearby people scattering.

You grabbed his arm, stopping him from advancing any further. “Caleb, I’m a Hunter, now give me a gun.”

Caleb leveled you with a hard glare, looking more like the Colonel than your best friend. “Stay. Here.”

He wrenched his arm from your grip and strode toward the Wanderer.

“Caleb!” You moved to go after him only to have the weight of his Evol surround you, keeping you locked in place. “Caleb!”

He didn’t answer, didn’t so much as turn around and acknowledge you. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest. How could he do this? How could he, after everything, still treat you like a little girl he needed to protect? You were hurt and frustrated and regretting ever coming to Skyhaven in the first place.

And worst of all, you knew you could never tell Sylus about this.

A second fluctuation formed close beside you.

“Caleb!” you screamed, desperately trying to get his attention. Again, he didn’t even turn his head. “Shit. Shit.”

The Wanderer appeared, its focus zeroing in on you.

You struggled against Caleb’s Evol, crying out for his help, but your pleas went unanswered and the Wanderer attacked.

As Caleb sank the killing shot into the Wanderer he was facing, he heard it. The sickening crack followed by your agonized shriek.

He whirled around and the world slipped from under his feet.

There you were, your shoulder obviously dislocated, and the second Wanderer backing away from where it had slammed into your side. Pain twisted the expression on your face and Caleb felt it as though you had grabbed hold of his heart and crushed it in your fist.

This was his fault. You were hurt because of him.

“Caleb.” His name was a broken, desperate sob from your lips, begging for his help. Begging him to let you go.

He did, releasing the hold his Evol had on you and you collapsed to the ground, holding your ribs with your uninjured arm. Caleb made quick work of the Wanderer then rushed to your side.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, where does it hurt?” he asked, his hands hovering over you, not knowing where to start.

You resisted the urge to cringe away from him. He didn’t mean for you to get hurt, you knew that, but if Caleb had just let you fight then this would’ve never happened.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to pick you up and we’re going to get you better. Okay, pip-squeak?”

You bit your lip and nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment.

Caleb swept you into his arms with as much gentleness as he could manage, but it didn’t stop the wave of pain that crashed through you. Your bags were forgotten as Caleb made a break for the parking garage.

—

You ended up passing out in the car on the way to Caleb’s house, the pain just too much for you to handle.

Caleb, who luckily had some medic training under his belt, was able to assess your condition. Your shoulder was dislocated, and he was pretty sure your ribs were at least bruised, at worst cracked.

By the time you regained consciousness, you were laying in bed with Caleb sitting beside you. His eyes were full of guilt and concern, the two battling for dominance within the purple hues.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing the hair from your face. “How are you feeling?”

You scrunched your eyes closed. “It hurts Caleb.”

“I know, pip-squeak, I’m so sorry.” When you didn’t respond, he sucked in a deep breath before saying, “I set your shoulder while you were unconscious, does it feel any better?”

You shifted your shoulder. It still hurt like a bitch, but it felt better now that it was back in the socket. “Yeah,” you managed with a nod. “Thank you.”

Caleb huffed a humorless laugh. “Don’t thank me, I’m the one who got you into this mess.”

“Caleb, please, I know you didn’t mean it.”

He shook his head.

You really didn’t have the energy to fight with him right now, to convince him of the intentions behind his own actions. “Do you have my phone?”

Caleb went rigid, his gaze hardening. “Why? So you can call your boyfriend?”

“Yes, Caleb,” you hissed. “Unless you want Sylus to come break down your door.”

He laughed again, a chilling sound. “He isn’t going to break down my do—“

Caleb was quick to eat his own words at the sound of his door being broken down at that very moment.

“Y/N?!”

You couldn’t help the relief that flooded through you hearing Sylus call your name. You never doubted for a second that he wouldn’t stay true to his word in coming for you if he thought you were in trouble.

Caleb, however, looked like he could commit murder.

You tried and failed to grab Caleb’s sleeve as he rose from the bed and marched out of the room all together.

Caleb didn’t think the several missed calls and dozen unanswered texts on your phone would lead to the head of Onychinus busting down his front door. Though perhaps Caleb was naive to underestimate Sylus and the lengths he would go to for you. If he weren’t the obstacle keeping you from Caleb, he might have had some respect for the snowy haired man currently seething in his living room.

“Where is she?” Sylus growled, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“She’s resting,” Caleb said simply.

Sylus huffed, unamused by the Colonel’s response. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it already is, Colonel.”

Caleb’s eye twitched. “What are you even doing here?”

“I’m here to take my girlfriend home because you clearly cannot be trusted to be around her,” was Sylus’s reply.

It only made Caleb angrier that Sylus wasn’t so much as raising his voice. As if Caleb wasn’t a threat but a mere nuisance getting in Sylus’s way.

The weight of Caleb’s Evol emanated from him like an aura as Sylus’s black-red mist swirled around his fists.

But before the two could break into an all-out brawl, you stumbled into the living room.

“Stop, both of you please stop,” you pleaded.

Sylus’s red eyes lit with fury upon seeing you. You hadn’t answered him because you were hurt. He was going to kill the Colonel for this.

“Y/N, what happened?” he asked, his tone noticeably softer when speaking to you.

“I’m fine, it’s fine, we just ran into some Wanderers on our way home from dinner. The fight got ugly,” you explained.

Sylus knew you better than anyone though, and he knew you weren’t telling him the whole truth.

“What did you do to her?” he snarled at Caleb, taking a step toward him.

Panic sluiced through your veins at that minute movement from Sylus, knowing he wouldn’t be letting Caleb off so easily this time.

So you did what any normal person would do in this situation.

You broke down in tears.

Sylus’s entire focus shifted to you and he was at your side in an instant. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hands capturing your face so tenderly it made your heart ache. “Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?”

You shook your head. “I want you to stop fighting.”

His brow buckled. “Sweetie, you’re hurt because of him, you know I can’t just let that go.”

“Please!” you cried. “Please stop, Sy, I can’t have the two most important people in my life hating each other. I can’t handle it!”

Sylus tucked you into his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll stop, but you’re coming home with me.”

You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his shirt. “Okay.”

“I’ll go get your bag. Don’t move.”

Sylus pushed you back and sat you on the couch, kissing your forehead before striding for the room you’d been staying in, not sparing the Colonel a glance.

Caleb had stood stock-still during the entire exchange, staring with wide eyes and an aching heart. The way your body melted into Sylus’s with the simplest of touches, the way your expression eased when he kissed your head. It was awful. It was so unbearably awful.

When you were left alone, he stumbled over to you as if in a daze.

“Pip-squeak,” he muttered, “don’t go.”

Your eyes, full of anguish, met his. “I’m going Caleb,” you whispered. “It’s the only way to keep you both from killing each other.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” he protested, collapsing onto the floor in front of where you sat. “I promise I wasn’t.”

You hung your head, defeated. “It’s too late. What’s done is done.”

Caleb was desperate. If you left, would he ever see you again? Would your stupid boyfriend forbid you? Or would you not want to be near him?

He grabbed your hands. “Please tell me you’ll come back.”

“Caleb.”

He stared up you with such profound sorrow. “Please, Y/N, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren’t going to lose me,” you assured. “We just need to let things settle for a while, okay?”

Caleb was abruptly pulled away from you, Sylus having returned from gathering your things and dragging Caleb by the back of his collar.

“You lost the privilege of being near her,” Sylus said, matter of fact.

Caleb snapped to his feet and slapped Sylus’s hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t touch her,” Sylus hissed.

A fresh wave of tears poured down your cheeks. “I said stop fighting!” you wailed. “Sylus can we please just go?”

“Of course, sweetie. Can you walk?”

You nodded, holding onto his arm with our one good one for support as you stood.

You said nothing to Caleb and he said nothing to you as Sylus walked you out of his house. You didn’t know what to say, and neither did he. Sorry didn’t cut it, even if you assured him it was okay. All he wanted to do was protect you, to prevent you from getting hurt and yet it was his fault that you had. It was his fault you were led out of his house by your boyfriend, leaving him behind.

Maybe he deserved this. Maybe it was karma for leaving you and still expecting you to welcome him with open arms once he came back. How could he possibly make it up to you now? How could he possibly convince you to love him when it was Sylus swooping in to rescue you?

This wasn’t how this weekend was supposed to go, and Caleb had no idea what it meant for his future with you.

—

“I know you aren’t going to like it when I say this, but I don’t want you going back to Skyhaven.”

You sighed, fidgeting with Sylus’s fingers as you both lay in his bed. “I don’t like it, but I also can’t blame you for saying it.”

Before returning to the base, Sylus had first taken you to Akso Hospital where Zayne looked you over. The doctor ensured that your shoulder was properly set and put in a sling, as well as determined your ribs were in fact bruised, and not cracked or broken. He sent you off with a prescription for painkillers and a treatment plan, knowing full well that Sylus would take care of you.

“Next time I have a business trip, you’ll be taking time off and coming with me,” Sylus said, brushing his lips along your cheek. “It’s so much better when you’re there anyway.”

You smiled and leaned into his touch. “Then I can pick out my own jewelry at the auction.”

Sylus chuckled. “I’ll buy you anything you could ever desire.”

He’d also make you forget about your childhood best friend, who seemed to be far more trouble than he was worth. Though Sylus knew better than to say so aloud, but made his silent vow nonetheless.

You turned your head and placed a chaste kiss on Sylus’s lips. “Thank you.”

“For what, sweetie?”

You kissed him again, more earnestly this time. “For everything, Sy.”

He drew back, wanting to look you in the eye as he said, “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N.”

—

Caleb’s phone buzzed and it took every ounce of effort for him to pick it up.

I forgive you, Caleb. We’ll talk later this week, okay?

Your text nearly brought the Colonel to tears.

okay, pipsqueak :)

He gripped his necklace tight, and read your message over and over again until it was burned into his retinas so, even with his eyes closed, he could still see it.

[axetivev]

~ Summary: You were a vigilante in Gotham who happened to marry the Dark Knight himself-Bruce Wayne.

~ Warnings: Fluff! Reader is a vigilante under the name; Trailblaze.

~ Words: 652.

~ A/N: Here ya go! Firstly, I forgive you many for taking 6 days fuckin' to finish your request. Secondly. I accidentally. Yes. Again—delete the anon's request and I forgot to screenshot it. FINALLY, I hope you and others love this fic, thank you for your patience!

~ Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Male!Reader

The very day you’ve met Bruce Wayne. There’s something in your heart that just stung you in a good way. You’d just admire him, even knowing you both work together—both in daylight and dark nights. Batman and Trailblaze roam Gotham for crimes together, while hiding that heroic image as husbands.

It was a casual afternoon in the Bat-Cave. Jason was fixing his bike, Tim was on the Bat-Computar, and the most important—You and Bruce training. After some quick sit ups and other activities later, you sat close to Tim, all sweaty in your gray top and white training Bruce bought for you. Tim glanced at you for a second, shrugged before continuing whatever he’s going. Jason still fixing his bike. But your attention aren’t to them. But Bruce.

Standing sweaty, Bruce’s costume made black top with the writing “Best Father”, as sweat slowly darkened the fabric, this just made you stare. And the moment he wiped his sweat with the tower Jason throws at him, damnit. Why does he looked so… hot? You’ve work with him for so long. Known him long as well. Your heart always bumping so fast seeing him.

“I want to be impregnate by him—” Those words escaped your lips without a second thought. Tim turned his head to you, raising and eyebrow. Jason soon, followed Tim. Looking at you with the most questionable expression man can imagine. Bruce in the other hand, didn’t heard anything.

…But seriously. Besides that sometimes your bottom instinct kicks in. When the sun fall, everybody knew Gotham is filled by crime. Even after years of working together, violence is more of your thing. Yes, Batman also beats his enemies. But not as aggressive as you were. Batman’s no kill rule is something you struggled with, the fact that the Dark Knight had to dragged you back when you went a little rough on the tugs made Batman—under his mask slaps himself. He can’t do much because you are his husband.

Patrols are sometimes your date night with Bruce. How? Well…

When you two became vigilantes, and someway somehow, there were low crimes happening. You two standing on one of the buildings on Gotham. Bruce—Batman would stood firm, his cape covering his fine body and muscles. While you sat on the edge, legs swinging smirking to yourself. Occasionally Batman would look at you, he’d sometimes ignored you which led making you annoyed him.

“Baatttsss~!!” You’d call him with a whiny tone which making the Dark Knight sighed. Responding with a grunt.

“C’monnnn! Can’t we do something fun? I–I don’t know! Like maybe slacking off patrol and went on a small date?” Batman when looked at you after you finished your words, sighing. “Keep yourself professional, Trailblaze.” Batman would reply with his usual deep tone as he gently pushed you down, making you fall. Of course Batman just realized when you let out a quiet yelp, making his eyes wide, immediately looking down from where you sat.

“M/N…? M/N!” His voiced echoed, Batman’s expression harden. But then—a long sigh escaped his lips, turning his head to find you walking from the other edge of the building, twirling a pocket knife with a smirk.

“I’m surprised you forgot by how much I love risking my life, Bruce.” You said, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine… what you want?” He asked. Making your eyes lit up.

“…”

“Uno? Seriously, Trailblaze?”

“Ah ah ah! It’s M/N, Bruce.” You poke your husband’s cheek, Bruce sighed. You swore you saw a smile on his face, it’s almost odd to fine the literal Batman smiling. But it made your heart felt warm…

“You simply have a big and strong body… in reality, you’re still a child.” Bruce commented, as he watched you shuffled some of the cards.

“Oh! You damn bastard!” You chuckled to his words, as you saw Bruce smiling.

[00valentina-writes00]

hii i love your grayson fics soo much, your grayson is so real and you have a wonderful writing style!!

could you please do grayson x reader, who is overworked and going through a mental breakdown and grayson comforts her with words and touches. maybe even some nsfw in the end, as you wish

♡♥︎“Let Me Take Care of You”♥︎♡

Your hands tremble over the stack of papers on your desk, the ink smudged where your grip has grown too tight. The words blur together—meaningless, tangled strings of letters that refuse to make sense no matter how hard you try to focus. Your breath is shallow, coming too fast, chest tight with a pressure that feels impossible to push down.

It’s all too much.

The exhaustion, the deadlines, the expectations piling higher and higher until you feel like you might suffocate under them.

You don’t even hear the door open.

Not until a warm, steady hand presses against your back.

“Sweetheart.”

The voice is deep, calm—soothing in a way that makes something in you crack.

Grayson.

Her touch is gentle as she kneads slow circles into your shoulders, fingers pressing into the knots of tension wound tight beneath your skin. She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t push—just stands behind you, letting the warmth of her presence sink into your bones.

You inhale shakily, but it stutters on the way out.

“You’re shaking,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

You press your lips together, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes.

“I—I’m fine,” you manage, voice rough.

Grayson hums, unconvinced. “Come here.”

You don’t resist when she gently pulls you up from your chair, guiding you into her arms. She holds you firm against her chest, her chin resting atop your head. The steady rise and fall of her breath presses into your back, grounding you in something real, something solid.

“You’re working yourself too hard again,” she murmurs, her fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles against your arms.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I can’t stop,” you whisper. “There’s too much to do, I just—”

She hushes you gently, lips brushing your temple. “You can stop. Just for a little while.”

Your body resists at first—muscles still locked in tension, mind still racing with all the things you should be doing. But Grayson holds you steady, arms firm but comforting, the scent of her lingering after a long shift—the faint musk of leather, metal, and something warm that belongs entirely to her.

And slowly, bit by bit, you sink.

She feels it too—the way your body finally starts to relax into her, the way your breathing evens out just the slightest bit.

“That’s it,” she soothes, her hands stroking gently down your back. “Just breathe, love.”

You do.

For the first time in what feels like hours, you actually let yourself breathe.

The weight of her hands, the warmth of her chest against your back—it makes you feel small in the best way, like you don’t have to hold everything up by yourself for once.

Grayson shifts, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before murmuring, “Come lie down with me.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not tired,” you lie, voice hoarse.

She chuckles softly, but there’s something fond in it. “Sweetheart, you’re exhausted.”

Her fingers slip beneath your chin, tilting your face up so you’re forced to meet her gaze. Those dark eyes study you, soft yet unwavering, seeing through you in the way she always does.

She leans down, brushing her lips over your forehead before whispering, “Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach twists, not in nervousness, but in something warm.

You nod, letting her guide you to the couch, pulling you down into her lap once she sits. She keeps you close, one hand resting at your waist, the other stroking absentmindedly over your arm, up to your shoulder, back down again—an absentminded, grounding rhythm.

“You do too much,” she murmurs after a while, fingers tracing slow, lazy shapes against your skin.

You swallow.

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

She sighs, pressing a kiss against your temple. “It’s more than enough.”

Her lips trail lower, soft against your jaw. “You are enough.”

Your breath catches.

Grayson takes her time with you, every touch slow and careful, every kiss a patient reminder that you’re here, that you’re safe, that nothing outside this moment matters.

When her hands finally drift lower, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, it’s not rushed. It’s not urgent.

It’s just her.

Taking care of you.

Loving you.

Her hands slip lower, fingertips teasing beneath your shirt, skimming along your stomach, brushing higher until they’re cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the fabric.

Your breath stutters.

She smiles against your skin, enjoying the way you shiver, the way your body slowly starts responding to her touch.

“Good girl,” she murmurs. “That’s it.”

Her hands ease lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, her fingers slipping between your thighs.

You gasp, your hips jolting, thighs parting instinctively for her, giving her access to where you need her most.

Grayson hums approvingly, lips ghosting over your jaw.

“Always so tense,” she muses, voice dropping as her fingers stroke between your folds, parting them with slow, teasing movements. “You just need a little help, don’t you?”

You nod, breathless, forehead resting against her shoulder, letting her guide you down onto the couch.

Grayson settles behind you, legs framing yours, her arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close as her fingers continue their slow, torturous pace.

“You’re soaked,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers through your slick. “Been needing this, haven’t you?”

You whimper, hips rocking instinctively into her touch.

She chuckles, low and warm, slipping a finger inside you—slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch as she curls it just right.

Your body melts, the tension unraveling, pleasure seeping into your muscles like warmth after a long winter.

“That’s it,” she whispers, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Let go for me.”

She adds another finger, pumping into you slow and deep, her palm grinding against your clit, her free hand stroking your stomach, grounding you in sensation

You moan, breath hitching, body arching into her, needing more.

Grayson obliges.

Her pace quickens, fingers fucking into you with steady, unrelenting precision, her mouth trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

She knows your body. Knows exactly how to touch you, exactly how to pull you apart, how to take care of you in a way no one else does.

“You’re safe,” she murmurs. “You’re mine. You don’t have to do anything but feel this.”

And you do.

You feel everything.

Your body surrendering, your mind quieting, every last ounce of tension unraveling as pleasure overtakes you completely.

Time slows.

The world fades.

All that exists is her.

Her touch.

Her voice.

Her love.

You’re safe here.

Safe in her arms, in her warmth, in the slow, steady rhythm of her fingers guiding you into bliss.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself relax.

You let yourself breathe.

[shiningjustforreid]

maraschino

valentine’s day special 2025 <3 fem!reader + Spencer Reid <3

word count: 1.5k

a/n: short and sweet valentine’s day fic! enjoy :)

warnings/tags: i mean, this is fluff with mild angst. if you don’t like two people sickeningly in love, i guess this ain’t for you! no use of y/n because no, sorry. reader is a lil anxious and perfectionist bc she just loves Spencer so much! pet names up the wazoo, gentle love because that’s what we all need.

- ✩ -

February 14th approaches, almost sneaks up on you, as it always does after a festive December and bleary January. Somehow though, magically, the planets and stars align, and Spencer doesn’t have a case in some city a hundred miles away. Having spent half the afternoon cleaning the apartment, and hemming and hawing over what to make for dinner - you and Spencer never do anything very fancy, just staying home, and it’s eating at you what you’re going to eat for dinner - the decision is made, and pasta it is. Garlic toast, veggies, and then when you spot the jar of maraschino cherries in the back of the fridge, cherry pie.

Hair refreshed, a fresh powder blue sweater on, you pour pasta into boiling water, season veggies as they cook, mind distant. It’s been a while since Spencer has been home for a nice night, and you’ve made sure he knows he is so loved tonight. Because he is. Every night.

Then, the accident. You’re tired, you worked an early shift today and your nerves are shot, piles of tension stacking up quickly and pressure to make tonight simple and sweet and easy for him. It’s ten to six, the noodles are cooking, toast baking, and your face is flushed as crimson as the fruit in the jar you’re trying to unscrew. Pie dough already pressed into the silver plan, you’re twisting the lid with all you’ve got, then—

Catastrophe.

Split seconds later, when Spencer enters the apartment, key in the door, he might as well be at a crime scene. Shattered glass shards lay across the linoleum, cherries and bright, nearly blood-red juice has stained your hands and the counter and your favorite sweater and the floor and oh God it’s everywhere and now you have to mop again—

“Angel. Hey. Breathe.”

Meeting his eyes makes hot tears well up in your eye - oh, he had flowers, this thoughtful, perfect man - the pressure in your chest grows to almost the same level as that damn jar lid. Swallowing hard, you stare down again at the pieces littering the kitchen floor, the whole room smelling unbearably saccharine.

“The lid wouldn’t come off.”

You breathe, as he hurriedly discards his coat and toes off muddy Converse, gingerly stepping across the room to you, bundle of deep red carnations and roses finding their way to the counter. Soft concern is painted across his features, as he steps into your space. Cool hands come up to hold your rosy cheeks, and you close your eyes, the shame of it all almost too great to handle.

“I see that. Did any glass get on you?”

For a moment, you pause at the worry in his voice, analyzing if there’s pain anywhere except in your throat and lungs. You shake your head, meeting his eyes with your own almost frantic ones.

“Spence- I was supposed to- I was going to make us dinner and it was going to be perfect and then—“

He doesn’t interrupt, but smooths a thumb over your cheekbone, and you pause anyways. When you don’t continue, he sighs, gently.

“Sweetest girl. Can I help?”

You nod, hazily, thoughts still consumed with it’s just such a mess and how badly did I manage to screw this up?

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go change your sweater, get that juice off your face because I know you hate the feeling. I’m going to sweep this glass, and once it’s all gone, I’ll take the bread out of the oven, as it’s only got three minutes left and it will probably only take me two minutes and 34 seconds to clean this glass based on the area it’s covering and how long it typically takes to sweep a floor this size.”

You laugh a little through your tears - calculating the time it will take to resolve this issue is just so Spencer. Nodding, you manage a watery grin.

“Then, I’ll mop, while I let you finish the pasta, because I’m pretty sure you want it a specific way, and who am I to get in such way?”

Now you’re actually grinning, as he smooths a frazzled lock of hair out of your eyes.

“It will be like it never even happened.”

Relief, then. There’s something enticing about the idea of smoothing it all over, redoing and fixing and editing the scene. He presses chapped lips to your brow, then your nose, and then one easy kiss to your lips before he pulls back, hands tracing down your arms.

“Go change, lovely.”

So you do, finding a plum-toned top instead, and a fresh pair of jeans, and then you’re back out as he’s setting the hot metal tray on the stove top and the glass is gone. You eye the tin and pie crust, unbaked and pale, and swallow hard. Spencer follows your gaze, as he dumps the juice splattered glass into the trash.

“Pie was a good thought, to use with those cherries.”

You nod, all choked up again. Mostly pleasant silence fills the kitchen as he mops and busies himself with something as you finish the veggies and pasta, but he’s thinking - probably profiling you, come on - and so are you, almost foggily so. Dishing up portions with shaking hands, you head to the table, and a wretched little sound leaves your lips as you see the lit candle, the silverware set, and the waters he’s already put ice in and poured full. The just purchased bunch of flowers is in liquid and in your favorite vase. He frowns at your apparent distress, taking both plates and setting them down before turning to you, hands grabbing yours.

“Is it too much? It is Valentine’s Day, and you seemed so in your head, I just wanted it to be nice for you because you deserve nice things, angel, and I—“

Leaning up, you press your lips to his cheek, hands smoothing over the cotton of his sweater.

“It’s perfect, baby. Absolutely. I just wanted to do the same for you, and I couldn’t.”

His frown remains in place, as you both sit, watching as you practically sink into your chair.

“Couldn’t? Did you not think I would notice the cleaned apartment, and the wonderful food, and how stunning you look right now?”

Shrugging tight shoulders, you look away, fiddling with your fork, trying not to think about how in awe he sounds of you, even when you feel so blech.

“Did you not also notice the disaster I made of our kitchen, and my feeble attempt at dessert? Because that’s what I remember.”

“Hey. Look at me?”

Fork goes down, and your eyes come up, meeting his. Seeing nothing but love and adoration and care, you hold his gaze.

“You know- you could do that every night, and it wouldn’t change a thing. Spill a million jars of cherries, make a billion messes. It doesn’t matter to me, because I love you. Okay? My- well, my heart is yours. It doesn’t know how to be angry at something so minute as this.”

New tears, these ones dawning from the light glowing in your chest, start to spill. Nodding, you look down at your pasta, hands calmed in your lap.

“Pretty girl. Hey. Those better be happy tears.”

You let out a breathless laugh, and look up again.

“Yeah. They are. My heart’s yours too, by the way. In case you wondered.”

Now it’s his turn to have pinkened cheeks, as you both enjoy your dinner. Domestics fall into place as he washes the dishes and you dry, comfortable silence now, no more tense muscles on your part.

Before long, a record finds the player - Time Out of Mind - and you’re sort of dancing, mostly just leaning on his shoulder with your hands clasped, swaying slowly in your dim living room. He waits to speak until it makes it all the way to the ninth track.

“Can I ask what was up with all the pressure you had on yourself today?”

You don’t answer at first, listening to his heart, lashes against your skin, body relaxing.

“I guess- I guess I just wanted you to know. Know how much I want you to feel loved by me.”

Lithe fingers come to stroke through your hair, lips right by your ear. You ease into the comfort that you’ve come to associate with his touch.

“You were so on edge when I came home, lovely. Nothing is worth the look in your eyes when I entered the door, and you didn’t have time to be perfect for me.”

There it is. Nail on the head.

“You deserve perfect.”

You protest, voice creaking a bit with more unshed water.

“Mm, as much as it pains me, I’m going to have to disagree. I would like to deserve a quarter of your beauty, someday. If I’m lucky. I’m already incredibly lucky just to be allowed to stand in your presence.”

Absurd man. You shake your head, his gentle teasing intermixed with steady assurance enough to calm your pulse.

“Love you, Spence.”

His breath soothes over your skin as his lips rest against your hairline.

“Love you too, sweetest girl. Nothing is going to ever change that.”

[pinkolve]

🎀 Decided I wanted to write a small fic based on this post!!! Hope it lives up to the expectation! 🎀

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Summary: See post above ⬆️⬆️⬆️

Genre: Fluff

CW: None!!

Word Count: 480

A/N: This is very short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!!!

“Hey Spence?!” I yell out from my bathroom. The smell of nail polish remover is heavy in the air, practically suffocating me. 

“Yeah?!” He yells from the living room as he’s getting ready for work. 

“Can you come here?!” I huff. “I’d really like to stop shouting!” I hear the quick patters of his feet on the floorboards. 

“What’s up sweetheart?” He tucks his messy hair behind his ears, looking between me and the large collection of nail polish I’ve laid out. I look at his outfit for a second then back up at his face. 

“Nothing.” I smile. “Just wanted to say ‘goodbye’ properly.” His eyebrows furrow but he accepts my answer. 

“Bye angel, I’ll see you later tonight.” He kisses my cheek. “I love you.” He quickly walks off, probably realizing he’s late. 

“Love you!” I pick up a bottle of nail polish and get ready to spread it across my nails. 

🎀

This same interaction happens at least two more times before Spencer actually starts to realize. 

🎀

He’s staring at me after getting home late, watching my hips sway as I stir our dinner in its pot. I can feel his eyes on me and I laugh. 

“Can I help you with something, Doctor?” I side eye him and he stutters. 

“No! No, sorry! I’m just…” He pauses, trying to find the right answer. He looks down at my hands still stirring the pot. I quirk up an eyebrow, hoping he’s finally about to notice. 

His eyes squint, trying to get a better look from where he is. His eyes widen suddenly and he looks down at the sweater vest he’s wearing. “Are you wearing the same color nail polish as my sweater?” I can’t help but burst out laughing. His eyes light up again. “Oh my god, is that why you’ve been calling me in the bathroom every morning?!” He points at me accusingly and I start crying. 

“Jesus Christ, how did it take you so long?!” I’m clutching my stomach now. “What kind of profiler are you?!” Spencer can’t help but smile and he walks up to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I place my own on his shoulders but still don’t stop laughing. 

“Are you done making fun of me now?” He forces out a chuckle. 

“Not even close, pretty boy!” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes playfully. He kisses the side of my neck and reaches around me to continue stirring my pot while I laugh in his face. “It took you like…Three days, Spencer!” I finally start to calm my laughter. 

“Yeah yeah, I know.” He rolls his eyes again. 

“I love you so much.” I giggle and kiss his cheek. 

“I love you too.” He pauses and looks at me. “Even though you’re mean.” I can’t help but laugh again at his little puppy dog eyes.

currently thinking about how I accidentally painted my nails the same shade of green as one of Spencer’s sweater vests (s1 ep5 I think)…and how he’d react to an s/o matching their nail polish to his sweaters/favorite color.

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Official Business

Fred Weasley x reader

Requested by: @mytrinityphelps

Request: “Office sex with coworker Fred Weasley (and him wearing glasses)”

A/N: Thank you for the request! I'm sorry it's taken so long to actually start and upload. But it never slipped my mind. This might just be my longest fic yet, so I hope it's actually enjoyable. I’m not gonna lie, I kinda forgot about the glasses request and I’m so sorry. I reread the request and went “mentioning glasses once might not cover it”. I’m sorry

T/W: Unprotected sex, Office banter, Blowjob, Nearly caught, Belly bulge,

What could you say about working as an Auror?

It was a decent job with decent pay, the hours were your casual 9 to 5 with weekends off.

Oh, and there was your coworker Fred. He wasn't the most serious guy, having left his job at a joke shop for better pay to keep his business up and running.

He was tolerable, unlike some of the other stuffy old workers who were seemingly glued to their desks. He was a little older than you with a ginger mop of hair and glasses that framed his deep brown eyes. He was friendly, always offering to bring you a morning tea and coffee personally instead of relying on the house elves. He even bought you a small owl ornament for your desk to commemorate your first year anniversary of working there.

Maybe you liked the flirty banter more. How during lunch breaks he’d comment about how you looked better than any dessert ever could, and that he looked forward to your smile more than any monthly wage slip. He really knew how to make your day brighter.

When he noticed the blush that spread across your cheeks in response to his teasing, he took a step up. Some of your favorite comments of his all shared a similar trait. They made you want to jump his bones. It was impossible not to when he spoke the stuff of wet dreams in that soft teasing tone.

“Your lipstick looks pretty, I wonder how it would look trailing down my chest”

“Looks like you’ve had a heavy workload today. Here I’d hoped you could take heavy loads, baby”

“You look tired, you’d sleep a lot better in my bed”

Oh, he was really trying to rile you up. And it was working like a charm.

Working overtime wasn’t rare in this line of work. Desk jobs always had their fair share of paperwork pile ups. Most workers left it till the next day or took it home to complete when possible. You only had a bit of work left and decided to stay to avoid the unnecessary task of homework.

One thing that caught you off guard was that Fred hadn’t said goodnight to you like he usually did before leaving. He did it every night. Was he angry at you? Had you said the wrong thing?

The thought stung a little, but you could always ask him about it the next morning.

Half an hour into your work was enough for a tea break. It wasn't procrastination if it counted as hydrating. Heading along the familiar hallway was second nature for you, but stopping dead was new. In the vast rows of desks, was a familiar ginger mop of hair. Was Fred Weasley staying late?

You made your way downstairs, an idea in mind.

Fred hated staying late. He hated this job. He had only taken it for some extra income towards the joke shop. He took the 9 to 5 job due to Georgie and Angelina expecting their first. At least if he was running the shop, he could be more lenient with trips to St Mungos. He still had a whole 3 hours worth of work to get through just to catch up. How people did this full time, he didn't know.

The approach of heels made him keep his head down, thinking it was some higher up reader to scold him for not taking the job seriously. But when a mug of coffee was placed before him, his head soon whipped up. There you were, like an angel in his time of need. You somehow looked perfect, like you weren't working overtime from an 8 hour shift. Instead of reaching for the mug handle, he reached for your hand in a tender grip.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know.

Your thumb trailed over his knuckles softly, a soft yet teasing smile on your face.

“I guess you owe me then”

That brought a smile to his face, giving your hand a tug causing you to fall onto his lap. You laughed softly, your hands finding his shoulders. This was his usual flirting to the max. But what was the harm in a bit of teasing?

“Give it your best shot, Weasley”

Knowing Fred in the capacity that you did, you should have known that he wouldn't take it as harmless teasing. He took it as a challenge.

His other hand found your cheek, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours in a kiss that seemed almost desperate. He let go of your wrist in favour of holding your waist to keep you steady on his lap. His lips pressed harder against yours, like a kiss along could merge your bodies. He wanted to be closer to you. He seemed confused when you got off of his lap, trying to hold onto you tighter, but his confusion turned into shock when you lowered yourself between his spread legs. He couldn't help his excitement as he practically ripped his belt off.

“You’re really gonna suck my dick? Sweetheart, you’re something else. Most girls would complain about ruining their lipstick, but you love being a dirty little office slut, don't you?”

He groaned when you pressed a kiss to his bulge in response before your hand took over, palming him teasingly. Your fingers tugged his zipper and fumbled with his button before his boxers came into view, and they were pulled down even quicker. Fred reached into his boxers, pulling his cock out. It stood tall before your face, his shaft veiny and girthy. The curtains definitely matched the drapes when it came to his pubes.

“Are you always this hard, Fred, or does a bit of kissing turn you on?”

He chuckled, his hand cupping your jaw to pull you closer.

“I'm always hard for you, I just don't show it as blatantly as you do. I knew how wet you got for me. I wonder if you ever played with yourself in the bathrooms thinking of me…or did you just finger yourself under your desk while I told you how pretty you looked every morning?”

That blush that filled your cheeks when he spoke, that's what he loved most about you. How that small tint of pink made you irresistible. How naturally it did.

His thumb caressed your blushing cheek, it was the result of him after all. Little did he know, it was all for him. You’d give all of yourself to him.

Your tongue gave his tip a gentle prod, reveling in his hiss at the touch. He sounded beautiful with every response, but those you drew from him were your favourite. Your lips wrapped around his tip, suckling softly. Fred stifled his moans, bringing his tie to his mouth and biting it to keep himself quiet from any other late workers. You looked up at him through your lashes, the sight making you wetter. Fred was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, his face nearly as red as his hair and his tie tucked between his lips while his cock throbbed for attention. He was like fine art.

Your lips returned to his cock, your cheeks hollowed as you tried to take him in your throat. His eyes bugged out when he felt your mouth take him deeper. But it was all cut short at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Fred pulled the tie from his mouth and nudged you gently, his voice merely a hushed whisper.

“Sweetie, stop. Someone, fuck…someones coming”

His hands ushered towards the underside of his desk making sure you were tucked in before pulling his chair up and trapping you between his legs. The footsteps stopped by his desk, one of your colleagues commenting on how he was here late, making some joke about his allergy for work slowly being cured. Fred could only nod along, his mind still in panic mode from nearly being caught getting sucked off by a coworker. You, on the other hand, took delight in how the tables had turned. It was your turn to tease him.

You leaned your face closer to his cock, sliding your tongue along his shaft and tracing his veins. You could hear his groan which he quickly covered up with a coughing fit. You could hear the coworker checking on him and patting his back, but you didn't give him a reprieve. Your lips circled his tip, suckling gently. Your coworker ran off, something about getting some water for Fred. He pulled his chair back and helped you out from under the desk.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have time”

He pulls his shirt over his erection and drags you by the hand, along the hallway and to the small utility cupboard that housed quills and inks. He pushed you in first and followed you inside, muttering a few enchantments under his breath. He had to make sure no one would hear you two and most importantly, that no one would try and open the door.

His hands wrapped around your waist like a python, pulling you into him. You pulled your pencil skirt up, hooking your leg over his hip. You dropped your voice to a sultry whisper.

“Then you better not waste anymore time, Fred”

His hand slithered between your bodies, pulling up your pencil skirt and tugging your panties aside. He practically growled at how wet you were, his fingers soaked from that brief touch. He couldn't wait any longer. He lined his tip with your entrance and pulled your hips, sliding you down his cock. You let out a relieved moan, grateful for Fred’s enchantment. His cock was buried so snug inside of you, every clench around his thickness felt like he could break you.

You risked a glance down and the sight of his cock causing your belly to bulge made you whimper. Just the sight alone caused that band to tighten. Your hands gripped his shoulders, pressing needy kisses to his lips. Fred pulled his hips back and thrust back into you, wanting to be as deep inside of you as he could. He wondered what it would be like to cum inside of you, painting you deep inside, but he didn't want to push his luck. There was plenty of time, and there was no way he’d have that much fun in an office storeroom. If it took, that would be a terrible place to conceive.

He licked along your bottom lip, his pace never slowing.

“I'm close, sweetie. Cum on my cock, make a mess”

His hand moved back between you both, desperate fingers circling your clit in tight, quick circles. He could feel your grip on his shoulders tighten, your eyes rolling back in bliss as you clamped down on his cock. A pornographic moan ripped itself from your throat as your juices coated his shaft. You were so warm and tight, that he contemplated just throwing all care out the window but instead he groaned and pulled out, his hand wrapping around his dick and pumping fervently.

His cum painted your bunched up skirt, leaving a sticky stain on the grey fabric. You didn’t call him out on it in your blissed out state, only noticing when you slowly came down. Even then, it was just a skirt. It was worth it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll buy you a new skirt if I have to. Maybe some pretty lingerie as well”

His signature smirk returned as he whispered in your ear.

“But then again, I’d prefer you naked”

[stronginawayjbb]

Hold My Hand - J.B.

hi hello I have another entry for @elixirfromthestars 's cinema! this fic IS CA: BNW spoiler free, and I would appreciate for there to be no spoilers since I haven't gotten a chance to see it yet! thank you so much <3

rating: 18+

pairing: Congressman!Bucky x f!reader

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst. mentions of blood/violence/hospitals, happy ending because I can't write sad shit

prompts: pretzel, Hold My Hand by Lady Gaga

word count: 3.8k (not sorry)

Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end.

When you got the news that there was a HYDRA attack happening in the Capitol building, you didn’t think. You took off from the Manuscript Reading Room in the Library of Congress, only one thing on your mind - or one person, rather. 

You ran as fast as your heels would carry you, getting across the street and to the steps of the building before you were stopped by security. You flashed both your federal ID and Avengers clearance card, which granted you access. You weren’t necessarily an Avenger, but you did work on their research and development team. And you were dating one. In order for you to stay quiet, you took your heels off, not wanting to alert anyone of your presence. Dating a super soldier, he’d taught you enough to keep your wits about you and defend yourself if he couldn’t be there to protect you. You tiptoed around, making your way to a stairwell so you could get to Bucky’s office. You smelled smoke as you got closer, and when you opened the door to the second floor, it was hazy. You knew you should turn back, but something in you said Bucky needed you. 

So you kept going. The destruction got worse as you got closer to his office, and when you reached it, the door had been blown off. You didn’t see him immediately, so you assessed for any threat of danger, and seeing no one around, you entered carefully. 

“Bucky?” you called out carefully. You heard a groan behind his desk, so you rushed over. You knelt down, your knees landing in a liquid - one you quickly realized was blood. His blood. “Bucky,” you gasped, trying to find the source of his bleeding. Even with his healing abilities, he was still losing too much too quickly. “What happened? Where are you hurt? Talk to me, baby,” you said with urgency, gently pulling him out from under his desk. He yelped in pain, and you felt terrible, but you had to help. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, his throat already dry and eyes looking glassy. 

Once he was out from under his desk, you found the source of his injury: a deep stab wound in his femoral artery. Luckily, there was enough space for you to be able to put a tourniquet on him. You went to work quickly, taking his belt out of his pants and tightening it down to try and stop the bleeding. Unbuttoning his collared shirt, you tore a part of his t-shirt he wore underneath to pack in the wound. Your hands were shaking, eyes clouded with tears as you did your best to stuff strips into the gash. 

Weakly, he grabs your bloody hand, trying to stop your shaking. “Cupcake,” he breathes out. You look at him, lacing your fingers together. “I’m here, baby,” you promise him, voice cracking with your tears. He shakes his head, a small smile on his tired face. “I love you,” he says, and it looks like it takes all his strength. “I’m always going to love you.” “No,” you sob, “No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re going to be fine.”

You didn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth, but you didn’t need to. You needed him to believe them. Because he had to be. This couldn’t be the way he goes out. You’d been with Bucky for two years, and loved him more than anything in the world. The thought of losing him felt like your soul was being ripped out of your chest. You leaned down, taking your free hand and pushing some of his hair out of his face. It smeared a bit of blood across his forehead, but you’d clean it up later. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, cradling his face in your hand. “Keep your eyes open, baby. Stay awake for me, okay? Help is coming. You’re gonna be fine,” you assured, whispering sweet nothings to him like they were going to keep him alive. You glanced down at his leg, and it seemed as though the bleeding was slowing down, but you didn’t know when help was going to arrive. 

Bucky’s breathing was shallow, every breath labored, but he was doing it. After another moment, Joaquin comes in, looking around for Bucky. You perk your head up from behind the desk, waving him over. “Over here,” you alert him, tears in your eyes. “Is he hurt?” Joaquin asks, eyebrows furrowed as he assesses Bucky. You nod. “Stab wound in his thigh. I put a tourniquet on it and packed it, just like he showed me,” you told him. Bucky was struggling to stay awake, but he was trying - fighting. 

Joaquin gives you a small smile despite the situation. “You probably saved his life,” he tells you, and while you know he’s right, Bucky is barely clinging to life. “Fix him,” you sob, letting Joaquin take over. He does, telling someone on his comms that they need a stretcher and medical assistance. The next few minutes were the longest of your life, trying to keep Bucky awake before help came. When it did, they had all kinds of medicines at the ready, pushing you out of the way to get Bucky stable. You found yourself standing next to Joaquin, and with one look at you, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and let you sob into his chest. Bucky’s blood was dry on your hands, evidence that you did everything you could to save him, and you still weren’t sure it was enough. “We’re gonna follow him to the hospital, okay?” Joaquin tells you, feeling you silently nod against him. He leads you out of the office, glancing you over. “Hey, where’s your shoes?” he asks softly, and you nod towards the desk. You’d dropped them next to you before tending to Bucky. He goes to quickly retrieve your heels, helping you into them before getting you downstairs and out of the building. You catch a glimpse of Sam, who has a grim look on his face, but nods, trying to offer you some silent reassurance. You quietly follow Joaquin to Happy’s waiting car, ready to take you to the hospital. 

The car ride to MedStar Washington was silent. Happy didn’t try to engage in conversation, and you were grateful. Once at the hospital, he dropped you off at the emergency room doors, and told you to call him when you were ready to come home or if you needed anything. You nodded, giving him a grateful smile and a small “thank you” before walking into the building. Your pantyhose were still bloodstained at the knees, but you didn’t care. You went through the procedures of checking in as a visitor, brokenly asking where James Barnes was. “He’s in the trauma center, in room 4,” the receptionist tells you with a sad smile. You nod and begin making your way towards the trauma center, visitor sticker displayed on your grey blazer. You were doing research in the Library of Congress today, so you wore a grey skirt suit with a royal blue blouse, and you were laughing because your suit unintentionally matched Bucky’s today. You giggled and took selfies with him this morning, holding hands as he walked you to work. That felt like a lifetime ago. 

Slowly, you trekked to his room, steeling yourself for whatever condition he was in. Once you made it to the trauma center, you stopped at the nurse’s station. “Hi,” you greeted, voice strained. “I’m (y/n) (y/l/n), James Barnes’ girlfriend and emergency contact. How’s he doing?” You knew he’d signed the forms to have medical information released to you, which they had on file, so they should be able to give you updates. The nurse pulls up his chart, careful to keep a poker face before looking up from his computer. “He’s getting a second pint of blood. After he’s stable, he’ll need to go in for surgery to repair the artery, but we were able to get the bleeding stopped for now. Whoever packed the wound and put the belt on him as a tourniquet saved his life,” he tells you. He sees the blood on you, and knows it was likely you who did it, so he’s trying to offer some reassurance. “Is he going to be okay?” you ask quietly. 

The nurse gives you a faint smile as he nods. “He’s going to be fine.” 

You take a deep breath and head to Bucky’s room. You step inside carefully, not wanting to disturb him. You check his vitals, and he’s holding steady. His blood pressure is a little low, but everything else looks good. You quietly pull up a chair on his left side and take his metal hand in yours. You feel a slight squeeze from him, and it makes you smile. His second blood transfusion was almost done, and you knew he’d probably be heading in for surgery soon. “Hey, cupcake,” he rasps out, opening his eyes to look at you. He looked so frail in a hospital gown, despite his bulkiness. You carefully reach out and tuck some of his chestnut hair behind his ear. You loved when his hair was long like this. “Hi, baby,” you greet, your emotions threatening to spill over again. He nuzzles into the palm of your hand, the scruff on his cheeks and chin rough against your skin. “They said you saved me,” he states, looking into your eyes. You shrug and shake your head, dismissing him.

“I had to. I couldn’t let you go just yet. I won’t let go till the end, and this couldn’t be how our story ended.” The words tumble out of your mouth as you try to envision a world without Bucky. That wasn’t a world you wanted to live in. The corner of his mouth quirks into his signature smirk, and that alone makes your heart flutter. You grip his hand just a little tighter. “What happened, love?” He rolls his eyes, obviously annoyed with the organization that’s been after him for 80 years. “HYDRA found out about our mission to double cross them, found out I was undercover in Congress to try and expose them once and for all. Tried to take me out with a pocket knife. Dumbasses.” 

The fact that he was joking around and being sassy meant he was feeling a little better, which made her smile and chuckle a little. “Sorry the mission ended like this,” you apologize, looking at him with some sympathy. He shakes his head. “Not your fault, cupcake. I don’t know what tricks you pulled to get into the Capitol, but do not do that shit ever again, understand?” He looks at you, his voice slightly stern, and that makes you giggle. 

“No way. I’m coming after you every time. And I’m glad I did,” you say, staring him down. His cheeks flush lightly. “You don’t need to save me. That’s my job.” 

Your thumb strokes across his metal knuckles, reassuring him gently. “And you are my hero, Bucky. Always have been, always will be. But you don’t have to wait to tell me you need me. I can see when you’re bleeding, literally and figuratively.” He swallows hard at that, nodding. The one person he thought he could lean on was now stuck in the past, and while he had a few people he trusted in the present, namely Sam and Rhodey, he still got worried that he couldn’t always share his true emotions. With you, he knew he was safe, but he still had a deep seeded need to protect you. You were the one modern thing he loved. Your moment was interrupted by the trauma doctor and a cardiologist entering his room. You both looked up at the doctors, and you introduced yourself and shook their hands. They explained that since Bucky had been stable for the better part of an hour, they needed to get in and repair his artery before the temporary cauterization they put on him stopped working. It was enough to get him stable, but it wasn’t the permanent fix. They explained an operating room was open, so they were going to prep him for surgery. They said it shouldn’t take long, an hour or two at most. You soaked in the information, looking over at Bucky. He seemed a little nervous, and you knew why. You looked at the doctors. “Can you give us a minute before you take him, please?” you ask politely. They look at each other and the trauma doctor checks his watch. “We can give you two minutes, but we have to go after that. It is an emergency, and the cauterization won’t last,” he explains. You nod, understanding, grateful for the two minutes. They walk out, leaving you and Bucky alone. As soon as they’re out of the room, Bucky’s heart rate picks up. He looks at you with genuine fear in his eyes. “Listen to me, Bucky. It’s going to be okay. You’re gonna be fine, and you’re gonna wake up the same person you are now, okay? I won’t let them hurt you,” you swear to him, resolve and determination lacing your tone.

“You promise?” he asks, still worried, but trusting you. You nod, your eyes never leaving his. “I promise, lovebug.” 

He takes a deep breath, not feeling great but knowing you’re telling the truth. “Gimme a kiss,” he requests, and you smile, happily obliging him. “I love you, cupcake,” he grins, squeezing your hand with his metal one. “I love you, sweet pea,” you tell him, meaning it with your whole chest. Just then, the doctors come back in, telling you and Bucky it was time for surgery. You stand up from the chair beside his bed, and let the nurses get his bed prepped to roll him out. Before he leaves, you promise him that you’ll be right here when he comes back, and with that, he and his team are leaving for surgery. 

An hour later, the cardiologist comes in to his room to find you with a cup of coffee. You look up, your heart pounding in your chest. By the relaxed smile on her face, you were hopeful. “He did great. They’re closing him up now and once he wakes up from anesthesia, he’ll be brought back here. We’ll keep him overnight to monitor him, but he’ll be discharged tomorrow morning. The sofa in here turns into a bed, and you’re welcome to stay with him,” she explains, clearly pleased with the results of the surgery. “He needs one more pint of blood, and some more fluids, but with his advanced healing, he’ll be fine in a few days. He just needs to take it easy while he heals. He lost about half of his blood, which any normal human would have died from. He got really lucky. He’s lucky to have you, Ms. (y/l/n). He wouldn’t stop talking about you before we put him under.” 

The weight of everything comes crashing down on you, and tears well up in your eyes as you thank her. Bucky was going to be okay, and you were so grateful. The cardiologist steps out of the room, and you sit back in your chair, waiting for Bucky to come back. In the meantime, you text Happy, asking him to bring you an overnight bag and to retrieve your purse from the cloak room of the reading room you were in before this all went down. Your phone stayed in the inner pocket of your suit jacket, but your wallet and purse was still with your things in the cloak room. He texts back, affirming he would bring you everything. 

A half hour later, Bucky was back in the room, still dozing as the anesthesia wore off. While he was asleep, Happy dropped off your bag, so you went to the attached bathroom in his room to change. While you were in there, he woke up, calling out a gruff “Cupcake?” 

Immediately, you stepped out, only half dressed. You had your yoga pants and a sports bra on, and when you came into his view, he grinned. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…” 

You rolled your eyes and came over to his side, lips brushing against his forehead. “How are you feeling, honey?” you ask, looking him over. He seemed to be doing okay. He had some color back in his face, not as pale as you saw him earlier. “Good. Sore. Better now that you’re here,” he answers, leaning back into his pillows. You adjust the one under his shoulders, leaning him back a little to make sure he was comfortable. “I’m gonna finish getting changed and I promise I’ll be right back, okay?” you tell him, kissing his forehead one more time before running back to the bathroom. You slipped on your t-shirt, an old AC/DC one, and quickly rejoined him at his bedside. You pulled up a chair again and dutifully enveloped his metal hand in both of yours. It held onto the slight chill of the operating room, so you did your best to warm it up. “They told me they’re keeping you overnight to monitor you, but I can stay, too. Happy brought me a bag. He brought you a change of clothes, too. We can go home in the morning,” you say softly. You see him nod, understanding why they want to keep him. “They said you lost half your blood…” you trail off, wondering if he knew.

You see his chest seize up for a split second, a sign that he knew and didn’t want to tell you. He sighs, and doesn’t dare look into your eyes. “I didn’t think I was gonna make it… When you came into my office, I--” he pauses for a moment, trying not to get choked up, “I thought my world was ending, and all I wanted was to be next to you.” 

“Bucky,” you whisper, holding his hand tighter. “Did the doc tell you I wouldn’t shut up about you?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood a little. You nod. “She did.” 

“Did she say what, exactly, I said?” he asks, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. 

“No, lovebug, she didn’t,” you affirm. You looked at him with the same curiosity, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. “Why?” you ask.

He shrugs, his bottom lip poking out. “No reason, I just may have spilled my guts and was trying to figure out if she ruined anything.” 

Now you were definitely confused. “Ruin what?” you pushed, trying to make sure everything was okay between the two of you. Noticing that you were starting to get upset, Bucky started rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of your hand.

“It’s all good, cupcake, I promise. I just have a… surprise planned soon, for our anniversary, and wanted to make sure she didn’t tell you, that’s all,” he explains, hoping it was enough to calm your nerves. It was. Relief crosses your face as you tuck some hair behind his ear again, just like you did earlier. 

“Okay, baby. I trust you,” you assure, a soft smile on your face as you stroke his hair. That lulls him back to sleep, and you stay like that for an hour or so until a nurse comes in to start his next bag of fluids and blood transfusion. They’re giving him some preventative antibiotics, too, so he didn’t get an infection. 

The nurse wakes him up to check his vitals and get his pain level, and while he tries to hide it, he reluctantly admits it’s a 6. So he gets some extra pain meds, and you help him order a late dinner, ordering a meal for yourself as well. 

After dinner, he’s tired but restless. You make up the pull out bed with sheets his nurse provided, and an extra pillow. You had your pajamas on, a tank top and shorts set, and the sight made him feel like you two were back home. But to him, home was wherever you were, so he supposed that as long as you were here, he could handle it. 

“Come get in bed with me,” he finally says, breaking the comfortable silence in the room. He scoots over a little, making room for you. You get in on his left side, not wanting to disturb his arm with two IVs in, or his injured thigh. You lay on your side, your arm draped over his soft middle. Since he’s been on an undercover mission and not training as hard, he’s gotten a little softer, and you adored it. Your hand splayed protectively over his stomach, and he covered yours with his flesh one. 

Your exhaustion was just about ready to take over, and he could feel your body getting heavier against his as you relaxed. Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the feeling of laying next to the love of your life. Just as you were about to drift off, his warm lips brush against the top of your head. “I love you, cupcake,” he whispers, metal arm squeezing you tighter against him. 

“I love you,” you whisper back, already half asleep. He finally lets you drift off, thanking his lucky stars for not only the blessing that is you, but for you saving him. Your third anniversary was in three weeks, and he had a four word question he couldn’t wait to ask you. Up until now, he was scared shitless about it, but now, as you lay in his arms, protecting him the best way you knew how, he realized that the butterflies in his stomach weren’t fear, but excitement. The two emotions had been conflated in his head for so long that he wasn’t sure he could name the difference. He can now. 

Bucky smiles as he falls asleep, letting the pain medicine take over his aching body. The future was bright for the two of you since he survived today, and he knew he could do anything as long as you held his hand.

So cry tonight, but don’t you let go of my hand. You can cry every last tear. I won’t leave till I understand. Promise me, just hold my hand.

[htaesan]

　ᅠ 🀦　ᅠ THIRTY DAYS OF LOVE　　────　ᅠ ( kim leehan )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀donghyun’s world shatters when he learns that the love of his life, you, is running out of time. but when the unexpected happens𑁋and you begin pushing him away, he makes a choice he’ll never fail to make over and over again. to love you through all the sunsets, quietly, fiercely and eternally.

　　　ᅠ 김동현 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 12k ⠀ genre angst fluff established relationship non idol au fiancé au ⠀ contains mentions of food blood death terminal sickness drugs (as medicine) crying skinship pet names ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net , @onedoornet

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ this is it guys my debut leehan fic is angst! and since this is my first time doing such a long angst fic i dedicate this to my lovely @miumura <3 i hope this is good enough for you babes! and my biggest thanks to rhin and sru for proofreading this for me ~ mwah ^3^

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

“SEE you tonight, angel,” Donghyun kisses your hair, pulling you into a hug. He doesn’t let go for a while, comfortable at how you’re perfectly snuggling against his chest. 

Still in his hug, you look up at him. “Why are you still hugging me? You’re going to be late for the meeting,” you say, knowing that his office takes a longer time to reach than yours. 

Donghyun smiles, placing his chin on your head. He pulls you into his embrace tighter, savouring every bit of the moment. “I don’t know, I just want to hug you a little longer.”

“Okay, you can hug me when you come home tonight,” you say, gently pushing him away. It’d be such an outrageous lie if you said you didn’t love your fiancé’s hugs, but you also know that if you didn’t push him out the door, he wouldn’t get to work on time. 

You push Donghyun to the door, then go on the tip of your toes, kissing his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, dear.”

Donghyun pouts, yet he opens the door. “I’m sorry I can’t come with you for your doctor’s appointment,” he says, pressing his lips together. 

You’re going to work a bit later today, as you have your monthly check-up in the morning. It’s nothing serious, just a habit that you’ve gotten used to since a child—as your parents would always bring you in for a monthly check-up at the clinic. Better safe than sorry, they said. 

Plus, you have been feeling quite distorted lately—swamped with fatigue and sleep disturbances. You thought it’s related to stress, but after talking to Donghyun about it, you’re a bit relieved that you’re getting it checked out, in case of anything serious. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” you say, giving him a smile. You feel a pang in your heart—it’s no lie that you’re a bit nervous, as this is the first time in years that you’d be going to the doctor’s without Donghyun by your side. 

“You’ll be fine?”

You nod, chuckling. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay then,” Donghyun says, sighing. He adjusts the man bun you’ve helped him tie, before stepping out of the apartment. “I’ll see you tonight—text me!”

You laugh, adoring how cute your handsome fiancé is. “I will, sweetheart. Get to work safely.”

“I will!” you hear him exclaim, waving before he takes a turn down the hallway. You take a deep breath before going back into your apartment to get ready for the day. 

After getting ready, you take a cab over to the clinic, prepping yourself by saying that it’s nothing to be worried about—the fact that you’ve been feeling extra tired and coughing more often are caused by stress and that it’s nothing serious.

The worried look on your doctor’s face and the way that she orders additional scans and tests makes you think otherwise. Though, still, you brave yourself. 

That is until the nurse comes back with your tests, a grim look on her face, and you can’t help but feel extremely scared. 

“I’m sorry, Miss, but it looks like you have advanced lung cancer, and… the prognosis isn’t good.”

The world stops spinning, and everything goes silent. The weight of the world crashes down on you. Everything feels distant, like you’re underwater.

“From my observations, and the tests that we ran for you just now, the cancer looks like it’s beyond treatable. All we can do is give you some medications to help with the pain–”

“How much longer do I have?” you suddenly ask, your voice throaty. Tears begin to collect at the corners of your eyes, and all you can think of is Donghyun. 

Your doctor widens her eyes in surprise, not expecting such a calm reaction. “I… estimate it to be around two months, at best.”

You nod absentmindedly, barely hearing the doctor explaining further help with medication, lifestyle and life expectancy. Your head is spinning, and all you’re able to think about is Donghyun. The happy life the two of you are planning. 

“Would… you like to call someone?” the doctor asks, pulling you back to reality. 

You blink back tears, immediately shaking your head. You force a smile. “No. I’ll be fine.”

You clutch the test results in your hand tightly as you leave the clinic in a daze. You glance at the people around you—some are happily calling or texting someone through their phones, some are enjoying their food with their partners, some are even rushing to work. You watch everyone go with their life, tears in your eyes. Suddenly, all the little things mean so much more to you. 

You glance at the time on your phone—if you catch the train now, you’d be able to reach work and catch up on some pending tasks. You plod through the path, slowly making your way down the subway. When you reach down the stairs, your phone vibrates with messages from none other than your beloved, Kim Donghyun. 

Swallowing thickly, you read the texts from your notifications. 

hi angel! i hope everything’s going well

this meeting is boring

i’d rather bring u to the aquarium for a date ^_^

anyways text me back when u can, ok? 

i love u sm!

Once again, your eyes overfill with tears, causing them to fall down your cheeks. You place a hand on your chest. Your hand forms a fist, crumpling the test results. A part of you is aching to call him and cry your heart out about this new calamity that hit you—yet, another bigger part of you knows that you shouldn’t. 

Donghyun had recently got promoted at his workplace, getting a higher pay raise. He’s also collecting money to open his own fish shop. He’s been talking to you about it for ages, and he even has a pinterest board saved. His dreams are slowly coming true, and you’re not ruining that for him—you know that he’ll instantly drop everything once you break the truth to him. 

You force yourself to look up, swatting your tears away with the edge of your sleeve. You blink back the remaining tears, reaching a resolute decision in your mind. 

Instead of telling Donghyun, you’re going to make him fall out of love with you. 

You smile sadly. 

It’s for the best. You love him too much to want him to give up on his dreams just to take care of you. You love him too dearly to see him heartbroken over your state. You love him so much that you’re willing to die alone. 

You love him, more than you ever could describe, that you’re willing to pull away to prevent him from sacrificing his future for you. 

You switch your phone off, taking a deep breath. As you step into the train, heading for work, you decide that you’re going to give yourself thirty days to accomplish your mission. 

Thirty final days with him, then that’s it.

THAT night, you can’t sleep. The reality that you’re living in seems so real yet so distant, and it keeps you awake. You’re in Donghyun’s arms, staring at the ceiling blankly. The gentle rhythm of his chest heaving up and down, the warmth of his breath against your forehead comforts you—yet it washes you through a wave of realisation—that this will be one of your final nights with him. 

Enjoy it while it lasts.

You snuggle closer to him, blinking to force tears back in. You brave yourself, shifting your gaze upon your fiancé’s face—his peaceful sleeping face that looks so cute and adorable. You’ve cried too much today, yet you can’t stop the tears from dripping down your face again. 

It’s so unfair. You were finally happy–why did it have to be robbed right from you when you were just getting comfortable?

The urge to wake him up and tell him everything is overwhelming, but you clench your fists and swallow the words. You take a deep breath, repeating to yourself the mission that you’re putting yourself to. 

Thirty days to make Donghyun leave me. 

You shift your gaze back towards the ceiling, mentally making a list of what you have to do for the next four weeks. 

DAY 1.

In the morning, you’re up earlier than Donghyun is—that’s usually how it is, but this time, you had to make sure you’re awake before he is, to avoid any slip-ups from you.

You’ve already showered—you’re now in your bathrobes, and done your whole morning routine. You walk over to your shared bed, smiling softly at finding Donghyun still soundly sleeping. You kneel on the bed, forcing yourself to maintain a stoic face as you shake him awake. 

“Good morning, love,” he mumbles, stretching his arms wide before pulling you in for a hug. You bite the bottom of your lip, holding back a smile. Usually, you’d giggle and kiss him good morning, but this time, you don’t. You stay silent, not reciprocating both his greeting and his hug. It pains you, but the pain that’s in your lungs every time you take a deep breath reminds you of the harsh future you’re facing.

After a few minutes, Donghyun notices the change in your behaviour. He opens his eyes, pulling away slightly so he can look you straight in the eye. “Are you okay?”

You press your lips into a thin line. “I’m fine,” you reply, giving him a half-hearted smile. 

Donghyun holds the gaze longer than you wish he did, pursing his lips as he analyses any emotion that you might be displaying on your face. 

Before he could say anything that will definitely make you break character, you push yourself out of his embrace, walking to the vanity. The weight of your lie begins to sink in your chest, marking the beginning of your plan. 

You know that Donghyun, as dense as he can be sometimes (read as most of the time), is quick to pick up on things—especially if it’s about things and people he loves. You notice him lingering around you, standing behind you, longer than he usually does, with a puzzled look on his face as you go through your usual morning routine. 

Except that you don’t pack a lunch for him, pretending that you’re occupied with some other house chore. Except that you don’t smile sweetly, saying that you love him while you give him a kiss on the cheek as the two of you part ways for the day. 

Donghyun notices, and you know that as soon as you receive a text message from him right after you’ve arrived at your office. 

angel

you okay?

did i do smth wrong? i don’t have lunch today :< 

You open the message and give him a simple and dry response: “no”. You grit your teeth, already hating the weight that’s pushing you down every single time you lie to him. 

The rest of the week goes by the same way—you try your absolute best to create distance between you and Donghyun: talking to him in an uninterested tone, not hugging back whenever he does, pretending to not remember to kiss him goodnight and goodmorning, not updating him about your day to let him smile as he listen to you like how it usually is. 

You’ve, too, lost count the amount of times Donghyun has come up to you and asked if you were okay. 

“I’m fine,” you grunt, scooting away. You adjust your posture before forcing yourself to focus on the show you’re watching. It’s not even that interesting, but you need to do everything humanly possible to ignore the handsome ball of fluff sitting next to you, begging you to tell him what’s wrong with those super cute boba eyes of his.

You hear Donghyun quietly sighing before walking away to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge to find some snacks to offer you. 

“Here,” he says after a while. You glance at him, gulping at the sight of the honey butter chips Donghyun is stretching out to you. 

“I’m not… hungry,” you force yourself to say, in a plain tone.

Donghyun tilts his head. “But you like honey butter chips,” he says, already slightly pouting. 

“Kim Donghyun, I’m not hungry,” you hiss, eyes glued to the television.  

“Okay…” you hear him murmur, shoving the chip that he originally wanted to feed you into his own mouth. From the corner of your eyes, you see Donghyun folding the bottom of the bag so that it can stand by itself, carefully so that the chips won’t spill, before placing it next to you. He then gets up and walks away to the kitchen to cook some food, intending to give you space. 

Actually, Donghyun can’t exactly cook, but he’s just standing there, at the sink, washing some fruits that he wants to cut up for you. The past few days, he’s noticed a very drastic change in your behaviour. You’re no longer smiling at him, you’re no longer talking to him about anything that comes to your mind, you’re no longer reciprocating the hugs and cuddles he’s giving. You’ve brushed off every single attempt he’s made to ask you if anything was wrong, or if he did anything that upset you. 

Donghyun sighs, tying his hair up before beginning to peel some oranges. 

DAY 6.

The next step of your plan begins: picking fights at the most irrelevant things, hoping that Donghyun would lose his patience.

“Can you not hug me like that?” you snark, swatting his hands away from your waist. 

Donghyun widens his eyes, shocked at your sudden outburst. Normally, you wouldn’t ever decline his hugs—preferring to let him snake his arms around you as you get ready for the day, or cooking something up. 

You glare at your fiancé, fiercely dabbing your makeup onto your face. It pains you to see the confused and shocked look on his face, but you have to continue. “It’s so annoying, your breaths are so sticky and it makes my neck feel hot.”

Donghyun puts his arms to his side, taking a deep breath. “Okay, angel, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gentle. He extends his hand, patting your hair. “I’ll be showering,” he informs you before disappearing to the bathroom. 

You watch him with widened eyes, taken aback by his reply. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Donghyun was supposed to be offended by your actions, not be completely calm and okay about it. 

You turn around, eager to find another opportunity to piss him off. 

A few moments after that, you find yourself in the kitchen with Donghyun, who’s watching you prepare breakfast. You glance at him, who’s peacefully trying to sip his morning coffee. 

This is perfect timing.

Ignoring the heavy guilt weighing down on you, you slam the kitchen drawer a little harder than necessary, the sharp sound cutting through the tranquil morning. 

Donghyun’s head shoots up, and his eyes immediately find you. He sets his coffee down, fingers lingering around the mug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, shoving the dirty spoon in your hands into the sink with a loud clatter. 

He frowns, taking one step closer. “You seem upset.”

“I said I’m fine,” you snap, sharply turning around to face Donghyun. Pushing down the remorse you feel upon seeing his expression—a mixture of shock and worry—you continue. “Can’t I be in a bad mood without you questioning me?”

Silence.

You expect him to bite back, finally telling you that you’re being unreasonable. You know Donghyun isn’t the type to be confrontational, but considering the amount of discourtesy you’ve done to him this past week, you even expect him to get angry. 

That would make it easier.

Instead, much to your surprise, Donghyun simply sighs. “Of course you can, my love,” he says softly, eyes not budging away from you. 

You inhale sharply, turning your back to him before he can see the tremble in your hands. 

As the week goes by with a blur of similar attempts, you begin to grow a little frustrated. A part of you just wants to tell Donghyun everything—where it hurts, how sad you feel, how you feel so worthless and in pain all the time. 

Every time you glance at him, you just feel like jumping into his embrace. Every time you see a notification from him, your fingers itch to press call, to release the tension in your shoulders and the heavy guilt in your chest, to whisper the truth to him. I’m sick. I’m dying.

You’re taking the bus back home, Donghyun’s message opened but left unreplied. You stare at the message: “get home safely, my love” with a vision that blurs more and more with tears every time you blink. 

The message bubble pops up again. 

Donghyun’s typing. 

are you okay?

you’re leaving me on read

You shut your eyes, clicking the off button on your phone. You can’t do this right now. If you let yourself answer his texts, your whole plan will crumble along with his future. 

Donghyun doesn’t deserve this. 

You clench your fists, fingernails digging into your palms. You force yourself to stay quiet, to freeze and not do anything. 

A tear escapes down your cheek, and you let it fall. 

It hurts. 

But you don’t know what else to do. 

DAY 13.

“I’m home,” Donghyun calls out as he closes the door behind him. The apartment is quiet, and he can only hear the air purifier working in the background. 

It feels weird. 

He glances at the shoe rack, spotting the pair of shoes that you chose to wear to work today already there. He bites the bottom of his lips, bending down to fix the position of your shoes. Then, quietly, he opens his own and sets them neatly next to yours. 

As he makes his way to the bedroom, a million thoughts race through his head. What did he do wrong? Where did he mess up—for you to be acting so differently? He knows he isn’t the best at confrontational communication, but you’ve shrugged off all of his attempts to try. 

Donghyun walks silently to your shared bedroom, and he sees you bundled up on the bed, soundly sleeping. There’s something about you, so ethereal and beautiful, even when you’re deep in slumber. Donghyun takes quiet steps towards you, coming into a halt when he’s standing right in front of you. 

He exhales heavily, absorbing the view of you. 

Donghyun misses you. 

He misses spending hours giggling with you, talking about all the things that the two of you found interesting in this world. He misses holding you in his arms. He misses kissing you, smothering you in his affection. He misses letting you braid and play with his hair whenever you want to. He misses having you drag him around doing errands—shopping for groceries and household items, occasionally distracted by the cute blind boxes at the cash register. He misses enjoying aquarium dates with you—seeing you look at him with lovesick eyes, even though you have been to the same aquarium so many times. 

He misses you, and he wonders what he’s done wrong for you to obviously avoid him like this. 

Donghyun pauses, wondering if he should do it. He sighs, then leans down to give you a peck on the forehead. It’s gentle, barely there—but it’s enough for him to sustain himself through another week. 

As he straightened his posture, he recalls the events that happened recently. Just this morning, when Donghyun was watching you get ready for the day, you suddenly mentioned Sanghyeok—a man who you used to be interested in, back in high school.

“I wonder what Sanghyeok is doing now,” you said. Your voice is loud—waiting for Donghyun to respond. 

Donghyun buttoned his shirt, staring right at you. He remained silent, not knowing exactly what to expect out of this.

“I bet he looks even more handsome now,” you tried again, emphasizing the ‘handsome’ in your tone. You sneaked a glance at your fiancé through the vanity mirror, disappointed to see him remaining unfazed. 

“Obviously,” he replied after a while. He approached you and grabbed the hair comb next to you. He continued, in a matter-of-factly tone. “Everyone gets more handsome or beautiful as they mature.”

Donghyun smiled quietly as he watched your face morph into an annoyed expression, huffily turning away. 

This must be some kind of way for her to get back at me, he thought. Maybe I should try harder to get her heart back, for whatever reason she pulled away. 

You stir, fingers instinctively reaching for the pillow next to you—bringing Donghyun back into the present. 

Donghyun sighs, massaging his temples. He looks at you, taking in your beauty for a while, before walking away to get unready for the day—already thinking of what to order for dinner. 

DAY 17. 

Tomorrow is the day where you’ll accompany Donghyun to find his wedding suit, and you know he’s been aching to ask you why you’re not excitedly talking to him about it yet. He’s been hovering around you—not quite standing or sitting next to you, but rather, he’s around you—the corner of his mouth twitching as he bites back his words. 

You’ve been quite excited, actually. You’ve been saving a lot of photos, trying to get an idea of what would make your fiancé look flattering on your wedding day. You were dying to talk to him about, endlessly rambling to him about the countless designs out there—but you’re reminded of your condition, the fact that you’re sick and dying, every time you glance at him and imagine him in a wedding suit. 

That’s the only reason that’s keeping you together, holding you back from unleashing your true feelings.

Donghyun found his courage to ask you when the two of you are sitting at the dining table, eating some take-out ramen that he ordered for dinner. 

“About tomorrow…” Donghyun begins, slowly chewing the contents of his mouth. “We’ll be going… right? Together?”

You take a deep breath, putting on your act. You look up from your food, eyes bored. “Do you not want to?”

“No– no, it’s not like that, angel,” Donghyun stammers, almost choking on his food. “I’m just wondering… because you haven’t talked about it all week. You…”

He pauses, and he holds his gaze for a few moments. 

“You usually get excited about these things,” he continues softly.

“About what?” you ask sharply, heart sinking at the way you’re treating him. 

Donghyun shrugs. The look in his eyes is cracking your heart into pieces, but you brave yourself to keep the glare on. “You know, about doing things together. With me.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, breaking the gaze Donghyun is holding. You turn to your food, holding back your tears by aggressively poking holes in your fishcakes. 

“Angel,” he calls, and you hate how you instantly perk up at the nickname. Your eyes slightly widen at how he’s smiling so adorably, his boba eyes sparkling against the reflection of the lamps. “Do you remember? Our first date.”

The memory of one of the happiest days of your life, dated seven years ago, tugs hard against your chest, some kind of heavy feeling going up to your throat. “Yes,” you croak, avoiding his gaze. 

“I still remember how nervous I was, waiting for you in front of your parents’ house with flowers in my hands. It was really awesome—the feeling of waiting for you outside, knowing that I’ll be spending the entire day with you,” Donghyun pauses as he laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling with happiness. 

You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to stay stoic. 

“I was eighteen—we were eighteen—still young and dumb, but I knew, the moment you stepped out the door looking so beautiful in your light pink dress, that you’re the person I want to be with for the rest of my life.”

You shut your eyes, lowering down your head. As tears begin to collect at the edges of your eyes and Donghyun’s voice begins to blur in the background, you curse yourself and your fate.

Why did it have to be like this?

What did you ever do wrong to be given such a cruel future?

Why did it have to be you?

DAY 21.

You’re sure that you heard the doctor right the last time—that you had around three months to live. But now, with every single day that passes, you feel like your body is physically getting ripped away from you, little by little. Your appetite decreases with every passing day, your energy and mood swings vary by a significant manner. 

Every time you notice this, the more adamant you are in your plan. You have to make Donghyun leave, even if it breaks you in the process. 

You have 9 days left of your plan. 

You’ve been more consistent and put more effort into your scheme, despite Donghyun being calm and still loving through it all. 

You sigh deeply, standing at the sink as you wash out your mug after drinking honey lemon water. You’re coughing very often now, and you often find yourself out of breath yet in pain multiple times. You feel Donghyun’s presence behind you, and it’s feeling heavier than usual. You’re done washing your mug, but you rinse it a couple more times to pretend that everything’s fine. 

As soon as you close the water tap, Donghyun opens his mouth.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” 

His voice is calm—way too calm.

You glance at him, setting your mug down, your body still turned away from him. It’s a bit weird that Donghyun is confronting you now, but given the duration that your plan has been going on, you figure that he’s reached the peak of his patience. 

“I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

A quick moment of silence goes by. Then, “You’re lying.” 

You inhale sharply, momentarily shutting your eyes close. But you don’t turn to face him. 

The sharp sound of a chair scraping against the tiled floor startles you. You quickly turn around and it’s Donghyun, pulling a chair out—but he doesn’t sit. Instead, he rests against it, his hand gripping tightly on its backrest. 

“What is it?” he asks, his voice quieter. “What are you not telling me?”

You avert your gaze, swallowing densely. Say it. Make him hate you once and for all.

“I…” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound indifferent. “I’m done, Donghyun. I don’t think I love you anymore.”

Silence. 

For a moment, you’re hoping—silently praying, even—that he would just walk away. That he would accept your words and take his leave. 

Then, in a voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper, Donghyun says, “say it again.”

You widen your eyes, turning to him. Startled, you blurt out, “what?”

The guilt that’s pushing down your chest doubles even more as Donghyun is staring at you. His jaw clenched, and his eyes dark with something that you’ve never seen in him before—hurt, anger, and utter disbelief. 

“Say it again.”

Your lips part, but you can’t force anything out. 

“You’re lying,” Donghyun says, with no softness in his voice this time. “But let’s pretend you’re not.”

He takes a step forward, and suddenly you’re trapped between him and the kitchen counters. “Say it again, Y/N,” he whispers, almost begging, “look at me this time.”

Shakily, you force yourself with all your might to meet his gaze, tears beginning to form. 

Say it, Y/N. Make him hate you. 

Make him leave.

“I–” your voice cracks.

Donghyun stands in front of you, still like a stone. He doesn’t blink, nor does he say anything. He stands there, waiting, patient like he always is. 

Your hands begin to tremble at your side, and with one deep breath, you let it out before you can’t anymore. 

“I don’t love you anymore,” you whisper, forcing your shaky gaze to connect to Donghyun. The fact that it’s a lie pains you ten times more than it should have—you exhale, biting your lips to cover how terribly you’re trembling. 

Donghyun exhales deeply. For a moment, you think he’s about to laugh. But instead, he looks away, shaking his head. 

“Okay, fine,” he nods, his voice too steady. “Then tell me, why are you still wearing the ring?”

Your blood turns to ice. 

“If you don’t love me anymore,” Donghyun repeats, and one by one, his words sting your heart. “Tell me why you’re still wearing the ring.”

Your hand flies to the hand with the engagement ring, trying to hide it, but you’re too slow. He’s already seen it. 

Donghyun laughs, short and humourless. “You can’t even take it off, can you?”

Feeling harshly attacked, you look away. 

Donghyun runs a hand over his face, slowly sighing. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, his voice lower now, and it’s clear that he’s exhausted. “But if what you’re doing is to protect me from whatever, it’s not working.”

His words cause a pang to your heart. 

“It’s not like that—” You grit your teeth, starting to internally panic. “You don’t understand–”

“Then make me understand!” 

Your breath hitches. 

Donghyun didn’t yell—not really—but for a man who never raises his voice, and would try his best to solve things calmly without conflict— his outburst might as well be a scream. 

The rawness in his voice makes your heart ache even more. 

But the sharp pain in your lungs reminds you of everything—you can’t let him in. 

You turn quickly, to hide the sudden stream of tears flowing down your cheeks. “There’s nothing to understand,” you quietly say, biting your quivering lips. 

A long silence, accompanied by palpable tension, stretches between the two of you. 

When Donghyun finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “Okay.”

You force your eyes shut, biting back sobs as you hear him walk away, the sound of the door closing echoing in the apartment. 

And when the sound of his footsteps disappeared, you let yourself sink to the floor in heavy sobs, your body trembling like crazy. 

THE next few days go by like usual—Donghyun acts like nothing happened—but the only difference is you can clearly see the hurt in his eyes. He’s still loving: he brings back home your favourite food, opens the door for you, and makes sure you’re always comfortable. 

You’re still trying your best to carry out your plan.

“Stop, Donghyun,” you say, albeit your voice is shaky. Donghyun, who’s silently peeling out shrimp skin from its flesh for you, pauses. He looks up—though he doesn’t say anything.

“We’re too different. You shouldn’t be with me.”

Donghyun takes a deep breath, and a few seconds later, he replies. “What’s so different about us, angel?”

Angel. 

The nickname stings like lemon juice on a fresh paper cut. 

“I…” you force a laugh, but it cracks at the edges. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re too different, Donghyun. We have always been—you like quiet nights in, I like going out,” 

Lie. You never really minded the difference: you and Donghyun completed each other like you’re each other’s missing piece.

“You like stability, but I’m too restless for you. We… we’re just too different,” you gesture vaguely, trying not to let Donghyun hear the tremble in your voice. “Maybe we just… got carried away with the idea of us.”

Donghyun puts aside the shrimp he’s deskinning, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. His voice maddeningly tranquil, he says, “you don’t mean that.”

Your throat burns with the trace of your words. 

He’s making this hard. Too hard than what it’s supposed to be. 

“I do,” you lie. 

Donghyun closes his mouth, studying you with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he exhales slowly. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

Your breath catches.

“No–” 

“You can push me all you want, as hard as you want,” Donghyun continues, his voice softer than before, “but I’m staying, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

The walls you carefully constructed around your heart begin to crack and crumble. Desperation claws frantically against your chest. 

Why can’t he just let go?

You repeatedly shake your head, turning away, blinking rapidly as your vision begins to blur with tears. “You should,” you whisper, though it’s more to yourself. “You really should.”

Donghyun stays silent for quite some time, before leaning forward to gently caress your hair. You pull away, knowing that he isn’t leaving. Not now. Not ever. 

DAY 27. 

Donghyun stirs, blinking rapidly as the surroundings become clearer to him. He stretches his arms, tensing as he comes into contact with your sleeping figure. He sits up, and shifts his gaze towards you, your form accentuated by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. 

There’s something wrong. 

Donghyun knows—he just doesn’t exactly get what it is. 

You’ve been so off—too distant—this past month, and knowing you for almost a decade, Donghyun realises that whatever is causing your behaviour change is serious. 

He knows that it’s either him or something else.

But what did he do?

Donghyun quietly jumps off the bed, tiptoeing out of the room to get some water to drink. His mind is clouded with worry for you these days, he can barely sleep at night—with no one to share his warmth with, no one to talk to until one of you snoozes off, no one to braid his hair until one of you falls asleep. 

He walks to the kitchen, his attempt at being quiet largely failing due to him yelping after stubbing his toes into the dining table. He switches a few of the lights on, still quiet, then he walks over to the kitchen to grab himself some water. 

Everything was ordinary, except a few things laid out messily on the kitchen island.

Packets of medicine he’s never seen before, and a thin stack of papers scattered around the top of the island. 

Curious, Donghyun peeks at the words printed on the label of the plastic packets, bringing the glass of water he’s holding to his lips. 

Y/N L/N. 

Aspirin. 

Antidepressants. 

Anti-seizure. 

Steroids. 

Morphine tablets.

His heart begins to beat loudly against his chest, blood rushing to his head. He quickly turns to the stack of papers, after checking through the packets of medicine. 

Y/N L/N. Lung Cancer. Stage 4 (Severe).

Donghyun freezes, and the glass cup he’s holding slips through his fingers without notice. 

His mind swirls with a million different emotions—he’s confused, in shock and fear, as well as a touch of deep betrayal. 

His eyes read through the words on the papers again. A storm of emotions rain on him—he can’t believe it. It can’t be. 

All of the memories he shared with you—both happy and sad—replays in his mind. From the moment he first laid his eyes on you, donkey years ago; your numerous dates together, hours spent with love and giggles; him proposing to you, and moving in together—planning and envisioning your life together. Then, a sudden flood of memories flush through, replaying the moments and  conversations from the past month where you tried to push him away.

Now, everything clicks together in the right place. 

Now, Donghyun understands why. 

You were trying to make him leave for the future he deserved, for a better future without the burden of loving someone who was dying.

Donghyun feels his shoulders trembling ever so slightly, his vision beginning to blur with tears. He notices the broken glass cup on the floor, but his head is spinning too fast for him to comprehend it all. 

Donghyun feels his heart pounding in his chest, creating a heavy rhythm that drowned out everything else around him. You’d tried to push him away—tried to make him fall out of love with you, to untangle him from a future with you, all in an anguished attempt to protect him from the unavoidable pain that is now coming for them. Donghyun feels like him not seeing this coming should have relieved him in some twisted way.

However, the reality coming from the document in front of him hits like a tidal wave. Anger begins to flare within him—he’s mad at you for trying to shield him from this, irritated for the way you drown him in doubt, distance, and wondering whether he was truly losing you even before he knew the reason behind it all, for the past month. 

Yet, the anger and hurt begins to wash away as his eyes, still blurred from his tears that couldn’t yet fall, lands on a framed picture of the two of you on the wall. 

You were glowing—the sparkle of the starry night sky glittering in your eyes, a loving smile on your face. Next to you was Donghyun, kissing the top of your hair, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. 

It was the night of his proposal. The night you said yes. 

Yes to a future together. Yes to loving each other through all the highs and lows.

A tear drops down Donghyun’s face, tracing the curve of his features in a silent surrender. 

He understands. 

How could he not? 

Somehow, he knows that fear must have gotten the best of you, driving you to make such a selfish decision. He knows that you’re terrified—terrified to watch him suffer, to drag him into a future filled with nothing but grief and pain that no one should ever have to endure. 

Donghyun knows that you’re trying to protect him—making the hardest decision to leave him with the hollow ache of your absence, hoping that he’d move on long before you had to physically leave this world. 

His chest tightens with the realisation and the weight of his beloved’s sacrifice. 

Donghyun glances, again, at the document stating your diagnosis on the kitchen counter. 

It’s hard to come to terms with this new reality, shoved to his face like a rejection he doesn’t even have time to process. 

It’s hard, but Donghyun’s love is undeniable. He feels it burning through the tangles of hurt, confusion and anger in his heart, leaving him with one overwhelming truth: he won’t leave. Not now. Not ever. 

The vision of you smiling brightly appears in front of his eyes, the melody of your laughter ringing in his ears. 

His heart begins to beat in a steady manner, and he’s never felt as sure before—the only other time being the moment, after taking you out for the first time, that he’s sure of a future with you. 

I’m not going anywhere. I choose you, Y/N.

I’ll always choose you. 

I choose us, even in this.

A wave of urgency suddenly washes through him—and it’s almost a frantic need to reassure you. Donghyun clutches his chest. He can’t let you believe, even for a second longer, that you’ll watch him walk away, leaving you to face this battle alone. He’s not going to abandon you—not when you need him the most. 

The slightest, faintest shiver moves through him, betraying the calm he’s trying to maintain for so long. No sound escapes his lips, just a quiet sob. 

And so, as the reality of his fiancée’s diagnosis begins to settle into the deepest marrows of his bones, he realises that the future that the two of you had once planned is no longer a guarantee. It’s fragile now, but a future with you is still one. The future still belongs to you and Donghyun, hand in hand. And he would fight to hold on to it, even if it meant facing the darkness together.

DAY 28. 

“Y/N, I’m home,” Donghyun calls out, mentally preparing himself for another ‘mood swing’ of yours. However, when he swings the door to your shared apartment open, he finds himself in shock at the way it’s dark. 

Panic begins to kick in. Donghyun looks around—your shoes are here, your coat is hanging, still damp from the year’s first snow. 

“Angel?” Donghyun calls again, the tremble in his voice beginning to rise. 

He kicks his shoes off and scrambles to every corner of the house, trying to find you. He looks for you in every nook and cranny—sharply turning when he spots light coming from the bottom of the bathroom door. He rushes there, but comes into a halt when he hears a sob. 

You press your forehead against the bathroom mirror, your hot breath creating a cloud of fog on its surface. Gripping the edge of the sink as tight as you possibly could, you try to push in the panic that’s resurfacing, after keeping on a facade for the entire day. 

At first, it was just a tiny tremor, a quiver barely noticeable in your chest as you try to keep your breathing calm amidst all the physical pain. Your eyes are glassy and distant, staring at nothing in particular. The tears are heavy, clinging to your eyelashes, refusing to fall. But with every blink, with every pained heave, a new wave erupts through you, and the tears threaten to fall. You press your lips tightly together, your fingers tightening their grip on the edge of the sink, trying to fiercely silence the sobs that will likely escape, but the quiet, desperate hitch in your breath betrays you.

The tears flow down your cheeks like a river carving its way through thick solid rock, free, warm and unwelcome. You press your forehead harder against the stinging cold mirror, as though you’re trying to push the tears back in. Your throat tightens, a soft sob jerking at the bottom of your chest. You bite the bottom of your lip so hard it might rip apart, your entire body stiffening in an attempt to halt a flood that’s quickly becoming too impossible to stop.

But it slips out of you anyway—a quiet, pained sob that escaped before you could even stop it, followed by another, and another, and then a louder, desperate gasp for air. Your shoulders begin to rise up and down in an effort to stifle the sound, but each aching breath makes it harder. Your chest begins to heave, your hands trembling against the freezing surface of the sink, unable to stop the heavy storm of tears raining from your eyes. 

Your attempts to remain composed are long gone now, swallowed up by the weight of it all. And though you still tried to suppress it, your anguish cries fills the apartment with a rawness that she can’t deny, can’t conceal, no matter how hard you fight it.

“Angel?”

No.

You shake your head, tears mercilessly streaming down your cheeks. 

I need to stop crying. 

You harshly wipe the tears on your cheeks with the back of your hand, exhaling shakily. 

A soft knock comes from the door. 

“Y/N?”

You close your eyes shut. Not now. Please. 

You hear the doorknob turn, and tears begin to well up again. 

“I’m coming in.”

Before you could turn and stop in, Donghyun is already inside the bathroom, standing in front of you. His eyes immediately find you, locking to the sight of your tear-streaked face and trembling hands. 

His expression softens. “Hey,” he says, “talk to me.”

You shake your head. “Donghyun, please,” you say, your voice croaky. “Just go.”

Donghyun steps closer, determination masking the hurt in his eyes. His warmth begins to blanket around you. 

“No.”

You suck in a sharp breath, wincing at the pain. “You have to.”

“Why?” 

Donghyun frowns, his hand already halfway there, his first instinct is to hold you as soon as he sees you in pain. 

You turn to face him, the walls of your plan that you’ve constructed crumbling down the moment your eyes meet his. For the first time, you let him see it all—the overwhelming pain. The fear. The exhaustion. The unbearable weight of what’s to come. 

“Y/N–” he says, his own voice cracking. 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head slowly. You want to give up. You want to run into his arms. You want to tell him everything. You want to cry your heart out to someone you love so dearly with your heart, someone who you know will never judge you for anything at all.

But a part of you still refuses to force upon him a painful future. 

“You deserve someone who has a future.”

“Love, what are you talking about–?”

“I’m dying, Donghyun,” you exclaim, choking on your tears. You can’t hold it in any longer, the truth slipping out without realisation. “I’m dying.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy and sharp like shattered glass. 

Donghyun stands there, not saying anything.

For a long time, neither of you moves. Neither of you says anything. Just holding each other’s gaze, a storm of emotions swirling behind each of your eyes. 

Then, quietly, Donghyun reaches out, pulling you into his embrace. You could feel his body trembling as he hugs you tight, his touch gentle, but at the same time, it feels desperate. It’s like you’d disappear if he let go. 

He pulls away slightly after, cupping your face tenderly. “You’re not in this alone,” he says, his voice steady, contrasting the evident quiver of his hands. 

Again, tears slip down your cheeks. “You should hate me.”

Your mind flips through the book of everything that you’ve done to him this month. It broke your heart, over and over again, doing each and every detail of your plan, but you know that it broke your fiancé even more. 

“I love you,” Donghyun murmurs. “And I’m staying. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your shoulders tremble as your hands find their grip on Donghyun’s arms, burying your face in his chest. His arms immediately find their way around you, pulling you closer. His heartbeat steady against yours, you let yourself cry in his arms for the first since the diagnosis. 

DAY 30.

You spent the entire day, after confessing the partial truth to Donghyun, sleeping and resting. You feel so fatigued, not even having the mood to text your boss that you’d be taking an off day. You opened your eyes only to shut your alarm off, and woke up around midday, finding out that your lovely fiancé emailed your boss for you, applying for two days off. He took two days off, too, claiming that he wants to spend all his hours with you. 

It’s the next day, and you wake up to Donghyun scrolling through something in his laptop, a serious frown on his face. It’s still partially dark in the apartment, the only source of light being your bedside lamp and Donghyun’s laptop. 

“Donghyun,” you say, immediately clearing your throat after that, feeling dry. 

Donghyun perks up, turning to you. He smiles, softly pressing his lips against your forehead. He adjusts the position of his bluelight glasses on his nose. “Good morning, angel. Why are you up so early? It’s only 6 in the morning.”

You glare at him. “Why are you up so early?”

Donghyun giggles, and it makes your stomach erupt in butterflies despite you trying to maintain the glare on your face. He puts an arm around your shoulder, letting you scoot closer to him, resting your head on his chest. 

“Look, I’ve been researching… and I think we should move to the countryside. I saw a really good house in Boseong-gun,” he says, and his words drop like a bomb. 

Your eyes bulge almost immediately. “What? Kim Donghyun,” you gasp. “What are you thinking? Where do we get the money?”

Donghyun continues, his eyes to the screen. “I’m thinking of selling this apartment,” he says with a serious expression, telling you that he’s not joking at all. 

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest. You gasp, hitting his arm. “Kim Donghyun! What the hell—what were you thinking? Why?”

Donghyun purses his lips. “I… think it’s for the best. You need fresh air—you need something way better than,” he gestures with his hands, “all this city garbage. It’s quiet there, and I think we’ll both like it.”

You’re too shocked to reply. You adjust your position to be sitting properly, locking eyes with your fiancé. He looks at you, his gaze strong and unwavering, and that is enough for you to know that he’s already made up his mind. He’s not playing around. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “Is it okay, though? You work here, and Boseong-gun is almost four hours away.”

“I have my resignation letter ready to be sent in,” Donghyun replies like it’s the easiest thing in the world for him. 

You look away, not knowing what to say. His suggestion hangs in the air, and you’re swamped in confusion and disbelief. It seems too sudden and out of place—like a happy ending Donghyun is trying to harshly paint over your doomed future. 

The silence between you and Donghyun stretches long and thick as you process the weight of the words he just uttered. 

Four hours. 

Four hours away from everything you’ve known—the life you’ve built together with Donghyun, for so many years, in the city.

You throw your gaze out the window, the colourful glistening of the city lights suddenly seeming so wistful. The sweeping view of the city skyline reminds you of the dreams you’ve conceived together, the shared moments of heartfelt laughter and quiet mornings—it was once a symbol of your guaranteed future, happy and secure with Donghyun, of success, ambition and togetherness. 

The thought of suddenly leaving all this behind makes your stomach turn. 

You turn back to him, and the look on his face is hopeful, almost eager. You feel like moving to the countryside is like an escape—a way to try and shield yourself from your illness and the misfortune that comes with it. You hope you could run away from it, you wish you could outrun it—but the entire idea feels like a paradox that’s laughing at your face: a desperate, unwise attempt to outrun your cruel fate. 

Life in the countryside sounds ideally peaceful, but would you even find peace there?

You widen your eyes, realising. 

You wait for him to say something following that, but he stays silent, waiting for your reply. 

Does he know?

The words hang in the air, slowly settling down between the two of you. 

You bite the bottom of your lips to hide the slight tremble in them. 

You want to fight back. Want to push him away again, knowing that he’s undeserving of such short-lived happiness just to be with you. 

But you’re exhausted, and you know Donghyun won’t take no for an answer, no matter how gentle he’d be with it.

“Okay,” you nod, and the look of silent gratitude on Donghyun’s face tells you the truth. 

He probably knows. 

EVERYTHING felt like a blur, and it’s comfortingly quick. Donghyun made sure to arrange everything well, and fortunately, nothing went wrong. The two of you had around two weeks to pack all of your things, say goodbye to family and friends, and send in your resignation letters to your respective workplaces. On the last day the two of you were in Seoul, Donghyun had brought you around to all your favourite places in the city—the cat cafe you frequented whenever you had the chance, the Seoul Forest, the river, and parks that you and Donghyun often went on picnics at. 

You laughed a lot—reminiscing on the memories made at each place. You’re with Donghyun now, just like you were in the memories you cherish, but the two of you have grown along with your feelings. Your love for each other has grown bigger and bigger each day, and you’d do anything for Donghyun. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see the cherry blossoms,” Donghyun says, his voice soft. You buckle your seatbelt, perking an eyebrow at him. 

“What are you talking about?”

Donghyun starts the car, sighing. “You love seeing the cherry blossoms at Seokchon Lake,” he says. “But you won’t be able to see them this year…”

The reality that you’re moving away from the city you’ve known as your home for the longest time hits you. The reality that you’re never coming back in the future hits you, too. 

Nevertheless, you smile. 

“It’s okay,” you reply, surprised by your own positivity. “Maybe we’ll get to see the ones at our new place? They must be beautiful.”

Donghyun kisses your temples, smiling softly. 

“Let’s go?”

You look at him for a while before nodding, feeling a rush of goosebumps as you’re turning to a new leaf in your life. 

The days at your new house, overlooking a beautiful meadow of green tea fields and an orchard, are more delightful than you thought it’d be. You spent your first few days decorating your newly bought house. Despite feeling a little out of place, the change of scenery and air makes you feel weirdly healthier and happier. 

You decide that you’re going to be painting the house to your liking. You brought up the idea to Donghyun two days ago, and he had happily agreed—bringing you to the town’s paintshop to hunt for some paint that you’d like. 

Today, you decide that you’re going to be painting your shared bedroom walls with a personal touch—a baby blue base shade filled with little paintings of stars, flowers, and significant objects from memories you shared with Donghyun, capturing details in cute colours. 

Donghyun helps you with everything and anything that he can help with. After bringing up the set of paintbrushes you ask for, he quietly reaches for a paint brush for himself and starts painting, even though it’s quite evident that he’s not too good at it. 

Being the ever silent observer, Donghyun didn’t tell you that he was going to help painting, and you too don’t notice him until you turn around and see him painting what you think might be a gummy bear. Though, you’re not too sure if it’s a gummy bear or a group of red blobs that kind of look like mushy tomatoes. 

“Donghyun,” you say, already snorting. “What’s that supposed to be, sweetheart?”

He turns, seriously explaining his work of art to you. “It’s a gummy bear! Remember the first time we sat together at lunch, during our sophomore year of high school? You looked like you were about to cry from that Biology test, so I gave you one–” he pauses, narrowing his eyes as laughter begins to crack your demeanor. “Why are you laughing?”

“It looks like tomatoes,” you giggle, and Donghyun’s eyes widen. 

“It’s not!” he huffs. “It’s clearly a gummy bear, Y/N–look, here’s the ears.”

You just can’t stop giggling—he’s too cute and his ‘paintings’ are too hilarious for you to hold yourself back, despite the stinging pain in your lungs. 

Swiftly, Donghyun dabs a streak of baby blue paint across your nose. 

“What the–hey!”

“Oops.”

You look around, immediately retaliating by smearing a yellow streak of paint across his cheek, and soon, the two of you are deep in laughter, tickling and smearing paint on each other, covered in messy colours. 

For a moment, you’re not thinking of the looming future.

For a moment, you’re laughing to your heart’s content, happy in Donghyun’s presence. 

ONE night, Donghyun suddenly suggests that the two of you should have supper on the rooftop while watching the stars. Winter is about to reach its peak, and you know how cold it’d be—but you know you can’t resist spending time with your beloved fiancé. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says to you after handing you a basket filled with midnight snacks, running back into the house. 

Donghyun then reappears, carrying a few thick blankets and pillows. After setting everything up, he pulls you into his arms, and you’re immediately bundled up in the warmth of your coat, the blankets, and your fiancé’s embrace. 

He wraps you in his arms as the two of you lie together underneath the breathtaking night sky.

“It’s really pretty here!” you say, smiling excitedly. “You can see the stars even more clearly compared to the city.”

“Yeah,” Donghyun nods, his breath tickling warmly against your skin. 

You smile fondly, your heart blossoming with the most pleasant feelings as you gaze at the vast sky, a canvas filled with shimmering stars, each with their own story. And the two of you are sharing a moment, quiet with no rush—just the two of you, enjoying snacks and each other’s presence. 

The quiet hum of the world fades around the two of you, and it’s just you and Donghyun and the occasional crunch of a snack.

Your eyes lay upon the sparkling constellations, quietly recalling some of their names that you still remembered from high school.

“Remember when we used to talk about space?” you murmur, shifting to make yourself more comfortable in Donghyun’s arms. 

“Is this when we were both obsessed with stars, back when we learnt about them in high school?” Donghyun chuckles. 

You nod. 

“You really wanted to become an astronaut, to see the stars more clearly,” he recalls. 

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly feeling a little sad. “Guess that didn’t work out.”

“Hey, you can still go,” Donghyun kisses the top of your head. He points to the sky. “Just not in the way you imagined.”

You nudge him. “That’s depressing.”

“What? We’ll all die one day—”

You smack his chest. “Shut up, Donghyun.”

He chuckles, and then, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, going back to watching the stars twinkle. 

“You know… I think I’m okay with all this,” you whisper, grabbing his hand. Donghyun interlaces your fingers together, his thumb caressing the back of your hand gently. “If the rest of my life is spent like this… with you.”

Donghyun squeezes your hand. “Me too, angel.”

YOU’RE sitting in the living room, sipping on hot chocolate by the window. You gulp, feeling odd. You’re sick, you know that, but it feels weird to feel your body getting progressively weaker and weaker with every passing day. After swallowing all the needed medication, you felt too tired to be doing anything around the house. You asked Donghyun for a hot chocolate, feeling a little weird as a simple task like making yourself a hot chocolate feels so draining now. And then, here you are, watching the snow fall onto earth outside your window. 

Suddenly, you feel like playing in the snow. The cold snow stinging against your skin, making your ears and nose red feels strangely comforting. You take a final sip of your drink before walking towards the coat rack, sliding your arms into a thick winter coat. Albeit slow, you still push yourself to make your way to the coat rack, even though you’re moving more slowly than you used to.

Donghyun, who is in the kitchen trying to figure out how to cook chicken soup, sees you wearing your winter boots. His eyes widen, and he leaves his station, immediately rushing to you. 

“Where are you going, love?” he asks, hands gently holding your arms. 

You bring your hair out of your coat. “Outside?” 

“You’ll get sick,” he says, pouting. 

You give him a mischievous smile, already reaching for the door. “Too late for that.”

Donghyun lets go of you, though he’s walking behind you, following your steps. He watches as you amble out to the front lawn of your house, looking so in awe of the snow. You unknowingly smile, loving the feeling of snowflakes decorating your hair. You slowly crouch down, and as your hands touch the fresh snow, you feel like you’re not doomed to death in the near future. It’s like a refreshing break, and you don’t have to think about your future. 

It’s just you, Donghyun, and the things you love. 

Busy rolling mini snowballs to make miniature snowmen, you feel a scarf wrapped around your neck. You look up, and see Donghyun softly smiling at you, snowflakes adoring his dark brown hair. He hands you a pair of knitted gloves. 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks.

You glance at your fingers, numbly red. “Kind of. But this feels good.”

Donghyun shakes his head, the smile on his face betraying his disapproval. He grabs your hand and gently puts the gloves on. “There, much better.”

You laugh at the way he’s so stubborn sometimes, and it’s the happiest sound Donghyun has ever heard. His eyes widen slightly, and his throat suddenly feels dry.

He crouches next to you, pulling you close to him. He turns to the army of mini snowmen you made, chuckling. “They are so cute.”

You simply giggle, already making another one. Donghyun turns his head to look at you, the snowflakes falling gently around you, each one landing on your hair, your lashes dusted with white. As he’s watching you hum happily to yourself, shaping the snow in your hands, he’s completely captivated by the way snow settles around you. The wind has a gentle bite to it, making your nose red against the cold. But you seem unfazed, eyes sparkling as you place another ball of snow on the snowman’s body. 

Donghyun smiles. 

You’re so beautiful, even when the world is blanketed in white, even when it’s so freezing cold outside. 

I’m the luckiest person in the world. 

YOU grunt, hating how getting out of bed feels so hard to do now. You’ve slept for almost twelve hours, but you can’t seem to get enough rest. Your breaths are evidently more shallow and laboured now, but you try your best everyday—pulling yourself out of bed to see Donghyun. 

God knows when it’ll be the last time you see him. 

It’s already noon, and you’re walking downstairs, in Donghyun’s hoodie, groggy and ridiculously out of energy. You find Donghyun in the kitchen, looking somehow stressed that half his pancakes are burnt. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you say, throwing your arms around Donghyun’s waist, burying your face into his back. 

You feel his tense posture relax slightly. “Good morning, love. Are you hungry?”

“A bit..” you answer. “But I don’t feel like eating.”

“You should eat,” Donghyun says, turning around as he swiftly presses a kiss to your forehead. “Do you want pancakes?”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating. Your appetite has decreased significantly, and heartbreakingly, you don’t find yourself enjoying the foods you used to love as much anymore. 

You shake your head. You don’t think you can swallow pancakes down anymore. 

Donghyun tilts his head. He hums. “Do you wanna cook something together? Maybe mac-and-cheese?”

You nod. 

“That sounds good,” you say, albeit feeling like your appetite might decline like all the other meals that you’ve tried before. 

The two of you then begin to cook—Donghyun insists on being the one mostly doing all the technical stuff, letting you instruct him around. He’s not too great with the kitchen, and with the better cook in your relationship supervising, disaster still strikes. 

“Did you just put the sugar instead of salt?” you ask, horrified. 

Donghyun gasps, stammering. “Oh my god. I did.”

He stares, not blinking, at the mac-and-cheese simmering on the stove, its taste completely ruined. You stare at him. Then the two of you burst into laughter. 

“I think we should stick to you being the chef,” Donghyun says, wiping his eyes.

“Agreed,” you laugh. 

The two of you end up redoing the entire recipe again, this time with more care which causes you to eat lunch in the late afternoon, but neither of you mind. 

YOU find yourself slowly stepping down the stairs, loving the smell of coffee going around, accompanied by the chirp of birds outside. You make your way into the kitchen, trying you best to steady your breath. You watch as Donghyun hums softly as he puts together a bowl of greek yogurt and berries, completely at ease. 

You take a mental picture—this moment, this warmth, this love.  

“Good morning, my love,” Donghyun smiles at you when he finally notices you staring at him from the dining table. “What’s up?”

You shake your head with a smile. “Nothing. Just… I love you, Donghyun. I… thank you for everything.”

Donghyun walks over to you and sets down the mugs of coffee he’s holding, pressing a kiss to your nose. “I love you too, angel, so much.”

And for a little while, everything feels normal.

BUT it’s not. Nothing is normal. 

Donghyun noticed everything. The way your laughter lingers around for much longer each time it escapes you. The way you’re speaking less, like it costs you so much pain to be voicing your thoughts out. The way your every movement is much slower, more deliberate, and he can clearly see the toll that each action is taking on you. The way that your face gets paler every passing day, the way that your eyes are sometimes empty and distant, reflecting the battle you’re going through inside. The way that there’s an almost palpable sadness in your gaze—no matter how hard you try to mask it—as if you’re mourning everything that’s being taken away from you, but you’re trying to still hold to whatever’s left of your energy to make the best of things and people you love, for a final conversation, a last connection.

At first, Donghyun tries his best to convince himself that it’s nothing. That you’re going to heal. That you’re going to make it, that you’re going to grow old with him.

But deep down, he knows.

He notices the way your voice, once steady and confident, now weakens. He knows that, in every moment you’re awake and aware, you might be sharing a few words and smiles, but it’s evident that you’re slipping away, little by little. 

The space around you becomes quieter without your giggles, you’re less active and you get more tired easily, resting longer than usual. 

Donghyun is in agony, but he knows whatever pain he’s feeling is so small compared to yours. It’s a painful, gradual process that he knows will leave him feeling helpless, watching someone he so deeply cares about wither in ways he can’t control.

After a day of gardening and giggling together in your orchard, Donghyun notices you faltering more rapidly than normal. The two of you are eating dinner together, when suddenly, your breath hitches sharply. You cough—once, twice. Then, it doesn’t stop. 

Donghyun immediately gets off his chair and rushes to your side, rubbing comforting circles on your back. But then, he sees it. Blood. On your lips. On your sleeve.

Your smile disappears. 

“Y/N–” Donghyun tries to say, but his voice comes out in a whisper, cracked and vulnerable. 

“I’m fine,” you say too quickly, wiping at your mouth like it’s nothing. Like you’re not falling apart right in front of him, right in his arms. 

But Donghyun catches the immediate fear in your eyes. 

The next day, it happens again. After an evening of cosy stargazing and laying in each other’s embrace, you get up too quickly, and the next thing Donghyun knows—you’re on the ground. 

For a second, Donghyun freezes. 

“Y/N?”

You blink up at him, dazed. Then, you offer him a weak laugh. “I’m okay, I’m fine. Just… got dizzy.”

But when he helps you up, he can’t help but notice how your weight is heavier than before. And he feels it—just how fragile you’ve become. 

He grips you tighter as he leads you to the bedroom. 

Later that night, Donghyun can’t fall asleep. Instead, he quietly sits down, his hand still intertwined with yours. He watches you sleep, the reality of your future sinking harshly into him. 

The warmth of the happy memories he’s made with you, from the first time he knew you, still lingers, but there’s something else now—a quiet, suffocating dread. 

You’re slipping away. 

And no matter how many memories he’s going to make with you, it won’t change the inevitable. It won’t change anything. 

For the first time since this started—Donghyun feels something rise up his throat. Anger. 

At fate, at the universe. At you, for thinking that you could hide this from him. 

He clenches his jaw, tears threatening to fall. 

How could he ever let you go?

DAY 62.

The next morning, when the sun is just about to peek from the horizon, Donghyun is woken up by the sound of you gasping in pain. He immediately is awake, shocked to find you coughing out blood and panting for breath. 

He jumps off the bed, frantically trying to switch on the bedside lamp to see you better. You’re gasping for breath, each inhale weaker than the last. Donghyun kneels beside the bed, his trembling hands gripping yours tightly. 

“S-stay with me,” he pleads, his voice shaking. “Just a little longer.”

Your lips tremble into a small smile. You shake your head slowly. “I’m… sorry… sweetheart.”

“No, you can. You always could,” his hands tighten around yours, as if he’s trying to physically hold your soul down. As if he can physically keep you here by sheer will alone. “Just hold on, Y/N. Please. I’ll-I’ll go get your medicine, I’ll get the doctor—just stay. Hold on for me.”

You reach up, brushing your trembling fingers against his cheek. “Donghyun…” 

He leans into your touch, his eyes burning with unshed tears. 

“I—” you swallow painfully. It’s time to admit it all. “I thought… I could make you hate me. I tried.”

His lips part, a dry, humourless laugh escaping. “I know.”

“I didn’t want you to suffer.”

“I don’t care,” he whispers fiercely as tears begin to force their way down his cheeks. “I love you. And I will always choose you, over and over again.”

Your eyes begin to glisten, and your hand falls back to your side. “You’re always stubborn.”

“And you were always reckless,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. 

You exhale softly, letting your body relax into the pillow. “Donghyun?”

“Yeah?” his voice cracks, his face wet with tears. 

“Don’t… forget me.”

A choked sob escapes Donghyun and he presses his forehead against yours. Salty tears fall from his eyes, dripping onto your face.  “Never, angel, never.”

“I love you, Donghyun,” you whisper with all your might.

“I love you too, my love,” Donghyun whispers back, pressing a very soft kiss onto your nose. 

You smile, letting out one last, slow breath.

And then, silence. 

Donghyun stays there, holding onto you as if letting go would mean accepting the truth.

A few days after your funeral, Donghyun forces himself to get out of bed. You wouldn’t want him to live on with such sadness, he knew. He began distracting himself by doing everything he could, cleaning up the house while trying to preserve anything and everything that you left behind. 

He leaves the couch you loved to lounge on as it is; the mugs and extra pair of utensils you used kept neatly in the pantry; your clothes aptly folded away in your part of the closet. He made sure to keep all of your pictures framed and hung on any empty space the walls held. He made sure your favourite flowers are always in abundance, both in the house’s vases and the garden. 

In the drawer of your vanity, Donghyun finds a letter—one that you wrote with him during your ‘letter to future self’ session, a few weeks back. 

He slowly sits down on the edge of the bed, hands trembling as he unfolds the letter open. 

“Dear Donghyun, my love, my one and only, my fiancé.

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. And if you’re crying, I swear I’ll haunt you (lovingly, of course).

I don’t want you to be sad forever. I don’t want you to stop smiling. You have such a beautiful smile, and it would be a waste if the world never saw it again.

Live, Donghyun. Live enough for the both of us. 

You’re strong, sweetheart. Keep on living, keep on smiling. Be happy, dear. 

And if you ever miss me too much… just look up. I’ll be there. I’ll be the star that shines the most for you.”

A wretched sob escapes his chest, and Donghyun begins to cry. 

He misses you. Too much. 

Tears begin to flood his vision as he holds the letter to his chest. 

DAY 3715. 

It’s been 10 years. 

And you’re still here—fresh in Donghyun’s mind. 

The evening air is crisp as Donghyun makes his way up the familiar hill. The grass beneath his feet sways gently, kissed by the soft autumn breeze. In his hands, he carries a small bouquet of white lilies and baby breaths—your favourite flowers. 

He kneels by the gravestone, running his fingers over the engraved letters of your name. 

“Hey, Y/N,” his voice is soft, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid to disturb the peaceful silence around you. “I’m here, angel.”

He places the flowers down carefully and settles himself next to you, stretching his legs out. Before him, the sun begins to dip below the horizon, leaving behind a painting that covers the sky in hues of gold, pink and violet. 

“The sunset is beautiful, my love, just like you,” he murmurs.

The wind answers in a gentle hush. 

Donghyun puts his head down to let out a quiet chuckle. “It’s been ten years, and I still find myself talking to you like this. You’d probably laugh at me, huh?”

Donghyun crosses his arms, leaning to your gravestone, gazing at the sky. It was the kind of sunset that you loved the most—one where the colours blended seamlessly into each other, radiating a soft and comforting energy, gently like a touch of a lover’s embrace. 

“I hope the sunset is just as beautiful where you are.”

The breeze picks up, rustling through the golden trees, carrying with it the scent of browning autumn leaves. A single petal from the bouquet of lilies lifts into the air, swirling before settling gently on the ground in front of Donghyun. 

Donghyun exhales shakily. He lowers his head, his fingers caressing the cool stone. 

“I hope I meet you again soon, angel,” he whispers. 

The world around him feels still. And for a moment—delicate and fleeting—it almost feels as if someone was there, standing beside him, fingers against his own. 

Then, the wind sighs, and the feeling disappears with the sun. 

THE countryside house, cosy and just enough, was just as it had been when you first moved in with Donghyun. The wooden walls hold stories in their creaks, and the windows frame the endless beautiful sky, one that you loved so much no matter what the occasion was. Donghyun stands in the garden, tending to the garden filled with your favourite flowers. They had grown very well over the years, thriving in the soil that you had once tended with Donghyun. 

He straightens his posture, brushing the dirt from his hands. Lifting his head, he watches the sky shift from afternoon blue to the warm, comforting glow of evening.

“The sunset is beautiful again today,” he says, as if you’re still there, standing next to him. 

The wind begins to stir, carrying the scent of flowers through the air. Donghyun closes his eyes, feeling it wrap around him.

And for the first time in a very long time, he smiles. 

“I’ll see you again, Y/N.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[merlinmylove]

Don’t misunderstand me, I adore a good Morgana Redemption fic; but i feel like it only works because the other characters don’t know about all the things she did to them/camelot

I mean did they ever find out just how long she’s been acting against them?

(obviously most fics aren’t entirely canon compliant and tend to ignore some of the horrifics of the later seasons but still? could they or would they forgive her if they knew?)

Did Gwen ever find out it was Morgana who orchestrated Elyans and hers kidnapping? That poor girl was subdued, bound, kidnapped and threatened by a foreign king, and Morgana just pretended to be her friend as she cried about it

Did she ever find out it was Morgana who placed the “love poultice” in her house and framed her for enchanting the prince? She was about to burn at the stake and Morgana smiled as she was dragged away

(In most fics Gwen finds it in her to love and forgive Morgana, and clearly she has a bigger heart than me because i would've been pissed lol)

Did Arthur ever find out about the phoenix eye bracelet that sucked his life force out of him? I know that Gwen realised Morgana has magic and had turned on Camelot in that episode, but does Arthur ever find out about it? Would he forgive her?

Did he ever discover Morgana was working behind the original siege with Morgause and Cenred?

Did he ever find out Queen Annis cheated in their duel and Morgana enchanted his sword so it would guarantee his death? Would he be able to look at Queen Annis the same way if he knew?

(Obviously merlin couldn’t tell him about the sword, because it would mean explaining how he stopped it in the first place)

Only Merlin knew how long Morgana has been trying to kill them all, but he could never reveal the truth because no one would believe him; its treason and Uther would execute him for making such an allegation against his daughter ward

Gwen might actually belive him because she’d been starting to feel suspicious about Morgana for a while: But I don’t remember if she ever found out about the kidnapping and the poultice?

Did Merlin ever tell them he knew Morgana has turned on Camelot as early as season 2? If you watch the episodes from an outsiders pov it’s no wonder her betrayal came as a huge shock to everyone — and it hurts!!

I have no problem with them loving and remembering the woman they once knew, but it hurts to think they believed she was good for longer than she was (and as i said, i do want a redemption for morgana) i’m just deep in my thoughts and a rambling

There is so much tragedy in this show and especially with how much guilt and grief Merlin is forced to bear on his own

I want Arthur and Gwen to know the things Merlin knows

[staybabblingbaby]

Project: Stack The Deck (First Meeting a1d1)

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Concept: Reader is a long-time trainee at JYP Entertainment, on the verge of being dropped completely due to her age. In her first stroke of luck in ages, she's presented with an opportunity: JYPE is producing a brand new type of audition show - 9 lucky trainees will be 'interning' with 6 of JYPE's active groups for a year in hopes of forming the first ever mixed gender AND mixed subgender group in k-pop. The catch? The trainees are only interning with their exact opposite groups, in an effort to appease ongoing protests.

Or - Babble gives in and writes Omegaverse. But this time, there's ~lore~

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Word Count: 2,442

Notes: I've been writing a lot of stuff I can't post for various reasons, but the Fanmeet literally left me in shambles and I can't NOT write right now. So. Have basically our only 'proper' archive fic rn. It took over my brain y'all can't blame me 4 this. Very literally please ask me abt the lore for this fic. Send me an ask, I beg. I wanna talk abt it SO bad I will write essays.

Heavily inspired by To The 9th Degree by azaluvx7 on Ao3.

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Warnings: Mention of house fire. This gave me anxiety while I was writing it, so anxiety, maybe?

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Masterlist | Prev Part

Being in the same room as Stray Kids gives the same surreal feeling as an oncoming storm. It reminds me of standing in a sunny spot and seeing dark clouds on the horizon, knowing that, despite the warmth I feel now, a downpour is coming. It’s oppressive, it’s heavy, it’s nature and change in motion.

Or maybe it’s their very heavy scents in the air invading my thoughts.

Being in the presence of my wildly successful seonbaes is, of course, as impressive as all that, but I can’t help but wrinkle my nose as I walk into the meeting room. The air is saturated with alpha scents, muddled and indistinct by the sheer amount of them.

There are at least twenty people in this meeting, by my guess. Stray Kids and several Division 1 staff I recognize only due to having been at the company longer than many of them. Most of my trainers and a handful of T&D staff I’m very familiar with. Some producers and choreographers I don’t recognize, but assume work with Stray Kids.

I can hazard a guess that this is the general cast that’s been involved with the planning of the show. The glaring hole where the CEO or JYP himself should be, seeing as this meeting deals with both some of their top talents and a major project, is conspicuously ignored. Maybe this show has lower projected ratings than I thought.

Sudden apprehension seizes me at the prospect. My debut depends on this show getting good ratings. My debut depends on a lot of very nebulous things right now. This is no longer a matter of simply working hard.

The weight of my new reality settles, crooked and off-putting, around my shoulders.

Director Jae-Hwa’s hand feels like a brand on my lower back as she guides me further into the room. I’m toted around, making introductions and shaking hands, greeting those I already know as warmly as I can manage.

Stray Kids are saved for last, and it takes everything in me not to throw up on their shoes. I shake each hand with reverence, making sure to bow at the waist and shake with both hands, and show as much respect as I’m capable of.

I also hold my breath in attempts not to sneeze as their collective scents invade my nose at such close proximity.

It’s easy to tell they’re all wearing scent blockers, as I imagine is a constant necessity with scents as strong as theirs, since all of the nuances I’d normally be able to pick out easily are strangely absent. Still, they’re typical over-the counter Alpha-type blockers, not made to cater to the delicate and sensitive nose of an Omega like myself.

I’m sure they only smell themselves faintly, if they’re not all completely nose-blind to each other by now, but to me it’s like sticking my face directly in a tub of perfume. The lack of nuance to the scents only makes the sensation worse. It feels like my nose-hairs are burning.

When we turn around to head to our seats, Jae-Hwa subtly hands me a tissue. I toss her a grateful smile and delicately blow into it, careful not to dislodge any actual snot or make noise. It takes a couple tries, but the itchy feeling calms.

I allow gratefulness to overtake me as I discard the tissue in the nearest trashbin. Jae-Hwa doesn’t have nearly as sensitive a nose as I do, I know. She wouldn’t be able to manage so many teenage trainees so closely otherwise. But still, she nose my nose is on the stronger side, had remembered that little factoid about me, and prepared accordingly. I owe her more every second I spend in her presence.

The meeting goes smoothly, if slowly, for the most part. Production jargon I don’t yet understand is lobbed around, plans are made, and schedules penned. I look to Jae-Hwa in absolute panic the first time I see Stray Kid’s schedule, terrified and confused by the absolutely packed blocks of colors and words.

She just pats my thigh under the table and makes a point to clarify aloud that I’m only shadowing them during group and select unit schedules, and that ‘Schedules with my trainee are marked in light blue, correct?’

It’s immensely relieving to see that less than half of the contents of that monster calendar involve me.

There are no other hiccups that I need to be at all concerned about, and it’s clear that I was mostly here for the experience and to show my face. I’m more than okay with that, at this point. Jae-Hwa wouldn’t let me miss anything truly important, anyway.

Eventually it’s just me, Jae-Hwa, Stray Kids, and one of their managers left in the room. It had felt a bit claustrophobic when the room was full of people and information being lobbed at me at lightning speeds, but now there’s no buffer between me and the weighty gazes of the group of Alphas and Betas.

One would think my issues with the overwhelming scents would have left with the majority of the people producing it, but if anything Stray Kid’s scents feel more overpowering than ever. It’s like with less people crowding, they’ve unfurled. Like large cats taking up as much space as possible.

I can’t help the mental scoff I give at the image. Alphas.

Their scents are all over each other, intertwined in the way only very close and healthy packs that participate in lots of scenting can manage. I can’t really pick them apart from each other, but the collective evokes images of nature and adventure. It makes me restless, and my chest fills with an odd sort of longing.

I feel a bit foolish at the moment, actually. It was well known that Stray Kids was a very close pack, but somehow I’d still expected to be able to pick apart their scents and hadn’t done any research about it. Like having been in the company since before their debut would help me distinguish the scents of people I’d barely interacted with.

It’s my first time meeting people so very intertwined. My own family hadn’t been big on skinship, and I hadn’t much time for friends or dating since I left them. I feel a bit wrong-footed, like I’ve lost a sense I’ve always had, to not be able to tell them apart with just my nose.

Their manager, too, is lightly dosed in their collective scent, but it’s easy to tell it’s more from exposure than active scenting. He’s an Alpha as well, I can tell, and it’s easy to catch the fresh bergamot of him, along with a hint of tea under his scent blockers.

Or maybe just hot water, but it’s hard to know for sure under the combined might of Stray Kids’ scent. It’s relieving just to be able to tell that much.

It’s all very overwhelming, daunting in it’s enormity. It’s a force I’ll have to get used to over the next year, but for now I allow myself to seek shelter behind a wall of Jae-Hwa. She allows me my comforts for now, but I know I’ll be exposed before too long.

I’d seek out her softer omegan scent, try to refresh my nose and shelter from the storm, but she’s got those nice prescription blockers. The Omega type that applies as a cream over your scent glands and is customized to neutralize pheromones and scent compounds as you produce them. All I can get from her is laundry detergent and faint, lightly sweet, omega scent.

There’s a welling of displeasure from the collective scents across the room as I disappear from sight, but their blockers hold strong against the complexities in their scents and I can’t quite tell who it’s from.

I reckon it’s quite like trying to read the expression of someone with a mask on. It’s a bit socially off-putting, and I find myself floundering.

Once again, the director saves the day.

“I had one more thing I wanted to talk about, but it’s specifically a question for you boys,” She begins kindly. Her words bring everyone to focus where we’d all been drifting in our own thoughts.

The gaze of my seniors is so much heavier when combined with their attention.

Jae-Hwa pulls me out from behind her, like the traitor she is, and presents me to the group of Alphas and Betas. I cant help but fold into myself under their focus. Only a few of them are taller than me, and even then not by much, but I still feel as if they tower over me in this moment.

“This kid’s apartment burned down recently,” She informs them bluntly, patting my shoulder as she speaks. I watch shock ripple through them, and duck into myself a bit further, “And she’s staying in a hotel at the moment.”

Before the director can continue, there’s a spike of something sharp and metallic in the air, like lightning about to strike, and my head whips up to make direct eye-contact with Lee Know. I can almost taste copper at the back of my throat and feel static on my skin from the intensity of it.

Now that it’s been violently brought to my awareness, I can smell Lee Know’s heavy forest scent as a vaguely threatening undertone to the cacophony of the pack. Like dark towering trees and storms rolling in, it’s pervasive and heavy.

I still can’t tell exactly what the emotion behind the spike was, but his blockers, weak patches already struggling for their lives, can’t hide the negativity of it. Even if my nose wasn’t as sensitive a it was, anyone could’ve sensed that much from the way his scent darkened the room.

I’m further convinced by the way one of his packmates, Han, leans into his side soothingly. I can’t tell if it’s to comfort of restrain him, so I just press my lips into a thin smile when your eyes meet and lean into Jae-Hwa.

She’s clearly a badass and so continues like nothing happened at all.

“You boys recently moved into Pack housing, yes?” Jae-Hwa asks like it’s not public knowledge. Everyone knows they moved into a place that could hold them all about as soon as the ink on their Bond registry was dry.

She doesn’t wait for either their manager nor leader to respond before she continues, “I’ve heard have at least one spare room, and since the dorms for the trainees participating in the show won’t be ready for a few weeks yet, and it makes little sense for her to move into the regular dorms and right back out again, I was wondering if you wouldn’t put her up until we can get accommodations squared away.”

I spare myself a moment to be amazed at the way she implies this is a recent thing for me, instead of a weeks-long problem, before her request registers and I snap around to stare at her with wide, shocked, eyes.

“I- Director, no, that’s not...” I tug weakly at her sleeve as if to fill in for words I’m too flabbergasted to say.

It would be one thing if she’d asked them to squeeze me into their dorm when they still had one, especially when they’d all been split up among different apartments. It was another thing entirely to brazenly request them to open their Pack home to me.

Pack housing implies that you were done expanding your pack. That outsiders were no longer welcome. That the Pack was as large as it was going to be until babies got involved, and they’d settled into a space to suit the size they were.

It was a step of permanence, and while friends could certainly be welcome like they would be in any other home, inviting a stranger into that space was just asking for instincts to go haywire. For hindbrains to perceive threats and lash out. It was a recipe for stress at best, disaster in most cases.

Especially when the stranger being invited was an Omega.

Somehow, the group doesn’t react with disgust and rage like I expect them to. At least not outwardly. Personally, I wouldn’t have been able to tolerate even Jae-Hwa, arguably the person I trust the most right now, in my hotel room, let alone a pack space.

I can’t even den down in my hotel room, but still, even the thought of inviting her in sent my hackles rising.

The group defies your expectations though, simply exchanging glances and subtle gestures. A pointed nod from Han in Lee Know’s direction seems to make a poignant enough point, and the pack turns as one to face the director once more.

Bangchan offers the both of you a magnanimous smile that charmingly crinkles the corners of his eyes. “We’ll need to talk about it amongst ourselves first,” He starts, and you’re ready to accept the rejection with relief. The hotel was stressful and expensive, but honestly just fine for now. You didn’t need to be mucking around in someone’s Pack space.

“But I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out.” He finishes, and I swear shock stops my heart for a second. I look at the whole group of them incredulously, waiting for someone to speak out against their leader, because I know they’re an Alpha group but surely at least one of them would have some objection to this?

Their instincts couldn’t be that different from mine, could they?

The unnamed manager ushers the group out while I’m frozen, citing some schedule or another they’re running late for. Bangchan promises to reach out to Jae-Hwa to discuss arrangements, and then they’re gone.

You hear faint murmurs and then a rising voice as they head down the hallway.

“If— for one— FUCKING night—!” Is all I hear before it fades out. I’d guess it was Lee Know, but admittedly I only really know his singing voice with any confidence, even after years in the same company. My heart sinks with thoughts of causing discord among such a close pack.

Jae-Hwa settles her hands firmly on my shoulders, jarring me from my stupor. Her gaze is sympathetic and knowing.

“Trust me kiddo,” She says, “They’re an Alpha-heavy pack. Very few of them even have Omegan family members. If they say it’s okay, It’ll be okay.”

I try my best to believe her as I smile and nod, but unease grips tightly at my heart as she leads me out of the room, hand on the small of my back, just as we’d entered it.

The touch still burns.

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This taglist is temporary while I ask y'all a question: Project: Stack The Deck will be a typical archive fic the way Soulmate Garden and Best Friend Protocol aren't - that means It'll be written as fancy strikes, and wildly out of order and likely in fragments. It'll probably be very rare that I have a full scene written out like this at the end of a writing session. So my question is - Do y'all want to be tagged for everything? I don't perma tag for anything but full chapter updates, which this is not, based on an old poll, but like. Do y'all want to be tagged for full scenes like this, just for first and final drafts, just for chapters and not scenes, like. How frequently do you want to be tagged and how complete would you like the chapter to be when you're tagged? If you don't know the rules for the archive, posts are Once every attempt (changes of a paragraph or more), Once every five drafts (small adjustments to wording or grammar), and Once every 1000 words added. pls lmk <3

@chancloud8 , @allenajade-ite , @thatgirlangelb

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 12

Chapter 12: reverance Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. big smut scene for v day, oral, vaginal, the works. reader sits on arthurs face lol it what she deserves WC: 7383 Hello snow angels : ) chool has been killing me, work has been killing me, life has been killing me, THIS CHAPTER has been killing me... BUT WERE BACK!!! finally, I have this ch in a place i sort of like it, im sorry this took so long. I hope yall like it and happy valentines day from snow angel arthur 🫢🥰💖😊🥹💓😈 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being a complete sweetie hes so happy awww - The life you live with Arthur is almost picture perfect.

You wake with a warm hand rubbing your thigh. Slow stroking motions, rough fingertips glancing over your skin. They dip inward towards the center a little. Eyelashes that rim your lids part and you moan softly, it’s warm and dark and you’d love to sleep more. 

Arthur’s awake already, petting his hands down your thigh, on your side, the blanket has bunched towards the other side of you. You whine and wiggle away. 

He wears down your thin resistance like a whetstone. Drags you, wets you, taking you across the fine surface until you reach a place that he likes. Each of his sweet actions take you there. Like these mornings, something out of a story book. Something that feels too good to be proper. Most of the things that he does here in this bed have that quality. 

He pulls you back, pinning your hips to his. It’s become somewhat of a routine with Arthur, he wakes in the morning and observes you awhile. As if it was the first night you had come and that morning, he could hardly believe you weren’t a dream. You suppose loneliness had that effect on him. 

Although now, he proves it to himself. Touches your hair or your back, squeezing your hips and if he’s feeling particularly pushy, he’ll wake you by softly squeezing at your breast. 

You would like to deny you have a favorite but it most certainly is when he kisses your hair until you wake. Puts soft kisses that pull you right out of your dreams just behind your ear. Today though, his fingers press against the curve of your hip. 

“You awake yet?” his own voice rasps with sleep. 

“No…” you huff and he chuckles at you. You rub your cheek into the feathered pillow, trying not to ruin your sleeping state by opening your eyes too much. You flinch and try to get farther away but his arm is tight around you, dragging fingers over your belly

“Aw, I’m sorry, princess. Did I wake you?” He huffs between a laugh. He isn’t sorry one bit and you know it. 

“Arthur, you’re incorrigible,” you mutter into the pillow. His chest hair and the trailing fuzz down his middle brushes against your back, his strong arm pulls you closer by your hip. You’re swallowed by his heavy presence, the smell of him (all musk and salt, fire and pine sap) , his breath over your ear. You lean into his softness as well, his belly against you feels so warm. Bristles of his beard scratch over your shoulder. 

“Can never keep your hands to yourself, can you?” You put your palm over the top of his hand, little hairs tickle your fingers; rigid knuckles and working man’s hands with their veins and knicks, rough spots. Prying them away would not work so you do not bother. Strength isn’t something you have in common with Arthur. Especially not when you sense the power of him, lying in wait.

“My pretty wife in bed, n’ you want me to keep my hands to myself. Shows how much you know about me,” you smile a little, your eyes flutter open slowly, the world is this room for now. Arthur’s bedroom. The smell of cedar, faint smoke, and wintertime sweat that clings to the blankets. There’s thick quilts, plain blue and red, with a hint of decorative elements in the careful stitching. And a thick wool blanket, rumpled and slept in. 

His voice is perfect like this in the mornings, rumbled into the delicate pieces of your ear while he holds you in the messy nest of blankets you have, gathered here. Entirely limp for him to touch, like clay to mold. With Arthur, it can be easy to feel that way, his hand clasps over you. 

Within the dusty pages of your etiquette books, dull printed letters outlined how a lady should manicure herself each morning so as to please her husband when he woke. How she should fix her coiffure, make sure her appearance measures up to the impeccability required of her. But Arthur doesn’t seem to care about any of that. He kisses you though you haven't cleaned yet, breathes deeply into your scalp. No part of him minds if you wake with tangled hair, or if you wake looking less like a portrait, rubbing sleep out of your eye. 

Instead, he lays on his back, sitting up in bed a little, your head on his chest. That’s all before he pats his lap and you clamber over him. He looks at you too softly, marvels; with his eyes, they make blue seem so much warmer. Arthur is easy to indulge, he likes when you touch him anywhere, over the planes of his chest, thick with muscle, over his collar bones. His breath quickens, he’ll grumble these low noises when you scratch a little at all of his fuzz. 

Just the fact that you're here brings him a satisfaction you had never seen in a man. As if there isn’t any other want in him that needs to be sated. Nothing you can’t fix. That’s what he tells you anyway. “Don’t need a damn thing but you, angel,”. Like he could do without air, he’d just breathe what you have in your lungs with kisses, could drink the slick you leak between your thighs for water. Could lick the salt from your skin for food. You don’t think you’ve been able to be without Arthur for more than a minute or two before he comes around looking. Perhaps he fears that if he should stop looking at you, you’d disappear. Out of sight, out of mind.  

You’ve become accustomed to it. Inclined to it, even. You start to get nervous without him too. Though you talk yourself into being more composed, it doesn’t put sense into you like you want it to. 

In the kitchen, you start to cook, while Arthur tends to the fire, then he’ll get more wood if he has to later. You have ice cold butter and flour so you make biscuits, fluffy and tempting, in a cast iron skillet. You fry some thick cut pieces of venison and with its drippings, you stir together a gravy. Arthur likes to watch, wrapping arms around you, dipping lower to observe. He hums deeply in satisfaction. Surrounded by him, you relax slightly. 

“Looks good, smells even better,” you turn over your shoulder, accepting a surprise kiss he gives you. He tries to make it last longer. Swishing his tongue past your teeth. You make an errant noise. It turns into a squeak when his hand descends onto your ass. You part with huff.

“If I burn this food…” 

“Alright, alright… what needs doin’ ‘round here, you like to leave a mess,” He pokes at you, you roll your eyes. But you do appreciate how he doesn’t sit around like your father does. You told him how you liked it when he helped you, you washed  the dishes together. Your hands pruned and so did his. He rubbed your arm and you felt the little ridges. It made you smile. He made a point to try and join you in the things that you do around his home. Your home, the home you maintain together now. 

You watch as he eats and hardly leaves a crumb on the plate. Powdery white light shines through the window in the small kitchen, it’s not the sunlight but it’s still nice to have something to float through the glass. Perhaps you’d take some fresh air, Arthur takes the horses out sometimes and you know Lucky can use a bit of a walk around, even if in the cold. 

“Could eat your cookin’ for the rest of my life,” 

“I’m afraid that’s what you’ve brought upon yourself,” you sigh, “it’s all average fair, I assure you,” 

“I ate slop for years. Average fair’s like heaven’s banquet,” you scoff a small laugh.

“Your gunslinging days didn’t feed you well?” You don’t plan on eating anymore so you stand to clear some of the dishes. Arthur starts to do so as well, pouring cold coffee out into the basin.

“Nah, if I had time to eat, it was fresh game or Pearson’s stew,”

“Stew? Stewed what?” 

“Half the time…I had no idea,” he’s leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. You find Arthur’s piercing gaze after you settle into an easy laugh. You tilt your head, placing more of your dirty dishes onto the stack. Observing you is a strange passion of Arthur’s. He pretends as if he’s not watching every move you make, his face isn’t tense, he’s rather relaxed.

But he’s sharp. The only thing that consoles you about it is the satisfied and pleased air that he has. You’ve grown used to how much he likes to be at your side. Like he aches for it. And in some ways, you do too. You want him there. 

Roving his eyes over you, he has his big rough hands on your hips and waist. Sinking his fingers into you, like he’s always done that, always held you. Too natural then, is your willingness to give him what he wants. He captures you there in his gaze, the same blue as a springtime sky. Gently, you touch him too over the soft cotton of his shirt, the weave of his suspenders. You brace your hands on him. 

“Can we take the horses out?” You give him your best pleading pout, digging at his weakness for you. Very rarely does he concede to you. He has firm rules and expectations but you use the way he cares for you to your advantage at times. He gives you his opposition, hopefully only at first. His brows tighten together, and his hands hold your bare shoulders. His fingers play with the delicate strap of the soft simple shift you wear. He stares down at you while you try not to back down. 

“We?”

“Arthur, we’ve been out riding before, haven’t we?” You know the answer and so does he. He looks away, out to the window. He removes one of his warm hands to start rubbing over his shoulder. His deliberation creases more of the lines over his face.

“Then why can’t we go? I’ll even help you brush them, muck the stalls—,”

“You don’t need to do all that, won’t have you out there shovelin’ horse shit… jus’,” he nods to himself. Then he locks his eyes on yours, takes a breath to look at you. You blink up at him, anticipating some negative answer. “You can come along once I’m done but only because you’re real cute when you’re beggin’,” your smile makes him do the same, you press close to him where he accepts you in his arms.

You feel flushed, but you still nod eagerly. Arthur lets you dress to go out. You rush to the bedroom to put on some riding pants. All of these clothes, you have Arthur to thank for. You don’t want your mind to linger on why for too long.

You step out into the living room where Arthur gives you a teasing smile. “Ain’t you all excited. Did I agree to take you to the circus or somethin’?” You frown slightly, looking up at him while he shrugs his bear skin coat over his shoulders. He sweeps some of his golden hair away from his eyes, before adjusting his hat over his head. You adjust your boots, the new ones that he bought for you in town. They’re shiny and brown, with pretty tooling at the top, swirling filigree. The nicest boots you’ve ever been given. 

“Arthur…” 

“I don’t want you wanderin’ off,” his voice drops down from his teasing. 

He sits down beside you, adjusting you so he can help tighten the laces that he ties at just under your knee. He pats his knee for you to put your other leg up. His fingers are more efficient and he pulls your laces tighter than you would. When he’s done, there is a gentle tap on your ankle. He stands and one of his hands is extended to you, to help you to your feet. You sigh, preparing yourself to leave the fire that swells in the hearth, just in front of the sofa in the main room. 

“I mean it,” somehow his voice drops even lower. “Don’t make me go chasin’ after you,”

“I won’t,” A smirk curls over his face and he looks down, one of his hands coming up to tilt your chin a smidge upwards. Always so gentle when you say what he wants to hear. 

“Good girl.”

You step out onto the porch together, some of the snow has been swept into neat lines by the wind, beautifully glazed over. The sky is a solid tone of gray, undisturbed by any blue upsets. It leaves the entirety of the landscape looking a little dreary in startling shades of white, burnt shades of green. Arthur pauses strangely. Stares out at the treeline a moment. He relaxes after a second but he had been wound so tightly, you can tell just how much tension he let go. You look out but can’t see anything.

“Arthur?” he doesn’t respond the first time. It’s a little worrying. The breeze zips past, brushing against your cheeks and nose. You delicately touch his shoulder. He looks down at your mittened hand on the hide of his coat. Saying his name again does snap some awareness in him and he releases an uneven sigh, puffing air from his nose, it turns into vapor. His brow is quick to pull into its well used expression of ‘not quite happy’ and his jaw shifts under all of that brambly hair. 

“C’mon,” he says, as if you were the one who paused for a moment on his porch to stare at nothing. Trudging through the snow is much easier when it’s not 2 feet high.  In the stable, Lucky is very excited to see you. And you are happy to see him too. He shakes a little, doing a little trot in his stall. Swiping gently over his long snout, patting over his strong neck. You cling to this constant in your life, Lucky. 

Arthur lets you help brush their coats. Every once in a while, you look up from your task to catch him looking. And then he makes some crude joke about your horse “shitting twice as much as his does”. 

“How I hate to inconvenience you so, Mr. Morgan,” he stands and rests his hands on the handle of the spade he’s using. 

“Gettin’ snippy on me, girl?” Your fingers continue their work as you observe him, his lopsided smile and the film of sweat from his hard work. 

“I could never,” he shakes his head and goes back to what he was doing. You smile quietly to yourself. 

Trotting out in the snow does bring a smile to your face. You watch the wind trail over the surface of the landscape, brushing over the evergreen needles and bare branches like teeth of a comb. 

“Who is Pearson?” you ask, gently leading Lucky. For being such a heavy horse to handle, he listens well. The world exists in this strip of wintery landscape. Soft and hard aspects of nature all at once. Bird song and elk calls. “You said a name, someone who made your infamous slop, I think,” You turn to Arthur who has a little nod and something of a tilt to the left side of his mouth. He handles his horse easily too. 

“Navy man, turned camp cook. And you could tell he was the cook; portly bastard. He might not have made a particularly appetizing stew but it did the job, feedin’ some twenty people,” He doesn’t talk too much about his old life. You know it brews under the surface. These stories of a life he lived long ago. But those memories are tender still, when you touch some of them, he flinches away like you’ve pressed into a wound, a deep purple bruise. Physical pain is something he hardly minds at all. You remember you had seen him knick himself while shaving, while you had fussed he had watched on, endeared. 

You nod. Prying isn't your intention. But you grow curious. “That's quite a few people. I can’t imagine too many of them were women; do outlaws marry?” He takes a moment to think. You give him time to form his answer. 

“We wasn’t always in the habit of marryin’. Hosea, he had a wife. Bessie. Dutch had Miss O’Shea, but they wasn’t married. Dutch weren’t exactly the marryin’ kind. He likes… affairs. John wouldn’t know a good woman if she slapped him in the face,” he says so many names, as if you know them but they’re like faded photographs. Maybe they were in a way, those blurred images in his bedroom. The courage to pick them up keeps escaping you. These people must have been close to him. 

“Affairs?” 

“Dutch kept that girl strung along but when it got bad, he…let her go so to speak. When Bessie died, Hosea never so much as looked at another woman, at least in the same way. Don’t even think he was the same after she passed on,” 

“I’m sorry to hear that happened to him,” you don’t want to push. But you do preserve these brief moments where he divulges pieces of his past. You do your best to remember the names so that if he decided to tell you more, you’d recognize these pieces to put together. 

“Yeah…” He dips his head low, the brim of his hat covers his eyes. He sighs, low and quiet. The wind whistles by. Some of your hair blows past, your fingers come to adjust it. Currant shakes, the jingles of his reins fill the simple gap between his words. He bows to pay his horse a little bit of attention, telling him how good he’s been. The sight puts a small smile on your features. 

He focuses forward, at the horizon out in front of you. The gentle scene of winter’s serenity calms you, riding along with Arthur.  He continues and you turn to listen. “Couple other women, too. Livin’ rough is hard for a man, worse for the girls. Miss Grimshaw ran them girls with an iron fist,” he laughs almost, something close to it.

“What did they do?” 

“Everybody did their part. Mostly it was washin’ for the girls. Only that O’Driscoll boy could make tendin’ to horses look like a ladies past time.” 

“O’Driscoll? I thought you didn’t like them,” you question.

“Only thing O’Driscolls was good for was dyin’. But really, it was Dutch who hated them. They killed his woman. I think he was more mad that they was the ones who killed her; more than that she was gone,” You nod. Lucky continues on, ambling on in the snow, snorting loudly. The snow crunches under his hooves, crossing over a small creek has Arthur telling you to be careful. 

“Other than that, we wasn’t too different in the end. Dutch could play at it; wantin’ freedom or some other load of bullshit. But we was alike more than anythin’,” His voice becomes embittered. The grit of his vocal cords denotes it. And so does his hand, which shakes out at his side, before he places it easily at his thigh. 

“Do you miss it? Being an outlaw?” He looks at you, slouched over his saddle but he straightens, staring ahead. His face twists. His gloves hand rubs at his jaw before he brings both of his hands together, rubbing them. 

“We should head back,” there’s hardly any room for argument in his tone but you try anyway.

“Arthur, it hasn’t been that long,” 

“Nah, it’s too goddamn cold anyhow, hate this damn snow,” you do drag your feet, or Lucky’s hooves a little but even that upsets Arthur. He mutters more about the temperature. You pat at Lucky’s neck, giving him your sweet words. 

“Aw, you aren’t too cold, are you? No, you’re very brave! Yes, you are,” Arthur gives you an irritated look. You smile up at him. Lucky almost seems to nod at your praise, turning over his shoulder a bit. You’d give him a treat when you got back to the little stable he called home now. 

You sigh as you get inside, having tried to knock the snow off your boots outside but some still clings to you. Dressing down takes a lot longer than expected but you’re flattered that Arthur takes his time to help you get out of your boots. You try to tell him you can handle it but he insists that you need it. You quiet down, letting him do as he pleases. Then he kisses you on the crown of your head and sends you off to the bedroom to get out of your clothes. You nod and start to change into the slip you usually wear around the house. You do it more than quick enough to remain unattended by your overly attentive keeper. Or husband. 

You check behind you at the open door but you can hear him doing things in the living room. Carefully, you approach the bedside table. There are framed photographs which, although you sleep beside them, have not taken the time to look at with any thought. 

Examining the faces, you pick it up, as quiet as a mouse. There are three men and one stands proudly in the center, like a religious picture. The yellowed tinge makes the pigment look almost green, it must be quite old. The figure on the right is slouched over, holding a cigarette and the other two look to be not quite as young as him. You wonder if one of them is this Dutch figure. You aren’t sure, perhaps one of them is John or Pearson? You don’t want to take the photograph from its frame. That would be far too conspicuous. You’re about to set it down but you almost drop it instead. 

“Nosy girl, ain’t ya?” You whip to face Arthur, your neck almost aches with the motion. He leans casually against the door frame, hands on his belt. Your heart jumps and your belly aches with panic.

“I was only-” You rush to explain. He pushes off and comes close with a soft sigh, rubbing his hand over the lower half of his face. He holds out that same hand. 

“Give it here, honey,” you hand it to him, expecting him to scold you and put it back. Instead he sits on the bed, patting his knee. You sit on him, trying not to put too much of your weight on him in an attempt to seem daintier than you are. Arthur obstinately drags you fully onto him with a soft grunt. 

“All those stories made you curious? You wanna know more ‘bout all this… shit?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes flick to yours. As if in disbelief, like he thought you’d turn him away. Arthur acts as if you should. But you want to know him. 

“We were thieves. Deluded thieves at that. Nothin’ worse than a man who has no idea what he is,” You move some of your hair out of your face, so close to Arthur, you watch as he stares at the photograph. It’s like he’s trying to scare you out of wanting to know more. He had told you he was an outlaw. That night that he and he alone ordained you. Two souls joined for eternity. You frown. Perhaps you’re meant to be scared, meant to be horrified by all of the sordid details. “You don’t…”

“I do. Because-because I feel like…I’m a stranger,” you have touched something of his again, some spot that you dig your thumb into. A brown spot over an apples skin which gives way, pushing mush out over the sides. He’s quiet for a while. Chewing on your words like gristle, thinking them over. You’ve given him pause. You see him at war with himself and you can always tell. His brows pinch, his posture closes in a little. You do mean what you say. Everything is always out of order, unconventional with him. The very nature of your relationship is odd, you had never heard of such a thing, except perhaps in your grandmother's book of legends in the Grecian variety. The lord of the underworld had taken the goddess of spring from her mother. Stored her away. 

“That there is Hosea,” he sighs eventually. He doesn’t address your words, only aims to correct his actions. “He’s gone now. Died when we was set up in that goddamned cesspit, Lenny died that day too. The rest of us was lucky to get away on a boat, ended up washed up on an island. Wasn’t even there to help bury the ol’ bastard. But you’d never seen a tongue more silver.” you lay on his shoulder, at ease in his warmth, in his presence. You point to the young man on the right.

“And who’s that?” 

“Darlin’, do I really look all that different?” You almost don’t believe him, looking between him and the photograph. 

“That’s you?” You look again at the smooth face in the photograph. His hair looks a lot darker too. He spreads his legs in the chair; you do see Arthur do that a lot. He has the same sharp eyes. But he hasn’t gotten the bulkiness that is Arthur now. Broad chest and shoulders, strong and sturdy. 

“Jesus, girl, you know how to make a man feel young,” you giggle, tilting your head and taking the photograph.  

“Arthur Morgan, you’re too foolish. It’s just…maybe the beard?” 

“Jus’ the beard, sure,” you absentmindedly rub your ankle down his leg, relaxing further into his lap. Losing yourself in such a close moment, you continue. 

“Well, I don’t mind your scruff. I quite like it on you,” a shy smile pushes at your cheeks. 

“Mm, do you, now?” His smile is all too smug. You nod, turning away at your own honesty. He rubs his cheek against yours on one long motion, his arm is steady at your back, keeping you steady on his thigh. You huff and wiggle. 

“Not so much when you’re trying to give me a burn with it,” You press your fingers into his cheek. He doesn’t pay you any mind, rubbing his beard when he puts kisses all over your neck. It tickles, and you try to bring your cheek to your shoulder. To no avail, though, he quits all on his own. He’s got that look in his eye, he wants something. 

“Yeah, the only place you want all scratched up is here, ain’t it?” His right arm holds you close while his left hand inches up your thigh, dragging the hem of your slip up with him. His fingers brush against your inner thigh, petting along the sensitive skin. He takes advantage of how your body is inclined to his touch. Not so quick to let go of your protective instinct, you try to shake your head at his obscenities. 

“That’s-that’s not true…” 

“Then where else d’you want it?” Your face is surely showing how much he pushes at your modesty again. Dripping down from somewhere is a puddle of heat, gathering in what feels like just behind your belly button, some awful temptation for him to fulfill. You can feel some small whiny thing in you pleading for him to do what he pleases but you have to cling to what little denial you have before he comes to destroy it anyway.

“Must you make me say things all the time?” You’re desperately trying to defend yourself but like he said. There isn’t much use to defying nor denying him. 

“I don’t make you say a goddamn thing. Go ahead, darlin’, keep pushin’ me,” His tone borders on irritation. You sigh and look down to where his hands continue to squeeze at your thigh. 

“When you put scratches all over… I-I like that too,” 

“There’s my girl,” You don’t say anything, letting him lay you down, relaxing for him. His praise sways you so, you bend and break for it. Your body still shivers at the suggestive position he lays you down in, dragging the hem of your slip up to stare at your form. You’ve never exactly seen what he sees. Your nudity in the mirror has never been anything special to you. But Arthur takes in the sight, feeling what he wants to feel. 

“Look at you, you’re jus’ perfect, jus’ fine…” his thumbs press into hips. He spreads your legs, fighting the brief closure you have. Arthur’s flattery does help you sink into the mattress, parting your legs. It isn’t unsettling as it was, being immersed in his praise is comforting as it is confusing. 

He helps your arms out of the little straps that keep your shift on your shoulders. Laying nude with only your stockings, you can feel the chill in the air. But Arthur does as he said he would. The prickly hairs he shaves into stubs get dragged not too harshly against the sensitive flesh of your underbelly, while you squirm. He lays kiss after kiss against your skin, razing over you, the sweetest burn of his scruff on you. Your fingers rather pointlessly tangle in his hair for some sort of leverage to ground you. 

Before you know why, he’s stopped. You expected him to continue into some lewd act of his. Dipping his tongue inside of the little slit between your legs until it gets slick enough for his pleasure. The waves of ecstasy would push you to the edge and he would give you sugary praises, words of your belonging. 

Instead, he looks up at you. You’re… disappointed. More than you have any right to be. Any desire to be but it simmers low in you. You had wanted that, had wanted him to do that, swiping his hot tongue over the button at the very top of your slit. Quietly, he denies you. You must be pouting because he chuckles at you. 

“I ain’t sure I’m convinced you know what you want outta me. C’mere and show me,”

“Show you? I don’t understand,” you shy away, wishing you knew more about what he meant.

“You’re always so polite; ‘please’ this, ‘thank you’ that. Ask me real pretty, I might just have to say yes,” Arthur props himself up over you, his weight on your hips pins you down. He’s playing with you. 

Soot kicked up the broom, your own contentious emotions fill your chest. He wants you to ask him. To beg him to give you pleasure.

“Do wives often beg for their husbands attention?” 

“My wife does; least when she wants somethin’ special. Maybe I just like seein’ you all flustered. Tell me what you need, sweetheart, can’t give it to ya if I ain’t got a clue what it is,” You bite your lip. You’re already held under Arthur. You can play your own games.

“Arthur… I need my husband,” you can tell that you’ve hit something special, like a dog who kicks his leg. His eyes sharpen but his smug expression goes slack a little. “You are my husband, aren’t you? That’s what you say,” There’s that look, you’re continuing to push on him, to get his reaction. Even as he bears his weight down on you, as he grips tighter at your thigh.

Arthur is hardly as playful and cocky as he was a moment ago. As if you’ve sobered him with your words from the joy he was getting from your slight humiliation. Now, he falls for your teasing. You say teasing. But you find your own words to be too genuine.

He breathes deeply in the dip of your neck, you don’t flinch at the burn of his cheek against the sensitive skin. Though it tickles you, your raw emotions leave your thoughts popping like soap suds. His huff fans the warmth of him on your throat. His broadness encompasses you, you feel entirely too small but you do so love the feeling of him taking your body as comfort. Cradled naturally by the softness of your body. As if carved for each other.

“I want you to come set yourself on me,” you feel warm with your own excitement, “set this pretty pussy on me, wanna lick it clean,”

He’s helping you up, adjusting you so you can prop your thighs either side of his head, avoiding the weight he insists on putting on himself. What an odd idea, more concepts you wouldn’t dare imagine, lest you tempt the devil in ways you had always been told would end in death. His hands are only determined, all too strong, he handles you with efficiency.

“Are men and women…meant to do this?” You whisper, unsure still but he quiets you with a gentle nip to your inner thigh. 

“No, darlin’, jus’ husbands and wives,” It’s a soft murmur. Whatever plan you had to poke at his devotion backfires on you. A strange feeling descends on you instead. A curl of sincerity over his words and you’re faltering. You end up here often, losing your footing and falling in line with him. In his rough hands, playing right into them.

He has his arms dragging you flush against him, your slit pressing plushly against his mouth. You squeak at his wet tongue, slipping over you, your hands holding on to the wood of the headboard and your back arching. Over and over, he licks the same path, the slick sounds are all you can hear. A filthy and relieved sigh passes by your lips, your mouth parted as you tilt your head back. You rock gently without even particularly noticing, diving into your natural instinct. Finding pleasure on the tip of his tongue like you’ve always done so. 

And his beard does scratch. It scratches until your inner thighs are raw; you can’t bring yourself to stop. More moaning is pried from you, your body feeling the tightness of arousal and the jerkiness of your rhythmic movements over his tongue. Your own wetness is a sloppy mess, soaking your thigh. Arthur’s fingers dig deeply into them, he presses you roughly against him, dipping his tongue inside of you, licking you like you taste of sugar. 

Then his tongue plays with that button, when he touches it, it’s as if it had ached for it all along, you can’t remember a time when it hadn’t been nearly hurting with the need to be rubbed around by his tongue. You let his name slip from your mouth. That action puts you in a trance where all you want is him. Perhaps you had been a clueless little fool playing with matches but you didn’t mind if the result was Arthur fervently proving himself between your legs. But he stops again, depriving you. 

He’s pinning you down against the fabric of the sheets, smiling at you while you whine and cry, wiggling against him. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he pants, clearly having been too busy doing other things to keep his breathing steady. He takes advantage of how intense you feel, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles around the soft flesh of your entrance. It’s far too gentle to feel as good as his tongue but you move your hips towards it anyway. 

“Still too proud to beg, pretty girl?” 

You whine, of course Arthur has to get his way. Just as he makes you feel as if you got yours. You whimper when he sinks one of his fingers inside. 

“Arthur, please, please…I want— want you, please,” 

He’s clumsily shoving his pants and suspenders down, tugging buttons out of their closure. Forceful kisses press into your lips, you wonder briefly what it's like to do what he’s done but it must taste like this, you taste him, bitter like coffee but sweet with liquor and the strange note of your own arousal. You’ve never had anything like it before. 

Arthur heaves a sigh in your mouth, propping your legs up, your hands tangled in his hair, scratching at his scalp. He hardly wastes any time trying to push inside. 

The rush only makes it ache, your hips try to wiggle away, your thighs tensing up. He hisses a sharp cuss, a startling sound. Satisfaction settles within you. He doesn’t let your wriggling stop him from pushing until he has his balls against you.

“Keep at it, jus’ — shit, jus’ say that again,” he gasps and you indulge. Telling him you want him, need him, isn’t so hard anyway. It isn’t a lie, as much as you want it to be, for your own sake. To say it is to mean it now. 

“Need you, Arthur, please,”

“Good girl, my good girl, all f’r me,” he’s dazed, eyes hardly open, put there by your admittances. 

It’s almost shameful how much you like the way he stretches you on him. How good it feels for him to take you, but you’re his wife. It’s what he tells you, over and over. He's said it to you all week. Every night when he had pried these intense peaks of pleasure from you, mussing the sheets, staining them with your slick and his spend. 

Your mind is plied, limp and hazy, you spread your thighs easily, let him take as he is supposed to. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, practically bouncing you on him, all too hurried. 

“I feel like your man yet?” a panted chuckle in your ear, is all you can understand, the wet slap of him at your thighs and the playful pinch of your nipple pulls a yelp from you. 

He’s propping your hips up, prodding at something so deep, your knees tighten on him, reflexes overpower you. The tip of him scrapes, scratches at something that loosens your jaw, slack for all of your noises to get past, dripping off your tongue. You’ve no mind for thinking your noises daring or awful, nodding along at his words. 

“Yeah, s’what I thought. Goddamn…” he snarls his words. His self assured gaze meets yours, his hands rubbing idly against your skin, no piece of you remains untouched by him.

Though you may not be a string puppet, you do feel a ragdoll, left at his mercy, warm with him pinning you down, damp with his sweat. 

“Jesus, darlin’. Drivin’ me mad, so damn pretty’,” he slows, grunting in your ear. A shiver rushes down your whole frame, hips grinding listlessly, searching for more of him. And you find it, utter perfection when you hear him groan, a tight warning begins in your belly. 

His shoulders flex, even as he winces past some pain, his fingers are far too rough when they grab at you but all you do is continue, wanting to chase the heat that pushes your thoughts out of your head, you can’t think of anything else but him.

Bright red and flushed with exertion, his hair dark with sweat, all of him is bathed in warmth. “Long as you keep forgettin’...” He bathes you in it too, especially when he pulls you so close. “I’ll be here to remind ya. You’re my woman, always will be. Nothin’ you do is gonna change that,”

His words are close to what you need, just next to it. Good enough to make you nod feverishly, buck against him. Always. That word sticks to you like glue. 

He nudges so deep, instinct guides you to press some soft part of yourself against the tip of him over and over. Leaning in, he presses your bodies together, nearly crushing you with his weight. He still pulls your hips into him, but slower.  A jolted sigh is all that escapes you now, you shut your eyes. 

“Look at me,” You push yourself to meet his gaze, even as he floods all of your senses with pleasure. The smell of you together, the feeling of his damp skin on yours. His smallest hairs on his chest and belly brushing against your skin. The sight of him, his squared features, his ruddy cheeks.  Fluttering inside is your sentiment for him. You don’t dare label it. 

Then he pulls back, only to rub at your button, lulling strokes that speed up, far more jarring than the paced rutting of him inside of you.

“Arthur- Arthur, I—,” you gasp, fingers squeezing tight at his shoulders, digging your nails. You’re enraptured in his gentle coaxing. 

“M’right here, sweetheart,” he has the softest tone, his eyes are focused only on you, watching carefully. You let yourself melt in his hands.

 His fingers are rough, sending fire coursing through you. You feel yourself gush on him and you spread more, eyes rolling back before you arch your back and barely stop a scream from ripping through you. 

“There ya go; good girl…don’t you look sweet,” he coos. Pathetic keening is all you give, hips jerking a bit, though pinned underneath him. 

He holds you down underneath him, “that’s real good, honey,” muttered over you. Sounding very proud of himself. He looks down at you. His eyes trace over your features. The hardened pads of his fingers draw lines over your skin. You have to catch your breath, swallow to wet your throat, dry from the way you let it leak all of the noises he loves to hear. 

Eventually, you relax your legs from where they had squeezed tight on him. He starts to work you back up to taking him, sensitive and tender. You feel the soft gathering of all that he is against you. The heaviness of him inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

Your lower belly twists at the pleasured sounds he makes, pressing his sweat damp forehead into your ear, lazy kisses at your neck, you turn to allow him to continue. With a shaky groan and a hiss, he pulls away. You hold back your whine when he spills everything he has on your thigh. A small prick of disappointment almost takes away from the satisfied groan you revel in. 

“Took it all out of me, pretty girl…”

He lets himself be tugged down to lay on you, smothering you. But you like the way his big frame feels piled onto yours. You can feel his heart nearly. Beating close to yours, like he wants them to be close. You play with his hair and you wait. Wait for him to tell you something you’ve been quietly biding your time for. It hasn’t come all week, yet you wait like a passenger does for a train off schedule. At the boarding station with luggage in hand, eyes on the horizon, the long line of tracks.

He murmurs it into your skin. You can feel his beard rub against you, his sweaty chest dampening your skin. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world that I need ‘cept for you,” 

It isn’t what you’re looking for. You’re starting to feel like that train won’t come but you make excuses for him again. At least he doesn’t fill your head with empty hopes. Arthur is a man of his word and he only says things he means. You know he means it. You know it.

Arthur holds you now, you lay tiredly on his chest. He kisses your hair. It would be so easy to pretend that he was just that while you lay and touch the scars he has. Reveries like that though are always quickly shattered. Ruined utterly by Arthur and his possessive words, curling up and over. Clouding your imaginings with his own version of devotion. These words are not sweet, nor are they bitter. They’re like cough syrup, numbing and sticky, putting you in a stupor until you forget all about the tight scratchiness in your throat. 

“You belong to me,” you can feel his chest vibrate with such comfort in his voice, you have no choice but to fall asleep on him while he strokes your hair. 

sighhhh dont even ask me how long i spent on this, or how much i like it (i dont really but will i ever???) thanks for reading!!! I reallly liked how untruthful arthur is about some of the details and how much he hides from poor reader : ( and of course, him being a sap at the end was sooo cute, couldnt resist!! happy valentines day snow angels 💓💓💓💓💓🥹🥹❄️❄️😇😇😇

[flowercrowngods]

ughhh anyway marvey case fic in which harvey takes a case representing a client who it turns out is covering for someone and taking the fall. and when harvey finds out, he plans to relieve his client of all charges and make sure the right person gets the blame but his client doesn’t want that

turns out he’s (unknowingly lmao) in love with his semi-protégé coworker, and that he feels responsible for what happened and that he can take that fall with a good conscience etc etc anyway it all reminds harvey too much of him and mike and it’s what makes him realise that oh shit i would do the exact same thing for mike holy shit am i really in love with him?? meanwhile mike is just a tad slower on the uptake and races to harvey a couple days later with “harvey we can still win this case, he’s taking the fall for someone, we can expose him easily and all charges will be dropped” and presents evidence etc and harvey tries explaining that they can’t do that if that’s not what their client wants, and that they have to try and win this case anyway, despite the evidence and circumstance stacked against them.

mike won’t accept that, doesn’t understand, tries to sway him until harvey explodes that their client is in love with the other guy, and that the other guy might not even know — about the fall nor about the having fallen. this stuns mike, who never knew that harvey gave a shit about love in the courtroom, and this might not be his usual shtick simply about loyalty.

“and you just let him do this?”

“i’m not letting him do anything, it’s his own goddamn choice, mike. i’m trying to negotiate a deal that gets him out with no prison time, but he may lose his license and—“

“how can he do that?”

and harvey just looks at him, really looks at him, and wonders if mike really doesn’t see it. the parallels. the goddamn symbolism. and after a moment says, “people have done stupider shit for the ones they love.”

and all the air gets sucked out of the room when mike holds his eyes and understanding dawns. it’s quickly replaced by confusion and wonderment before it goes completely blank. a look he never even knew mike was capable of. harvey looks away.

he goes out there to try and score a win anyway. he doesn’t. their client does get a deal, but he loses his license. outside the courtroom, harvey sees him wrapped in the arms of the guy he protected and they’re both crying a little bit but then they kiss and it doesn’t look tinged with regret and harvey tries not to stare but he can’t ignore the heavy feeling lodged inside his chest, and he only looks away when it gets too painful to bear.

this case has cost him a lot, and there are walls he needs to rebuild and feelings he needs to un-realise and get over. instead of going back to the firm, he heads straight home, deciding that work can wait until tomorrow

later that night, a weary harvey is listening to music and nursing a glass of scotch when there’s a knock on the door. mike looks disheveled and a little bit crazed, but determined, and harvey knows the expression, knows not to ask stupid questions and just let the man in. he expects a last ditch effort at a solve, expects intel on another case, expects the smoking gun on something he’s long forgotten.

but it doesn’t come.

“people have done stupider things for the ones they love.”

and harvey sighs. goes back to his scotch and downs it in one go. mike doesn’t let go, though.

“like sticking their head out for the fraud they hired. like threatening their career, their livelihood and their personal freedom for the fraud they hired. like telling their boss ‘he goes, i go’.”

harvey frowns at that, and mike huffs, a little breath of a smile. “jessica told me.”

as if incentivised by the lack of protest, mike comes closer and some of the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“or like breaking a camera in a federal holding cell, yelling at me that i need to let you take the fall, before coming after the man who came after me. and keeping me around, all this time. bringing me back every chance you get. not letting me go.” he sighs, and somehow he’s in harvey’s space now. “stupid things like that?”

harvey can only swallow, and somehow mike’s cologne is in his nose, on his tongue, and he swallows his scent and it’s intoxicating and it’s addictive and it’s dangerous. everything about this. his client lost his license. he only just escaped prison time. that could be them. in a few years. next week. tomorrow. that could be them.

but mike is looking at him now and he’s… he never looked at harvey like this. and harvey is only human. his heart is thrashing against his ribcage so hard it rattles even his hands where they’re hanging by his sides, not knowing what to do.

“mike,” he breathes, and it could mean anything, really. i need you to leave. i need you to let this go. we can’t do this. yes, stupid things like that. what the hell are you talking about. i plead the fifth. he doesn’t say any of that.

“harvey,” mike whispers back, and he smiles, and he smiles so gently and so sweetly, his hand coming up to lightly trail along harvey’s cheek as if he seeks to map his face. harvey lets him. sways a little bit, further into mike’s space, into all that warmth.

and then, somehow, miraculously, they’re kissing. it steals harvey’s breath and warms him from the inside even though it’s not heated, not passionate or desperate.

it’s light. almost playful. it’s absolutely certain and relieved. it’s a promise and a question and an answer and nowhere close to a grand finale. it’s mike’s hand on his cheek and harvey’s hands holding his waist, feeling the soft fabric of the white dress shirt and soaking up the comforting warmth he finds underneath mike’s suit jacket.

they kiss, and it might last forever or maybe just a few seconds. the world doesn’t explode around them, fireworks don’t go off, the air doesn’t sizzle. it’s the complete opposite, actually.

everything slots into place; quiet and certain, like nothing else matters. it’s calm and it’s respite and it makes sense of everything.

it’s harvey and mike, and it’s a first kiss of many.

[gravedwe11er]

Echoes through the cosmos

The final part of my Mecha AU coswave fic is done! It took me a while, but here it is. Parts one and two can be found here, and I hope you enjoy!

AU by @keferon and the base idea came from my friend @cosmique-oddity

Things are changing for Cosmos, in more ways than one. It doesn't have to be a bad thing.

“Greetings, little watcher,” comes from his headphones, completely out of nowhere, and Cosmos nearly stumbles on the treadmill.

“Good morning, big watcher,” he teases back, and blames the beginning of a blush spreading across his face on the exercise.

A staticky crackle carries through the tiny speakers. “Designation: Soundwave.” says the mech firmly, and Cosmos can’t help but burst into laughter.

Things have been better lately. That first bit of honesty seems to have opened the floodgates, and Soundwave’s voice is now a near-constant companion in his ear. The mech still prefers texting or using his vocal modulator, but every now and then, Cosmos gets to hear the real him, and he treasures every instance accordingly. And if Soundwave’s smooth, almost melodic voice inspires some slightly embarrassing thoughts at times? Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own, really.

“Just returning the favor, Soundwave,” he says, putting emphasis on the name. “It’s only fair to have a nickname for you too, though, wouldn’t you say?”

“Correction: greetings, Cosmos.”

Cosmos snorts. “Alright, alright, I see how it is. But I am going to find a nickname you like eventually, you know. Or, well- at least tolerate.”

“Negative,” comes over the speakers, deadpan as all get out. Cosmos just smiles again, shaking his head, before returning to his exercise.

Yeah, things are good.

-

“Waves.” Cosmos tries, impish grin on his face.

[Designation: Soundwave.]

“Soundy.”

[Negative.]

“Alright, alright,” he says between barely suppressed giggles. “Wavey?”

“No.”

“Sounders!”

The entire screen blacks out. “Wait, no, come back, I’m sorry-“

-

“Do your people have entertainment media? Books, movies, that sort of thing?”

[Affirmative,] appears on a mostly empty screen in front of him- it’s been a calm couple of days, the equipment not registering anything of import and leaving more than enough time for…well, whatever he wants, really. [Written works: currently most commonplace due to prolonged conflict. Holofilms available: old or amateurly produced.]

“Oh! Yeah, that makes sense. Hollywood has slowed down production as well, quite a bit in the past years.” Getting attacked and smashed to smithereens several times over hadn’t helped much. They’ve always recovered though, actors and writers refusing to give up their art, even if their budgets were cut down severely. “What do you like, then? How do you spend your free time?”

[Free time: rare commodity.] Soundwave writes, and he chuckles because right, fair enough. Head communications officer for an army at war, with four kind-of-not-really kids? That’s got to be busy.

Still, though. “I understand, but surely there’s something you enjoy? Got a favorite book, or a poem?”

“Soundwave: partial to music.” A pause. Then- “Would you like to hear some?”

The offer, along with Soundwave’s real voice, make Cosmos’ heart pick up the pace. Alien music! He’s about to hear real, actual music from another planet! Nodding, he turns to the camera behind him and gives the mech a giddy smile.

Soon enough, a gentle melody begins pouring out of his headphones, and- whatever he’s expected, it was not this. The song - or composition, more like - is alien, oddly complex and unbelievably beautiful.

There are no lyrics, he doesn’t think, but the interplay of different instruments still seems to tell a tale as the song progresses, changing and twisting on itself. It makes him think of two people, of a longing he finds so familiar, of warm clasped hands and stolen moments between the cold of melancholy. He sits in his chair, silent and entranced, as the melody goes through a crescendo, a painful conflict, before mellowing and fading out, like a peaceful embrace of two souls, now finally united for good.

When it’s all over, seconds or minutes or hours later, his vision is blurry with unshed tears. At the other end of the call, he could almost swear he feels Soundwave’s presence, watching him, sharing this moment with him.

Cosmos feels warm.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the receiver, wiping at his eyes but smiling, and he feels more than hears Soundwave’s answering hum. “Could you play it again?” he asks after a few minutes, and when the melody fills his ears once more, he simply closes his eyes and lets himself be carried away.

-

“I forgot to ask before, but was that Cybertronian music?”

“Negative,” comes through his headphones. “Composition: created by organic species.”

“Oh!” he wasn’t really expecting that, but then again, maybe it should have. it didn’t sound very, ah, mechanical? “Do you have any more from the composer? Or at least the same people?”

“Soundwave: in possession of one more unfinished melody from composer. Cosmos: interested in listening?”

“Gladly. Why was it not finished, though, do you know? Did something happen to the composer?”

“Affirmative. Species: nearly eradicated by quintesson forces. Creator of piece: deceased.”

Oh. That’s- he doesn’t know what to say. He’d never really given much thought to how other species might have fared against the invasion. Or that they might have actually lost.

“I’d still like to hear it, I think,” he says quietly. There’s nothing he can do for them now, for these aliens he’d never even met, but- he can remember them, at least. Keep a tiny piece of them alive through this.

As the new melody surrounds him with its unearthly tones, Cosmos wonders what Soundwave would keep of humans, if they lose this fight. What Soundwave would keep of him.

-

It dwells on his mind for weeks after, filling his empty hours with maudlin thoughts. He knows by now how unbelievably long a cybertronian’s life is, that his own lifespan is but a speck of dust by comparison, but still. Would the mech keep his face in his memory banks, or the human music playlist he’d made for him? Would he carry a piece of Cosmos with him into the distant stars, keep him close to his spark, or would all they shared be forgotten?

How much does this - whatever they have - matter?

Because it matters to Cosmos. He’s not sure when that happened, but his fascination with the alien mech and enjoyment of his company became- more. Much more. Now, when his soul aches for the presence of another person, it’s not his friends on earth he imagines being held by, or his parents. It’s large silver servos, careful and precise. it’s staring up at a glowing red visor and watching the sun gleam of grey and blue plating. It’s just- Soundwave.

And, well. What is he supposed to do with that?

He knows Soundwave likes him, yes. Enjoys his company, sure, he wouldn’t bother talking with him so frequently otherwise. But is there more to it? Soundwave is a hard person to read, especially with their only method of communication being text and radio. Cosmos had no way to know if he’s like a- a pleasant coworker to the mech, or a true companion, someone actually important.

He doesn’t know, but by god does he hope.

The song they’re listening to comes to an end, bringing Cosmos out of his thoughts. And, yeah, that’s something they do now, listen to music together, looking for things the other might enjoy. That’s… that could mean something, right? Only people who actually care about each other do that, no?

A surprisingly loud, staticky hiss sounds in his ears all of a sudden, and Cosmos flinches. “Soundwave, what-“

“Lost light: arrival impending.”

“Wh- really? When?”

“ETA: thirteen hours local time.”

Oh.

Of course.

It’s just- over the past two months, he’d somehow managed to completely forget about incoming the ship. He’d been so focused on his growing relationship with Soundwave that the knowledge of why the mech was actually here slipped his mind. Now, with reality of the situation staring him in the face, a jittery sort of dread fills his heart.

“Soundwave,” he says, wringing his hands in his lap, “how’s- what’s going to happen now?”

“Negotiation: will begin with human governments. Jazz: will be returned home, accompanied by Prowl.”

This is the first time he’s hearing of this Prowl person, and he will ask later, but- “And what about you? What will you do now?”

“Soundwave: will remain on Earth, join negotiation process.” There’s a pause, then- “I do not wish to cease our interactions, even once my work here is done. If you call, I will always listen, friend Cosmos.”

And- it’s a relief, hearing that. A huge weight falls off of Cosmos’ shoulders, joy making his heart beat overtime, however- things will undeniably change now. Their mostly quiet, familiar routine won’t last once first contact begins in earnest, and they’ll both be busy with their respective work. He’s delighted to hear he won’t lose Soundwave’s voice in his ear, but-

His stay at the station ends in less than two weeks. He won’t get to actually see Soundwave, most likely, not again. Won’t ever be this close to him again, not in person. And that’s- he thinks of the emergency repair space suit shoved in the storage compartment, of the ticking clock, and makes a decision.

“Soundwave? You said you edited yourself out of footage in real time, when you first arrived here, right? Could you do it again?”

“Affirmative. Query: reason for question?”

“I just- there’s something I need to do.”

-

He approaches the station, gliding through the vacuum of space with ease. It’s a tiny thing, as many earth things are- barely bigger than him in root mode. He’s once again reminded of an earth saying, stating that good things come in small packages, and though he’s not fully certain of its original, intended meaning, he finds himself agreeing nonetheless.

Watching the precious, fragile little person climbing out of the hatch with anxious, unpracticed motions, it feels truer than ever before.

The man’s suit is a colorful thing, yellow and green with red accents, his head surrounded by a fragile looking bubble of glass, protecting him from certain death in the cold, airless void. His hair is a bright, cheerful red as well, only outshined by the force of his smile as pushes off the hull of the station and into Soundwave’s waiting servos.

“Hello, little watcher,” he says, leaving the vocoder off and letting his true voice sound through the suit’s speakers.

Somehow, the human’s smile grows wider, and Soundwave feels his spark pulse with fondness. “Hello, Soundwave,” he says softly, blinking up at him with a combination of awe and unbridled joy. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

If it’s anything like what he feels, Soundwave thinks as he brings the man closer, gently pressing his forehelm to the top of Cosmos’ helmet, then he can probably imagine.