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revasserium · 4 months ago

Text

burn

umemiya hajime; 3,307 words; mostly fluff, tiny bit of angst, young/freshman!umemiya, pre-canon events, lapslock, no "y/n", librarian!reader, childhood friends to lovers, vague ref to ch. 152, ume is a dumbdumb

summary: "it's a pleasure to burn" - ray bradbury, fahrenheit 451

a/n: am i writing umemiya now? who knows. this takes place 2 years before wbk manga events (the first year ume&co are in boufuurin) so pls excuse the slightly ooc ume...

001. the art of war

the library is entirely your idea.

“mah… you’d have to be the one to keep track of all the books though,” umemiya says, grinning as he watches you stock the shelves, your hair twisted up into a messy bun, your arm straining to reach the top-most shelf with a bundle of paperbacks with fraying covers and broken-in spines.

“of course i would! it’s not like there’s anyone else here i’d trust with that.” you turn to fix him with a stare that is already too “librarian-like” and he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

“okay then, consider me your first patron! gimme something to read,” umemiya says, smiling wide as you narrow your eyes. your lips twitch up at the ends — it’s a familiar movement, an unconscious gesture, but one that’s plagued his all sleepless nights and most of his endless days.

“well…” you say, drawing out the word as you slowly saunter towards him, propping your hands on your hips as you pull level with the table in front of him, “what do you want to read?”

“anything you’d wanna lend me,” he says easily.

“boo, that’s such a boring answer,” you shoot back, shifting to press your hip against the edge of the table, crossing your arms as you turn to look back at the half-erected shelves.

you don’t see the way umemiya’s eyes flicker down to the bend of your waist, or the way he licks his lips as he tracks the plush of your thigh as you move to hoist yourself onto the desk, balancing on the edge.

he swallows, clearing his throat, trying not to think about the strange, burgeoning signs of growing up pestering you both at this vital juncture (just last week, his voice had cracked so hard you’d laughed at him for a whole hour straight; and the week before that, he’d almost rammed into a telephone poll watching you jog down the flight of stairs that leads to your tiny apartment).

“then maybe reading a few books will make me not so boring, hm?”

you roll your eyes, hopping off the table to comb through the handful of books. umemiya lets out an internal sigh of relief, feeling the heat in his cheeks recede ever so slightly as you disappear behind one of the taller shelves.

“here. let’s start with this.”

you pop out from behind the shelf, lobbing a thin volume towards him; he catches it out of reflex and stares at the cover.

“the art of war…?”

you grin, all cheek and no shame, “yeah. i mean… fits, doesn’t it? aren’t you starting at boufuurin next week?” you blink before turning back to look around at the small, abandoned storage facility, tucked between a ramen shop and what used to be a dollar store. there’s half a dozen dusty shelves, a few cabinets along the walls, and even a small stepladder that touma had dug out of the back closet for you.

at fifteen, you’re probably the smartest person he knows (and the prettiest, but that’s neither here nor there); at fifteen, umemiya hajime is an iron-wrought confluence of teenage ambition with big ideas and even bigger dreams (who doesn’t have time for things like crushes or girls… really).

“yeah,” umemiya runs a finger along the cover of the little book and flips to a random page, his eyes catching on the line —

the greatest victory is that which requires no battle at all.

002. pedro reyes

three weeks later, he stumbles back with two black eyes and a matching pair of bleeding knuckles.

“that book you lent me?” he says, dropping into a chair with a groan, “kinda bullshit.”

you make a half-startled, half-annoyed noise as you hurry over, setting down an armful of magazines to lean over and look at his face.

“what the hell happened?”

umemiya winces as you reach out to wipe a trickle of blood from his cheek.

“couple of fights — tough ones, but… well, i’m still here, aren’t i?” he says, managing a lopsided grin even as you tut, hurrying away to grab a first aid kit, returning with a warm, wet cloth and a scowl on your face.

“i thought you had a plan,” you say, unable to keep the acid from your voice.

umemiya groans as you press the damp cloth to his bloodied fingers, watching as you wipe each one down, the shocking white of the towel slowly darkening until it’s stained and blotchy with red.

“yeah. i did — punch everyone out till i get to the top.”

you tsk, frown deepening even as he shifts forward to let you wipe at the wounds on his face.

“pretty sure that’s not what sun tzu suggests,” you say, dabbing some kind of cooling gel to a cut right below his eye.

“sun tzu’s never had to deal with the guys at boufuurin.”

you roll your eyes, sighing before pulling back, “there’s an article i read today —” you jerk your head back towards the stack of magazines, “about an artist in mexico.”

“yeah?”

umemiya closes his eyes and lets you do the slow, diligent work of bandaging up his knuckles, one by one.

“he took a bunch of illegal weapons the government had confiscated and melted them down — pistols, knives, shotguns — and made them into musical instruments instead.”

the quiet that follows is thick and steady as churned butter. you don’t look up, your eyes still trained on the careful task of bandaging umemiya’s fingers.

he shifts, pulling closer, his breath fanning out warm against your cheek.

“do you know how hot a fire has to be in order to melt metal?” you ask after another brief silence, finally lifting your eyes as you finish with his hands.

umemiya cocks an eyebrow, “how hot?”

“about 2,700 degrees, fahrenheit.”

umemiya whistles below his breath, “sounds hot.”

“it is. at that temperature, you can apparently force a weapon to forget that it’s a weapon, to remake it into something new — something that wasn’t made to take lives… but to give it instead.”

you wrap your fingers around his, your skin contrasted against the dark blossom of bruises.

umemiya feels his smile slash into something jagged, lopsided and sharp.

“then… i guess that’s how hot i’ll have to burn to turn this whole place around.”

003. grey’s anatomy

looking back, umemiya wonders if that’s the night he changed — the night that you’d held onto his hands as if they were something precious.

he looks up the melting point of metal and the story of the artist in mexico. he thinks about what it must feel like to turn a pistol into a flute, to be the one to teach it to hold a note instead of a bullet —

he stares down at his bandaged hands, feels the dull ache in his muscles and wonders.

once, he remembers when the pair of you were still kids, hollow and lonely and full of a childish rage at the indifferent world — how you’d laughed as he pushed you on a neighborhood swing, but cried when he knocked a guy’s front teeth our for asking where your parents were.

and a week later, he’d found you hidden under the jungle gym with a tomb of a book clutched in your hands. the air had been damp with thunder, the sky grey and electric.

you’d looked up at him with bright eyes, holding out a closed fist —

“ume! did you know that the human heart is the same size as a fist?”

he remembers crawling under the jungle gym to squeeze in beside you, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, peering at the opened book, at the page with a diagram of the human body an all it’s labeled parts.

“oh, cool.”

he’d held up his own fist then, and stared, feeling the beat of his heart reverberating through his chest. he wonders if you can hear it when you’re pressed this close; he wonders, if the sky weren’t breaking apart above you, if he’d be able to hear your heartbeats too.

“isn’t it strange?” you’d asked, leaning over to bump your fist against his.

“what’s strange?” he hadn’t pulled away; neither had you.

your hand relaxes then, fingers loosening till he can see the blood rush back into their tips, tinting them pink. you’d turned your hand and placed it over his still-closed one and squeezed.

“that… a heart and a fist are the same size but… they weren’t made to beat the same.”

004. romeo & juliet

“he loves you, y’know.”

you look up from the makeshift front desk.

tsubaki is sitting with their legs crossed on one of the tables, arms propped on either side of their hips.

“library’s not open for another few days,” you say by way of an answer.

“it’s nice,” tsubaki says, looking around, “you did a good job with it.”

“thanks.”

they hop off the table to peer down one of the aisles of books — all the shelves now labeled with your loopy handwriting, the books clustered by a loose combination of genre, authorship, and spine-coloration.

“it’ll be good for us,” tsubaki’s voice is slightly muted by the layers and layers of books, but the click of their heeled boots rings sharp against the smooth linoleum floors, “having a library — the pen being mightier than the sword, and all.”

they’re smiling when they finally come back around the last row, fingers linked behind their back.

“that’s the hope, anyway,” you say, lips pulling into a wane smile.

you glance up and your eyes catch on the bandage at the edge of tsubaki’s lips, the dark stain at the collar of their otherwise impeccable uniform.

sighing, you run a hand along a yet-unsorted stack of books, shaking your head.

“we’re too young to know anything about love,” you answer, finally.

tsubaki joins you, bending down to pick up the first book at the top of the pile, waving it in the air with a rueful grin.

“i think romeo & juliet would beg to differ.”

you bite your lips, “you know that’s a tragedy, right?”

tsubaki shrugs, “sure, but… wasn’t it beautiful while it lasted anyway?”

you don’t have an answer, and instead, tsubaki giggles, tapping the top of your head with the book.

“can i borrow this? i promise i’ll return it!”

you wave them away with a soft smile.

“that’s kind of how a library works.”

005. fight club

“how long have you been here?”

you jerk up, your entire body screaming with the movement after having been still for so long.

“ume —! you’re awake!” you nearly collapse by the hospital bedside, dropping your head into the pristine white sheets.

above you, umemiya makes a choked off sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, his hand coming up to pat your head. you melt into the feel of him, the weight and warmth of his fingers as he treads them through your hair.

“where’s —”

“they left — all of them,” you say, lifting your head slowly, “takishii and endo and… all of them.”

umemiya frowns, his hand stilling for a second, “what do you mean?”

you shrug, pulling back till you’re curled up in the bedside seat once more, tugging your knees up into your chest.

“after the fight, they just… picked up and left.”

“so… i lost,” umemiya’s voice is soft.

you shake your head, “no.”

he frowns, “but that’s —”

“you knocked each other out at the same time — it was technically —” your voice snags in your throat as you remember the grizzly scene before you, the crimson sprays of blood, the dirt damp beneath them, their uniforms torn into dark ribbons, the rooftop howling with a savage, winter wind.

“a tie,” umemiya says in a flatlined voice, reaching up and covering his eyes with his arm.

“right.”

you clear your throat, reaching for the tall glass of water on the bedside table.

“here — drink,” you hold the water out to him. he takes it wordlessly and drains nearly the entire glass. you watch, silent, as a drop of liquid trails down his jaw and trickles into the bandages at this throat.

your eyes cut away as he grins, smacking his lips and setting the water glass down.

“ah — that feels much better!”

you’re quiet, sitting vulturine still, refusing to meet his gaze.

umemiya finally slumps back to stare at the ceiling.

“you’re mad at me.”

“i’m not.”

“we’e known each other our whole lives, i know when you’re mad —”

“i’m scared, okay?” there’s a thin, unsteady quiver to the tenor of your voice as your head snaps back up. it’s then that he notices your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

“s-scared? of what? takiishi and endo are gone — you said so your—”

“of you!”

umemiya blinks and feels the blood in his extremities going cold, and for a second, he’s not sure if he accidentally dislodged his iv drip.

the look on your face is inscrutable, anger and uncertainty, but most of all — fear. something about that look makes his stomach curdle inside him.

“i —” he tries to find something to say but nothing else comes out. there’s no excuse, no explanation. he searches you eyes for a tether, for a spark of that familiar warmth and finds none.

slowly, you soften back into the seat and turn to stare out the window.

“it’s not like i’ve never seen you fight… and i’ve never liked it but this…” you bite down on your bottom lip, “it was like… you turned into someone else. someone i didn’t recognize.”

“i’m… i’m sorry.”

you swallow, still not looking at him, your eyes flickering down to your own hands, now lying limply in your lap.

“and then i thought — what if i did this? i — i had to go and make that stupid metaphor about the metal and the melting and —”

at this, umemiya laughs, reaching out to tug you closer. the ease with which he does so startles a hiccup out of you.

“you don’t really think i went and fought like that because of an article about a dude in mexico, do you?”

you purse your lips, cheeks going blotchy with heat. umemiya reaches forward to squeeze your nose, making you jerk back.

“dummy,” he chides, grinning now from ear to ear, but his smile falters slightly as he takes your hands in his, “i’m sorry that i scared you. promise i won’t do it again.”

“hn.” you don’t make to pull away, and umemiya takes that as permission to tug you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. he buries his face in your hair and breathes in, out, in —

“hm… you really think you have that much power over me?” umemiya asks, a wanton sort of amusement underlying his voice as he finally lets you go, if only to revel in the way your cheeks flood with color.

“shut up! i was — i was freaked out and you were unconscious and i —”

“cause you do.”

your words cut off as abruptly as a dropped call.

umemiya chuckles, scratching at the back of his head, ruffling up his already pillow-mussed hair.

“been meaning to tell you but… i figured you already knew — “ and for once, he sounds his age — young and halting and shy.

after a breath that feels like a century, you finally break into a helpless fit of laughter.

“i can’t believe it…” you say, burying your face in your hands.

“can’t… believe what?” umemiya blinks at you.

“that it took you nearly dying for you to admit that you liked me.”

“hey! in case you haven’t noticed, i’ve been kinda busy this year!”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, yeah — had to go save the world first. then you get to kiss the girl, right? end movie, roll credits.”

umemiya cocks his head, “well, i dunno about the world but definitely — wait, what did you say about kissing me?”

you crinkle your nose, “i didn’t.”

“yeah you did.”

“i did not — i was just making a general statement about cliches in superhero movies —”

“oh, so you think i’m a superhero?”

“ume! stop it — mph!”

later, umemiya would recall fondly to anyone who will listen that yeah, he does get to kiss the girl after all.

006. fahrenheit 451

“451,” you say, standing at the door of the newly minted makochi library.

it’s dark outside, and umemiya stands by your side, stretching his arms over his head with a wide yawn.

“huh?”

“451 degrees,” you say again, turning to press a small silver lighter into his hands. he stares owlishly at it before looking back at you, clearly at a loss.

“that’s how hot it has to be for paper to catch fire.”

umemiya stares.

“i was thinking,” you say, turning back to the dark, but pristine library.

“uh-oh — oof — ow!” umemiya makes a show of clutching his side as you jerk your elbow back for another blow. he dodges out of your way with a dopey grin.

you sigh, turning back to the library, “but i was thinking that… there’s gotta be a better way — an easier way, right?”

this time, he stays quiet to let you speak.

“because yeah, it’d be nice to melt all the weapons in the world and turn them all into nicer things but… there’s a better way to do things.”

“yeah? and what’s that?” umemiya turns the lighter around and around in his palm.

you turn and head for the door, locking it behind you. the moonlight washes your skin in a ghostly silver as you turn to face him.

“we rewrite the story,” you say.

umemiya flicks on the lighter and lets the fire dance between them. his breath catches on the liquid gold in your eyes.

“is… that even possible?” he asks.

you reach out a steady hand, letting the tips of your fingers barely skim over the shifting flame.

“sure it is. all of human history is just a story written by the victors. and… 451 degrees isn’t nearly as hot as 2,700.”

umemiya smiles then, letting the lid of the lighter click shut. the fire snuffs out, leaving only a thin trail of spiraling smoke behind.

“sounds a lot more reasonable, too. much less scary,” he says.

you laugh, turning towards the main street. he watches you go for a second before pocketing the lighter and making to catch up. when he levels himself with you, he reaches out to take your hand.

“fires don’t have to be scary,” you say, giving his hand a quick squeeze, “for most of human history… it’s brought people together — over a hot meal or a good story. a lot of the time… it’s the only reason we get to survive.”

umemiya pulls you in to loop his arm around your shoulder.

“hm. i like the sound of that way, way better.”

bonus:

“so… just makin’ sure — you don’t want me to burn down the new library you spent all this time setting up, right?”

“no you dumbass! it was just a metaphor.”

“oh. right — yeah, a metaphor, duh.”

156 notes · View notes

my-marcel1ne · 7 months ago

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𝐈 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐄𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡!

Synopsis: 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐌𝐚𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭?

Content: explicit content / Porn w plot / Maki x fem! reader / fem! x fem! reader / jjk x fem! reader / jjk smut / pet names / modern day jjk / time skip / friends with Maki and Mai as kids / Sibling Fighting / Pussy Eating / Degradation / Maki fucks her anger out on you / little bit of angst / angst to fluff / resolved angst / Maki and reader argue / happy ending / aftercare / cuddling

Word Count: 2.3k words

___________________________________

Mai hated Maki.

Okay maybe “hated” was a strong word, but she couldn’t stand her. Always flirting with her friends, tucking her hair behind her ear, and purposely getting her friends to fix her glasses when Maki made them crooked on purpose. Little stuff that irked Mai, but she had always ignored.

Okay, maybe Mai made a passive aggressive comment towards Maki every once in a while, but she never really ‘did’ anything about Maki’s annoying flirting.

It was tolerable, until she became friends with you.

——

“I don’t get why you hate her so much.”

Mai slammed her locker in your face, her frown now being clearly visible to you without the red locker door covering her lips.

“We’ve already talked about this y/n. She clearly has a thing for you. I mean, seriously, she eye fucks you every day!”

Your jaw drops and you bring your finger to your mouth, making a fake vomit noise.

“Please, me and Maki?! I would never date her! We’re nothing alike.”

You walk with Mai to your shared class and sit down as the bell rings. A flash of light blinds your eyes as your hand instinctively moves to protect your eyesight.

“Dude what the hell?” you say, looking at the black camera pointed directly in your face. When the lens moves, dark green hair hanging down the shoulders of a tall girl with glasses meets my face.

“Hey y/n. Sorry about that. Trying to take candid photos for the year book photo and didn’t realize how close I was to your desk. I’d love to take some different photos of you some other time though. For the year book, of course.”

Your blonde haired teacher taps a ruler to his desk and fixes his glasses, adjusting them off his nose.

“Maki, head to your desk. I control when the class starts, not you.”

Tucking her camera away, Maki makes her way to the back of the room. Lowering her hand down as she walks by, she places a note in your pocket. Mr. Nanami starts the lesson and you feel the note burning in your pocket, like coal made of secrets burning in the fireplace of your jeans. When the bell rings signaling the transition to your next class, you quickly head to your locker and open the note. As you read the messy, hot hand writing, your legs instinctively clench and your face burns red.

“I also wanna take photos of you that only I can see. That only I can fuck myself too.”

The bell rings and you shove the note far back in your locker, slamming the door and heading to your next

class. The end of the school day comes and Mai texts you on your phone.

“Wanna hang out today?”

Just getting home from school, you immediately fall down onto your bed and throw your face into your pillow. How can you face Maki again after that note? Your thoughts race as you frantically try to decide what to do. Mai would be devastated if you acted on any feelings with Maki. With that being said, would she rather be your friend and have you be with Maki, or not have you at all?

You open and close your phone, your thoughts race. You decide to text back.

“Hey Mai! Sorry I can’t hang out today, and I don’t think I’ll be able to for a while. Finals are coming up soon, and since this is our senior year I really gotta study!”

Your message turns blue as you hit the send button. Perfect. It’s the perfect excuse. You have to let her go because you love her. She’s your best friend, you like her sister but you love her.

_____

“but I love her.” November 22nd, 2022.”

“That’s what I wrote in my diary about you!”

Your friend responds with a defying belief of what you said.

“I know I can’t believe it either.”

Your voice rings throughout your room as you sit on your bed, calling your former friend Mai on your phone. Mai sighs and begins to speak.

“I can’t believe you let our friendship end over a crush on my sister! And to think eight years later we’d end up getting accepted into the same company. I still can't believe you recognized my last name!”

You giggle before responding. “Yeah me too. Hey, did you wanna meet up tomorrow? I’ve been super free recently and would love to get together.”

Mai responds eagerly. “Actually, me and some of our old friends I've stayed in contact with are going to my beach house tomorrow. In fact, one of our friends' girlfriends got sick so he stayed behind to take care of her. We didn’t know what to do with the extra ticket but now..would you wanna come with us?”

You hesitate out of nerves but ultimately decide to go.

“I would love to. Thanks for the invite, are you sure everyone else won’t mind me coming? I am a stranger after all.”

Mai sounded hurt at the word stranger but still spoke softy.

“You aren’t a stranger y/n. To them, you’re still a friend.”

The silence on the line wasn’t comfortable, but it was filled with a depressing remembrance. After a short moment that felt like forever, Mai spoke.

“Well I have to go but thankyou so much for talking with me again. It was nice catching up with you. I’ll text you all the details for the trip! See you soon! Bye!”

You smile and speak.

“Bye Mai!”

You hang up the phone and sit in the silence of your room.

“I should have asked if Maki was going.”

_______

Day of Beach Trip. June 8th, 2028.

Music blasts throughout your car as the wind from your rolled down windows whips your hair around. Your nerves laugh at you as your mind races. What if she’s there?

Your blue jean shorts reveal the plump skin on your thighs, covering your tits is a lacy, black, bathing suit top. The beach house slowly makes its way into your view as you pull closer into the driveway. Standing outside is a girl with short brown hair, next to her is Mai and-

oh fuck.

Maki.

You park, breathe, and finally work up the courage to get out of the car.

“Hey, you. Been a long time, hasn’t it?” Maki looks you up and down, you bite your lip and do the same.

“Not long enough..” you mutter under your breath and head inside. Maki rolls her eyes and follows you in.

“So, who invited you? I’m guessing my sister.”

Maki meets your eyes and you quickly blush and look away.

“Yeah, she told me I could come.”

Maki giggles and you look at her questioningly.

“I just didn’t know you still thought about cumming all these years later.”

Your jaw drops and you jab her with your elbow.

“Fuck you, Maki.”

Maki smirks and leans down to whisper in your ear.

“If you insist.”

She takes your wrists and pulls you up the stairs.

“Maki, what the fuck?! Where are we going?!?”

“Just follow me y/n. Please.”

Something about her tone makes you forget all other circumstances and you follow her with no complaint.

She leads you to a room, black out curtains block the light from the sun. She has her back to you until the sound of sniffling causes you to tap her shoulder and turn her around.

“Maki?” you inquire.

“Why didn’t you ever act on any feelings for me? We both liked each other and yet you just left!”

She throws your hand off of her shoulder and crosses her arms.

“Mai pretends like she doesn’t care but she’s still hurt over it too! Why did you just stop talking to us y/n?!?”

You pause, tears attempting to stream down your face.

“I never wanted to leave you guys! I wanted to be with you, but I didn’t want to hurt Mai. So I left. I know it was cowardly, and you both deserved better. It was the only thing I knew how to do at the time.”

Maki sits in silence before uncrossing her arms and walking towards you.

“Maki-“

She wipes your tears and leans down to move some hair behind your ears.

“Can I kiss you?”

You turn red and attempt to push her away.

“M-maki- You- I mean, you can’t just say that!”

Her arms snake around your lower back, and she holds you close, keeping you from pulling away. Her fingers go under your chin, and with her pointer she brings your face close to hers. Gently, she places a kiss on your lips. You slowly sink into the kiss, and place your hand on her cheek. You lick her lips, your tongue licking hers. You explore her mouth, your spit mixing and leaving a string when she pulls away. She picks you up and carries you over to the bed.

“Maki the door! It’s not locked.”

She giggles and rolls her eyes, walking over to the door to lock it. Making her way back to you, she places her hands around both your thighs and pulls your underwear down. Carefully she places her glasses on the side of the bed and places soft kisses around your thighs.

“M-Maki! Stop playing around.” You whisper shout at her, hoping to speed up her teasingly slow actions. She kisses your pussy and slowly licks the outside of your lips with her tongue.

“Please go faster Maki! And suck on my cl-“

Maki’s tongue dives into your pussy, her tongue snaking its way up to your clit and sucking on the bud. Her warm mouth makes your head feel fuzzy as you rock your pussy in her mouth.

“M-maki~ nmmmgh~ don’t stop~”

Maki sucks harder on your clit, causing you to moan out and throw your hand over your mouth.

“M-MAKI MMMGmmf~”

Your hands fly to her hair as your hips desperately ride her tongue. You cum in her mouth, her spit mixing with your juices and cum, making your pussy feel wet and warm. Maki kisses you, her tongue letting you know how fucking good you taste.

“How’s that for a kiss?”

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Someone knocks on the door as you frantically sit up and try to cover your naked body.

“Hey sorry! I’m getting changed!” You shout, hoping whoever’s behind the door won’t come in.

“Y/n? Is that you? It’s Mai! We’re gonna start some party games soon, so don’t take too long!”

You nervously laugh and reply.

“Okay Mai! Be down soon!”

Mai takes a step forward but then turns back to the door.

“Hey by the way, have you seen Maki anywhere?”

You gulp and hope Mai didn’t hear. Maki smirks, her fingers snaking up your thigh, teasing your entrance.

“N-no I haven’t. If I see her I'll make sure to let you know.”

Mai lingers for a sec before you guess she’s decided she’s satisfied with your answer.

“Maki, we have to go soon.”

You complain, but don’t stop her hands from teasing your clit and making you buck your hips into her hands.

“Don’t you want me, my pretty slut?”

You moan in response and urge her figures to go inside you.

“Maki please. I wan’ you so bad. I need you.”

You slur your words and Maki lets out a cocky, breathy laugh.

“Your pants and moans are so pathetic. You’re just a greedy, cum whore whose brain is leaking out of her cunt, right? Say it. Say you’re a pathetic cum whore.”

You bite your lip and moan as Maki shoves two fingers into your wet cunt.

“M-maki fuck. I’m a pathetic cum whore. Please js’ fuck me.”

Maki moves her fingers in and out of you slowly. She curls them up, making you moan out. As you go to beg her to speed up her movements, she starts slamming her fingers in and out of you fast.

“If you weren’t such a greedy, selfish, slut we could have done this ages ago.”

Maki’s fingers make you see stars as she relentlessly moves her fingers fast and faster, not giving you a chance to catch your breath. Her stamina was insane, her fingers never tiring as she curled them up into that one spot that had you barely concealing your moans.

“Maki- m-aki maki- i’m cumming! fuck It’s so good!”

You grip the bed sheets as your cum leaks out onto Maki’s fingers. She pulls her fingers out and licks your cum off her fingers. She grabs your chin and kisses you, leaving you breathless and panting.

“Was that okay? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Maki scoots to the end of the bed and pats a spot next to her, signaling for you to come over.

You slowly and sorely crawl over, and your head lays on her chest. Maki’s hands play with your hair as you talk to her.

“That was more than okay. Everything was perfect Maki thankyou.”

You go silent, and so does Maki. Eventually you decide to break the silence.

“Maki, what are we? I mean I know we don’t know each other, but maybe could we-“

Maki interrupts you by bringing your chin up with her fingers and placing a kiss on your lips. It’s soft, and you melt into it. You feel safe.

“I was just about to ask you to go out on a date with me. We have a lot of missed time to catch up on.”

You smile and place your head back on her chest.

“What are we gonna do about Mai?” You ask.

“Oh i’m sure she’s losing her mind right now” Maki says with a spiteful smile in her tone.

You lay there, your head on Maki’s chest, her fingers in your hair, and for once the thought of the unknown future doesn’t bring fear into your heart. In fact, it’s not even on your mind. The only thing haunting your thoughts is how fast Maki’s heart is racing.

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slytherinboysvip · 10 months ago

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Slytherin boys- Confession letters

( No Blaise in this one, I’m sorry to my Blaise girlies</33 )

Mattheo Riddle-

You opened your book bag to find a extremely folded up piece of notebook paper with a bunch of random rose doodles around it and opened it suspiciously

I don’t know what i’m doing right now, this is honestly so stupid. Anytime I’m near you it’s like I get a rush of shit i’m not used to and if I told you this in person I think id shit myself so take this and my awful wording. Y/n I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what love was, that rush of emotions I brought up before I understand what it is now, I’ve loved you, and I’ll continue to love you if you’ll let me, please Y/n, let me love and protect you forever. - your favorite dada partner ;)

Theodore Nott-

You were sitting in the Library when Theo walked passed and left an envelope in front of you, before you could question anything he hurried off seemingly in a rush, your name was on the letter so you opened it slowly

Y/n, If you’re reading this that means I wasn’t a little bitch and actually gave it to you, so congratulations. I’m going to make you work for this so get your translation book out, Hai cambiato la mia vita y/n, onestamente non so cosa farei senza di te a questo punto, tutto quello che so è che ti amo e voglio che tu sia mio, tutto mio, vero? (You’ve changed my life Y/n , I honestly don't know what I would do without you at this point, all I know is that I love you and I want you to be mine, all mine, will you?)

Draco Malfoy-

You were sitting in class when Draco sent over one of his flying bird notes, you were surprised it was for you, and were even more surprised when you saw them contents

Dear Y/n,

I don’t mean to seem so formal, but I honestly have no idea how to do this. Anytime we’re in the same room you’re all I can look at, everyone else disappears. You’re so gorgeous. You practically live in my head at this point, I understand we’re not the closest Y/n, but we can be. All I’m asking for is once chance with you, I promise you won’t regret it. - D.Mꨄ

Lorenzo Berkshire-

You were sitting at the black lake while Enzo was messing around near the water, while he wasn’t paying attention you noticed he had a letter with your name on it in his bag, so you decided to open it

I doubt I’ll ever actually give this to you, I don’t think I’d be able to handle the rejection of the most amazing, beautiful, and talented girl I know. I can’t get you out of my head love, merlin, love. I love you. There I said it. I Lorenzo Berkshire am in love with you. I’m definitely never giving this to you I sound insane. Fuck Y/n, you seriously have no idea what you do to me.

Tom Riddle-

While studying with tom he slipped you a note before getting up and leaving with no added words

I hate the way you make me feel. I hate that I can’t hate you, and I hate that you make me feel things. Be mine Y/n, I could make your life so much better, I’ll give you the entire world all you’d have to do is say please. Be mine and you could have everything you desire and more.

Im so sorry I have no idea what to write for Blaise right now loves, but hopefully you enjoyed this, I will make a part two of the post I made about Theo a couple days ago don’t worry <33 Alsooo I just want to let yall know that all the italian is google translated so Im sorry if the translations are wrong, but what I put is what they should say :)

#fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut #slytherin boys #smut #harry potter reader insert #harrypotterboys #draco malfoy #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #mattheo riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin #mattheoxreader #love confessions

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alexanderwales · 1 month ago

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My web serial, Worth the Candle, has been adapted into a webcomic. This was thanks to my agent, who I have a great fondness for, since without him I would have to spend time trying to make connections and call people and do a bunch of work that I don't know how to do and am not good at.

I was offered the chance to write the webcomic, but declined, mostly because writing Worth the Candle had taken four years and was pretty draining, and was a story that I feel like I'm done with, minus some editorial stuff, answering fan questions, and the odd bit of promotion. So my level of involvement is that I get the pages as they come in, make some comments on them, and generally just give feedback which they are free to ignore.

So let's talk about some of the adaptational changes! You can read the first three issues on Webtoon here, or the first eight issues if you're willing to pay, and the books start here, but I'll assume that you haven't read either, and there won't be substantial spoilers because I'm talking about stuff from the very beginning. Actually, I guess there will be some spoilers, but later on, and I'll mark them, mostly having to do with some foreshadowing that the webcomic does which I didn't do.

(I licensed the rights to make the webcomic to WebToon and took my money upfront, they didn't ask me to write this post, I have not actually asked the artist/writer why they made these changes, it's just me guessing and commenting, for fun. Edit: My agent has informed me that I'm mistaken, I do get a cut. So apologies for the misinformation, and hooray for me, I guess I signed the contract ages ago and just forgot the details.)

Character Design

Here's how Juniper Smith is described in the books, ch 2:

I won’t belabor my physical description. My friend Greg had once said that I looked like someone had chosen ‘default’ for every option in the character creator, which I’d tried to laugh at but cut kind of deep. I wasn’t handsome, I wasn’t ugly, none of my features were very prominent, my eyes were blue, my hair was brown, average build, average height … After Greg had made his comment at one of our D&D games, my nickname had been ‘default’ for a while, at least until I stopped pretending to find it funny, and even after that my friends would use similar lines to trash talk me, saying that I was “the most generic man alive”, “a white bread with skim milk motherfucker”, or “the human equivalent of vanilla ice cream”. Not that I was any less of an asshole to them.

This is how he looks in the comic:

I would more or less give this full marks.

In terms of other aspects of character design, Juniper is here given a black shirt with a red symbol on it rather than the stock white t-shirt he's wearing in the opening chapters of the first book, probably in the interests of adding in some visual variety. On the page, it's perfectly fine that every person in the first 50k words is wearing basically the same stock outfit. In a visual medium, I do think that you need that pop. I do think it's interesting that Juniper is wearing the same clothes in the classroom as he is on the plane, implying that when he transmigrated his clothes ... came with him? I don't know.

The other major character of the first section is Amaryllis, who is a major character in the entire work. Here's her description in the book:

Standing by a workbench, among various car parts, tools, and cans of unidentified fluids, was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I’m not really sure what protocol is here, in terms of prose. I mean, I don’t want to sound like a creep, so maybe I should stay as generic as possible and tell you about her dark red hair pulled back in a braid, the glacial blue of her eyes, how starkly alert she looked as she peered over the parts in front of her, or her grease-smeared clothes. Save for her eyes, I wasn’t really focused on any of that. My mind was consumed by tracing her curves, the shape of her chest in her blood-stained t-shirt, the fullness of her lips and the delicate way she had them parted -- and yeah, it was pretty fucked up that the splatter of blood on her shirt wasn’t worth rating much of a mention. I was consumed with staring at her and thinking how gorgeous she was, until I noticed that she was having a powerful effect on me, at which point different parts of my mind were given over to marveling at the sensation of being so attracted to a girl, and others were still focused on her.

Imagine that someone spent a few years studying your likes and dislikes, running through video of your every private moment, somehow surreptitiously hooking up EKGs to measure your physiological responses without you knowing. Then imagine that they sat down with that data and the best photo manipulation artists in the world and made the absolute perfect picture to cause your heart rate to spike, a jolt to run up your spine, butterflies in your stomach, and a cold sweat on your palms. Then imagine that they did this again, over and over in slight variations, until they had a full 4K 60fps 3D movie to show you. That was what it was like watching her.

And here she is (as she's introduced) in the comic:

Aside from the change in clothes, which in the book are the same white t-shirt and blue jeans that everyone else is wearing, Amaryllis has a scar on her face, of unknown provenance. This was probably added for visual variety, but I do find scars to be very fetching, and in one of the early versions of Worth the Candle she did have one (patterned off a woman with an extremely attractive facial scar I had met, the kind of facial scar that looked like it was applied by a Hollywood makeup artist specifically to give a touch of the exotic and mysterious, except she was a just a Midwestern mom).

And of course Amaryllis was always going to be an adaptational challenge, because the books are told through Juniper's eyes, and she's The Most Beautiful Girl in the World to him, and conventionally attractive to everyone else. Juniper tries to be normal about this. But if you're in the visual medium, you have to show both how Juniper feels and how she actually looks, and attractiveness is just so incredibly personal. My wife and I get in these kinds of discussions a lot, where she'll think someone is good-looking and I'll say "him?" or vice versa.

I think the above panel in particular is a good middle ground, a glamour shot that snaps back to the reality of their first meeting:

(The void gun she's holding there is much different from the one described in the book, not something cobbled together from spare parts and void equipment, but this is another very minor change that I would assume is meant for communicating immediately that this is a lethal weapon, and there's probably not a place for explaining how and from what it was cobbled together, which is also under-explained in the book for reasons of pacing.)

Story

I've read the first nine episodes, and overall, it's hewing very closely. There are a few bits in particular that stand out to me in how they're handled.

Spoilers for later in the series follow, I guess.

These are the opening lines of the webcomic. This is much stronger foreshadowing than I used, and I like it. Part of Juniper's backstory is that he's been deeply depressed and self-destructive, and he's slow to open up about this with other characters or the reader. The "it" that he couldn't go through with is, then, suicide. In the books? This comes very very late. Juniper being depressed after Arthur's death is brought up after the first major arc, halfway through what's now Book 1, and gets more explicit as the books go on, eventually getting to Juniper talking about his attempted suicide with people and grappling with it like ... almost halfway through?

I don't know what the plans for the webcomic are, but my guess is that they're setting up for much, much later on in a way that I didn't. This was always a background element, something that informed Juniper's character, not so much the suicide attempt as the feeling that came after, this understanding that yes, he did want to live, a heady, energizing kind of "I guess I don't have the way out that I thought I did" sort of thing.

So I take it as a good sign that this is the opening line. It points toward them understanding where they're going.

One of the other major adaptational changes is that they signpost Arthur's death with a memorial on his desk:

When I was getting pages, this was one of the first moments where I was like "yes, this is a good change, visual storytelling to replace my walls of text, flows and offers indirect information". I am very happy with the adaptation thus far, and stuff like this is what I love about adaptation in general, the need to grapple with the strengths and weaknesses of the medium.

Content Rating

Worth the Candle gets grim and dark in places. It at least attempts to grapple with serious things. The webcomic is rated Young Adult, and I'm not sure how they're going to handle the later stuff, but I can talk about how they're handling the stuff now, and what I think it means overall.

First, there's a lot less swearing. Worth the Candle in its entirety uses the word "fuck" ~1200 times. Granted, this is over the course of 1.6 million words, so a fuck density of one every 1.3k words, and some of those are in the verb "soulfuck" rather used descriptively, as exclamations, etc. My personal feeling is that this doesn't matter basically at all. I don't think I notice when someone isn't swearing unless they're using corny substitutions or trying to get cute with it.

Second, the violence is toned down in that YA way, where they're still showing much of the same things, just not with the same level of visceral detail. When a Marvel comic has someone thrown into a wall, they're no blood or snapping of bones or mangling of bodies, at least if it's a comic at a certain rating (I have definitely read some edgy 90s comics that do go hard on the violence). I think, overall, that this isn't my preference, which might be obvious from the way that I try to write fight scenes and such. But I'm also sort of inured to this toning down of violence, since it's omnipresent.

Third, there's the sex stuff, and ... well, it hasn't come up in the webcomic yet. I think I laid out my reasoning for why I think sex scenes should be written/included in Why to Write a Sex Scene, but the brief version is that sometimes you're showing how characters relate to each other, what they think of each other, and the sex scene shouldn't always just be something that's skipped over and left to the reader's imagination, because things happen, there are moments of communication, it can and does develop a relationship in the moment rather than after the fact. Plus a little titillation is, in my opinion, usually good.

The great thing about writing webfic is that no one can stop you from just including three solid chapters of hardcore pornography in the middle of your story. I have never done that, but I could is the point, and I would only get complaints from people who have no power over me. That same freedom doesn't exist here, and ... yeah, it makes my heart sink a little bit.

Fourth, there's some of the more mature content stuff, the topics that might not be broached. I don't know how they're handling that, so I reserve judgment, but I think my opinion is probably going to be "well, you do what you have to do", and if my version of the story is superior because there are no brakes, then I can be smugly superior about that.

Conclusion

This is already a fairly long post, and there are a few other things that I could have remarked on, but I think this is all the most interesting stuff.

Alright, just one real quick: Arthur is adaptationally more attractive, though this is also how Juniper sees Arthur and I think by the standards of webcomics, this is actually sort of necessary. Most of the flashback cast is not described until much later on, and by then you kind of know and understand them from the things they've said, if you can keep track of them. Many of the flashbacks are nearly disembodied. But if you're showing Arthur early, then the first impression he's going to make is in his appearance, and that really anchors people.

So overall, I am happy with the adaptation. There are challenges ahead, and I'm thankful that I'm not the one who needs to tackle those challenges.

#worth the candle

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colormepurplex2 · 9 months ago

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In Memory of Him | It's Cold In Here

↳ Florist!Taehyung x Artist!f.Reader ⤜ Non-Idol, Late Husband's Best Friend ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 13,558 ⚠️ Mild language, death/loss of a loved one, deep depression, high anxiety, loads of guilt, hidden feelings, realizations, hurt feelings, repressed feelings, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

With trembling fingers, you smooth out the letter that you found attached to a bundle of flowers on your doorstep.

To the love of my life, For after the funeral Take a deep breath, baby, I know it’s not easy. Even as I sit and write this, I can feel your energy in the next room. You’re always such a worrier, I’m sorry I’ve added to that. It’ll all be better soon, I promise. But, I know you and I know that you’ll pull away, you’ll cut yourself off…and we can’t have that, now can we? You have to keep going if we’re to stay connected even after I’m gone.

So, here’s the first of a collection of some things that you can hold and look back on when the storm starts to roll in. There are only so many words in existence to describe what you mean to me. So, instead of words, I want you to remember these feelings: Warmth - like the sun on your face while you read a great book Satisfaction - the way you sigh softly after a good, lazy day in bed Contentment - waking up with a smile on your face every morning Peace - that moment of quiet before the rain starts, when the scent of petrichor filters in These are all the things you’ve brought into my life the last seven years. I’ve never been able to look at the sun, sleeping, smiles, or storms the same. Never did I imagine I’d meet and marry such a beautiful, kind-hearted soul with a genuinely unique outlook on life. I never had to be reminded to smile because it just came so naturally whenever you were around. You have brought so much light into my world and gave me the best years of my life. You also gave me Sujin, the perfect little replica of myself even if you think he looks more like you than me (I secretly agree, but that’s not something I’ll admit outloud). When I look at our wonderful son, I’m reminded of the beauty that first drew me to you all those years ago. Being his father is the second greatest achievement of my life, the first being making you fall madly in love with me…don’t laugh, you know it’s true. Many people see things in black and white, a beginning and an end…but our life isn’t like that. We’re full of color and everything in between. You’ve supported me at my best and have loved me at my worst. Everything good in my life is because of you. I know you’ll always love me, and I know it won’t be easy once I’m gone, but I need you to promise me you’ll continue to wake up with that smile on your face and never forget how the sun feels or how beautiful the quiet before the storm is. I need my light, my girl, to keep going. Be that guiding light so I know exactly where you are in the world as I watch over you and Sujin. We knew forever wasn’t guaranteed, that’s just the way life is, right? This doesn’t mean it’s over, not by a long shot. You still have so much more to give, so much more love to offer. I know you’d never forget about me, that’s not what this letter is for—it’s not a reminder of me, it’s a reminder to live, love, and keep shining. There are more where this came from, Taehyung has them and knows what to do, but not until you’re ready for them. I love you so much, never stop living—for me, for Sujin…for you. Love forever, Your Yejun

The letter crumples in your fist, the bundle of hibiscus and lavender it was attached to forgotten on the step between your feet as you bury your face in the crook of your elbow and scream. It’s better that way—the symbolism of the hibiscus flower on a letter from Yejun is a punch to the gut when he’s no longer here. Eternity? Bullshit. The sound is muffled into the thick wool of your coat but no less filled with agony. As if the day wasn’t hard enough, everything went belly-up when you found the flowers and the letter on your door step. You choke on a breath of air as you try to control yourself.

“Yejun.” His name drips from your trembling lips, absorbed into your jacket sleeve like your cries. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave us?”

A hand on your shoulder makes you flinch, jerking away from the potential comfort, despite it being exactly what you need right now. You crowd against the wall, knees knocking into one another as you huddle in on yourself where you’re sitting in the stairwell outside your apartment door.

“Hey, hey, hey, come here,” a strong, soothing voice coos. Your limbs protest weakly for a moment, your heart raging with guilt at the prospect of finding solace in another man’s arms—even if that man is Taehyung, your now late husband's best friend—but the desperate need for someone to hold your pieces together wins out. You fear if you let yourself truly break, you’ll never be able to be made whole again. You frantically launch into those open arms, keening a wail into the solid chest between them. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

💔💔💔

Two years later

“Mommy, are we going to Uncle Tae’s house today?” Sujin asks from behind you, where he’s strapped into his booster seat.

You glance in the rearview mirror, angling yourself so you catch a glimpse of his smile as he stares out the window, patiently awaiting your answer. It’s gotten easier over the last two years to look at him without growing weepy. He looks like and reminds you so much of Yejun. They have the same chestnut-colored eyes and floppy midnight tresses. When he smiles, the tiny dimple on his left cheek is a near mirror to his father’s and something that your eyes seek out every time he flashes you a grin. Little pieces of his father that fill the gaps in your heart.

“Did you not want to stay at Grandma’s tonight? That’s what you said you wanted yesterday,” you remind him.

Sujin hums like he’s thinking hard about your question. “Well, I did want to go to Grandma’s, but I also want to see Uncle Tae, and plus, he always has good ice cream. All Grandma has is boring vanilla.”

“How about we see if Uncle Tae wants to hang out this weekend? I think Grandma would be sad if you decided not to stay with her tonight.”

In truth, you’d also be a bit disappointed if Sujin changed his mind. Being only four when his father passed, he doesn’t remember Yejun much, mostly knows him from photos and stories he’s heard. So, it’s not surprising he’s not able to put together that today is the second anniversary of his father’s passing. He doesn’t know that tonight isn’t just about your mom getting a visit. It’s also about you having an evening to grieve without being under your son's watchful and inquisitive eye.

Though maybe you’re wrong, perhaps he knows more than you think as he responds softly, “It’s okay, Mommy, I’ll stay with Grandma so you can go visit Daddy.”

If it wasn’t for tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you might have driven right off the highway. “You know what today is?” you ask hesitantly once your initial shock passes.

“Of course I do,” Sujin says with another smile, his dimple catching in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the car window. “I might not remember him, but I could never forget him.” It’s a wonder there aren’t more six-year-old poets, as what he just said is easily the most eloquent thing ever uttered by a child. Your heart swells, and you feel that telltale burn in the back of your nose and behind your eyes as you blink away the flood of emotions threatening to spill into the open.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “That’s right. He’d be so proud of you and how much you’ve grown.”

“He’d be proud of you, too, Mommy.”

It’s another blow, directly targeting the cracks already forming in your armor. Fissures zip and snap over the surface of the wall you’ve spent the last two years building. “Thank you, buddy. I love you,” you manage to get past the lump in your throat.

The rest of the car ride home is spent with Sujin telling you about his day at school and how one of his classmates snuck a salamander into the classroom after recess. You hum, haw, and laugh as he recounts the way the class reacted to the discovery of the amphibian.

It makes you feel lighter, listening to his words and hearing the clear whimsy his heart possesses as the salamander suddenly becomes a dragon and Sujin, the fearless knight that saved the teacher—the damsel in distress—by scooping it up and putting it in an empty lunch box.

“She said since I was so brave and such a good helper that I could go outside with Mr. Kim, the science teacher, and help him release it back into the wild,” he proudly proclaims. “Did you know salamanders like water? Mr. Kim said they’re kind of like frogs even though they look more like lizards.” Sujin continues on, spouting off facts he learned about the salamander from his science teacher.

It’s a short drive from the school to your apartment. You’ve often thought about moving, using some of the life insurance money from Yejun to buy you and Sujin a lovely place outside the city. But, your mom lives just a floor up, and it’s been convenient having someone so close to look after Sujin when you need them, like tonight.

Having your mom close by, not just as a babysitter but also as an emotional support outlet, has been a blessing and far outweighs the other feelings—the seemingly endless void that now lingers in place of your late husband. With that, though, you can’t help looking at your small apartment as more like a preservation of memories. It was the first place you and Yejun moved into after getting married. It’s the place you both brought Sujin home to when he was born. It’s still filled with so many memories…you’re not sure you want to leave—at least, not yet.

The building has no elevator, just several winding flights of steps right up the middle. “Go on up to Grandma’s. I’ll stop by with dinner before I leave. Remember, homework first before you play.”

Sujin gives you a beaming smile and nods his head in understanding before vaulting up the stairs, his strong six-year-old legs carrying him far faster than your own. You watch him disappear up the stairs—the last flash of his face so reminiscent of Yejun racing up those very same steps the day you moved in—followed by the familiar sound of your mother’s voice drifting out over and down the stairwell as she welcomes him into her space—a safe space, away from the looming cloud of darkness over you.

Knowing he’s occupied and cared for, you allow your mask to slip just a little. The weight on your shoulders eases as you let the emotional fatigue roll in and replace your typically calm and collected demeanor. Even after two years, it’s not gotten any easier when this particular day comes. The holidays are hard, sure. There are plenty of days where you find yourself feeling like it’s too much…but nothing truly compares to this day. It’s not filled with happy memories the way those other days are. It’s nothing but darkness. There is a constant ache in your chest, which is amplified when the calendar turns over, and you find yourself once again reliving that fateful day all over again.

You spent nearly every waking hour sitting beside Yejun, the uncomfortable, stiff hospital chair becoming your permanent perch. The ventilator was always loud, but the punching swoosh grew to be comforting because you knew that meant he was still there. All the lines and tubes hooked up to him made it look like a scene from one of those sci-fi films he enjoyed making you watch with him. Yejun was so full of life when you first met, many years before. But, the image stuck in your mind—the one you can’t seem to get rid of—is of him with sallow cheeks and pale, greyish lips, drained of life.

It’s weird to think of watching someone die. But that’s precisely what you did over the six months Yejun was in the hospital. The disease moved quickly, the cancer stealing your husband away bit by bit, and you were powerless to stop it. That’s probably one of the worst parts, the helpless feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t prevent it from happening. No amount of prayer, begging, or screaming would change it. He’d still die, just the same. Day by day, the best parts of the man you loved vanished, and by the end—you feel guilty even thinking the thoughts, so you push them out of your head.

After unlocking the door, you step into the quiet space of your apartment. Your shoes join the ones discarded by the door before you drop your purse on the small console table against the wall and make your way across the living room to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Sujin’s room is the first door. You peek inside to see that he had made up his bed before school this morning. You make a mental note to grab one of his chocolate popsicles from the freezer before dropping off dinner tonight. He deserves a little treat for being such a good kid.

The small single bathroom sits between Sujin’s room and the larger of the two bedrooms, the one you shared with Yejun for almost five years. You haven’t changed any of the decor. Everything is the same as it always has been, right down to the pillow on Yejun’s side of the bed. It took months before you mustered the courage to wash the pillow case and cried the entire time you stripped the pillow and plopped it in the washer.

The pillow was small fish compared to the closet. Going through all of Yejun’s clothes nearly took you out. Thankfully, Taehyung was there to help. You weren’t the only one that lost someone two years ago today. Taehyung and Yejun grew up together and worked together for the last dozen years, starting out as teens together at Taehyung’s parents' florist shop. They are—were—as close as brothers, and not just for the fact that Taehyung’s parents took Yejun in when his parents both passed, but because of their unbreakable bond—a bond nearly as strong as the one you had with Yejun.

Taehyung has been there for you whenever you’ve needed him since Yejun’s passing. All it takes is a phone call or a text message, and he drops everything for you. You try not to take advantage of it because you don’t want him sucked into your empty void any more than he already is. No grown man should be attached to a woman like that, especially when he has no obligation for it.

But, you must admit, it’s nice knowing he’s there…especially today. This is the one day of the year that you know you don’t have to text or call Taehyung for him to show up. His one promise to you. He’ll be there, waiting for you at the cemetery, just like he was last year.

You pull off your oversized t-shirt and worn jeans covered in splotches of paint from your time in the studio today. Once a well-known local artist, you haven’t been able to create anything worthwhile since Yejun passed. He would always joke about being your one true muse. It seems he wasn’t wrong. Everything you’ve been able to create in the last two years feels wrong, like it’s missing something.

The life insurance you received from Yejun has been more than enough to keep you and Sujin afloat. However, you feel like a failure having even to touch that money, even if it’s just to pay the bills. If you could just get your life together, you’d be able to provide for yourself and Sujin the way you once did—before everything happened. Shoving that line of thinking away, you focus on the here and now, just getting through the next handful of hours.

A quick shower later, and you’re dressed in a warm sweater and a clean pair of jeans with thick wool socks. It’s cold, winter having well and truly taken hold outside, but when the sun goes down, the bite from the wind grows more bitter. Grabbing the large, lidded bowl of beef stew you had cooking in the slow cooker all day. You wrap it in a dish towel to keep from burning your hands on the hot sides, snag a popsicle for Sujin, and make the short trip upstairs to your mom’s place.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom greets you when she opens the door. She’s gotten a lot more grey in her hair in the last year or so. The steel-colored strands stand out against her temples, framing her strong but still soft face. You used to think she looked too austere, but then you realized that was just the permanent mark of motherhood and time.

“Hi, Mom. Did Sujin get his homework done?” You follow your mom in, shutting and locking the door behind you as she ambles into the kitchen on the other side of the living room. Her apartment is a near mirror of your own, her second bedroom set up for Sujin as well.

“He finished a bit ago and wanted to break out the paints. Was nattering on about some sort of lizard, I think. He wanted to try to paint it,” she explains, putting the tea kettle on without needing to ask. Peppermint tea with a dollop of honey can fix even the worst of woes in her eyes. She’ll insist you have some just as she has any other time she can feel your darkness crowding in. You’ve grown to appreciate your mother's intuition, both for yourself and your son's sake.

“There was an incident involving a student bringing in a salamander at school, it seems. Sujin helped the teacher and was allowed to go out with Namjoon—Mr. Kim—to release it.” You recall the conversation in the car, your mother chuckling softly when you tell her about the salamander turning into a dragon.

She busies herself, packing the tea steeper with her own blend of mint tea. Tending the small garden of herbs and spices that she keeps on the fire escape off the living room, is how she spends most of her days since she retired a few years ago. Even in winter, she keeps a small plastic greenhouse over them, opening it just enough to care for them each day. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with that science teacher now?” she asks. You can tell she’s lightly probing, trying to figure out if there is anything more between you and ‘Mr. Kim’.

“I met him at the beginning of the year when we had parent-teacher meetings. He insisted I call him Namjoon, that’s all, Mom.”

Humming, she grabs the kettle just before it begins to whistle. “Still, he’s nice?” she asks, casting you a glance over her shoulder.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, wishing she’d not try to go down this path of questioning. You know she means well, but you’re just…you’re not ready to think about those things.

“He’s nice enough, Mom, I guess. It was just a slip of the tongue. I’m used to greeting him at drop-off in the mornings. It’s not—I don’t, it’s just being cordial, y’know? I’m not ready…” you trail off, hoping your mom picks up on what you’re trying to say so you don’t actually have to say it; not today.

Her free hand goes to her mouth, covering her frown. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—you know I’d never, not like that. I’m sorry. Forgive an old fool for her loose words.”

“It’s okay, Mom, really,” you offer with a tight smile as you set the stew on the counter and pop the popsicle you brought for Sujin in the freezer.

She sets down the tea, the cup slightly trembling on the tiny saucer she serves it on. “I made some pajeon to go with the stew. It’s warming in the oven. Are you going to stay for dinner?” she asks, seeing that you need to move on from the previous subject.

You settle on one of the chairs at her small dining table, pick up the tiny teacup, and blow across the surface before taking a tentative sip. The mint is a cooling contrast to the heat of the liquid, coating your throat with a soothing sensation. The blooming sweetness of the honey lingers on your tongue, helping combat the intense punch of the minty flavor. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home.

“I’m not all that hungry. You and Sujin enjoy it. You’re sure you’re okay taking him to school tomorrow?” She gives you a fond smile and nods. “I’ll pick him up on my way home and we’ll come have dinner.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.”

You finish off the tea, suppressing a grimace as it goes down a little too warm and nearly scalds your throat. The sun will be completely down soon, and you’d like to get to the cemetery before it’s too dark out. “I should get going. Just going to say hi to him real quick.”

Your mom watches you stand. Her eyes are hyper-focused on your face. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says slowly. It’s clear she wants to say more, but you’re glad she doesn’t push.

The room your mom has set up for Sujin has a small bed pushed into one corner, leaving the rest of the space for him to play—unlike his room at your place, which has a writing desk and dresser taking up the majority of the play space. He’s never complained, though, choosing to get creative with the small room he does have. “Hey, buddy, Grandma said you’re painting. Can I see?”

You lean on the door jamb, peering into the room. The easel Sujin is using is angled away from the door. All you can see is smears of bright color peeking around the edge of the canvas.

His bright eyes meet yours as he grins extra wide. “It’s not done yet, but of course you can see it.”

Stepping in and around the easel frame, you take in the canvas covered in paint. When your mom said he was going to paint the salamander, you knew there was a possibility of said ‘lizard’ being portrayed as a dragon as it was in Sujin’s story in the car. But what you didn’t expect were the characters surrounding the dragon. You count them, six in total. The brunette woman at the top of the castle tower is clearly Sujin’s teacher, Mrs. Min. Sujin himself is astride the dragon, and who you think is Namjoon stands in a corner near some trees, his large-frame glasses are what lead you to believe that’s who it is. The other three characters are where you’re a bit lost.

“Who are these people?” you ask, gesturing to the other feminine figure framed by two men; one with unruly black hair and the other with small angel wings extending from his shoulders. It dawns on you the moment you ask.

“That’s you, Daddy, and Uncle Tae, of course,” Sujin proudly states. “You were in the tower with Mrs. Min. I’m rescuing her, and Uncle Tae is rescuing you while Daddy guides him.”

You’re not sure what to say. But you can’t help looking at your son in a different light. He’s only six, but in moments like this, you feel like his soul is older and wiser than yours. “It’s lovely,” you finally say, because it truly is, and everything else you could say would definitely start the waterworks, and there will be enough of that later. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get you. Be good for Grandma. There’s a treat for you in the freezer, but only after dinner, okay?” You feel like you’re running away—and maybe you are, but the darkness creeps in just a little bit further the more you look at his painting.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sujin beams at you sweetly. He lifts his chin, angling a cheek in your direction for a kiss. You plant one there, throwing an arm around his back for a quick squeeze, too. “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, buddy,” you murmur, shoving down the suffocating feeling bubbling in your chest—just need to make it a few more hours.

💔💔💔

The cemetery is about an hour's drive from your place in the city. Yejun grew up in the countryside, and the columbarium where he’s interred is at the cemetery closest to his and Taehyung’s childhood home. It’s a quiet drive, a typical Tuesday evening if it were any other week. You don’t even bother with music, haven’t in the last two years, preferring to just soak in the quiet and try to center yourself.

As you pull into the parking area outside the gate to the grounds, you spot Taehyung’s black SUV. He’s standing beside it, leaning against the driver's side door with his chin tipped down below the line of the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Your headlights swing across his vehicle, illuminating him in the process as you park.

You take your time climbing out of your car, casting fleeting glances in his direction while you gather your courage and resolve. He’s wearing a thick grey-colored tweed coat that covers him to the knees, and khaki slacks lead down to shiny brown loafers. His hair is windswept, the fluffy waves moving across his forehead with every gust of chilly air.

“Hey,” you say as you swing open your door and step out. He catches your eye over the roof of your car and gives you a soft smile.

“Good evening. Drive okay?”

You nod. “Not too much traffic, which is always nice.”

“You should have let me come and pick you up.” It’s the same thing he said last year, to which you decline politely just the same as well.

“Thanks, but I enjoy the drive. Gives me time to think.”

His eyes flick over you, taking you in from head to toe. There is understanding clear on his face. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the entrance gate. You notice a small bundle of flowers held in his other hand that’s hanging by his side. “Oh, this is for you.” It surprises you when Taehyung offers you the flowers, having thought he was bringing them to leave in Yejun’s vase.

You take the offered cluster, automatically bringing it to your nose and giving it a delicate sniff. It’s hard to smell the fragrance in the cold, but as you peer down at the flowers and take in the deep purple and soft pink, the scent of lavender and hibiscus filters through as if on a memory. It’s a combination that reminds you painfully of Yejun, as this was always his go-to whenever he would bring you home flowers from the shop after work.

“Thank y—“ your polite words cut off as you hear the distinct crackle of paper as you shift the bundle of flowers between your hands. “What’s this?” you ask, holding the flowers up until you see the small envelope attached to the hemp string holding the bunch together.

“A note,” Taehyung responds slowly as if he’s trying to decide if that’s all he’ll say. “Perhaps wait until we’re settled to read it?”

You finger the crisp fold of parchment, wondering. “Okay, yeah,” you agree, chalking it up to most likely being a grievance note from Taehyung, and it might be awkward for you to read it right now in front of him.

The cemetery typically closes at sundown, but Taehyung has access as the gardener. When he and Yejun took over Taehyung’s parents' floral shop, they expanded the business to include landscaping for local companies and establishments. The cemetery is one such establishment they took on. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking the small pedestrian gate that must have been locked up not too long ago, judging by the sun barely having dipped below the horizon.

“Moojin left about ten minutes before you pulled up,” Taehyung explains casually, confirming the thought you just had. “It’ll just be us, so we can take as much time as we need.”

Maybe you should feel bad that Taehyung gives you preferential treatment and access to the cemetery after hours, but it’s hard to care about that when other, darker feelings have you clutched so tightly. The walk to the columbarium is relatively short, being one of the newer buildings erected within the grounds just some twenty years ago or so.

“The trees are doing well, even in the winter,” you note, nodding toward the row of young pines along the fence line. It was one of the last projects Yejun worked on with Taehyung before he became ill.

“He’d be able to tell you all the properties of the tree that make it sustainable during this time of the year,” Taehyung responds, his voice carrying notes of sadness. Yejun doesn’t come up much in conversation between the two of you, most things not needing to be said, merely understood without a spoken word. So, it’s surprising and endearing to actually hear Taehyung talk about him, especially now.

You smile, knowing he’s right. “With enough scientific jargon to make you go cross-eyed trying to keep up, too.”

That earns you a soft laugh from Taehyung. “And he wouldn’t even realize it until you’re so lost you can’t even pretend to have understood.”

“I miss that,” you whisper with a sigh, your warm breath misting lightly in the cold.

Taehyung slips his arm through yours, hooking his elbow around the crook of your arm. “Me, too.”

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s never easy, watching the way you suffer through your emotions. Taehyung knows you try to hide them, and sometimes you’re successful. But others…like right now, he can read you as clear as a bright spring sky. Only instead of pastel blues, pinks, and yellows, you’re a stark monochrome of Pantone grey. Just as clear, but decidedly less alive. He hates it. Knowing just how vibrant of a person you once were. When Yejun left your life, so, too, did the color, it seems. Leeched away with the slow death of your husband. It’s a cruel fate, Taehyung has decided, and it’s one you never deserved. Yejun also knew this. He saw this in the way you mourned at his bedside, even before he was gone. It’s why Yejun made Taehyung promise to take care of you, to never let you forget how to smile.

As more time passes, Taehyung isn’t sure whether or not he’s done a good job by Yejun’s request. Not when the dark circles around your eyes seem to get more permanent every time Taehyung sees you. It’s why he brought the letter—the next letter. He’s curious if you remember the first one, the one that came the day of Yejun’s funeral; the one that had you crawling into Taehyung’s arms for the first time, seeking the comfort you knew was there.

That’s happened a few times in the two years since Yejun now. Any time you begin to fray at the edges and unravel a bit too quickly, Taehyung’s been there, weaving you back together the best he can. It might not be pretty, but a patchwork quilt is better than shredded rags, he likes to think. He hopes, at least.

“Are you warm enough?” Taehyung asks, realizing your arm is trembling around his. The jacket you’re wearing is far too thin, meant more for warding off spring rain showers than winter chills. Your lips are formed into a thin, bloodless line as if you’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, and your brow is pinched.

The lift of your shoulder is subtle, dismissive and nonchalant. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Here,” Taehyung insists, pulling you to a halt on the walking path. “Take this.” He shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the thinner trench you’re wearing over your sweater. You instantly relax, a soft sigh misting the air in front of your mouth.

“Thank you. I forget how cold it gets out here at night,” you mumble, encouraging Taehyung to continue walking toward the entrance to the columbarium, where Yejun’s memorial awaits. “Are you sure you’ll be okay without it?” Your eyes are round and glassy when you look up at him, the moonlight overhead reflecting in their depths.

The thick sweater Taehyung has on paired with his wool scarf is enough to stave off the wintery bite, but what warms him the most is seeing your eyes flash with a brief flicker of life when you snuggle into the depths of his jacket, bringing the tweed collar up around your neck after he assures you he’s fine without it.

Your feet shuffle, your stride slowing as you approach the columbarium. Taehyung can feel your hesitancy. The air around you is suffocating and full of static, something Taehyung wants desperately to help dispel.

“Come on. Together.” Taehyung offers you his hand, splaying his fingers wide in invitation. You lick your lips, eyes flicking between Taehyung’s face and his offered hand. Finally, you sag a little and slip your fingers in between his.

Your hand is soft and delicate in his. Taehyung has always admired your ability as an artist, being able to take your hands and a simple tool like a paintbrush and create something profound and breathtaking. Some might argue that what Taehyung does is also a form of art, but he swears it’s nothing compared to the pure magic you create. He’s found himself under your spell more than once, entranced by your art.

Even the works you’ve created in the last two years, the things you keep hidden away in your studio, are still quite beautiful—if more haunted. Taehyung knows you’re not selling any art and you haven’t hosted a gallery night in almost three years now. The few times he’s been inside your studio since Yejun, you’ve indulged his curiosity and let him look at the things you’ve worked on.

Taehyung cherishes those private moments you allow him within your space. He uses them as a time to reflect on what life has brought to you and to him. You have a shared experience of losing someone, but it’s clear you’re both working through your pain differently. Your studio, once a bright and vibrant space filled with inspiration and captured moments of love, is now more of a tomb, silent and full of the whisper of death.

Taehyung eases open the door to the columbarium. The motion-activated lights within flicker on and fill the space with a soft yellow glow. It’s better than the typical fluorescent white lights they used to use. Taehyung thinks the bright, sterile lighting is far too reminiscent of a morgue or hospital, not exactly places people should be reminded of when coming to visit their dead loved ones. So, he suggested the change when he took over doing the gardening for the cemetery.

Yejun’s niche is towards the back of the space, near the bottom. You separate yourself from Taehyung, letting the bundle of flowers droop upside down in your hand as you step lightly across the floor. You look like a specter, gliding across holy ground in search of what’s keeping you tied to this plane of existence. In many ways, Taehyung thinks that’s precisely what is happening with you. You’re suspended in time, stuck in a limbo of heartache.

In the two years since Yejun, you haven’t been able to move on, even though that’s exactly what Yejun wanted you to do. Yejun never wanted you to mourn him for long. He told Taehyung there was far too much love for you to give, and you had a heart big enough to love someone else while still holding true to Yejun. What Yejun failed to realize, Taehyung thinks, is that without Yejun, you didn’t want to love again.

Taehyung holds back a few steps, giving you some time to have a private moment as you kneel down in front of Yejun’s niche. The placard covering the niche is engraved with his name, birth and death dates, and a small metal frame that holds a glass engraved likeness of Yejun. It pains Taehyung to see the smiling face and crinkled eyes behind his wireframed glasses. Yejun was his brother in all ways, except for being born to the same parents. That didn’t matter to them, though—still doesn’t matter to Taehyung. They love—loved—each other just as fiercely as if they had been.

“Yejun,” you whimper his name, pressing a hand to the placard, head hanging low. Taehyung watches your shoulders shake with silent sobs, and he can’t take it anymore. He moves across the space and kneels down beside you, ignoring the cold that instantly leeches through the knees of his trousers. Before he can think better of it, he has his arms around you, trying to hold you together…trying to keep your seams from unraveling too fast.

Taehyung coos softly, murmuring as many words of encouragement and solace as can work past his quivering lips, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I promise. He loved you so fiercely. I miss him, too. I’m here for you. Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Over and over again, Taehyung repeats it like a mantra until your sniffles subside, and you slump into his arms, feebly returning his embrace.

Feeling your arms around him is a comfort, one that helps him keep his own tears in check. “Thank you for being here,” you sniff before burying your face in his scarf and inhaling deeply.

“I’m always going to be here for you,” Taehyung offers, smoothing a hand over your hair in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. He watched Yejun console you enough times to have a good idea of what might help. After Sujin was born, you battled postpartum depression for a while, and Taehyung helped wherever he could, giving him those brief glimpses into your emotional turmoil. Yejun always petted your hair and let you ground yourself in his embrace. He never even had to say a word; just let you draw on his strength. So, Taehyung has always tried to emulate that for you whenever you’ve needed him.

You sigh, and Taehyung reluctantly lets you pull away to sit back on your heels. “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says, capturing the side of your face in one of his hands. You sway on your knees; big, round, red-rimmed eyes locked onto his. “Never apologize to me. You’re human, not a mess. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, lips barely moving. You slowly turn, sitting with your back against Yejun’s niche.

“Okay,” Taehyung repeats, and settles in beside you. He barely notices the cold this time as it seeps through the seat of his pants. There are far too many fierce emotions rolling through him to be bothered by the chill.

“Is it okay if I read this now?” you ask after several moments of shared silence.

Taehyung looks over at you, fingering the small envelope attached to the bundle of fresh flowers he brought. He swallows past the thick knot in his throat, worried about you reading it but knowing you need to. Perhaps it’ll be best read when he’s around and not in the solitude of your apartment where you could fall apart without someone there to catch you; Taehyung knows Sujin is staying at your mother’s tonight.

He clears his throat. “Uh, sure, yeah.”

“They really are beautiful,” you say, voice so soft it barely carries to Taehyung. You admire the flowers for a moment, and the anxiety Taehyung had earlier in the shop when he was wrapping them goes away. He was worried that he got the flowers wrong. He knew Yejun always brought you fresh flowers, different types for different occasions. Yejun was all about the spiritual and emotional meaning of flowers, something that Taehyung hardly paid any mind to until after.

Finally, you tug the end of the string that attaches the envelope to the flowers, and you set them to the side. The flap is tucked into the envelope, so you slide it out and remove the tri-folded parchment from within. It looks the same as it did the day Yejun gave it to Taehyung a few weeks before he died. It’s the same as all the other letters waiting in a box under Taehyung’s bed—waiting for the right moment, waiting for you.

“If you need a moment—” Taehyung begins to say, but you hold up a hand to silence him. Slowly, you unfold the paper and smooth it over your thighs. Your eyes flick over the paper, snatching on random words until they hit the name signed at the bottom.

“What is this?” you whisper, yet your voice cuts like steel. “Is this a cruel joke?” You hold the paper up for Taehyung to see. At the top, it reads ‘For if you haven’t moved on’. Taehyung can understand why you might think so.

“N-no. It’s…there’s…” Taehyung pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again. “It’s not a joke. It’s from Yejun.” The look of hurt that ghosts across your face brings a prickling heat behind Taehyung's eyes, and he has to blink them several times to hold his emotions at bay as he explains. “The letter I gave you after the funeral?” He waits until you give him a subtle nod. “This is another he gave me…along with many others.”

“Many others?” you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone.

“He wanted to leave you something, something more than just your memories and heartache. So, he spent a few weeks, before he got bad, writing letters to you. He gave them to me and made me promise I’d give them to you when the time was right. This one—” Taehyung nods toward the letter held between your fingers “—was one I wasn’t sure if I’d have to give you or not. It was one Yejun specifically said to only give you if…well, if you hadn’t started living life again.”

“Hadn’t started living life again?” You balk at that, rearing back from him with an angry look pinching your face.

Taehyung feels like he’s botching this, not explaining it properly to you or something. “Just, just please read it.” Taehyung has no idea what the letter says. He never wanted to invade Yejun’s and your privacy. He’s hoping, though, that maybe the letter might hold some key information to help you understand…to help ease your anger in a way that Taehyung’s words can’t seem to.

You stare at Taehyung for a moment, and he’s certain you’re about to spit in his face and leave him sitting here alone. But, you finally shake your head and sigh, settling back into place and focusing on the paper. Taehyung is sorely tempted to try and read over your shoulder, but he doesn’t want to further your ire. So, he slides a few inches away, opening up a wide, cold gap between the two of you…and waits.

💔💔💔

To the love of my life, For if you haven’t moved on Hi, baby. I hope this is a letter Tae never has to give you, but if you’re reading this, then that means we’re not doing so well. I say ‘we’, because I’m still there with you. Just like I promised in my other letter. I told Tae to use his discretion on whether to ever give you this or not. He knows you nearly as well as I do, so I trust him. So, if you ever read this, know he doesn’t mean any harm by it…I don’t mean any harm by it. But, baby, you gotta start living again. At this point, I don’t know how much time will have passed since I had to go away, but I do know you can’t let much more time pass. I need you to live, my love. Live for me, live for Sujin…live for yourself. No more standing by while the world continues to spin, you have to spin with it, baby, let it carry you away, and on to better days. Please. Find something that makes you laugh, find something that makes you smile…even if it’s a someone. I know you’ll always love me. There is no doubt about that. But, don’t let that love stop you from living. Let someone in, let someone help…love again, for me. Show the world that it can’t tear you down. Go on a date, go skydiving, go to one of those fancy art galleries in Italy you used to fantasize about…just go, baby. Go and do, and be free. Don’t be afraid…please, don’t be afraid to live. Love forever, Your Yejun

The memory of the other letter, albeit a bit fuzzy, drifts through your mind as you sit and try to come to terms with how you feel at this moment. You absently trace the neat scrawl of Yejun’s handwriting covering the page. Don’t be afraid. Are you afraid? Is that it? You’ve never thought of it like that, in terms of being afraid to live. But, if you think about it, you suppose that’s the root of it. You are afraid. Afraid of moving on. What if you do find happiness? What if you do find someone else? Yejun is clear that he’s confident you’ll never forget him, but what if you do?

You don’t want to be sitting somewhere thirty years from now, with your head thrown back, laughing at the joke from some other guy, with Yejun having not crossed your mind in years. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. You just…you don’t know.

Taehyung is sitting so quietly beside you that if you closed your eyes, you’d think you were alone. Guilt pricks against your heart at how badly you first reacted, the harsh tone and words you lashed at Taehyung where he didn’t deserve it. You clear your throat, drawing the flicker of Taehyung’s eyes in your direction.

“I’m sorry, Tae. I really am. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” The words are thick on your tongue as you work through the emotions threatening to obliterate your existence. You think you might cry, but give yourself an imaginary pat on the back when you manage to maintain eye contact with Taehyung while successfully blinking back the tears.

Taehyung is quiet for a moment, a muscle in his jaw working, flexing the dark stubble you can see shadowing along his jawline. It’s in this moment that you feel like you see Taehyung in a new light, with added clarity. He looks haggard, tired. You didn’t notice it before, the sunken circles around his eyes or the lack of a clean shave…until now. It’s not fair, you realize, that he has taken care of you so much the last two years when you haven’t even so much as bothered to check on how he is doing.

You’re just about to break the silence with another feeble apology when he smiles, it’s faint, but it’s there. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Yejun and I might have shared a different kind of bond than what you two had, but I have at least an inkling of the keen sting you’re feeling, the one that never quite goes away no matter what you do.” He brings a hand up and presses it to the center of his chest. “The one that slices a little deeper after the sun goes down and everyone else has gone about their lives.”

Chilled goosebumps pop up along your arms, despite the warmth from the added layer of Taehyung’s jacket. That is exactly what it feels like, a lingering sting that won’t go away, one that grows when you’re alone.

You lick your trembling lips, tearing your gaze away from his and focusing back on the letter clutched in your hand. “Yejun,” you whisper. “He—he wants…he wants me to move on.” A soft sob catches in your throat. “But, I can’t do that. How can I do that?”

Your shoulders heave as the emotions you were able to hold at bay before come crashing through the walls you managed to put up. It’s not like the weeping from earlier. That was simply the quiet cries of a mourning wife. This is bone-deep, soul-rending agony that shakes your entire body.

Taehyung pulls you into his arms, and you press your face into the cushioning of his scarf and scream. The sound is muffled, but you can still hear it echoing through the columbarium when all the air finally empties from your lungs. You try to replenish the air, sucking in stilted breaths, but it’s not enough. Panic ensues, your heart launching into a heavy, staccato rhythm as if trying to pound right out of your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung soothes. “Slow down. Try to breathe slowly.” He pulls you firmly into his lap. You’re heedless to the intimate position your body falls into with your knees on either side of his hips. All you care about is getting air into your lungs. Taehyung holds you by the face, angling yours so you look up into his worried eyes. “Come on, slow. In…out…like that, come on, another one. In and then out.” He breathes with you, exaggerating the way he inhales air through his nose and pushes it back out through his mouth.

His warm breath puffs across your face with each exhale, carrying with it the faintest sharp tinge of mint and the earthy tones of tea. Something that instantly makes you think of home. It helps bring you back to reality, slowing your rampaging heart, and subsiding your shuddering cries.

“I can’t do it,” you mumble.

“You can. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“No, no. You don’t—I can’t. It’s…it’s cold in here,” you whisper, pressing a trembling hand over your heart. “No one wants that.”

A soft, sad smile forms on Taehyung’s face as he continues to stare down at you. “Good thing that I know a thing or two about keeping things warm.” He drops his hands from your face and grabs the lapels of his jacket that’s still draped over your shoulders and gives it a tug, pulling it tighter around you. You can’t help but smile, even if it’s a watery one.

“What would I do without you?” you ask, not expecting Taehyung to answer.

“You’d make it.” He sounds so sure. “I know you would, you’d do it. But, I am glad to be here, to help however I can.”

Taehyung doesn’t urge you off of his lap, just allows you to rest there with your cheek pressed over his softly beating heart, finding whatever comfort you can from the proximity of another source of warmth. His words linger there, filling the space between you with a comfortability that you know you’ll never find anywhere else. You don’t say anything else, as there isn’t much else to say. At least, not words you think you could say out loud. Not here, not now.

But, an hour later, as you’re driving home, you decide to try. So, you do something you haven’t done in a while and turn on the radio, letting the music fill the silence from before. It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless; the first of—you hope—many.

The next morning, with the light of a new day spilling through the gap between your bedroom curtains, you decide you feel…good. As you lay in bed last night, full of revelations about how you’re going to start making steps toward Yejun’s desire for you to be happy again, worry began to set in. Worry over whether or not you can do this. Now, though, you feel decidedly different—light, in a way—as you push back the blankets and climb out of bed.

With your mom having taken Sujin to school this morning, it afforded you some time to sleep in, which is something you haven’t done in years. You weren’t sure you were going to, considering how poorly you’ve been sleeping the last couple of years. It feels nice, stretching your arms over your head and not feeling as groggy for once.

There is one thing you want to do before heading to the studio, where you know you’ll probably just piddle around until it’s time to pick up Sujin, but it’s just baby steps for now. It’s not lost on you that your work, the art you create, no matter if you manage to move on or not, might still be something that you’re never able to recover. Yejun wasn’t far off when he joked about being your one true muse, but you try to remain hopeful that you can surprise yourself.

The box in the back of the closet is exactly where you left it almost two years ago. It holds some of your most treasured possessions. Things you’ve held on to dating back as far as your teen years and as recent as two years ago. You kneel in the bottom of your closet and slide the box out from behind the stack of empty shoe boxes you can’t seem to toss out.

It’s a bit faded, the blue exterior, once a brilliant navy, is now more denim in color. You’ve had the box since you were a child, given to you by your father the summer before he split from your mom. That really hurt your family, when he cut himself out of the picture without so much as an apology; he ran off with another woman. It was so hard for you to believe in love after that.

Lifting the small silvered latch, you ease open the box lid and sigh as your eyes land on the folded paper nestled on top. Yejun’s first letter. It’s the last thing you put in this box. The paper still feels crisp in your fingers as you delicately pluck it out and unfold it. You worry at your bottom lip a moment before letting your eyes devour the same words you read once before.

This time, they don’t hurt nearly as much. You still feel that piercing ache, but it’s accompanied by another, fresher feeling—one of hope. What stands out the most, now, though, is the confirmation that there are other letters waiting for you. Yejun says as much himself in this letter, you just hadn’t ever put the dots together, too distracted in your grief.

There are endless possibilities for what those other letters might be for. But, what’s clear is that you won't get another one until you do something to deserve it. Knowing Yejun, you have a few ideas of what those things might be. There is a thrill but also a sense of trepidation as you think about that. You want to move on and be happy again, and in doing so, you know you’ll get the other letters, but there’s also that sense of overwhelming dread.

Where do you begin?

You spent most of your day rearranging and organizing supplies at the studio. But, now that the sun is beyond its zenith and casting longer shadows across your paint-marked studio floor, you feel like you’ve done nothing but waste time. You still haven’t decided where to begin with Yejun’s letters and you’re no closer to coming up with an idea for your next project either.

With frustration coloring your thoughts, you lock up and welcome the reprieve of going and picking Sujin up from school. That’s one part of your life that you do know up from down with.

As you pull through the pick up line, you don’t see Sujin anywhere out front. You spot Mrs. Min ushering a few students to their cars, her friendly face sporting a smile as she does so. Her eye catches yours and she holds up a hand, rushing over to your passenger side window.

“Hi!” she says when you roll it down. “So glad I caught you before you waited too long. Sujin volunteered to help Mr. Kim with his terrarium and it’s taking a bit longer than expected. He should be out in the next fifteen minutes or so, feel free to park in the teacher’s lot or you can wait here if you’d like.”

“Mrs. Min!” a rambunctious gaggle of students call her name, requesting her assistance.

She gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls. He shouldn’t be too long!” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs towards the cluster of students beckoning her over. One of the kids has what appears to be a large diorama that they’re having a hard time carrying to their car, even with the assistance of their friends.

“Well, great,” you mumble to yourself, checking your rearview mirror and seeing a long line of cars waiting behind you.

Pulling ahead, you slip around the side of the school and pull into one of the empty teacher spots and cut the engine. You haven’t been inside the school since the parent-teacher meeting at the beginning of the year, so it wouldn’t hurt if you went inside now, it would give you a chance to peek into Sujin’s classrooms and see what he’s been up to. If it’s one thing he loves, it’s learning.

Mr. Kim and Mrs. Min have adjoining classrooms at the end of the hall for Sujin’s grade, a storage and supply closet connecting the two rooms. The door to Mrs. Min’s room is closed but the light is still on inside. You take a quick peek through the view window on the door and see colorful drawings and paper projects hanging on the wall, books scattered across a few tables, and a large container of art supplies opened on her desk. She teaches English, Reading, Art, and History while Namjoon covers Math and Science.

The gym teacher, Mr. Jeon, startles you as he breezes through the double doors at the end of the hall that lead out to the playground. “Oh, hey! Sujin, your mom is here!” he calls, stepping back and propping the door open with the heel of his sneaker.

“Mom!” you hear Sujin’s voice sound from through the open door. “You gotta come see this!”

Mr. Jeon holds the door open for you, his face lit with a pleasant smile. “A future scientist, I’d bet,” Mr. Jeon stage-whispers as you pass him and that makes your own smile blossom further.

“What’s going on, buddy?” you ask, taking in the scene before you.

Namjoon is crouched down beside Sujin, helping him sort through a collection of rocks spread out on a sheet of plastic. There are dozens of them, all various shapes and colors.

Sujin excitedly points out a few of the large rocks. “These would be perfect to create a hiding space!” he loudly proclaims before turning his bright eyes up to you. “Mr. Kim is letting me help him choose the rocks to go into the terrarium. We’re going to get our very own class salamander! Isn’t that cool, Mom? A class dragon!”

A soft chuckle comes from Namjoon as he pivots on his heels and squints up at you, the sun catching on the thick-framed glasses that are slipping down his nose. “We had so much fun yesterday talking about the salamander that was brought into Mrs. Min’s class that I couldn’t resist. I’ve had this old aquarium sitting in my garage for years, it just seems perfect.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s really cool.”

“Sorry for keeping him,” Namjoon suddenly stands, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking contrite. “I didn’t realize the bell had rung until Jungkook said something.” He turns to Sujin who is happily stacking a few of the smaller rocks into a pile. “I think that’s all for today, Sujin. We’ll finish it up tomorrow during class.”

Sujin frowns, his warm brown eyes flicking to Namjoon. “Okay,” he sighs.

“I tell you what, for all your hard work today, how about I let you be creative director during assembly tomorrow? Does that sound okay?”

The frown is quickly replaced with another excited smile. Sujin gives a whoop of delight and slaps his hands together before dusting them off. “Thank you, Mr. Kim, that sounds amazing!”

Seeing the interaction between Namjoon and Sujin gives you an idea, one that you hope you won’t regret. “Go grab your backpack, buddy, I’ll meet you outside Mrs. Min’s room in a second.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sujin pulls open the door and scampers through, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he skips down the hall.

“Thank you for that, Namjoon, really. He was so excited about what happened yesterday and now this? He’s been wanting a turtle for a year now, so this will be a good test on whether or not we should get one.”

Namjoon pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and grips the back of his neck as he smiles shyly, his cheeks pinking slightly. “He’s a great kid, loves to learn. Though, turtles are a bit more needy than salamanders. It would also depend on the type of turtle. The standard box turtles are…” Namjoon trails off, his brow pinching as he throws furtive glances your way. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for a science lesson.”

That makes you laugh, which seems to ease the awkward tension in Namjoon. “Sujin isn’t the only one that likes learning.” You don’t intend the words to sound flirty, but they come out that way and you can distinctly tell that Namjoon keys into that.

“Yeah?” he asks, the shyness leeching away by the second.

“Um, yeah. Er, well, I should—” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder toward the door “—Sujin is probably waiting.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Namjoon sidesteps over the plastic sheet of rocks and fumbles with the door handle before yanking it open. “Have a good—”

“Are you free Friday night?” you blurt, wincing at the rudeness of interrupting him but knowing if you don’t ask now then you’ll lose your nerve.

“Friday?” he parrots back, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Panic slices through and you immediately want to take it back. “Sorry, that was—I didn’t, it’s not appropriate is it? I’m so sor—”

“I’m free,” he states, the words silencing your backpedaling.

“Oh.” Now that he’s confirmed, you’re not sure what else to say. It’s been so long since you’ve done this.

“Is there something you wanted to do?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, clearly picking up on your trepidation.

You swallow around the choking feeling in your throat, the one that’s ingrained with the idea that you’re still married and still madly in love with another man and this is akin to cheating. “Maybe dinner? Or a late coffee? Um, or…I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve done this.”

Namjoon gives you an easy smile. “Dinner sounds great. Let’s say, seven?”

“Seven is good. How about that new pizza place that opened up near the park, do you know the one?”

“I’ve had my eye on that place for weeks! That sounds perfect.”

Are you really going on a date…with Sujin’s Science teacher? “Okay,” you say, chewing the inside of your cheek as you take a few steps down the hall. “Great.”

“Great,” Namjoon confirms with a smile, his deep dimples making an appearance. “See you then.”

All you can do is nod, not trusting yourself with any more words with the influx of emotions now swirling through you. Sujin bursts through Mrs. Min’s door, his backpack and lunchbox in tow.

“Let’s go!” he trumpets, thrusting his free hand into the air in a fist. “I’ve got some homework to do before I can work on my diagram for the terrarium!”

Namjoon’s soft chuckle carries to you from down the hall as you usher Sujin towards the exit. You can’t help casting one last glance behind you, taking in the way he’s lazily leaning against the doorframe of his classroom. He’s quite handsome, there’s no arguing that.

A giddy feeling adds itself to the uncertain emotions rolling through you. A fluttering in your tummy that you haven’t felt in over seven years. You can’t help but wonder, as you load Sujin into the car, if this is really what Yejun wants for you or are you making a mistake?

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s a weird sensation when you expect to feel one emotion but end up feeling another. That’s what Taehyung thinks anyway, as he reads the text message he received from you for the dozenth time. You have a date. With Namjoon.

Taehyung has never met the quirky Science teacher, but he’s heard plenty of stories about him from Sujin. Charming, educated, and completely and utterly perfect for you. And that should make Taehyung happy. Yet, all he can feel is mild annoyance when he thinks about Namjoon sitting across from you at a dinner table making you laugh and smile.

He wants to chalk it up to being overprotective in a brotherly sort of way, but Taehyung knows better. It’s no secret—well maybe it is to you—that Taehyung cares for you deeply. Even before Yejun, Taehyung always had a soft spot for his best friend’s wife. Something that he drunkenly confessed to Yejun once a few years ago. Yejun took it goodnaturedly, something that Taehyung still thinks about to this day, and simply told Taehyung he understood the attraction because hell, who could blame him?

They never talked about it again, until the day Yejun asked Taehyung to take care of you and Sujin—the day he was given a box of letters addressed to you. Yejun had given Taehyung a knowing smile and said something along the lines of fate knowing and that’s why Taehyung already had so much love for you.

He wasn’t sure, at first, if Yejun had ever shared Taehyung’s little secret with you. But, as time went on, it was clear that he hadn’t. That, or, so lost in your grief, you’ve been keenly uninterested in that prospect. But, now, you’re going on a date and Taehyung doesn’t know how to feel about it.

The twinge of jealousy in his chest doesn’t sit right with him. He has no right to feel this way. It’s just something that he can’t seem to shake, hasn’t been able to since you told him about it two days ago. So, instead of expressing that, he forces himself to try and share in your joy.

That’s great. Let me know when you’re home, I have something for you.

A letter perhaps??

Your eager reply makes him smile despite himself. If anything, that helps his mood to improve. The ‘first date’ letter is already sitting on his counter, waiting.

Perhaps. Now stop texting me and go have fun.

There is no reply to that. So, Taehyung waits patiently, phone in hand. Hours pass in a mindless, sluggish way. He’s far too wound up to do anything productive but also has nervous energy that needs to be released. So, Taehyung spends the four hours it takes for you to finally respond by squeaking out haphazard notes on the alto saxophone he’s taken to trying to learn to play.

His phone lights up where it sits on the coffee table and he nearly drops the instrument in his haste to snatch up the device.

I’m home.

That’s all it says and it makes Taehyung frown. Not that he expected you to tell him how the date went over text message, but he was anticipating something more than just those two words. He is startled to realize just how late it is, though, being past eleven already.

Is it too late? I can always just swing by tomorrow.

Sujin is staying with mom. It’s not too late.

Taehyung is contemplating his reply when another text from you pops up that makes him drop everything else and grab his car keys, not caring it’ll be close to midnight by the time he pulls up outside your apartment. It was a knee-jerk reaction to also grab the letter that was sitting beside his keys, but now he’s thinking about whether or not it’s a good idea.

Those thoughts quickly fade as he focuses on the road, intent on reaching your apartment in record time. His phone sits on the passenger seat, still open to your text thread, the single word might as well be an alarm blaring to Taehyung, urging him on faster.

Please.

💔💔💔

As soon as you send the last text message you want to take it back. Not only do you feel whiny, but you know Taehyung will drop everything and come over which makes you feel terrible and like you’re using him.

But, fuck. The date was so horrible all you want to do is crawl into familiar, comforting arms and cry yourself to sleep. You’re about to pour your third glass of wine when there is a sudden knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. Taehyung stands there with your spare key in his hand, eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathless as he clearly sprinted up the stairs to get here and now you feel infinitely worse for it.

You shake your head which earns you a pained sound from Taehyung but you hold up your hand, silencing him. “I’m not shaking my head no as in no I’m not fine, it’s more a I’m such a fool head shake. I’m sorry, Tae. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—”

“I’m glad you said something. What happened? Do I need to go pay a certain science teacher a visit?” For all his bravado, you know he wouldn’t hesitate if you said yes.

“No, no. It’s not his fault. Well, not entirely. Look, I’m sorry you drove all the way over here.” You discard the empty wine glass in favor of taking a large glug directly from the bottle.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung says, deftly taking the bottle from your hands before you have the chance to take a second gulp from it. “Stop apologizing and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It was a fucking disaster.”

If Taehyung is surprised by your cussing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stills beside you, brow slowly pinching and forming deep furrows between them. “Did he hurt you?” he whispers, but his tone is cold and hard. “I’ll kill him.”

“What? What, oh no, Tae, no. He didn’t hurt me, god no.” You sigh, propping your hip against the lip of the counter and wrapping your arms around your middle. “He was lovely, actually. I was the disaster. Or maybe we were. I don’t know, it was just a terrible night. A terrible idea.”

“Talk to me about it,” Taehyung encourages, his hands landing lightly on your shoulders to steer you toward the couch in the living room.

So, you spend the next hour recounting all the horrid details for him. Everything from the way Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about rocks and mineralized dirt to the way he tried to kiss you at the end of the night only for you to duck and him to lose his balance, effectively making him face plant into the brick wall of your apartment building.

“See, it was a terrible idea,” you lament, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Taehyung hums softly. “It doesn’t sound like a complete disaster to me. Namjoon was polite, even if he did nothing but talk about his own interests. Did you try changing the subject, or did he ask about you and you gave a dismissive answer?” You give Taehyung an annoyed look. “I’m just saying, you have the tendency to avoid things like that. So, it’s only meant as a means to try and understand. Maybe it can be better next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” You throw up your hands in defeat. “He said he had a lovely time, but I could see it plain on his face, he was just trying to be nice. He left with a bloody napkin pressed against his mouth for crying out loud!”

“Well, maybe he really—”

“But, most of all,” you continue, speaking over Taehyung, “I didn’t have a good time. I don’t want to do it again. It didn’t make me happy.”

That seems to subdue Taehyung. “Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “Well, okay, that’s different.”

“I’m broken, defective.”

Taehyung scoffs, giving you a withering look a moment before dragging you into his arms, squeezing you tightly. “You’re not defective. You’re human. All this proves is that maybe the science teacher isn’t the guy for you. Simply just a lack of…chemistry.”

You can’t help but laugh at his bad joke. “You’re terrible,” you say in a lighter tone, meant to tease more than chastise. “But, you’re right, I guess. I just…this was the first date I’ve been on in a long time and it all went so horribly. It’s hard not to think that I somehow messed up, that I’m just…not right, just broken, y’know?” Taehyung’s eyes are soft as you look up at him, trying hard not to let yourself grow too accustomed to the comforting feel of his arms around your shoulders.

“You are perfect, most certainly not broken,” he whispers. You watch from beneath your lashes as a small crease etches across his forehead and you can tell he’s warring with himself over something before he slowly presses a soft kiss against the side of your head. “You just have to give yourself grace. I’m proud of you.” As he says that last part, he gently pulls back, hands resting on your shoulders. His right hand trails down your arm and you feel the soft caress of paper against the back of your hand. “Yejun would be proud of you, too, taking as big of a step as you have, I just know it.”

The envelope is small, but you instantly recognize the shape and feel of the paper. It’s just like the one you got earlier this week—like the one from two years ago. “Should I wait to read it?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“I’ll leave if you’d like some privacy.”

And in that moment you realize that’s the last thing you want. “No, please stay. Umm, that is, unless you have something to do.” It’s after midnight, the sour twist of jealousy rears as you think of everything that could possibly take Taehyung away at this hour. You tamp it down, knowing you have no right to keep him here, regardless. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Taehyung’s lip twitches as you wait for him to answer. He shakes his head. “No, I have nothing else to do. I can’t promise I won’t end up crashing on your couch, though,” he says, stifling a yawn in his elbow before lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and spreading it out over Taehyung’s legs before curling up on the opposite end of the couch. Taehyung shifts around the blanket with his feet, making sure the other end covers your legs as well.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he sighs sleepily. “I just want to make you happy.”

You’re not sure if he misspoke, because surely he meant only that he wants to see you happy. Because, as it is, him saying he wants to make you happy…well, that does something funny to you. Though, you can probably blame that on the terrible date with Namjoon or the half a bottle of wine you drank. Either way, you can’t help but smile as you look at Taehyung laying on the other end of your couch, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling with deep, even breathing.

You take a moment, running back over the date with Namjoon in your head, fingers idly moving along the edge of the envelope. It started out so nicely, Namjoon standing outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. They made your nose itch and your eyes water a bit from how overly fragrant they were—clearly some mass grown clippings from a supermarket—but you smiled anyway, appreciating the gesture.

Dinner was lovely, the new restaurant proving to be worth the drive and money spent. It’s perhaps your own fault for thinking Namjoon might pay for the meal and it didn’t hurt you any to pay for your own, but it felt oddly…impersonal? Less like a date and more like a business meeting or something. You’re not too old to be naive in the sense that women are just as capable of paying for dinner as men, as well as the fact that men shouldn’t hold the complete burden of expense on dates. It’s just…it was unusual and he didn’t even bring it up, simply told the waiter to split the check before it was brought.

It’s not helped by the fact that Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about work or soil deposits. And perhaps Taehyung was at least half right in the fact that you didn’t put forth a lot of effort to change the subject, but the way you see it, if Namjoon was interested in knowing about you, he would have asked. Though, is that expecting too much? Are you being too harsh? Maybe you’re projecting and Namjoon really wasn’t that bad.

Before you can continue to spiral any further, you force your thoughts to the letter in your hand. Hoping it’ll put your ill heart at ease, you extract the folded parchment and smooth it out.

To the love of my life, For after your first date Hi, baby. First, I want to say that I love you. Second, I hope he at least made you smile. If he didn’t bring you flowers or even those cheap ones from the supermarket, don’t think too much of it. I’ll let you in on a little guy secret, not all of us are well versed on flora and even less so on women. Even if it didn’t go so well, though I hope it did, you can’t give up. Go on another date, with the same person or someone else, you just can’t stop now. Take as many adventures as you can, do something spontaneous. You never did take that dance class you wanted to a few years ago. Paint, travel, explore the world. Take Sujin to places we never got to go. Just don’t stop, keep turning, even if it’s slowly. I’m so proud of you, you know? No matter what, I know you’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it. I can’t wait to see all you do. You’re going to be wonderful. You’re amazing, keep shining, baby. I love you so much. Forever With You, Your Yejun

Tucking the letter against your heart, you snuggle down in the couch, mind racing. You feel lighter somehow, like Yejun’s words have given you far more affirmation than you thought possible. The terrible date doesn’t seem so disastrous now.

“You okay?”

You startle at the soft question, thinking Taehyung was fast asleep. His eyes are barely cracked open, peering at you over his bent, blanket-covered knees.

“Mm, yeah. I think so,” you say after clearing your throat.

“Good…good,” Taehyung murmurs, his eyes falling shut once more.

“Hey, Tae?”

“Hmm?” His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take a moment to truly see him, the soft light from the stand lamp on the other side of the room illuminating him in profile. The soft curve of his cheek, the delicate slope of his nose, and the pouty bow of his lips aren’t new features, but you’re not sure you’ve ever truly paid attention to how breathtakingly handsome he is.

“Will you help me?”

Taehyung’s lips twitch as a mild frown turns down his lips. “Help you?”

“With whatever comes next.”

“Whatever you need, I’m yours,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his frown. You watch him for a moment longer, his lips going even softer as the smile fades with sleep. His chest rises and falls, your eyes tracking the motion in the dim lighting until you feel the pull of sleep yourself. Taehyung is the last thing you see before you close your eyes, and for the first time in over two years, you sleep peacefully; with a subtle warmth blooming in your chest where once there was only cold.

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-03-18 ColorMePurplex2

#taehyung x reader #bts taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #kim taehyung #bts non idol au #bts imagines #bangtanwhq

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reguluswife28 · 6 months ago

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Hey can you make a one shot or two parter about regulus and fem reader, arrange marriage trope where regulus is distant due to his past relationship and one day yells at the reader and regrets it? With a happy ending please!! Also I don’t see many RB imagines, so glad you are writing them, okie luv u byeeeee

I love Reg with all heart so im glad you requested this!

Warnings: angst, fighting(screaming/yelling)

Unwanted

I’m married to Regulus Black. Not by choice though. It was arranged by our parents and it wasn’t a happy marriage. Regulus hated me or atleast he was really distant.

I tried my best to get his attention or even do something with him as husband and wife but he never budged. Today I was trying to get him to do something with me since he had the day off.

“Regulus? Can we please go out and do something? We never do!” I said sitting down next to him as he read a book. “No.” Is all Regulus said causing me to look at him confused.

“What?” I asked sounding a little defeated.

“Don’t you get it?” He asked angrily standing up. “I do not love you!” He now yelled and I winced. “This was only a marriage of convenience! I did not want to marry you!” He snapped viciously and I couldn’t help but start crying.

“Now leave me alone.” He told me not yelling now but still annoyed and angry. “As you wish.” I said getting up and going to our shared bedroom.

I owled the only two people I knew who would let me come over to their house. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

I couldn’t stand being in the same house as Regulus right now. They’d understand it. As the owl flew off I started packing the absolute necessities.

A few hours later Regulus had not appeared upstairs any and I had not seen him downstairs when I had checked. My owl also reappeared with a letter from Sirius and Remus saying I could come over.

I wrote Regulus a note saying that I was leaving for a few days but not saying where then grabbed my stuff and went to the fireplace.

I grabbed the floo powder and went inside the fireplace. “Lupin-Black house!” I said clearly and dropping the floo powder. As quickly as I did that is as quickly as I appeared in the house.

I stepped out into the living room to be greeted by Remus, Sirius, and shockingly James, Lily, and their baby Harry.

“What did my brother do now?” Sirius asked as they all gave me a quick hug. Lily led me to sit on the couch as I explained. “Your brother doesn’t love me is what he said. Told me to leave him alone when I tried to get him to do something just us.” I muttered as Harry crawled over sitting up in front of me babbling.

I smiled picking him up and holding him in my lap. “My brother has never been one for love. Just a stuck up prick.” Sirius told me and I tried to suppress a laugh.

“You’re just a cute little bundle of joy aren’t you, Harry?” I cooed playing with the child. “That he is.” Said James now sitting next to Lily who was next to me.

“You two are sure I can stay for a few days?” I asked looking between Remus and Sirius. “Yes. We’re sure.” Remus said with a soft smile and I thanked them.

Harry needed a nap so Lily took him and Remus showed me my room I’d be staying in. Once he showed me and left I put my stuff away and decided to lay down and take a nap myself.

As I was drifting off to sleep I layed there wondering what Regulus was doing despite what happened earlier. Soon I was asleep.

Regulus pov

After I had yelled at Y/n I had felt bad which confused me because I never felt bad before. So, I just went out but when I got home half of me expected what I was seeing right now and the other half somehow didn’t.

Y/n had packed her stuff and went away. She didn’t say where and now I was worried. I shouldn’t be, I didn’t love her. Right?

I mean I didn’t want to and was distant because of a past relationship and because our marriage was arranged. I figured that’s what she would want too.

Obviously, it wasn’t and now I regret everything. Some part of me had always admired the girl.

I tried thinking of where she could be. Her parents? No, they would be mad about her running away because they were the ones who arranged the marriage. Her sister? No, she doesn’t exactly like her sister.

My brother. That’s where. She was always friends with him and his friends in school.

Without warning my brother by owl at all I used the floo network to get there. As soon as I got there and got out of the fireplace I was met with the angry eyes of my brother.

“What are you doing here Regulus?” He questioned sternly. “I’m looking for my wife.” I sighed rubbing my forehead tiredly.

“The wife you yelled at and said you didn’t love?” Asked Remus also glaring at me. “The wife you said you never wanted to marry?” Asked James who now stood next to Sirius and Remus. All of them coming to her defense questioning him.

“Yes…” I muttered distaste in my mouth. I then looked at them with some look of determination in my eyes I had hoped. “I regret it. I’ve come to apologize to her.” I said seriously and then a different voice other than them was heard.

“Regulus?” Asked the voice and I stepped beside them in front of the others to see Y/n coming down the steps rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Y/n.” I whispered in relief.

A/n: I'm so sorry this has taken so long! I've had writers block and I've been busy with things. Btw this will have a pt 2!

#regulusblack #regulus black #hp imagine #the maraunders map #marauders #imagine #regulus black x reader #regulus black x y/n

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 2 years ago

Note

So i was hoping to request for trope tuesday. I was thinking grumpy reader x sunshine sirius and like kinda 10 things I hate about you type storyline but obviously in your own way of course. :)

happy trope tuesday! omg i kind of adored this request, so i got a bit carried away; i hope it's not too long... it ended up being very 10 things i hate about you inspired but i just love that movie and it just kind of flowed that way... hope you enjoy!!

for my 250 Followers Writing Event!

Tropey Tuesday 🎭 trope: grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers-ish

pairing: Sirius Black x reader

word count: 5.9k

“C’mon, Pads, pleaaase,” James pleads for the millionth time that morning. “No. Can’t you just drop it yet? You’re starting to seriously get on my nerves,” Sirius replies, flicking ashes off his cigarette and taking another drag.

“Fucking hell. What are friends for then, huh? If not to have your back in the darkest of times?” he accuses.

“I’d hardly call taking Evans out the ‘darkest of times,’ you drama queen. I mean, you are a pretty dull date, Prongs, but don’t be so hard on yourself.” “Hilarious,” he deadpans. “But the point is there isn’t going to be a date unless her sister goes too. Their dad is mental. Thinks Lily shouldn’t be going out alone her first year at uni or something. And he’ll know if she goes; I think he can track her and Y/N’s phones or some psychotic shit like that.” “Yes, yes, you’ve mentioned it.” “Have I? Because you don’t seem to be getting it, dickhead. C’mon, I’d do it for you.” “Oh, would you? You’d go out with the most grim girl you’ve ever laid eyes on, having to worry all night she might stab you if you don’t open the door for her — or if you do actually, knowing her,” Sirius muses. “I would,” he replies certainly. “In fact, I’d do it even if I knew she would stab me. I’d take a knife for you, Black.” “Alright, easy, Prongs. I love you too, but no need to get so dramatic.”

“If you really loved me, you’d do this for me.” “You aren’t gonna let up are you?” “Not a chance.” “Fucking hell.” Sirius flicks away the butt of his cig and walks away, thinking he still had until he found you to change his mind.

You’re sitting in a courtyard outside reading, and it crosses Sirius’s mind that in the odd moments in which you didn’t look so angry, you were actually kind of… beautiful?

You’re engrossed in your book when you hear, “Hello, gorgeous.” Sirius smiles at you, taking a seat beside you, leaning close.

“Can I help you?” you shoot. “Funny you should offer,” he jests. “Yes, yes you can in fact.” You look annoyed, not amused; he’s not used to this reaction but treads on, “It would be a marvelous help actually if you’d join me on Saturday. As I’m sure you know, there’s a party. Half the uni is going, but I reckon it will be rather dull unless you’re there.” He puts on his most seductive smirk. “No, thanks.” You close your book, get up, and leave. He’s sitting there, a bit awe-struck, when he sees you simply sit back down somewhere else, in plain view of his, and continue reading.

“She’s mental,” he whispers to himself.

“I tried, Prongs. Leave it, won’t you?” he sighs exasperatedly later that afternoon.

“No, I won’t. Since when are you one to give up so easily? So she didn’t say yes right away, big deal.” “She didn’t not say yes; she said ‘no.’ Very emphatically I might add.”

“So be more charming! That usually works for you, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that earlier. Thanks, James. Thanks so much,” he says sardonically. “I tried. It’s not as if I went up to her and didn’t try to be charming.”

“If you manage to get her to the party, I will buy you that new guitar you want so much.”

Sirius freezes. Interesting.

“You can’t afford it,” he shoots. “I can.” “You’ll back out for some idiotic loophole reason.” “I won’t.” Sirius groans and goes off again.

“I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” You’re lying in the grass, headphones on, eyes closed. You look serene. You don’t respond. He shifts and steps closer, accidentally shielding your face from the sun. This gets your attention.

“What?” you ask, freeing one ear from your headphone, sitting up. He clears his throat and squats down in front of you.

“I said, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” “Oh. Didn’t hear you,” you say simply, pointing at the headphones. “Yes, I gathered.”

There is an awkward pause. It lingers.

“So…,” you say softly. “Is there something else, or…”

Bloody hell; was it just him, or did you hate everyone this much?

“What are you listening to?” he tries. “Why do you care?” you reply. You don’t sound angry, though. It comes out like a normal question; he’s just confused as to how you think it is one.

“I love music,” he says, taking a seat.

“Okay…” You look genuinely confused. “I love music too, but it doesn’t mean I give a shit what that bloke over there is listening to.” You gesture toward some guy with his headphones in too.

“Right. Well. I’m interested in music, but I’m also interested in you.” “Why?” “Are you serious?” “Do I sound like I’m joking?” “No, you sound like you’ve never had a conversation with anyone in your life.” He sounds a bit exasperated. He realizes this after the fact and internally cringes for his lack of patience, thinking it will set him back (if he’s made any progress at all) but is surprised at your lack of reaction.

“I just don’t see why you would be,” you say calmly.

He’s heard girls say similar to him many times, some out of actual insecurity, some just fishing for his compliments. Your tone is unlike any of theirs, and he’s not sure what to make of it. “You don’t see what? Why I would be interested in you?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been vaguely aware of each other for a long time; had a class together and such. You never seemed interested then.” Feeling a bit more himself again, he replies smoothly, “Did you want me to be, love?”

You groan a little.

“Oh, I was dying for it,” you say, deadpan. “You were all I thought about,” you add dramatically. “I couldn’t focus on anything all day, and at night,” you lean toward him, like you’re about to tell him the deepest secret, “I’d touch myself to the thought of you.” You make a fake-scandalized expression, gasping sarcastically, then turn away as if nothing strange had just happened, turning the volume up on your music and adjusting your headphones again. You laid back down and closed your eyes, ignoring his presence beside you.

His mind had no idea which thread to chase. It was torn between dissecting how what he thought would offend you didn’t and what he thought would charm you offended you, marveling at how easily you had just joked about your wanking, or coming up with A) a way to convince James this was not happening or… (he seemed excited at the thought) B) a way to convince you to pay attention to him. While this all churned on the surface, in the back of his mind he registered the song you were listening to, which he heard in the fraction of time between your turning it up and putting your headphones back on. He loved that song.

“How’d it go with Fender?” James asks, entering their flat and plopping down onto the sofa next to Sirius.

“With what?” Sirius looks at him as though he’s gone mad. “Fender,” he repeats, as if that clarified anything. “Okay. See, the way I see it,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “is that you can think of her as your guitar. That way you’ll want her as badly as that bloody fender and you’ll get off your arse and figure it out.” “Don’t you see how that’s a little, I don’t know, objectifying?”

“Perfect, she’s rubbing off on you already; I know how much of a feminist she is. This is great; one step closer to love.” “Love?” Sirius’s disbelief is palpable. “When did this go from a meaningless date to help you out to love?” He grimaces a bit… then he grimaces a lot — but this at his realization that it wasn’t the idea of love, or even being in love with you, that made him grimace, but the idea that that didn’t even seem like a possibility.

“She’s mental, Prongs,” he says quickly, trying to distract himself. “I have no idea what to say to her, and everything I say falls flat, or worse.” “So now you know what it’s like to not look like a demigod and just have to flash a smile to get a girl’s attention. Have you ever thought about talking to her about something she likes? or something you like even. Just not vapid lines that would work regardless of who’s on the receiving end?”

Sirius squints at him and says, “I tried that, you twat. Asked her about music.” “And she didn’t like that?”

Sirius pauses, thinking back. “I don’t know,” he responds honestly.

“Well, did she seem annoyed?” “No. Not yet.” “When did she get annoyed?” Sirius winces. “When I asked her if she’d had a crush on me when we had a class together.”

James slaps the back of his head.

A few days go by, the weekend and fated party soon approaching. Sirius is out at a retro record shop in the late afternoon, and a t-shirt with the band name and logo of the group you were listening to the other day, Greta Van Fleet, catches his attention. It’s a cool shirt. And he likes them too. He’s not just thinking of getting it as a potential conversation starter for you. Truly…

He walks out of the shop, up two records and a t-shirt.

He runs a couple errands, kills a bit of time, and heads over to the campus pub to meet James and Remus. When he walks in, he’s struck by the sight of you, sitting alone in a corner booth, a pint and a book in front of you.

James comes to greet him, and he reciprocates, trying to act natural, but as soon as he gets the chance, hoping you haven’t spotted him (he’s pretty sure; he’s barely taken his eyes off of you, so he probably would’ve noticed), he dodges to the toilets, bag in hand.

When he comes back out, James asks, “Did you just change, mate?”

“Uh, yeah. Spilled something on my shirt earlier and had a spare.” James accepts this explanation as reasonable and doesn’t spend more time on it.

They get some drinks and are met by Remus, but as James heads to an empty booth, Sirius grabs his arm and drags him in the other direction. “Let’s sit over there actually.” “Why?” “Just looks more spacious.” And grants a better view of you, he doesn’t add. James looks skeptical but follows, and the three of them settle in.

Sirius is distracted, occasionally gracing the conversation with a nod of his head or a simple “oh, yeah?”

James is so caught up in a story, he doesn’t seem to notice, but Remus, ever observant, teases, “You know, if you’d rather go sit with Evans, Sirius, we won’t be offended.” James looks over, catching sight of you for the first time, a little disappointed at which Evans it was.

“What?” Sirius replies lamely.

“Oh, come on, Padfoot. You haven’t stopped staring at her since we got here.”

“Brilliant! Another chance,” exudes James.

“Another chance at what?” asks Remus. “Sirius is taking her to the party on Saturday.” “I’m not,” Sirius interjects harshly. After a beat he adds exasperatedly, looking toward Remus, “James wants me to be taking her to the party on Saturday. That way her sister will come along too and grace him with her presence.”

“You know,” James muses, “Fender doesn’t look as scary from this far away. I reckon you should go talk to her, Pads.” “Fender?” asks Remus.

“Don’t ask,” deadpans Sirius. “Well? Go on, then,” James urges. “Relax, mate. I’ll go later; just give me a minute.”

“Are you… nervous?” “Oh, and you wouldn’t be? After she’s rejected you twice in one week?” “Oh, I definitely would be, but you? It’s shocking. This might have a few upsides beyond my date with Lily. I like seeing you flustered.” “I’m not flustered,” Sirius shoots defensively. “I’m just trying to have a drink with my mates without all the nagging, alright? Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes,” James jokes but has mercy on him and continues his conversation with Remus after a threatening, “We’ll come back to this” and a grin.

Sirius is watching you when the song in the pub changes. You smile a little bit, and he hates how it makes his heart flutter. When the lyrics start, your mouth moves along with them, singing under your breath, and you move a bit with the music. You look beautiful lost in your own world like that. Just then, you look up, and your eyes meet his. They widen, and you freeze, looking a bit embarrassed. He wants to look away but braves on, holding your gaze and attempting to smile in greeting. You give a strained smile in response and look down shyly. It’s a strange look on you, timid. Sirius is not surprised to find it suits you, but he is surprised to find that he misses snarky and strong on you.

You look back again as if you couldn’t help it, and he catches your glance go down toward his shirt. Yes, he thinks. God, is this how most people normally feel? He feels pathetic, trying so hard to look interesting in front of you, wondering whether you could like him. Your attention is pulled away by the arrival of your sister, and when you stand up and hug her, he sees you smile brightly for the first time. It’s blinding.

“Heads up, Prongs,” he says, not looking away from you. James follows his gaze, and his hand instinctively goes to his hair. Remus scoffs amusedly.

You both look over, and James awkwardly pulls his hand from his hair and waves at Lily. She gives a giddy laugh and waves back. She turns to you and whispers something, and you shake your head vehemently in response. You start to argue in loud whispers that are still too far away to make out, but eventually Lily just rolls her eyes, looks back over, and gestures for the boys to join you. You look furious.

James doesn’t skip a beat, grabbing his drink and heading over with a confident, “Come on then.”

He pushes Sirius into the booth on your side and slides in next to Lily, Remus sliding in after him, ending up on his other side. Lily, James, and Remus start up an easy chat, but you and Sirius stay quiet. He feels tense, his palms probably sweaty, and the feeling is quite foreign to him. He fiddles with his glass in front of him, not looking sideways at you. “Nice shirt,” you say softly.

He looks down, as if he doesn’t know exactly what shirt he’s wearing, then looks up at you, responding “thanks” in his best attempt at a casual tone. “You like them?” he adds, knowing the answer.

You nod. “A lot actually.” “Me too.” “Clearly,” you laugh a little, nodding toward his shirt, and he loves the sound of it. “Why else would you wear this shirt?’ Why else indeed.

“Yeah,” he laughs, a bit strained still but starting to loosen up.

“You seem different,” you say. Again with the directness. He needs to learn how to handle it better for future conversations. He catches himself in this thought and can’t help but register his high hopes for the existence of said future conversations.

“Do I?” “Yeah. I don’t know. You seem…” You seem a bit lost for words then finish, “like the acoustic version to your regular electric.”

His eyebrows go up, surprised at such phrasing, followed closely by the corners of his lips, intoxicated by it. He doesn’t know what to say, and for the first time, that seems like the beginning of potentially beautiful possibility instead of just an obstacle to overcome as soon as possible. He’s never been so at peace with not saying anything. He just smiles.

You smile too, and into the quiet space he’s created, whisper, “I like it.” He can’t help his smug smirk at this; he’s still himself after all, but it’s more teasing than before, and this time when you roll your eyes, you lips don’t lose their smile.

You shift a bit, listening to whatever your sister is saying then tense up suddenly. Sirius has been so distracted just watching you, he has no idea what was said that stressed you out so much. He finally pays attention to try to piece it together. “Right, Y/N?” Lily asks. “Umm,” you don’t answer. “That’s brilliant, right, Sirius?” James says now. “Sorry, what’s brilliant?” “Y/N. Going to the party Saturday,” he responds. Sirius looks inquisitively at you.

“I never said I was going,” you say, your demeanour back to its regular grumpy one. “In fact, I wasn’t planning to,” you finish with some finality. Lily leans into your shoulder, making puppy dog eyes at you. “But you’ve reconsidered just for me, right? Pleeeaasee, Y/N, pleeaasee.”

You roll your eyes and bump her off of you but don’t say anything. You opt to take a swig of your drink instead despite the four pairs of eyes still intently watching you. Sirius has the odd sensation that that somehow actually doesn’t affect you, being seen, and it fascinates him. You don’t even look like you’re considering anymore when Lily bumps your shoulder with hers and fake-whispers, “pleeeaaaseee.”

You roll your eyes again, but give in with a simple, “fine.”

“Ah!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Lily chants, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your cheek between her praises. You’re grimacing; James is beaming.

Saturday rolls around, and James and Sirius are finishing getting ready to go. Sirius is searching the messy living room for his leather jacket as he says, “No, mate, I’ll just meet you there.” “What are you talking about? Of course you should walk her there.” “She never said she was going with me. She just said she’d go. I don’t know why she’d expect — or want — me to show up at her flat.” “Just ask her.” “Don’t have her number.”

James takes his out of his pocket, types something, waits a moment. A ding sounds; he sends another message, and now Sirius’s phone sounds. He opens it to a text from James with your phone number. “Just asked Lily,” James says smugly. Sirius rolls his eyes and plops onto the sofa, debating, spinning his phone in his hand.

“What do I say?” “Figure it out, playboy,” James says as he goes back into his room, probably to check his hair again.

Sirius starts typing a message.

hey, Y/N, it’s sirius… how are you? What am I, fifty? he thinks to himself, shaking his head. He erases the how are you?, replacing it with lily gave james your number then james gave it to me. Fucking hell. He erases that too.

He writes, hey Y/N, it’s sirius… do you want me to come with james to get you and lily? and hits send before he can overthink it.

He tosses his phone to the side, but he can’t stop looking over at it, and his leg is bouncing up and down rapidly. He’s wringing his hands together, fiddling with his rings when his phone vibrates. He snatches it up immediately, opening it to find one word from you: sure. Good enough, he thinks, and there’s an energy to his step he didn’t have before as he grabs his jacket, saunters to James’s room, and drags him out of the flat.

As you follow Lily out the door, Sirius swallows hard. You look stunning. Lily is all made up, her face looking much more perfect than most days, her heels looking like they’ll hurt after one block. Your look is more low-key. Your eyeliner makes your eyes even more striking than usual, but you still look like yourself. You’re wearing a classic pair of converse that look cool with your long leather coat.

“Hey,” he greets when you’re standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you say back. You sway from the heels of your feet to your toes a bit then you both turn to walk behind James and Lily, who have their arms wrapped around each other and are already talking animatedly.

The first few minutes of the walk are completely silent between the two of you. Though it’s strangely not awkward, Sirius wants to talk to you, just doesn’t know where to start. He decides to just dive into the deep end. “What’s it like not caring what people think about you? Just saying what you want to say, or,” he chuckles at the current situation, “not saying anything?” You look at him seriously for a moment, considering him.

“I care what some people think about me. Just not everyone. And especially not random guys just because they’re attractive, and I’m supposed to put in some big effort to make myself attractive to them. I have better things to use, even better things to waste, my time and energy on.” You shrug.

“What’s your favourite waste of time?” he asks, grinning, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. You’re looking down in front of you, but he can see you smile.

“Um, funky question. Because I guess it’d be music. Getting high and just lying there listening to it, feeling it,” you laugh. “But that hardly seems like a waste.” You’re cheerful, and it’s addicting. Sirius laughs and says, “Hardly sounds like a waste at all. Sounds brilliant.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, still smiling. “How about yours?”

“Hm. I don’t know. Can’t just copy your answer, can I?” “Nope,” you pop.

“Damn. Well, in that case, I’ll go with just hanging out with James and Remus, not really doing much in particular.”

You nod. “Hardly sounds like a waste at all.” You smile at each other and chuckle.

When you get to the party, music is blasting, and it’s already full of people, many of whom seem to be drunk already. Sirius catches you looking around with a huge grimace on your face, and he finds it adorable. “Your favourite way to spend a Saturday night?” he asks cheekily, having to lean close due to the noise. You look at him and roll your eyes, but there’s a trace of a smile on your lips.

Several people greet Sirius, and he laughs and jokes with them. He’s clearly great at being the life of the party. You’ve already lost track of James and Lily. Hoping she’s having fun, you just hang back near Sirius, not engaging with his friends. No matter how glad he seems to see someone, though, he always comes back to you.

“You don’t have to linger, you know. I’ll be fine by myself.” “It’s everyone else I’m worried about. Given the murderous look on your face,” he laughs, though he can’t ignore the sting of the word “linger.”

You scoff but seem amused. “Besides,” he adds more quietly, “I want to be with you.”

“Okay,” you smile. “Okay,” he confirms happily.

As the night goes on, you actually chat more and more easily. Commentary on the DJ’s (usually subpar) performance helps. You’re laughing together, and his hopes are high that you’re having a good time. “I actually like this one,” you say, wincing in amused embarrassment when a dancey pop song comes on.

“Wanna dance?” he asks excitedly.

“Um, I’m not much of a dancer,” you admit. “That’s alright. Me neither. Fancy it anyway?”

You bite your lower lip, considering, before nodding.

He takes your hand and guides you between crowds of people to the area functioning as a dance floor. You stand close to each other, face to face, and it takes some time to get into the rhythm. Sirius finds you adorable as you cover your face with your hand, laughing at yourself. He grabs your hand, uncovering your face, and spins you. You laugh and put your other hand on his shoulder when you’re facing him again. He puts his hand on your hip, and you two move with the music, letting go. You dance a few more songs before you lean into his ear to say something. The contact shoots a thrill down his spine. “Wanna get some air? I’m getting really warm in here,” you semi-yell. He nods and grabs your hand again, walking with you out onto the quieter, emptier patio. You take a deep breath and sigh in contentment at the fresh air, leaning on your forearms on the porch ledge. You look lovely all flushed.

“What?” you ask, laughing lightly. “What?” he repeats, smiling but uncertain. “You’re looking at me funny.” He’s debating telling you the truth, telling you it’s because he thinks you’re beautiful, when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He just shakes his head casually as he goes to check it. He sees an unimportant message and just puts his phone down on the ledge in front of you both. You just stand there quietly with each other, shoulder to shoulder, and he fucking loves it. He feels at peace and excited simultaneously.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asks you, reaching into his pocket.

“Not as much as your lungs,” you retort. He gives you a “very funny” look. “I don’t mind,” you say more softly. He pulls out his cigs but keeps digging in his pockets. “Shit, forgot my lighter. Gonna go steal one from anyone I know real quick. Be right back,” he says, bumping your shoulder with his. You nod happily.

You’re standing there alone when his phone lights up in front of you.

A text from James reads, saw you sneak off with fender 👀 looks like you oughtta be grateful instead of annoyed in the end

Followed quickly by one from Remus, okay can one of you please explain the nickname now? it’s weird

James again, i promised sirius i’d buy him that fender he keeps going on about if he suffered a date with Y/N for me

Your stomach drops, and you feel like you’re going to be sick, your ears ringing with more than the after-effects of the loud music.

Sirius comes back, putting his hand on your lower back with a sweet “hey.”

You grab his phone, shove it in his chest, and seethingly say, “Fuck you, Black. Hope you didn’t have to suffer too much.” Your shoulder shoves him aggressively as you storm off.

He looks at his phone, and pure horror courses through him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he keeps repeating as he speeds after you through the crowds. He doesn’t catch up until you’re a good way down the street away from the party.

“Y/N! Wait! Please wait a second,” he calls, out of breath, as he reaches you, grabbing your forearm to try to turn you toward him. His heart shatters at the sight that meets him. You’re crying.

You yank your arm away from him and spit out, “Leave me alone.”

“Please. Please just let me explain. I wanted to be with you tonight. Please,” he pleads, walking fast to keep up with you.

“Oh, fuck off. You don’t have to keep it up anymore; your friend got what he wanted.” “It’s not like that, okay? You can ask him if you want! He’ll tell you I wanted you to come with me; he’ll tell you I like you.” “I’m sure he’ll tell me whatever you want him to, Black, but I’m really not interested. Please just leave me the fuck alone.” You start walking faster, and he stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t know what he could possibly say, and he just stands there in the middle of the road, the worst feeling he’s ever felt weighing him down to the spot.

You’re back in your flat, still crying, when your phone buzzes.

Y/N

please

can we please talk?

it’s not what you think

i really want to talk to you

please

You put it on silent and toss it away.

You wake up with puffy eyes and four missed calls from Sirius from last night and another three from this morning. You delete the notifications and go take a shower, blasting your music.

You get dressed carelessly, grab your bag, and shove your headphones on. You meet Lily in the living room on the way out, and she looks concerned. She tries to stop you, but you just say “I’m fine” and hurry out the door.

You walk to a nearby park, a favourite spot of yours, and roam around for a while, hoping unsuccessfully to drown out your feelings in the music and movement. You sit down at a bench and take out your book. After reading the same sentence about ten times, you slam it shut and shove it back in your bag. You just sit there, and you’re struggling to keep the tears away as you let yourself replay your emotions from last night. You lie down on the grass, listening to your music again and shutting your eyes tight. After a while, it suddenly gets darker behind your eyelids, and you open your eyes to see what’s blocking the sun. Fuck. You’ve got to tell Lily to stop giving your phone number and probable locations to arseholes.

Sirius is standing above you, a desperate look on his face. He squats down and grabs your hands as you move to grab your things, clearly planning to leave.

“Wait, Y/N. Please wait. I’m begging you.”

“What do you want?” you ask harshly, taking your headphones off.

“Just to talk to you. Please. Please let me apologize.” “You’ve apologized. Now leave me alone.” You turn away from him again and get up.

“No, that’s not it. I want to make things right. You have to understand.” “Understand what exactly?” “I like you. I really like you. I think about you all the time; I want to spend more time with you.” “Another instrument in it for you?” you say scathingly. “No, no, of course not. That guitar thing was stupid. Really. It was really fucking stupid, and it was before we’d ever even talked! Well, you’d said a total of six words to me, but still, I had no idea how much I’d want to keep trying to get you to give me a chance without any other incentive.” You don’t say anything, but you also don’t go to leave, and Sirius sees this as serious progress. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I was a complete and total idiot to ever even entertain the idea, but it was just a silly thing before anything else happened.” “And what exactly is it that you think happened?” Your arms are crossed, and you still look like you want to murder him.

“I saw how fucking incredible you are. And I got it in my head that the thing I want most in the world is a chance to keep seeing how incredible you are. Let’s see. What else happened? I bought a t-shirt just to get your attention; I made a fool of myself in front of my friends from how nervous I was to talk to you; I lost sleep thinking about everything you’d ever said to me, and how you’re like no one I’ve ever met; I wrote and rewrote the simplest message last night like a lovestruck idiot because I was dying for you to say you wanted to see me. Then what else? Oh, right, and correct me if I’m wrong here because this is where you come in: then I had a fucking brilliant time with you last night. I dreamt of wasting time with you, of getting to dance with you again, of making you laugh even though you’re gorgeous even when you look cross — like right now by the way — I even dreamt of sitting in silence with you for fuck’s sake.” He was out of breath by the time he finished his speech.

“How’d you know I liked Greta Van Fleet?” “What?” “I assume that’s the shirt you bought to get my attention. How’d you know I liked them?” “That’s what you’re asking me right now?” “Yes.” “Fucking hell, Y/N.” A beat. “I could hear it from your headphones that second day you blew me off.” You just nod, still looking solemn.

“You’re not,” you say after a moment.

“Not what?”

“Wrong. About last night. You know, its being brilliant. Before… well, before —”

“Before I cocked it all up with silly games I never should’ve played in the first place,” he interrupts. “Before my stomach fucking flipped at reading those messages and my heart broke at seeing you…,” he swallows the knot in his throat, “at making you cry.” He ventures a step toward you, and you don’t move away, just tighten your grip on yourself and look down. “I’m so so sorry I did, Y/N. And I’ll make it up to you if you’ll let me.” He puts a hand on your cheek, caressing you softly. His other hand comes to your arms, uncrossing them and intertwining your fingers with his. He steps a bit closer and speaks more softly as he asks, “What do you say, love?”

You stay silent for a few seconds then say, “Okay.” He scoffs in relief and disbelief, chuckling.

“I just poured my heart out to you, and all you say is ‘okay’?”

“Yes,” you say, but after a second, a subtle smile lightens your features. He barks a laugh.

“I’ll take it,” he says, kissing your forehead. He lingers there a moment, still caressing your cheek, his lips hovering at your hairline, and when he leans back, he stays very close to your face, looking down at your lips. You push your chin up, bringing your faces even closer together. He smiles at this and closes the shrinking gap.

Your kiss tastes like possibility, and as Sirius shifts, deepening it, he’s not surprised to find your tongues fall into rhythm with each other as easily as your bodies did on the dance floor last night.

You clutch his jacket, pulling him closer as he envelops your mouth with his, the warmth of it coursing from where you’re connected down through your entire body.

He leans his forehead against yours when you break apart. He gives your nose a peck then, your fingers still intertwined, says, “So. What do you want to do now?” “I don’t know.” Not letting go of his hand, you grab your stuff and start walking with him. “Maybe we can waste time. Or sit in silence.” He squints at you.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Yeah, a little bit, yeah,” you grin guilty.

He’s laughing, shaking his head, as he sarcastically says, “We’ll see when I make the effort of giving you another romantic speech.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” you say, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek.

#marauders #10 things i hate about you #marauder x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #james potter #lily evans #remus lupin #james x lily #angst #fluff #enemies to lovers #grumpy x sunshine #fanfiction #reader insert #ria250

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elliesswhore · 1 year ago

Text

Who’s your daddy?

Warnings: BAD WRITING READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, dom!ellie, sub!reader, smut, cunnilingus, r&e!receiving, strap-on use r!receiving, breeding kink, daddy kink, degradation kink, choking, slapping, spanking, spitting, language, pictures are taken.

A/n: I know I said I’d finish the other one butttt I’ll get to it. This feels more important. NOT PROOF READ IM TOO LAZY

Wc:3.5k

You’re sat on Ellie’s bed waiting for her to get home from patrol. It’s getting late and you’re worried, but you know Ellie can get through anything. She’s the strongest person you know, and you’re so happy that she finally asked you out two years ago. Dina and Jesse got fed up with the mutual pining and made it happen.

As you were reading a book that Ellie found for you on patrol a week ago, she walks in with a tense look on her face. You could tell it had been a rough night. She still looked as beautiful as ever though and you were happy to see she didn’t look very injured. There was a tiny cut on her cheekbone, with a bruise surrounding it.

She sets her stuff down and looks over at you. This isn’t the first bad patrol she’s had so you aren’t surprised at the hard look in her eyes. You always let her take her anger out on you. You guys made a safe word after a particularly bad patrol. She was worried that she might hurt you but you showed her that you could take it, and since then she’s not so shy anymore.

Even though all Ellie has on are some jeans and a hoodie, you can’t help but think about what’s under the layers. You want to unwrap her like a piece of candy. She’s so fucking pretty.

You’re snapped out of your trance when she starts to move. She slowly stalks towards you, standing between your spread legs and looks down at you. Ellie lifts her left hand to cup your cheek, using her thumb to tug your lip out from your teeth. You look up not even realizing you were biting your lip.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks in a low voice that has you pushing your thighs together for any sort of friction. You’re stopped by her legs. "hm?" She hums after you stay quiet. Ellie moves her hand to roughly grab your jaw, making you look right at her.

"I asked you a question, little girl." You’re so turned on you can barely form a proper sentence. "I-um," you stutter, "I don't- I-"

You’re interrupted with a light slap to your face. You moan lightly as she weaves her other hand in your hair, tugging the back so your head is tilted up even more. Your pussy clenches around nothing.

"Such a dirty girl, I've barely even touched you and you can't get any words out."

"Please." You whine. She moves the hand on your face to wrap around your neck, squeezing harder than you were expecting. You moan, closing your eyes. That earns another slap on your cheek with her right hand. Her left hand lets up a little.

"Eyes on me. Who's your daddy?" She demands.

"You." You whisper.

"Louder."

"You." You say a little louder.

Ellie leans down so her face is hovering over yours, the hand choking you squeezes harder and she slaps you again. "You can do better than that. When I say louder, I mean fucking louder." She roughly slips her middle and ring finger in your open mouth and starts to fuck your throat. Her fingers thrust in and out of your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. The feeling of your hot, wet mouth around her fingers makes her clit throb. Her fingers come to a stop after a minute. You stick your tongue out, and she lightly taps it with her fingers.

She removes her fingers using them to hold your jaw, spitting in your awaiting mouth. She removes her hand to play with the neckline of the tshirt you’re wearing, paired with just underwear. Her hand still choking you.

"Ellie-" "That's not my name." She deadpans.

"Fuck, daddy, people could hear."

"I don't care." She moves her legs to straddle your thighs, using the hand on your neck to push you to lay on your back on the bed. Ellie hikes your tshirt up with her other hand, admiring the black lace panties you decided to wear. Also something she found for you on patrol.

Her fingers toy with the hem of your panties as she moves the hand on your neck down to grope one of your breasts through the shirt. You were going to bed soon so you didn’t have a bra on. She was certainly enjoying it, and now so are you. You could see her eyes darkening above you.

"This time I want you to moan it." The hand toying with your panties moves down, and she starts rubbing antagonizing slow circles on your clit, through your underwear.

"Fu-" "Who's your daddy?"

"Fuck, you, you daddy, fucking you." You moan out as her fingers begin to pick up the pace. She leans down and places a kiss on your cheek, grinning. "Good girl."

Her fingers stop, making you whine before you gasp as her hand makes its way into your panties, rubbing with the same pace as before.

"Shut up, good girls don't whine. They take what they’re given."

"Fuck I'll be good, just fuck, do something. Please, daddy." You beg, hoping she gives in.

She does. Ellie pulls your tshirt over your head, her mouth instantly going to lick, suck, and bite at the new area of exposed skin.

"Such a little slut, dressed like this. Were you hoping I'd come home and fuck you?"

You whine.

"Huh? Wanted me to rough you up tonight so people know exactly what we did tomorrow? I bet you'd like that, my little whore."

"You're being extra naughty tonight. If you don't answer me one more time daddy's gonna have to punish you."

You weigh your options and finally decide you’re in the mood to be a brat. So you stay silent. She doesn’t like that very much. Her lips twitch in a small smirk. She knows what you’re doing.

Ellie grabs your waist and turns you over on your stomach so fast you think you might get whiplash. She straddles the back of your thighs. You cry out as her palm connects with your ass with loud smack.

No doubt if anyone was outside they could hear it. You could feel how angry she was. "Count, slut. And thank daddy after each one. Think you can manage that, dumb fucking whore?"

"Yes," You gasp. "One. Thank you, daddy."

Smack. "Two. Thank you, daddy."

Smack. "Three. Thank you, daddy."

SMACK. This one is harder but god does it feel good. "fuck, f-four. Thank you, daddy"

She alternates between cheeks until your ass is raw, with her handprints starting to welt on your ass. It feels so good right now, but you know you’ll be sore after the adrenaline wears off. You can’t wait to take pictures for your collection.

Smack. "f-fifteen, p-please please daddy. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please just fuck me."

"Fuck, love it when you beg for daddy's cock." She kneads your ass in both hands, before smoothing them over, admiring her hand prints.

"Please, I'll do anything." You beg more.

"Anything?" "Anything, I'm such a fucking whore for you daddy. Want your cock all day." You’re still laying on your stomach, head turned so you could talk. The weight of her on top of you feels amazing and you want more.

"Careful what you wish for, little girl. I don't think your pussy could handle my cock all day."

"No, you're wrong I can, I can, please please." Ellie moves you onto your back, and you hiss at the contact of your ass on the bed. Ellie just grins above you pleased that her marks will be on you for awhile.

You gasp as she takes one of your nipples in her mouth, sucking hard. You close your eyes leaning your head back, relishing in the feeling of her mouth on your breasts. You feel a sharp smack on the side of your thigh making you look back at her. You find her staring at you with a look in her eyes. Keep your eyes on me.

She continues her descent downward, sucking hickies over your stomach and the inside of your thighs. All while making intense eye contact with you. It feels amazing. It looks amazing. She looks so pretty between your legs.

She positions herself more comfortably on her knees in front of you. She uses her insanely attractive and strong hands to force your legs apart. Ellie rests her head on your right thigh bringing her right hand up in between your folds, teasing you. It feels nice but it’s not enough and she knows that.

She moves her head in between your legs more and licks a stripe up your folds, you sigh in relief, but that's all she does. She kisses back up your body reaching her right hand up to wrap it around your neck. She squeezes lightly as she leans down to kiss you. Soon enough you feel her tongue lick your lips forcing her way in. You moan into the kiss, and she pulls away. Your lips chase hers and she chuckles.

"Always make such pretty sounds, sweet girl." She says rubbing her thumb up and down the side of your neck whilst she chokes you. "Please daddy." You’re desperate at this point.

“Aww, please daddy?” She mocks, “Sound so needy, baby.” She smiles at you.

Ellie pulls away completely making you whine. She pulls her hoodie and shirt off leaving her in jeans and her sports bra. You lay on the bed watching her. You think she’s the most gorgeous thing to walk this planet.

“Take ‘em off.” She demands, nodding down to her jeans. Happily, you sit up and reach your hands to unbutton them. You look up at her as you unzip them and pull them down. She smiles at you and takes them off the rest of the way.

“I think,” she says backing up a little, “that it’s your turn to get on your knees.”

You slide off the bed onto your knees in front of her. You hook your fingers in the waistband of her black boxers and tug them down and off.

“I think you still need to earn my cock, baby. Hm? What do you think?” She says, running her fingers through your hair.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

The hand in your hair tightens, and she forces your head closer to her heat. You can see how wet she is now. She always enjoys manhandling you. She loves how easy it is to get you to submit. You look up at her waiting for more.

“What the fuck are you waiting for. Be a good little girl and make me cum.”

With those words you dive right in. You lick a stripe up her folds just as she did to you earlier, moaning at the taste of her. She always tastes so good. You lick and suck on her clit for a while before moving down to shove your tongue in her pussy. Your nose bumps against her clit. Ellie moans out at the stimulation, shoving your head even further into her. You can barely breathe and you love it. If you died like this, you would die happy.

“Fuck. Good girl.” She moans. “Stick out your tongue, baby.”

You stick out your tongue, and she starts to grind her pussy on it. She’s using you for her own pleasure and your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled.

Ellie’s moans start to get higher pitch and you can tell she’s about to cum. “Fuck, dirty fucking girl, eating my pussy for some cock.” She’s breathing heavy, moans flowing from her mouth. You wrap your lips around her clit and suck hard.

“Holy fuck-FUCK.” Her hips buck forward and she moans as she cums on your tongue. You slurp up all she has to offer with a satisfied hum. You continue until she pushes your head away from the overstimulation. You kneel on your feet looking up at her. Ellie’s juices and cum covers the lower half of your face, and she thinks it’s one of the prettiest sights she’s ever seen. She lightly taps you cheek twice, smiling down at you.

“Good girl. Get on the bed.” You obey, taking your panties off and getting into the position she likes to start in. You lay on your back and rest your head against the pillows. She’s being nice now but you know it won’t last long.

She slips her boxers back on before walking to the nightstand and pulling out her strap. It’s purple, 8 inches, curves upward slightly, and she knows exactly how to use it.

Ellie climbs on the bed, forcing your legs apart and getting in between them so that your thighs are resting on hers.

Her left hand grips your thigh tightly as her other one reaches to grab her cock. She slides the strap between your folds, teasing you with the tip. You moan loudly, glad she’s finally giving you what you want.

"What happened to 'people could hear.' Hm?What? Now that the slut's getting what she wants, she doesn't care?" She looks down at you with raised eyebrows, a smug look on her face.

"mhm" you hum, your eyes are closed. You hope it’ll set her off and she’ll fuck you instead of just circling the tip over your clit. "Just wanna get fucked."

"Is that right? hm, I don't know. I'm quite liking where we're at right now." She says switching to rubbing her whole cock over your cunt.

"Fuck, it feels so good. Please, more" She doesn't listen continuing to tease you. You want more but Ellie was definitely enjoying herself. Her eyes are glued to your pussy, her mouth opened slightly as she watches her strap get covered in your slick. You hear her groan and she looks up to find you staring at her. She smiles leaning down to kiss you once more.

Leaning back she takes her hand off your thigh and lightly slaps your cheek again. Your eyes close, moaning at the little sting it brings. She stops teasing and lines her cock up with your entrance. Her hands are on your waist and you close your eyes feeling her enter you. She’s big, and the stretch feels fucking amazing.

You open your eyes when you hear her groan. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Ellie swears she can feels you around the strap. She looks so fucking hot. She looks down at you with a smirk and you clench around her cock. She bites her lip and begins to thrust in and out of you.

"Such a tight little cunt, made just for me."

"All for you daddy." You moan louder as she begins to pick up the pace, until she’s fucking you hard and deep. She’s leaning over slightly and it feels like she’s in your stomach.

"Yes, yes, yes, it feels so good. I can't I-" Tears prick your eyes and you feel like you’re in heaven as she goes even harder. Ellie’s looks down at you and you feel tears roll down your cheeks. She moves one arm so it’s resting right by your head and the other goes to wipe your tears.

"Look so pretty when you cry, baby. Makes me wanna ruin you even more."

"Do it, oh god. Do it daddy." Ellie pulls out making you let out a big whine. "daddy, why'd you stop?"

"Wanna taste you." Is all she says.

Before you can even register what's happening, she’s laying in between your legs. Her mouth is on your pussy sucking your clit in a way that nobody else can. She’s completely ruined anyone else for you. She flicks her tongue back and forth on your clit and you let out moan after moan. "Daddy, please just-"

Ellie slaps your cunt and it makes you jolt back a little, but she just grabs your hips and pulls you back. She puts your legs on her shoulders, wrapping her arm around to hold you down.

"Shut up and let daddy enjoy her girl." She continues to toy with your clit with her tongue as she brings her hand up to your entrance, pushing her ring and middle fingers inside. You moan and she groans against your pussy, the vibrations making the pleasure increase.

“Always taste so good f’me baby. Can feel how tight you are around my fingers. Fuck.”

She thrusts her fingers hard into your pussy, hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

When she said enjoy, she meant it. She’s groaning, and you can see her grinding against the bed. The harness of the strap giving her clit some much needed attention. Your hands tangle in her hair, and tug hard on it causing her to moan against you. You shudder and gasp at the feeling. You’re so close and she knows it. Of course, knowing this, she pulls away again. You whine out, you wanna cum so bad but she always drags it out ,but you know if you say anything she’ll take even longer.

She sits up and grabs your hips turning you onto your stomach, completely manhandling you. “Knees.”

You shimmy onto your knees so your face presses against the pillows and your ass is in the air. She knows exactly what she’s doing as she enters you again, you can feel her cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars. One hand is on your hip and the other is massaging your ass. She begins with slow deep thrusts because she knows it drives you crazy.

“Look so pretty like this, sweetheart. My own little slut, taking my cock so fucking well.”

“Say it.”

You’re a moaning mess under her and she loves it. She switches between looking at your face, your ass, and her strap sliding in and out of you. She’s groaning from the friction of the harness and you can tell she’s close.

Eventually she can't hold back anymore, and starts thrusting hard and fast. She moves her right hand to choke you again, lifting your upper half off the bed. You can feel her even deeper now and it makes you moan loudly. One of your hands reaches behind you, nails scratching at whatever you can reach. Her other hand comes up to your face. You know what she wants as you take her thumb in your mouth, sucking on it. She groans at the sight.

“God. You’re such a fucking whore, baby. What would everyone say if they knew how fucking naughty you are? Hm? If they knew how much of a slut you are? Bet you’d like it huh? Having everyone know who fucks you this good.”

She chuckles. “Although, by the looks of it everyone is going to know how slutty you are.” Her thrusts are starting to get uneven and you can hear her panting and groaning behind you.

Her words make you let out a pornographic moan, thinking about the bruises that’ll be on your neck for the next few days.

"I'm close." She breathes out.

"Fuck, me too daddy. Please. Please, can I cum? I’ve been so good, daddy. Please.” You whine and moan out around her thumb, practically babbling.

"Shit, fuck. You can come, baby. Come all over daddys cock." You moan as she moves her hand from your mouth to rub circles on your clit. You moan even louder as you come, clenching around her cock.

"Fuck, gonna fill you up sweet girl. Gonna get you pregnant. Let everyone know who you belong to." She practically growls in your ear. Her hot breath against you makes causes goosebumps to arise on your skin.

You moan, she’s only brought this up a couple times and it makes you go crazy every time. She continues to thrust in and out of you, chasing her high. "Do it, daddy. Fill me up, fuck a baby into me."

“Fuuuck.” She groans as she cums in her boxers. Both of you are breathing heavy as she pulls out. Ellie gently lowers your upper half onto the bed, settling back on her feet. “Fuck.” She sighs satisfyingly. “Did so good for me, baby. Always such a good girl.”

“Stay there.”

Ellie’s leaves to clean herself up and change boxers. She comes back with her polaroid camera and a warm wash cloth. She grins at the sight of your pussy dripping with your cum, and your bruising ass.

She grabs the camera and takes a picture of it. She flips you around to get another picture of her choking you. You have a lot of those but every one is just as hot as the last.

"My pretty baby looks all fucked out."

You smile tiredly, eyes threatening to close, "She is."

She smiles and leans down to kiss you before she takes one last picture of you face. Once she’s done she grabs the wash cloth and cleans you up. “Gotta get up, baby. You need to pee.”

You groan at her words, you would literally rather do anything else than get up right now.

“I know, I know, but you have to.”

“Ellieee-“

Giving up, she picks you up and takes you to the bathroom, setting you on the toilet. You pee, wipe, and wash your hands before Ellie basically drags you to bed. She puts a different tshirt of hers on you and some panties. “One more thing, baby.”

“Ughhhh”

“Stop being a brat, baby and drink this water.”

You do as she says and get under the covers. You’re two seconds from passing out. Ellie gets a glass of her own water before joining you in bed. She lays on her back and you cuddle into her, her arms wrapping around your waist.

“Are you okay?” You ask her.

She scoffs and smiles a little. “Am I okay? I should be asking you that.”

Your hand reaches up and lightly touches the bruise forming on her cheek. She grabs your hand and kisses it. She holds your hand and rests it on her body.

“It’s nothing baby, just got stuck with a shitty patrol partner. Fucking pissed me off. I’m okay.”

You lean up and kiss her lips. It’s soft and slow. “I love you.”

She pulls you even closer if that’s possible. “I love you too, sweet girl.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #elliesswhore

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curioushappenstance · 7 days ago

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fic title: do you like my dress? it's got pockets [chapter 4]

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Summary: 9:19 Dragon – Varric Tethras loses his virginity to a pretty dwarf girl at the bar. 9:41 Dragon - The consequence walks through the gates of Skyhold. - In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all. - aka, the fic where varric has a daughter that he didn't know about until five minutes ago.

I ate all of my meals in the tavern.

It was close, convenient, and Cabot didn’t charge me. He let me eat in the storeroom, where it was quiet, and I could sit alone with my thoughts while Iowen managed the patrons—in her own way.

“The mirror,” I said, when Varric visited me one morning when the bar was still empty. It was several days since Hawke’s funeral, and we hadn’t spoken much since. Maybe he was embarrassed, I thought, or… maybe he was just avoiding me. “Was that you?”

The bags under his eyes were startlingly dark, and despite the bald healer’s insistence, he sipped from a tankard of potent Marcher ale. His other hand was busy caressing the feathers of a fancy, expensive quill. He was still wearing all black, and if not for his hair and jewellery, he would appear very dull.

“Mirror?”

I rubbed at a stubborn, suspicious stain that was embedded into the countertop. It hadn’t been there last night. I hoped Cabot wouldn’t mind if I couldn’t get it out.

“The one in my room.”

His ears turned a stark shade of red. He looked away, clutching the quill tighter, stray hands of hair falling over his eyes.

“Bumped into it,” he rasped, and tucked the hair back behind his ear. I couldn’t judge him for the lie, nor for his shame as he refused to look at me.

There was a brief silence, which he broke with a sharp inhale. “That blanket. Hawke gave it to you?”

I caressed the fabric draped over my shoulders. The warmth it gave me, the weight of it on my body, was the only true comfort I’d ever had.

“It was a cold night.” It hailed the next morning, and I woke to wet hair and blue fingers. “If he hadn’t…”

Would mother have grieved me, if I died out there in the cold?

I shook the thoughts from my head, and with it, the memory. “What are you writing?” I asked instead, and Varric glared at his parchment.

“Same damn thing I was writing a week ago. Blondie needs to know about…” He breathed through his nose and didn’t finish his sentence.

“And is he… who is he?”

Varric discarded his quill to the counter and leaned back in his seat. He hadn’t written a thing since he arrived, and the ink had dried on the tip. “You haven’t read my book, have you?”

I supposed being world famous did things to one’s ego. I didn’t know any one human, elf, or dwarf who hadn’t at least skimmed the damned thing—except me, whose heart lurched at the very prospect. How much did I know? Naught. Nothing.

“I was forbidden,” I said.

He grumbled. “You can’t ‘forbid’ someone from reading a book, that’s ridiculous.”

You could. I’d seen it reflected in mother’s eyes, rage, fear, and abandonment as his pages kindled the fire. “Regardless…”

Varric sighed.

“Blondie—Anders. Him and Hawke eloped after Kirkwall went to shit. I missed the ceremony.” His expression soured. “It’s a recurring theme.”

“What do you mean?”

He took a long drink.

“Nevermind. How’s, uh… working with Cabot?”

I glanced around the empty room. One patron had come in through the door some minutes ago to sit by the fire, but that was all. “Quieter than I expected. I thought the soldiers might be… more.”

“Curly’s got a wrangle on ‘em. Used to be a lot worse. They mellowed out after Haven and… uh, you know.’

Haven. How different the Inquisition must have been then. “Were you in Haven?”

“When it was attacked, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Varric made a noise somewhere between a grumble and a sigh, then picked up his quill again. “Wasn’t on the front lines, but sure, I was there.”

It was difficult to picture. The roar of dragon fire in his eyes. “Were you scared?”

His entire body became suddenly rigid. He opened and shut his mouth, blinked, then grinned. “Nah. I was piss-drunk. Chuckles, though—”

“He’s bullshitting you.”

I jumped. Varric didn’t. The low, guttural voice came from above; Varric grinned at it in a sly, mischievous way, and the qunari, leaning over the railing that overlooked the bar, sent an identical one back, his one eye shrouded by the dark, but his teeth glinting.

“Tiny!” Varric exclaimed, “Aren’t you supposed to be in Jader, or… wherever it was?”

“Soon. Boys and I are waiting on the go-ahead from the boss. How’s your head?”

“It’s ‘ouch’. Hey, have you two met?”

I backed away. The qunari descended to the bar. Each step was a sharp, heavy stomp that made the stairs shake with his weight. At the bottom, he stopped, and leaned against a post.

“Nah.”

“Well. Now you have. Kid, you should join us for Wicked Grace sometime.”

The qunari’s eye gleamed like a campfire in the desert at night. I hid my shaking hands behind my back.

Not qunari. Not qunari. Tal-Vashoth! Right?

“I don’t gamble,” I squeaked.

“Doesn’t need to be for coin!”

What else could you play for? Clothes?! I shook my head. The qunari pushed off the post.

“Don’t let him scam you,” he said.

“I—I don’t scam people!” Varric splayed his hand across his chest. “I’m a liar, not a fraud!”

“Uh-huh. Hey, how about giving me back my nice, fancy eyepatch? The one from Orlais? How’s that looking?”

“You lost it fair and square, Tiny.”

“Agh! You don’t even need it!”

“Yet! The operative word here is ‘yet’.”

The qunari grumbled under his breath and made for the door. “Whatever you say. Dwarf.”

“Have fun in Jader!”

The door slammed shut behind him. I released my breath through my teeth, and used the counter to steady my hands. Whatever he was doing in Jader, at least he wouldn’t be here, for a time.

Varric, as clueless to me now as he was to most things, physically deflated as he gazed back at his parchment. Then, with a heavy sigh, folded it into his pocket.

“I should probably get going. Before it gets busy.”

“Right.”

“Say hi to Cabot for me.”

“Yes.”

He pushed past a group of women that had just come in. I hopped onto the crate behind the bar, ready to serve them, watching Varric leave me behind.

Emelin du Luson, Revered Mother of the Chantry of Kirkwall, to Serah Isana Mercar, Master of her House, and Daughter to the late Serah Javarel Mercar, greetings.

After careful and thorough considerations, it is with the utmost remorse that we must dismiss your appeal for a Dwarven funeral service, and the cremation of the late Serah Javarel Mercar will proceed, as in accordance with Chantry Doctrine, on Solace 15th, 9:41 Dragon, forthwith.

Go with the Maker’s Blessing and the Grace of our Most Holy Andraste, Maker’s Bride.

Written on the fifteenth day of Bloomingtide on the confines of Hightown, Kirkwall, in the forty-first year of The Dragon Age.

The splattered stain of wine slowly spread down the front of my dress. The offending glass lay in shattered fragments at my feet. The storeroom was cold. My fists shook at my sides.

Iowen reached out, then withdrew. She knelt and gathered the biggest shards into a sack; they scraped against the floor, an ear-piercing screech as her unsteady hands struggled to pick them up. When done, she stood.

Words lived then died on her tongue.

“I won’t tell Cabot,” she finally whispered.

I blinked away the hot tears that stung my eyes. I wouldn’t let them fall, I wouldn’t cry here. Iowen reached out again, and I withdrew.

Her voice rasped from disuse. “What happened?”

I unclenched a fist, finger by finger, and dragged my hands over my ruined dress. In my other, I clutched the scrunched-up, floral-scented, Maker-forsaken bastard of a letter in a white-knuckled, aching grip.

I should never have left.

I couldn’t be satisfied with what I had and what I had been given. Mother died for that stupidity, and now her soul would die, too. I had a home, I had security, I had a man who loved me, even when I was fundamentally unlovable, and when it wasn’t enough… it was never enough. Right?

I straightened my spine. “Please tell Cabot that I’m ill.”

It was nearly hurricane season in Kirkwall now. I had to leave immediately, or risk being caught adrift in The Waking Sea. It was a week from here to Jader, and then after that… three days by boat, less if the winds were strong.

Could I hire a pony? Did I have enough silver? I counted what I had as I left the tavern, Iowen watching me go with sad eyes. I had nearly two sovereigns, so accounting for travel expenses, that was—

“Kid! Leaving early?”

I clenched a fist around my coinpurse.

Varric, breathless, struggled to keep up with me. “What’s that on your dress?”

Red like mother’s blood in the grout. “Wine.”

“Did one of the soldiers—?”

It didn’t matter how much he claimed to care now. He didn’t protect us, never provided for us, and after two decades surviving off Lowtown scraps, mother was dead, and he was still rich.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Kid. If someone’s—”

I shoved him, then shoved him again, and he stumbled, mouth open, inhaling sharply.

“Stop pretending to care!”

I ran to the tower, feet thudding beneath me. I burst into my quarters with my heart in my throat and my pulse in my ears. I ripped off my corset and my kirtle, throwing them to the floor. Damn Varric! Damn the Chantry! Damn fucking Kirkwall!

I changed into my old clothes. I shoved everything into my pack. I tied it up, threw it over my shoulder, and glared up at the spider dangling above the chest of drawers.

“You didn’t even catch any fucking flies.”

It didn’t reply, just like it didn’t before, and with burning eyes, I threw my door open.

THUNK.

Varric cried out. His hand flew to where a fresh, door-shaped mark slowly spread across his forehead. “What is it with you and concussions?!”

“What do you want?”

“I—” His eyes, squinted in pain, fixated on my pack. In the hand at his side, he clutched the chipped, empty vase from his quarters. “What’re you—?”

“I’m leaving.”

He breathed in and out for a few silent moments, unmoving, his brow deeply furrowed. “What, Skyhold?”

“I’m going back to Kirkwall.”

“You… you can’t.”

As if a man like him could tell me what I could and could not do. I moved to leave; he blocked the doorway.

“ Varric. ”

He breathed again, in and out. A child outside threw a tantrum in the mud. Clenching his jaw, he held out the vase by its neck.

“Came to give this to you.”

Slowly, delicately, I took it. His fingers dragged along its body before it left his grasp. “Why?”

“You kept looking at it. Figured you liked it.”

I did. I really did, flowers or no flowers, daisies or no daisies. I put it on my window sill next to an empty, dusty candle-holder, and stared at it in the sun as Varric stepped in and closed the door behind.

There was a click, as he locked it.

“I—I’ll get a response from my contact soon, I promise. I’ll figure something out.”

I stared past him. “I can’t…”

“There’s a spot just outside Skyhold, uh, this shallow cave. We’ll meet him there, and have a chat, and then you can—”

“I can’t.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Stop it!” I snatched the candle-holder and threw, hard as I could—”Stop pretending to care!”—He ducked, and it missed him by inches, slamming into the door—”You didn’t before, you don’t now, and you never fucking will!”

“Didn’t ‘before’? Kid—!”

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t know about—”

“ Bullshit! ” I threw my pack against the floor. Birds scattered from the roof above. “She wrote letters, I saw them!”

So many, so many! As if she could ever stop at just fucking one! And how many times had he dared to grace his bastard daughter with the barest acknowledgement? He couldn’t even say sorry when I told him my mother was dead. The corners of his lips lifted just enough to bare the faintest glint of his teeth.

“I never got any damn letters.”

“Liar.”

His eyes narrowed, his mouth still parted. A long quiet stretched out for ten seconds, then ten more, as he eyed the vase on the windowsill.

He jutted his chin and blew out a breath. “You don’t believe me. Fine, I’m used to it. But before you go running off, tell me why. I’m owed that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything.

“Kid. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I don’t care!”

Something like faint recognition played behind his eyes, and abruptly he looked away, reaching up to tug on his golden necklace. His voice was measured.

“I gotta check in with the reconstruction efforts anyway, so…” He let go of it, and it fell against his chest. “Guess I’m going with you.”

A bird flew past my window. In a voice quieter than I thought possible, I asked,

“What?”

“Someone’s gotta stop you getting killed. I”ll have to have someone take my mail, maybe forward it to Kirkwall, but…”

“But… but, why—?”

“Fuck’s sake,” he hissed, “you really think I don’t care?! No, whatever, believe what you want. But tell me what’s going on!”

I shuffled my feet. My boots squeaked against the floorboards. My pack mocked me from where I threw it, motionless judgement.

Why did I do that?

My cheeks burned as I dug the letter from my pocket. Varric took and un-scrunched it.

“The Revered Mother…?”

“She was always kind to me in the Chantry. And the Sisters would give me warm bread, and…” and in the end, it all meant nothing. I was nothing. Mother was nothing.

When he finished reading, he stared out the window.

My voice warbled. “I need to convince her. Maybe she doesn’t understand.”

He ran a hand over his hair. “You want a dwarf funeral?”

“Yes, she needs to be returned to the Stone. I researched the rites, and the proper words, and all.”

His expression was indescribable and indiscernible. “I don’t really get it, but—”

“ ‘Get it’?”

“—if that’s what you want, then yeah. Sure. Let’s convince her.”

“What do you mean, you don’t get it?”

Something settled deep in my chest that was somewhere between disappointment and anger. I couldn’t tell which it was. They tangled together, like thick knots I was too clumsy to tug loose. How could he not get it? He was a dwarf, too.

Suddenly tired, I collapsed onto my bed, pack forgotten. “Your family… are all surfacers, then?” I tried. Mother was an exile from Orzammar. Somehow, I imagined he might’ve been too, but thinking on it…

“My family? Sure, now they are, I guess.” He joined me on the bed, sighing as he sank into the mattress. “My brother was from Orzammar, but me? Kirkwall, born and bred.”

Brother? Did I have an uncle? “Why did they leave?”

“Had to flee. Our father was fixing Provings. But, hey, turned out fine in the end! For me, anyway.”

I kicked my feet against the bed frame. He copied me, and for a minute, it was just the sounds of boots hitting wood.

“And for your brother?”

He opened and shut his mouth. “...You know what? Ask me another time, kid.”

“It’s a week to the nearest port.” Varric tapped his quill against a page of fresh parchment. The main hall’s fireplace dwindled into a spark, waiting for fresh fuel. He’d convinced me to stay another day, but I was… antsy. “Give or take. You’re fine with sleeping on the road?”

“I did it before.”

“Sure, with a bunch of refugees to bundle up with. It’ll be a lot colder without ‘em, and two lonely dwarves in the mountains…”

“Is it possible we’ll be attacked?”

“Skip possible and go straight to likely. We should bring someone else with us, another dwarf, maybe? We could probably pass as merchants.”

Harding entered through the large door that entered into the hall, a bow over her shoulder, and beelined to hover over the table. “The Inquisitor said you were leaving!”

I leaned back into the chair. Varric waved his hand in dismissal.

“Merchant Guild business in Kirkwall.” The lie rolled off his tongue with an uncanny, practised ease. Is that what he told the Inquisitor, too? “We’ll be back before you miss us, don’t worry.”

“So that’s where you know each other from, huh?”

“Oh, uh—”

“Yes,” I said.

They both looked at me; Harding with surprise, and Varric with his mouth in a line. Why was he annoyed?! He started it!

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “We’re tryna bolster our numbers a bit, avoid getting attacked on the road. Any suggestions?”

“Hmmm.” She cocked one hip and contemplatively crossed her arms. “Port’s in Jader, right? Aren’t the Chargers heading that way?”

“Us with the Chargers?” He chuckled. “I think the kid here would have an aneurysm. We need something nondescript, but…”

I squinted up at Harding. The light behind her was a bit blinding. “You’re a scout, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

If it had to be anyone, anyone at all, in the whole of Skyhold… might as well be someone I actually��knew. I looked to Varric, who instantly understood.

“Hey, Harding,” he said, “can I ask a favour?”

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard #dragon age veilguard #varric tethras #garrett hawke #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanart #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #archive of our own #dragon age varric #da varric #da fanart

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