#like i realized that not only have i been on the verge of tears for a week now that its cold | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 5 months ago

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❝like the grass wants to grow, i want to run anywhere that you go.❞

summary. 'a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today may lead to a devastating hurricane weeks from now.' or alternatively, it takes six lifetimes for you to find each other.

pairings. poly!marauders+lily x reader.

word count. 8.9k (i tried to keep it short. i really did T-T)

tags. hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, happy ending. reincarnated/regressor!reader. no specific gender described. not proofread, we die like lucerys velaryon.

cws. brief depictions of death and war, themes of mental health and trauma.

note: lmaoao, as per the poll, here is the time-traveler!reader fic! i didn't cry during the angsty parts so it's probably not that bad.

YOU WAKE UP to a familiar weathered stone ceiling, owls softly hooting beyond the curtained windows, sunken in the mattress of a canopy bed with low snoring on either side of you. There’s a wilting candle on your nightstand, alongside an unfastened leather journal—a whiff of spilt ink under your nose. In your limp embrace, is a plush capybara with a turtle attached to its head. The quilt blanket is entangled between your thighs, the early morning breeze flurrying past the exposed stretch of your belly where your oversized granny-square jumper has ridden up.

It’s only then, when you try curling your fingers and wiggling your toes, that you realize that your body feels as though it had been hit by a shrinking charm.

You sit upright instantly, heart skipping a beat from fright.

No.

You can’t have.

You reach for your brass handheld mirror, tucked away in the bedside drawers.

There is no way you are this unlucky.

Yet staring back at you, is your eleven-year-old self.

Naturally, you end up screaming in frustration—startling the robins idle on the windowsills and all but waking the entirety of the Gryffindor castle. Prefects burst inside the dormitory, wand at the ready and crust in their eyes, in search of a threat only to find you on the verge of hyperventilating.

Bloody hell.

Not again!

Merlin, Morgana and Arthur—you are not going through puberty a sixth time.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mumble defeatedly as you fall back onto the patchwork pillows. Your roommates are gawping at you in horror, the sound of heavy footfalls echoing in the halls outside.

Months ago, you had heard about the gruesome passing of Dorcas Meadowes—you weren’t necessarily close friends with the girl, despite being sorted in the same House, but you would grieve where grief is due.

YOUR FIRST LIFE came to an abrupt end at the age of nineteen, in a quaint coffeehouse where the owner knew your name and the baristas wore a sunlit grin everyday. That day, no one had expected for Death Eaters to wreak havoc in Diagon Alley—it could have been anticipated, if only the Ministry was competent during the onset of the war. But with the extensive list of Muggleborn and half-blood casualties after that incident, Ministry officials had no choice but to restrict certain areas and propose the ‘lesser-breeds’ go into hiding for their safety. This alluded to many families; most condemned to be blood-traitors.

(There had been fleeting whispers of her dying at the wand of Voldemort himself.)

Then, you’d woken up in the four walls of your dormitory. The sensation of being ever-so cruelly struck by the killing curse burning in your chest—a scorching fire, yet bitterly cold all the same. You had sobbed wretchedly, curled up in a shuddering ball of tears until your roommates had called for the prefects. It got worse when they tried to console you—you felt everything still. The panicked cries and screams of the wounded ceaselessly echoing in your head. You remembered the shards of glass sinking into your skin as you dove for cover, Unforgivables apathetically hurled in every direction.

It was not until Madam Pomfrey administered a Calming Draught and an elixir for dreamless sleep that you finally went out like a light extinguished.

Your second life was relatively longer—you had spent it under the supervision of mind healers at St. Mungo’s, after all. For the next thirty years, you’d been confined to a ward on the fourth floor. (Later, you would share this space with a couple who went by the names of Alice and Frank Longbottom.) Regardless of the bleak walls, it was not so bad. The quilts were warm and the assigned matron, Madam Strout, was kind and fussed over you regularly. While the healers had done everything they could, you continued to struggle with discerning what appeared to be your ‘first life.’ (Which one was your true reality? The first? Or the second?) Eventually, all the poking and prodding wore you down. Your fingertips had bruised and brittled. You could not look over your shoulder in fear of finding a Death Eater staring back at you. Night terrors plagued your dreams.

(Your parents who had always embraced you with loving arms—they could not look you in the eyes now.)

Memories bled into newer memories as the days went by. You haunted the corridors with a plagued stare, quickly becoming a woeful canard amongst the residents of the hospital. ‘The hysteric fortune teller,’ they called you. You who spoke of wars and rebellion at the age of twelve—but whose words nobody cared for when Voldemort began rising to power. You who’d gone mad and overwrought. In the end, you believed everyone else.

(See? It must have been all in your head—a wayward spell that unfortunately damaged your memories.)

You’re unsure of how you died, but perhaps, you were never even alive in the first place. There was only so much Draught of Peace you could take before you inevitably became a soulless, sleep-walking husk of a person.

You woke up in the Gryffindor tower once more—this time, you’re careful enough to smother your cries.

If you flinched every time Marlene McKinnon coarsely bellowed Dorcas’s name in the middle of the school hallways, or if you averted your gaze at the sight of Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom’s intertwined hands—it was nobody’s business but your own. In this life, you kept your head down, breezing through your homework and exams—although you had seen no purpose in it, at this point. Each morning that you woke up, you wondered if this was a favor from the Gods, or a relentless hell so meticulously-crafted for you.

(But what sins had you committed for them to spit on you as they had done? Surely, you would be granted peace after two deaths.)

You could not tell your family, nor could you ask anyone else in Hogwarts if they remembered fragments of their past lives—for the last time you had done that, you were met with vindictive laughter and cruel gazes.

(At that moment, you had understood Xenophilius Lovegood a little bit more. You never knew how many sought to trample on the wallflowers of the castle.)

And so, you’d kept your head down until the end of your time in the castle. You stayed away from Diagon Alley and surrounding areas, and you willed yourself to perfect the art of apparating—a skill you wished that you had learned earlier.

On the first of November 1981, witches and wizards had come to celebrate the fall of Lord Voldemort—which ultimately meant the death of James and Lily Potter. (You could not come to their funeral the first time around, seeing as you were chained to your hospital mattress that day, inebriated on the third dreamless sleep potion administered to you.)

Under the eyes of St. Jerome, you laid bouquets of white roses and dahlias on their tombstones.

“Wherever your souls are now, I hope you find each other and unearth peace,” you whispered to the two names engraved on the slate, hands clasped together as you rested on the grass. The winds had been cold and biting, a testament to the looming winter that would sweep away the tears on their graves. Like Dorcas Meadows, you did not interact much with James and Lily—but more than anyone, you knew how death was no easy enemy to conquer.

(You hoped their orphaned son would live a life that would not take him too early.)

A few months later, you met your demise to a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback.

As you bled out on the grassfields, you wished for Death to come and take you faster.

When you awakened, it was in the same bed and the same dusty ceiling.

There was nothing you could do but go back to sleep this time around.

After dying pathetically for a third time, a stubborn part of you wanted to fight back—so you did.

Unlike your previous lives, you joined the Dueling Club, supervised by Professor Flitwick himself. Your wand work was clumsy and you stumbled on your incantations. You could not lift your wand without remembering a coffee shop laid to ruin and wreckage or the hardened gaze of Greyback as he sank his teeth into your neck. The times were merciless, your dance with Death even more—but you would not die helplessly again.

As you lay in your bed, muscles aching from dueling practice, you had realized one thing.

You did not want to stain your hands with the blood of another—having grown tired of the Reaper and his antics. If the Gods would not let you rest, then you would not let them take anyone else.

After all, you had the stubbornness of a Gryffindor lion.

For the next six years or so, you devoured your textbooks on charms and healing spells, refining your spellwork until your tongue grew numb and your wrists became sore. When the time came, you followed James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, and many more, in joining the Order of the Phoenix. (Perhaps you should have realized earlier that you all were just wide-eyed children on both sides, forced to partake in a war that should have never been yours to fight.)

The First Wizarding War transfigured the years into a blur of mourning, surviving, and fighting in alleys now-bloodied. Even the sun hid behind the clouds, for brothers began turning on one another. You could only find solace in the fact you had kept Dorcas away from Voldemort’s clutches, volunteering to go in her stead during incursions, and Marlene McKinnon alive for another day to see her family.

But for how long could you cheat fate?

Hours before your death, you found yourself in a forest clearing. The campsite was filled with witches and wizards afflicted with severe hexes and curses—a few of Dumbledore’s best fighters screaming in agony from the Cruciatus.

There you found Remus Lupin, bruised and worse for wear, attempting to wrap a bandage around his shoulders in an empty tent.

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” you said in a soft greeting, stepping inside the tent with a forced smile, your collection of potions and jars of herbal pastes jostling in your leather satchel.

Remus chuckled tiredly. “Haven’t we all?”

You gently pried the bandage from his trembling hands and maneuvering yourself at his back. You stifled the urge to cry at the sight of his scars—so violently red against his pallid skin. Compared to your previous lives, you had developed a friendship with Remus and his group of bold marauders—a camaraderie as true as it could be in dire times. (And if providence had been kinder, you could have dared to want more than just friendship.) You poured drops of Dittany onto his shallower wounds, murmuring empty words of comfort as he flinched and hissed.

“It’s Peter,” he rasped, abruptly holding onto your wrist as you turned to leave. “He’s been missing for hours. Please. I don’t know what I’d. . . what I’d do if. . . if. . .”

You squeezed his hand. “I’ll find him, Remus. Don’t worry.”

True to your word, you had found Peter at sundown deep within the forest. There was an unsettling quietude that hung in the air as you trudged to his side. He was kneeling on the muddy ground, head hanging low. It’s only then that you noticed the body laying still in his arms. Violent chills slithered down your spine as you recognized the woman in his embrace.

“Mary!” you cried out, hurrying to them as fast as you could.

“What happened?” you asked frantically, hands in a desperate search for a pulse. When you were met with no answer, you pressed again more heatedly. “Peter! Look at me!” You gripped his chin, heart hammering in your chest. “You have to tell me what happened! I can’t. . . I can’t help her if I don’t know what hit her.” Droplets of tears fell from your eyes down to Mary’s pale cheeks. “I can’t. . . I need—please. . .”

Bloodshot eyes stared back at you. “I. . . I didn’t want to do it.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, burying his head into the crook of Mary’s neck. “I was so, so scared.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” You grimaced impatiently when Peter lifted his gaze—but he was not looking at you, rather behind you.

The answer to your question was a killing curse to the back.

An unseen rustle in the bushes that you should have paid attention to, a cloaked figure darker than any shadow; a Death Eater that’d come to ensnare you in a perfectly-laid trap.

(Damn it!)

(Damn it all to Hell!)

You awoke to the sound of your screaming and your limbs thrashing in the bed you’ve grown to despise. There was nary a remorse in your body as your roommates wailed at the sight of your nails drawing blood from your arms. Later that morning, the common room would be filled with talks of your faraway gaze and your scratched-up flesh.

You could not take it anymore.

In your fifth life, you had sought peace—or rather, the most beautiful mockery of it.

You decided to give up your magic to chase a semblance of normalcy. No more wands, no more moving portraits, no more jinxes and pranks, no more owls and wizard robes. Most of all, no more war. (‘But it did not work like that’, Death laughed.) In this life, you wanted what was denied of you in the previous ones.

A family.

A happy ending.

Bitterly enough, the Gods saw fit to give you only one of the two.

You married a Muggle, to your parents’ dismay. He was nice and compassionate—a distant contrast to the ongoing turmoil of the wizarding world. But you could not bring yourself to feel guilt. You had been stripped of everything, which included the privilege to die and lay your soul to rest in perpetuity.

(Who were you, if not a dead man walking?)

Over the years, you would have three children with your husband—three beautiful children born from love, in a world that would not actively seek to take them from you. You raised them all to adulthood, hoping they would not fault you for finding relief at the lack of magic in their veins. Their names were Kinsley, Piper, and Avery—and you had adored every inch of them, from their striking eyes to the tips of their stubby fingers.

On your deathbed, you were surrounded by your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. An image you held close to your heart as your vision began to deteriorate.

Just this once, you prayed to all that would hear.

Let me die surrounded by my family.

At the age of ninety-one, you drew your final breath.

And when you opened your eyes, you were back in Hogwarts for the sixth time.

TO SIRIUS BLACK, you are a curious little wallflower, albeit a withering one—you who blend among the crowd, with a sad gaze in your eyes and the fretful twisting of your fingers. He doesn’t know why he’s particularly drawn to you—but perhaps he understands, more than anyone, the hesitance of taking up space in fear of punishment for one wrong move. But you look so lost, meandering along the corridors like the ghosts of the castle—but even the spirits seem more alive and colorful than you.

“What is it that they have taken from you?” Sirius wants to ask.

(What judgment has fate placed upon you so—for you to cry each morning?)

There is a raging urge in his veins to reach over and wipe your tears away, but what can he do as a stranger, if not watch powerlessly as you fade into the background?

His fingers feel like they might fall off if they do not entwine with yours. He wants to offer up his shoulders to carry the burdens that weigh down on a creature as lovely as you.

There are times when he and the other Gryffindors catch you crying at the long tables of the Great Hall.

“O-Oh, was I?” Your reply is quiet. Resigned. Sirius has never felt his heart break more than in that moment. You move to weakly swipe at your tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .”

“It’s alright, really,” Lily says, her voice strained, the words lodged in her throat. Under the table, she seeks James’s hand for comfort. (How can someone appear to be so lonely and defeated?) “We all have those days.”

“Yes.” You blink away the fresh tears pricking at your eyes, mindlessly pulling at the threads of your woven bandages, a weary chuckle falling from the cracked skin of your lips. “Except, it seems the days never end for me.”

Lily stays silent.

Sirius shares a look with Remus from across the table, an unspoken question hanging between the animagus and the werewolf.

How do their voices call out to the one who so faithfully believes that the world has abandoned them?

But Sirius Black is determined and unyielding—what good of a prankster would he be if he could not bring a smile upon your beautiful face?

He gets his chance during Transfiguration class, when McGonagall instructs the class to pair-up for an activity in turning miniature statues into birds. Predictably, you don’t move a muscle, staring ever-so intently at the sights beyond the classroom windows that you don’t notice the professor observing you worriedly—her lips tightly pressed and her eyes wrinkled with concern. Sirius slams his buttocks onto the wooden chair next to you; the sound of chair legs screeching bounces off the cobblestone walls.

“Hullo, partner.” Sirius grins as he offers you an enthusiastic wave, his dark curls floundering with his energy. He feels the gazes of his best mates boring into his back, but decides to ignore it for now—Remus can live without him for one class. In his mind—a perfectly-reasonable logic for an eleven-year-old, mind you—he figures that you would find class more entertaining if you had the right company. And, Sirius is wonderful company.

You stare at him with furrowed brows and Sirius wishes nothing more than to bring fire to your eyes. “Partner?” you repeat, a tinge of confusion in your voice—a deafening cadence to his ears, as for once, it is not desolation that laces your words.

“Partner,” Sirius affirms with a nod of his head, barely paying heed to McGonagall’s directions at the front of the room—but noting the mention of a prize for the pair who would successfully cast the spell for longer than ten minutes. He takes your silence for uncertainty, and replies with a light-hearted scoff—finding the pout on your lips adorable. “I’ll have you know I’m a bloody master at Transfiguration. Not even James could match me in this class—okay, maybe he could, but that’s not important, is it? Point is, with me at your side, Minnie will have no choice but to give us a hundred points!”

From the frown on your lips, Sirius gathers that you’re unimpressed by him—a first, but not a total setback.

He seizes the small box of porcelain figurines before you can blink, a wry smile on his face as he wrangles a boastful laugh from his throat. “Ready to have your mind blown? I’ve been practicing this spell since last night. There’s no way I’m getting this wrong.”

“Oh, I’m Sirius Black, by the way—at your service.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, wondering what your palm would feel like in his. Cold? Warm to touch? Or, perhaps, a perfect fit—just as Lily’s hand feels laced with his?

He doesn’t find the answer to his question. Instead, you draw your wand from your robe pocket, and point the tip of the wood at the earthenware at Sirius’s grasp.

“Avifors,” you recite delicately—such a flawless incantation that Sirius hears Merlin himself weeping in the depths of his grave.

The figurine grows feathers and a beak—Sirius and the rest of the students can only watch as the weebill flutters its wings and soars through the roof.

He’s stupefied. Breathless, one might say. But not because of your little trick—rather, the growing smile on your lips as you watch the bird fly across the room. Your eyes flicker with mischief, and like a man on the edge of a cliff—what is Sirius Black to do, but fall?

THE END OF YOUR first-year at Hogwarts draws near, and so does the springtime—a coveted season for lily flowers to bloom. The April winds find you out by the lake edge, swinging your legs idly on a marble stone bench where the cypress vines grow along the cracks. Songbirds fly overhead as the daylight glistens on the surface of the Black Lake, a beech tree in the near distance, butterflies dancing past the gnarled trunk. Pollen floats like dust in a cupboard under a staircase. Ducklings waddle after their mother as riverine rabbits scurry on into the tall, purple nettles. On days like this, you find it easier to settle into your new life—but, perhaps, you have your friends to thank for that.

Yet, as you find yourself wanting to reach out to their outstretched hands, flashes of children with your hair, your eyes, cheekbones whittled to resemble your own, haunt you. Their pure and gentle temperaments, painfully akin to their father’s. You mourn them every day. Their names are forever inscribed in the locket of your soul. (You did not find it fair—you who live again, and they who disappear forever. An existence that would cease to be—all because you fear what awaits you in this life. Why must it be you who should walk this land with a body scarred by wounds no one else can see? Why must it be you who mourns the loss of your family, your friends, and all your loved ones—everyone murdered by the Gods who spit on the five graves with your name written on it? Why? Why?)

Do you dare to live a life without them? Is it fair to deprive them of a chance of being a family while you waste away on the Isles? You may have lived multiple lifetimes, but not once have you been given the answers you seek.

You will not find happiness without them; it is as you deserve.

(For why else would Death torment you so if you are seen as innocent in their eyes?)

“How did I know I’d find you here?” A sing-song voice emerges from the trees, and you’ve no need to turn your head—the sound of Lily’s bright cadence is one you’re familiar with. But, somehow, you’ve grown fond of her voice, more acquainted with her smile and laugh than you’ve ever been in the last five lives. (You have to wonder if this friendship is one you’re permitted to enjoy.) Her grin is blinding, more so than the afternoon sun behind her. Lily’s wavy hair falls over her shoulder as she plops down on the empty space beside you. “We didn’t see you at lunch today,” she says, looking ahead, the warmth of her hand inching closer to your own. “I figured you didn’t want a bunch of whiffy boys around.”

Then, she looks around, searching for any prying ears, a stream of giggles falling from her lips. “Although, I must warn you—their pockets are loaded with food stolen from the hall, saying they’d give it to you when you returned to the tower. But I think Minnie caught onto them.” She chortles, a fond gaze in her eyes.

You hum in thought, a smile unknowingly pulling at your lips. “Thank you, Lily. It’s sweet of you to come and find me.”

She harrumphs light-heartedly, snootily lifting up her nose. “Don’t get too used to it. We’re only just best friends, after all.”

A silence encompasses the two of you, sitting under the shade, pink fingers shyly intertwined. Lily allows the minutes to flow by like a breeze on the waters, until she stares at you with thick emotions flickering in her emerald eyes. She nibbles on her bottom lip, long lashes kissing her eyelids. “Are. . . Are you alright? Is it one of those days again?”

You grin at her question, impishly nudging her legs with yours. It’s a gesture you deeply appreciate—befriending you and growing closer to you in ways you imagine are never in your cards. But Lily is only eleven, and you will not act upon your selfishness. (But, maybe—just maybe—you are allowed to relish in their company until you are called once again to your deathbed. In the next life, they might not know your name as they do now, and the revelation frightens you immensely.)

“I’m okay,” you say, a gnawing lie that sounds unconvincing to even your own ears. You stare at the flock of swans diving in the lake. “I was just missing a few friends back home.” You remember the toddlers that you used to call your own—their spittled possessiveness toward anyone who dared to snatch your attention away from them. “I don’t know if they would be happy with me going off on my own adventure,” you say, sparing Lily a knowing look. “They are—erm—Muggles.”

“Oh.” Lily nods, mulling over your words. “Tuney. . . my sister. She sort of resents me ever since I left for Hogwarts. We live a world apart, and it barely helps that she ignores me during the holidays.” She sighs, averting her gaze elsewhere, a grimace pulling at her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this was never meant for me. That I was just a fluke. Why do I have magic and not her? Any day now, I expect for McGonagall to come and ask me to pack my bags and head straight home.”

“But,” says Lily, her eyes resolute and her fire unwavering, “until that day comes, I will enjoy every bit of this world as I can. Tuney will just have to deal with that.” She offers you a mellow smile—a likeness to a kind husband that you had once in a past lifetime. “Besides, I think those who truly love us will understand the paths we must take. Even if it means parting ways for a long time. Your friends will not blame you; they’ll want you to live truly and freely.”

Her words sink deep into your bones, and you can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. You simper at the confused tilt of her head. “Wise words, Lily Marie Evans. Are you sure you’re only twelve?”

Lily beams. “Mum likes to tune into the Sunday motivational-talk channels.”

(“The ones we love never really leave us, do they?” Sirius Black will tell you one day, when you’ve bared to him the truth of your lives, and he looks at you no differently than he has before—with all the adoration and fondness of his heart.)

Later, before you and Lily make your way back to the castle, you pick three flowers among the chicory weeds. She stays behind as you kneel by the riverside. For the children you have loved, and will continue to love for eternity. Droplets of tears fall onto the water, joining the floating blue petals. “I’m sorry that I cannot find you as you are,” you whisper, a heavy weight lifting from your shoulders. “But I hope that we meet again in this life, whichever names you may take.”

(After all, what love is stronger than one that perseveres across endless lifetimes?)

You carry them in your heart—letting cherished memories remain as such. Otherwise, you’ll be chasing what can never be again. It would be an injustice to their names to try and replicate a shallow imitation of them. They deserve more than that—to be treated like a pawn in Death’s game. They were alive and you will honor them befittingly.

You bid them goodbye and allow the tethers of their soul to untangle from your grasp.

It is the most difficult farewell—and yet, the easiest act of mercy you have ever carried out.

‘THE FLAP OF a butterfly’s wings can evoke a hurricane in the next world over.’

This is a phrase you’ve come to be familiar with over the span of your numerous lives. It has never been truer than the moment you step outside the infirmary to find a group of mismatched Gryffindors waiting for you in the halls. Their heads snap in attention at the sound of your footfalls. In an instant, you’re crowded with their questions and worries—but you find it endearing, the way your friends fuss over you. It’s certainly a welcome change from a past spent by your lonesome in the castle. (You only wonder what makes this life so different from the rest? Why is everything changing without you noticing? What will be taken from you for this deviation in time?)

“How did it go?” James asks, now seventeen and captain of the Quidditch team, wavy tendrils of brown hair swooping over his round glasses. The broad of his chest fills out his red and yellow jumper, crocheted by Lily over the yule break—the five of you, including Peter, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas, have matching sweaters as well.

Except, you like to tease them with a jest that Lily made yours with the most love—as no one else had the pattern of a capybara with an apple on its head.

“Well enough,” you answer, patting his shoulder with a tired smile that reaches your eyes—for how could one not cheer up in the face of James Fleamont Potter? That would be saying the skies do not brighten in the company of the sun.

By incontestable decree of Poppy Pomfrey, the headstrong matron of the castle, you are required to meet with a mediwitch from St. Mungo’s twice a week, since the start of your fifth-year. Healer Robbins floos to Hogwarts on Wednesdays and Saturdays to check up on your health, physically and mentally. Of course, you don’t divulge anything about your time-traveling dilemmas, lest you end up confined to a hospital ward again for the rest of your years. But you do end up addressing—albeit, begrudgingly—the dried tear stains on your pillowcase every morning, your wayward habit of purposefully missing meals, or your tendency to withdraw yourself from your peers on certain days—which coincidentally happen to be the anniversary dates of your deaths. (If no one would grieve for you, then you’d do it alone.)

Who’d have thought that healing would be much more tortuous than hurting in the quietude of your room?

But one thing is for certain—this is a suffering you will endure with greed and hunger.

For today’s session, Healer Robbins suggests you proactively live in the present more—which is easier said than done.

“Although, she did tell me to stop slouching all the time,” you inform James, scrunching your nose in feigned offense, to which he replies with a hearty chuckle, pulling you into his embrace for a side hug. You burrow your nose in his scent of oakmoss and orris root, a lingering touch of broom polish as well—you feel the warmth of his hand splayed out on your back, and hide your grin into his chest.

“Well, someone had to tell you,” says Regulus Black with a scoff, arms crossed over his chest, yet no genuine heat in his trenchant eyes. He looks pleased that you return unharmed from your meeting with Healer Robbins. Funnily enough, you’ve no doubt that the famed Black temper would emerge should you utter so much as a single word against the mediwitch. (You like her, though. Some days, Robbins lovingly spiels about her clumsy-footed wife—and in return, you talk about your sad feelings. Eurgh. Talk about a fair exchange.)

Among the many divergences in this life, one of them is the unforeseen friendship you have forged with Regulus Arcturus Black. But that story begins with Xenophilius Lovegood, when you stumble upon him in the Forbidden Forest chasing after a family of bowtruckles with a fervid expression and a journal in one hand. You protect him from foul-mouthed Ravenclaws, and he allows you to tag along in his woodland escapades—including a lifelong access to the kitchens beyond curfew. His lack of regard for personal safety is both endearing and maddening, you realize early on. One stormy night, you chase Xenophilius into the forest—he is barefoot, following the Mooncalf hoofprints, as you spit out strings of expletives and mouthfuls of rain. That is where you find Regulus, groaning in pain and carrying a burden that is much too heavy for a fifteen-year-old.

Then, a year later, they decide to give you a heart-attack when you discover that Pandora and Xenophilius have taken Regulus under their wing—figuratively and literally. And, most of all, romantically.

You’re more speechless than Sirius had been when you catch him one fateful evening.

(“Don’t do it, Sirius Black,” you greet, startling the ebony-haired boy as you step out from the shadows. The common room is silent, save for the crackling embers in the fireplace. You stare at the sixteen-year-old with a vehement resolve, your hands curled into fists. If there is one fixed event you had to live through over and over again, it is the news of Severus Snape being nearly mauled to death by a creature so feared and gruesome. You will not let it happen in this life. His eyes flicker with shame amongst a sea of gray, and he knows that you know about his abhorrent idea of a ‘prank.’

You sigh, taking another step forward, hand coming to rest on his tense shoulder. “Let it go, Sirius. It’s not worth it. Bringing someone to harm is never worth it. If he dies, his blood will be on your hands—and you don’t want that, trust me. Be kind to him, Sirius—and even kinder to your brother. The two of you are all each other has.”

“Not true,” Sirius whispers back, almost afraid, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheeks. “I have you, Prongs, Lily, and Rem.”

“And Remus is exactly who we should be with right now,” you reply with a harsh glare. “Not in the common rooms trying to one-up Snape because of some childish rivalry.” With a long sigh and a shake of your head, you push back the dark curls from his face. “The times are cruel, Sirius. We must hold onto what we can.”

His forehead will fall onto your shoulder, and your shirt will be soaked with his tears, but you realize that you will hold him, and all those who’ve captured your heart, until Death himself pries you away from their embrace.)

But, it all pales in comparison to the horror in Sirius’s eyes when you point at Regulus and Peter, as you utter with absolute conviction, “They are my dearest friends.”

While Peter may have been a traitor in another life, a murderer with blood and guilt staining his hands—he is only a skittish boy in this one. A timid student who hides behind the shadows of his friends. You will not let him go down that path again. The Peter Pettigrew you currently know is a mousy little thing, pun intended, who sneaks in a pouch of sugared jelly worms in the library for you and him to enjoy whilst copying off each other’s Arithmancy homework—you two automatically get perfect marks, seeing as you’ve went through school multiple lifetimes already. Truthfully, when you see him tongue-tied before Mary Macdonald, you can’t envision anything else than a lifeless body and a man apologizing for his sins. But it is hardly fair to condemn Peter for the sins of a life he has not lived—and will never live through, if you have anything to say about.

A lion protects their pride, and that is what you shall do. Even if it tears you apart in the process. (Healer Robbins won’t be so pleased about that, though.)

But, perhaps, the most unexpected surprise you’ve received this year is—shockingly—not the news of Dorcas and Marlene dating, and neither is Alice and Frank’s relationship as you have already known that since your first life. It is James, Remus, Lily, and Sirius announcing to the world, with a poorly-written poem for a gnome to recite on Valentine’s Day—courtesy of James Potter himself—that the four of them are in love. In all five lives, that has never happened. Not even Lucius Malfoy can call into question the genuineness of their devotion to one another—and he will not dare to do so in your presence, otherwise he’d find himself at the mercy of you and Narcissa Black.

The four of them are happy as one, and you would die to ensure they stay together until the end of their time. Dark lords be damned.

An even bigger shock comes when their affection for each other unspokenly extends to you. Not in a manner that equals their rambunctious gestures—because the Marauders don’t do anything half-arsed. (And if they fall in love, they fall without fear.) But in a way that is quiet yet intense, ever-so mindful of your walls—with an intention to break them down slowly and only with your utmost permission. They leave you confused with each day that passes. (You fear that they think you pitiful for having not found a significant other.)

(For months now, your heart is set aflutter just by the sound of their voices—if they look at you as a token charity case, it would tear you apart.)

Forehead kisses, hand-holding in the corridors, late nights in the kitchen—tipsy on gillywater and the scathe of each other’s touch. Picnics by the lake, bodies intertwined where no one knows where they begin or end. Ventures in the library where not a soul is paying attention to the passages of their textbooks—hushed giggles turning into unrestrained laughter until Madam Pince rounds the corner and has you all thrown out. (How long has it been since you felt so free?) It’s the little things, like your fingers brushing against theirs as you walk side-by-side, or the soft glint in their eyes as they stare at you from across the room—as though you are a jewel to behold.

It is one thing to know that you are living a life after life—but it is another thing entirely to feel alive when they are nearby.

You are alive when Remus relaxes on the carpeted floor of the Gryffindor tower, and as you lay on the velvet couch, he draws protection runes on your palm with his finger. When he thinks you’re asleep, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. When the nights are unbearably long and you find a safe haven in his embrace, and he in yours.

You are alive when James cages you in a bear hug after an intense Quidditch match against Slytherin, limp tendrils of hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, pressing a series of fervent kisses to the side of your head until his voice is louder than the cries of victory coming from the cheering stands.

(“Lay back down, James Fleamont Potter,” you command tersely as you push him onto the infirmary bed. You narrow your eyes at the bandages wrapped around his arms and neck, as though it’d personally wronged you. “Don’t even think about getting up,” you quickly add when you notice his droopy eyes staring at the doors—where Sirius, Remus, and Peter have gone off for a night of mischief. With an exaggerated sigh, James will roll his eyes before pulling you into the bed with him.)

You are alive when Lily scours the Great Hall in the mornings, hair fussed from sleep and her face bare, and when her eyes finally land on you—none misses the way she lights up blindingly, as if she were a poppy flower emerging from the forest floors and all her petals are curling towards the sun. She bounds over to you with a smile that draws everyone in the room to her. And your heart will have no choice but to swell three times its size when Lily falls asleep mid-meal, snoring with her neck bent and a spoon dangling from her mouth.

You are alive when Sirius dashes across the room to claim you as his Potions partner. He’ll spend the rest of the class with a triumphant grin on his face—sitting on a rickety chair as he lazily admires the view of your backside. And may the Gods help the poor soul who dares to question your work.

(“See that lovely creature over there?” Sirius will say with a dangerous lilt to his voice, pointing to you who’s quite busy squabbling with Severus and Barty Jr. over frog legs. “They will be the greatest apothecary to ever walk the wizarding world—so watch your tongue, mate.”)

They are your limbs, the blood in your veins—the ache in your heart. The fires of your soul. And when they are near, you are finally whole. (Healer Robbins certainly won’t like that, either—but this is a thought you shall selfishly keep for yourself.)

That is why you had come to a decision at the beginning of the year.

“I need to tell you all something,” you say, breaking out of your stupor and finally meeting everyone’s eyes. You meet Sirius’s gaze from where he leans against the wall, his attention on you—and only you. You reckon he notices the way you’re fidgeting nervously with your fingers, gnawing on your lip as you suck in a deep breath. It’s similar to the way he acted when he first told the group about his intentions to run away from his mother. Healer Robbins told you earlier to not dwell on the past—it’s only a thing that time-travelers do, she had said. You suppose there’s no better way to exercise honesty than to tell your loved ones about the secret you have been keeping for the last five lifetimes. You just hope they won’t look at you differently when all is said and done.

Marlene’s gaze worriedly flickers from you and to the infirmary doors. “Has the mediwitch said something?”

You shake your head. “There’s something you should know about me.”

Like a badly-written joke, a pack of lions, a snake, and a badger follows you into an empty classroom. They watch with furrowed brows as you cast a silencing charm over the room. You feel the weight of their curiosity as you take a seat in the center, drumming your nails on your lap as everyone moves to do the same. Remus wordlessly takes the seat next to you, as though being by your side is a natural phenomenon—like the shores never straying from the sand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you return his kindness with a weary smile. You look at the protective circle that’s somehow formed around you. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Xenophilius, Regulus, Lily and the Marauders. (Since when did you gain a family like this in such a short time?)

“Where do I even begin?” you ask with a shuddery breath. “It might get a bit intense. . . and sad, and I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. So it’s okay if you aren’t prepared to take this all in yet. I’d understand.”

“What one of us goes through, we all go through together,” Dorcas vows with her head high. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this, love,” she says, looking at everyone else in the room. “We’re here for you. Always have been. It’s what friends are for, aren’t they? You taught us that. Let us return the favor now.”

You laugh wetly, eyes crinkling with gratitude. “I suppose you’re right.”

There is no time like the present.

And if all goes awry, you probably might just jump out of a window and reset everything. (You wouldn’t, really. This life is precious to you more than anything in the world.)

You close your eyes and draw air into your lungs.

No time like the present.

“When I first died, I was only nineteen.” Despite the pinched expressions and soft gasps, you force the words out. You have to. Otherwise, the tale of your lives will be buried with you forever. This is the first time you have ever said the words aloud. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. “Death Eaters came to Diagon Alley. It all happened so fast, next thing I knew the killing curse was cast straight at me.”

Regulus flinches, and you offer him an apologetic grimace.

“But that wasn’t the end,” you continue amidst their horrified wide-eyes—feeling Remus tighten his hold on your hand. You chuckle bitterly. “If it had been, maybe it all would’ve hurt less. When I woke up, I was back in the Gryffindor tower.”

“What?” Lily frowns as a shadow is cast over her eyes. “But how?”

“I wish I knew,” you reply with a lodge in your throat, eyes thick with incoming tears. “I really wish I knew. But I woke up back in Hogwarts. I was alive again. Somehow, someway, I was alive. But I was dying.” You shut your eyes, head craning to the ceilings as you swallow back a sob. “Have you felt what it’s like to be burnt alive? That’s what the killing curse is like. And I feel it everyday. When I told the nurses this, I was sent straight to St. Mungo’s. They could not heal what was not found in my body. They called me mad. And there was nothing I could do but believe them. It was like that until I died on an infirmary bed, leather straps around my wrists and legs, forbidden to leave the ward and feel even the sunlight on my face. I was deemed a threat to the others and myself.”

Lily beats you to the punch and cries into her hands—the harrowing sound torn from her throat. Mary, with her own stream of tears, pulls Lily into a hug.

“I-I told you it was ugly,” you say timidly, averting your gaze out of remorse. “We can stop here if you’d like.”

“We’re staying,” says Lily with a guttural edge to her words, eyes quickly growing red.

“Then, in my third life, I died by a. . . Greyback—it was Greyback who killed me.” You intertwine your fingers with Remus’s, who’s gone ashen from the reveal. “It’s alright.”

“The bloody hell do you mean it’s alright?” James bellows, running a hand through his hair as he tears himself from his seat, chest heaving up and down. “None of this is alright! How could you say that? We. . .We should tell Dumbledore or something—or anyone! This shouldn’t have happened to you—it’s just too cruel. . .”

“I know,” you acquiesce with a low hang of your head. “I know.”

Sirius exhales jaggedly. “Was that the last of it? Of your. . . your deaths?”

“No.” You stare at him with regret. “In my fourth life, I died in a Death Eater ambush.”

Xenophilius looks like he might faint any second.

“But in my fifth life, I met some people in the Muggle world,” you explain, remembering kind eyes and wide smiles, a family made in a home far away from magic and wars. “I loved them dearly. When I thought I was being punished by Gods, they gave me peace. They taught me unconditional love and I. . .” You let the tears drip onto your skirt. “I might never find them again, but I’ll never forget them for as long as I live. It was the only death given to me without pain.”

You watch as Lily’s doe-eyes flicker with realization. Three flowers in a watery grave.

“And here I am now. The end,” you say, forcing a crooked grin as you brush the dust off your school robes.

No one moves a muscle for the next few minutes.

You freeze in fear.

(Have you upset them? Do they see only a talking corpse now?)

The room is suffocatingly quiet and you can’t bear to see the pity or judgment in their eyes—so you run out of the room as though Death himself was hot on your heels.

They are right behind you—of course, they are. (Where a part of their soul goes, they will follow.)

“Are you angry?” You quietly ask, wrapping your arms around your waist—afraid to turn around and face them. “I would not blame you if you are.”

“No, not mad. Never.” Lily falls into place by your side, hovering but never stepping past your erected borders. “Maybe at the circumstances. It’s all so unfair. I’m. . . We’re just upset that you had to live through that all alone. To die over and over. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt each time.”

You nod, swallowing the urge to crumble on the floor. “Then you’ll understand why. . . why you and I—all of us—I can’t be with you.”

Remus frowns, stepping forward to reach out to you. “What?”

“Don’t make this any harder than this has to be, please,” you beg, voice hoarse and hands trembling.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius presses further, a bitter acid to his words. He looks frightened, almost—guilt instantly pools in your stomach.

“Don’t you see? Everything is changing!” You exclaim, grateful that you’ve chosen the abandoned corridors of the castle where no one dares to venture on a sunny day. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s to happen next! I’d rather die again than let any of you get hurt.”

“Then don’t!” shouts James, veins straining against his neck, tears of his own glistening within his hazel eyes. “I would rather die than pretend none of what I feel—what we feel—for you isn’t real.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, James,” you retort with a sharp scoff. “I’ve no need for a relationship that’s borne from pity or charity.”

“Pity?” Lily echoes incredulously. “You think I’ve confused love for pity? Is that how low you think of us? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Are you stupid?” Sirius bites back.

“Excuse me?” you shriek. “Must I spell it out for you? I’m trying to protect you! I am cursed!”

“Not anymore than I am!” Remus bellows with his fists tightly clenched, his canines laid bare and his cheeks lit ablaze. “If you’re cursed, I must be damned. Why can’t you allow yourself the same grace that you’ve given us?”

You wilt. “I can’t do it, Remus. I just can’t. If I die again, and everything resets—don’t you know how much it will kill me if we start as strangers again?”

Remus encases you in his warmth, an embrace that promises to keep you safe from all harm. (What good of a monster would he be if he can’t rip apart your fears for you?) “Then we will find you in that life. And every life after that. We’ll use a pensieve, or anything at all—just so we don’t forget.”

You melt in his arms, bathing in his scent of caraway and bergamot. You feel Remus placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “All these things I know. All these lives I’ve lived through. What if I ruin everything in this life?”

“Then do it,” Lily provokes stubbornly.

“Ruin me,” James pleads raspingly—a falter in his steps as though he’d get on his knees and beg in an instant just for you to stay with them. “Ruin me as much as you’d like. You would be the most beautiful devastation of my life.”

And so, you choose them.

For there was never any other option from the start.

YOU WAKE UP in the dead of the night, sunken in a mattress that is one too small for five people to fit in, leafy vines and fairy lights wrapped around the posters of the bed. Sometime during the night, Lily had thieved the wool blanket for herself. You rest in between her and Sirius, their snores echoing into your ears as the grasshoppers chirp outside. The potted plants will swing from the ceiling as the evening breeze passes by. (You’ll scold James in the morning for leaving the windows open again.) By your feet, is a fat Tabby cat with one eye named Tuna. (Full name: Tuna Belly.) There are moving pictures on the flower-plastered wall, a testament to the life you share—and the life you have fought hard for. Ruffled pillows are strewn across the carpeted floor. Parchments and notes lay askew on the desk table across the room—Remus’s jittery preparation for his first day next week as Hogwarts’s newest professor.

Remus will catch you wide awake and tuck you into his chest, murmuring, “Rest now. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow for Wormy’s wedding.”

You’ll hum and relinquish your thoughts for the night, holding onto James hand over Remus’s belly. “I love you,” you’ll whisper.

Remus will say it back without hesitation—and you know the others feel exactly the same.

Minutes later, the door will creak open and a tiny shadow will come crawling into the bed, knocking into everyone’s knees and stomach. It’s a little Harry who’s three years old now. He curls under your neck and you will hold him with all the love that six lifetimes can offer and more.

When you close your eyes, it is a comforting darkness that envelopes you.

(Somewhere in a castle beyond valleys and lakes, locked away in the dusty shelves of Dumbledore’s cupboards, sits a broken Time-Turner that finally stops ticking.)

a/n: i wrote the last 2k words like a woman posessed! LMAO. i have to be at training in 2 hours and i haven't prepared yet. tell me what you thought aaaaa!!!! and yes, your sixth life is your last life so u die happily and in peace mwah mwah. might continue this universe with drabbles, idk. if u spot any mistakes.. ignore it for a bit LMAO, i'll proofread this soon.

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tbaluver · 4 months ago

Note

I loved the “when you have a baby with them” fic, could you do one where you feel insecure about your body post birth and they reassure you? I love your work!! 🤍

When You're Insecure About Your Body After Birth- The Love And DeepSpace Men

warnings: mentions of body insecurities

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader

a/n: hihi anonnie!! im so happy to hear you loved that headcanon fic and my works! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) it always makes my day to hear you guys love them <3 i hope you and everyone else enjoys this one!

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He would notice every time he tried to get close to you, you would find an excuse or completely avoid him. Anytime you would try to wrap his arms around you at bedtime, you would roll away from him so you're out of his reach. Your sleepy lover would not be able to sleep anymore without you in his arms.

He would be so confused on why you tried to avoid his affection. He would look it up on his phone, his search history filled with questions of "Does my lover hate me?" "Why does my lover not want my affection" All the answers he read online made him more confused and sad.

It wasn't until he watches you stand in front of the mirror, tugging at your clothes and grimacing each time you realize the fabric doesn't sit on your body like it used to before. You wouldn't notice that he was watching you, thinking he was asleep the whole time.

He would grow concerned every second and every minute as you're still fixated on your clothes and by the time he gets up from your shared bed, you're on the verge of breaking down. You avoid eye contact with him before he can even ask what's wrong.

His arms reach around your waist and he pulls you firmly into his body, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Honey, I can’t stand seeing you like this. What’s making you upset? I want to support you and make everything better.” He would say, kissing your neck before nuzzling into you.

Although your lover warms your heart, it doesn't stop your tears. Instead, you start to ramble about how you don't look like how you used too before your pregnancy. How your clothes don't fit you like how they used too and how you felt like you started to hate your body.

He would listen silently, letting you let it all out while he's continuing to hold you so closely. You let out a deep sigh when you finished talking, melting into his touch.

He would pepper you with kisses and promises you that every inch and part of you is beautiful and deserves to be loved. He'll continue to love on you as much as it takes for you to see you as he sees you.

"You're my everything. Every change is proof to your incredible strength and the beautiful journey we've shared. To me you're more than perfect and I'll keep reminding you of that every single day."

Zayne:

Zayne has always been and will be extremely attentive to you and your family. He's remembered your medical record and has known the smallest detail about you so he's already noticed the change on your eating habits. He'll notice you checking the packages to check the calorie counts and at first he wouldn't think much of it. He would think at first, you were maybe keeping track of your energy but he wouldn't brush this off.

He'll notice this has been happening quite often every day. Every time you want too cook something or order something or even get a snack, you'll always check the calorie count. So he decided to finally talk to you about it during dinner and ordering your favorite takeout.

As you chat and set down the dinner together, feeding the baby first, he’ll notice you putting only a small amount of food on your plate. It’s your favorite dish, so this seems unusual to him. "Is that all you're going to eat, my love?" He would ask, his gaze on you. You would look at him anxiously and tell him it was enough for you because you were on a diet but he would tell you that it wasn't enough and that you didn't need to go on a diet at all.

Tears would threaten to spill from your eyes when you would explain to him that you need to lose weight. You'd open up about your insecurities, worried that he might not find you as attractive now because you feel your body has changed after the pregnancy compared to how you looked before.

Zayne would get up from the opposite side of the table where he sat and made his way to your side. He would sit back down on a chair closest to you, hold your hand tenderly, and gently rub soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

“My love, you’ve only just welcomed a new life into the world and your body has done something remarkable. It’s proof of your strength and love, and its beauty goes far beyond just appearances.” He would say while pressing soft kisses on the back of your knuckles.

He hated to see you so upset like this, insecure and hating your body when to him you were the most beautiful thing in the world. He would do anything to show you how truly loved you really were.

"I promise you, you don't need to lose any weight. I think you're perfect the way you are. But if you don't feel confident in your body, then there are better ways to do it. I can help you and support you."

Rafayel:

He's called you a couple times to dinner but you didn't come down to the dining area. He's already fed the baby and put your baby down for a nap before he went off to find you. You stood in your shared bathroom mirror, poking and prodding at the pregnancy scar and imperfections on your body. Every single flaw became amplified in your mind the longer you looked at your figure contort in the mirror. You felt disgusted in your own body and wanted it all to disappear.

Tears would race down to your cheeks and you would feel strong arms wrap around your waist. You were met with Rafayel's reflection smiling right back at you until he saw the tears stain your face. He would gently turn you to face him, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist while using his free hand to wipe away your tears. "What's the matter princess?"

He patiently waited for you to talk as you tried to steady your breathing as he continued to wipe any more tears that came running down.

When you were ready to talk, you explained to him that you've been feeling insecure lately. The weight that you gained from pregnancy hasn't left your body. You haven't looked the same every since. A couple of your clothes don't fit the way they used too and it's all been upsetting you.

Hearing you talk so low of yourself broke Rafayel's heart. He hated that part of your brain. The brain that brings you down and makes you despise yourself. He desperately wished you could see yourself the way he saw you.

He began peppering your face with soft kisses, causing you to let out a laugh. He continued trailing kisses over your body and stopping at every area to tell you why he loved it. Your body was practically covered with kisses and praises from head to toe. Once he was finished, he brought himself back up and pulled you into a kiss.

"My love, you're like a breathtaking masterpiece to me. Every change tells the story of the journey we've been through together. You're still the same incredible woman I fell in love with, and you'll always be my beautiful, amazing wife. My one and only. I adore you more than ever."

He cups your cheeks gently and looks into your eyes with his warm gaze, "I love you, every part of you," He says softly. "If I could somehow transfer my thoughts and feelings into your mind so you could see yourself the way I do, I would do it in a heartbeat."

Sylus:

He would notice the signs but he didn't want to jump to conclusions just yet. You two would shower often before you gave birth. It was one of the intimate times you both shared. After birth, he noticed that you wouldn't shower with him anymore. Usually you would excuse yourself to watch the baby or say you would have already showered. You also wouldn't go out that often with him to auctions or any dates even if he offered Luke and Kieran to watch the baby. He figured maybe it's because you didn't trust them with the baby just yet, which is valid.

It wasn't until he finally got to convince you to go out tonight to an auction. He picked out a dress for you so he could match with you.

You stared at the mirror completely lost in thought. You hum dismissively as continued to poke at your skin. You analyze every stretch mark that appeared on your skin out of the dress. You'd turn every few minutes to check out your other angles.

You were so caught up in thought that the footsteps of your lover didn't alert you that he was in the room. He was leaning against the door frame, watching you for a while. He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "You look beautiful sweetie." He says, placing a kiss on your shoulders and then one at the top of your head.

You'd frown and protest, feeling that you're not as beautiful as he says. You'd start to ramble about how the changes from pregnancy have made you uncomfortable with your appearance, tears welling up in your eyes. Realizing that tonight might not be the best time to go out, you'd suggest that he should go by himself instead.

He'd spin you around so you were now facing him. His large hands cupping your face as one of his thumbs wipe any tears running down. A finger on your chin made you look up at his crimson eyes and you can see the concern and honesty in his eyes as he spoke.

"Sweetie, you are truly beautiful. Your beauty isn't just in how you look but in the love and resilience you've shown. I see you, not just as my wife but as this remarkable woman who has given a gift and something truly precious. You are stunning, inside and out."

He would gently intertwine his fingers with yours, holding together as he placed tender kisses on your knuckles. All the while, he'd keep his gaze locked on you, with one arm wrapped lovingly around your waist.

"I know every detail about your body and I know it's perfect. I will continue to love you, every inch of you. And I'll remind you that every single day."

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ceilidho · 5 months ago

Text

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment.

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far.

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism.

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently.

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say.

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way.

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism.

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare.

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you.

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings.

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin.

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected.

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this.

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around.

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you.

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side.

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise.

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice.

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back.

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying.

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose.

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved.

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air.

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does.

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life.

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job.

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened.

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically.

“You’ve probably got more than I have.”

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect.

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense.

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate.

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly.

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.”

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you.��

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves.

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it.

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on.

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help.

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you.

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison.

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now.

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain.

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home.

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh.

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits.

He can be good every now and then.

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch.

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much.

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again.

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen.

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure.

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me.

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs.

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again.

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees.

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more.

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches.

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her.

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed.

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright.

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it.

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick.

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity.

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished.

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight.

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through.

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open.

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button.

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts.

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole.

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw.

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed.

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile.

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work.

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life.

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him.

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it.

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same.

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to.

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt.

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that.

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you.

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though.

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.”

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms.

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean.

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life.

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week.

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night.

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is.

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do.

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony.

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone.

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine.

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate.

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty?

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing.

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive.

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls.

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there.

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away.

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say.

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you.

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together.

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too.

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you.

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas.

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him.

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it.

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain.

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would.

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more.

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water.

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long.

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut.

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please.

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly.

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass.

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills.

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes.

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer?

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable.

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more.

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps.

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him.

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in.

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp.

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun.

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings.

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull.

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage.

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound.

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil.

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock.

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns.

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain.

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down.

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour.

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for.

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed.

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge.

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come.

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here.

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it.

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her.

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep.

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black.

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl.

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening.

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps.

You smile.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley/reader #simon riley x you

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luvrxbunny · 1 year ago

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need

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Thigh Fucking

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, piv attempts, hurt pussy, some sad feelings, creampie(?) (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 2.5k

A/N: *sulking in a corner* not proofread at all

He’s gotten used to it, the constant stabbing pain at the base of his stomach, the daydreams and fantasies that plague his every free minute. He’s more sensitive too, you can do anything and it’ll turn him on, make him hard, or raise a new fantasy for him to jerk off to later that night. He got used to waking up in the morning with a throbbing pain between his legs, or a cold wetness soaking his underwear. He got used to having to sneak away to the bathroom, lock himself in his office with his blinds pulled shut because you decided to drop by, or you made him lunch and left a note that was a bit too cute for him to handle.

He never asked why you didn’t seem to have any sexual interest in him. He assumed that you either didn’t want him that way, or you weren't ready. So when you told him that the real reason was because you’re a virgin… His pain increased tenfold. All his fantasies, all the material he could think of late a night became visions of him taking your virginity, working his fat cock into your tight, unused, untouched, hole. It became a hindrance to his day, something he thought about more than he worried about canon events. He couldn’t get you out of his head, he didn't want to pressure you so he didn’t voice desperation, but it’s like you were trying to provoke him.

You became more open, more okay with talking about sex, and your fantasies and asking him questions, voicing your curiosities. He found out that you actually think about him quite a bit, almost all the time apparently. There was an entire night, filled with a few blunts and alcohol where you spent hours, literal hours, telling him about all the fantasies you’ve had. You told him about your most used ones, all the ‘odd’ things that turn you on. He had to hide his boner, almost crushing his beer in his hand with how tense he was and his needs doubled again, turning his blood to molten lava.

Then you offered it to him, you came to him and told him you wanted him to be the one who takes your virginity, you wanted his cock to be the first to enter your special little cunt. He almost blacked out. He came at you like a frenzy that night, licking and sucking every part of your body before working you open and lining himself up with your precious hole. Only to find that he couldn’t fit. You couldn’t take all of him, he was able to get a quarter of his dick inside before tears were streaming down your face. You told him he could keep going, that you could take it but you were on the verge of sobbing, there wasn't one break in your stream of tears and this is not the way he wanted you crying on him. He pulled out against your will and spent the night comforting you, telling you it’s fine, that you can try again, as many times as you need… and that's what you guys did.

It’s been about two months of trying to fit him inside you and it’s becoming unbearable. You guys try every other night, sometimes taking more time in between if you’re too sore or you guys are swamped at work. You guys haven’t done anything else in this entire period of time, wanting the next thing you do together, to be him taking your virginity. He agreed not realizing how long it would take. His hand is nowhere near sufficient anymore, no matter how he tries to pretend it’s yours- especially now that he’s had half his dick inside you. It’s a cycle of build-up, tease, Miguel comforting you, and no-release.

You’re both pent-up. It’s another night of disappointment, you guys had gotten a little further this time, almost his whole cock and you began to think that this was it, Miguel was finally going to have your virginity. Instead, you tore. It was small, it didn’t even feel like much, a sharp burn at the base of your hole. You decided you would just power through, the burn was worth the fulfillment you’d feel at taking him all, at long last, having your boyfriend be completely connected with you, completely surrounded by you. But Miguel knew you were bleeding, there wasn’t enough that he could see it but he could smell the copper in the air and he forced you to stop.

You fell asleep upset with yourself and listening to Miguel’s loving words, assuring you he’d rather you enjoy yourself than power through for him but you just felt like a failure. All your life you dreamed of losing your virginity to someone you love, someone who cares about you, someone who deserves it, and now that you’ve finally found that person, you can’t even give it to him. You’re too embarrassed to concede, to give up and jerk him off instead. You want him to cum inside you, you’ve even started birth control secretly, hoping to surprise him once he gets close enough. You’d fantasized about the moan he’d let out once telling him that he can just cum inside you, but you’re too small to even get him anywhere near cumming, let alone inside you.

You wake up to Miguel groaning in pain, you’re a bit scared at the noise but your fear gets replaced by sadness once you see the source of his pain; a fat bulge resting over his thigh, tenting the sheets slightly. You peak up at his face, making sure it’s slack with sleep before focusing on his hard cock again. You sit, lift your head and rest it on your palm, leaning over Miguel a bit as your other hand comes to stroke over the bulge gently. Your eyes are fixed on his face, watching his eyebrows twitch with your touch. It brings a little rush of pleasure through you, knowing you can pleasure him with the slightest bit of pressure.

You cover him with your hand, cupping it to feel its length and girth against your palm. He whimpers lightly, a sound you’ve never even fantasized about hearing from him, but you know that no matter what you do, you need to hear it again. You can feel his warmth and the way he’s pulsing under your hand, his fingers dig into the sheets gently next to his thighs and his hips lift off the bed momentarily, trying to pleasure himself with you.

Your eyes leave his face to watch his movements, deciding to give him some mercy and rub your hand along his shaft, stimulating him through his sweatpants and the thin blanket. You’re mesmerized by his stuttering, sleepy movements, at the soft whimpers that fall loosely from his lips. A gasp breaks the trance and his hands lift from the bed quickly to grip your wrists and his hips thrust up, forcing your palm to put pressure on his sensitive cock and just stay. “B-Baby- ”

His voice is thick and confused with delirium, still not completely aware of what’s happening but all he knows is he doesn’t want you to stop. He’s buzzing, thrumming, and vibrating with arousal, with desperation for you, need for you.

His eyes meet yours in the dark, taking in your obviously turned-on state, how dilated your eyes are and how your sweet scent is already soaking the air, your taste ghosting over his tongue with every breath he takes. His eyes roll back at the thought, paired with your pressure on his throbbing cock and you pull away. He tries to hold in his groan, trying to be grateful for anything you’ll give him but a small squeak of sadness is what comes out and he chuckles softly at the noise.

You’re still silent, surrounded by your need for him, the only thought in your head is that you need to make him cum. His thick arm comes around you, resting next to your shoulder and pushing you to him gently, nudging you in his direction for a kiss. You smile and drape yourself over his chest, leaning on him and pressing your lips to him. He groans and pulls you closer, admiring your warmth and pressing his cock into the plush of your thighs as he pulls you on top of him. You giggle and help him situate you over him, the base of his cock resting against your neglected clit, sending a shock of pleasure through you and turning your giggles into a light whine.

Miguel breathes in a sharp breath at your noise, trying to ignore how badly he wants to hold you down and just grind his cock into you until he cums, staining his clothes and hopefully leaving a mark on yours but he keeps himself in check, offering you a fond smile instead. “You okay, amor?” His hand is rubbing up and down your back now, calmly like he isn’t throbbing against your clit right now. You think of just grinding into him, sitting up to straddle him, and just fucking his bulge into your clit until you’re cumming all over him. “I wanna cum.” Your voice is weak and pathetic, tired and desperate.

His eyelids flutter at your words and tone, and his arms tense around you, pressing his muscles into your sides for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Yeah? I can-” He takes another shaky breath as his cock throbs beneath you. “I can make that happen, baby. How do you want it?” His stomach is burning at his words, at the hope of getting to touch you, to make you cum. You’re just staring at him, watching him as you think, trying to figure out a way that will satisfy you both. He’s just getting hotter under your gaze, riled up further by your eyes as his hips rise off the bed slowly, pressing his cock into you subconsciously and his eyelids flutter shut at the pleasure.

Your brain is hazy with his movements, his subtle desperation, it’s driving you crazy. You arch your back and seize his lips again with a soft moan. His hands grip your hips, pulling you into him with a groan. You pull away and pant against his lips, running your fingers through his slightly tangled curls and pressing your forehead against his. “Put it against me. Between my thighs.” He growls at your request and flips you both onto your sides, already nodding at you and working his sweatpants off of his legs, kicking them off under the covers. “You want that, honey?”

His hand cups your face as his other wrestles his cock from its confines. “You want that? Take these off.” He yanks at your underwear, roughly enough that they dig into your skin harshly before snapping back. You wiggle them off and slide your shirt off, wanting to be as close to Miguel as you can. You can’t stop the pout that settles on your face when you realize he plans to leave his shirt on. He laughs lovingly at your face. “Want me to take it off?” He says with a teasing tilt to his voice. You laugh and slide closer to him, taking the hem of his shirt into your hands and already trying to pull it over his head. “Jus wanna be closer t’you, Miggy.”

The nickname flips something inside him. You only use that name when you’re feeling extra soft for him, extra tender, and needy. “Yeah, sweetheart?” He pulls you in for a quick kiss before taking his shirt off and kissing you again, swallowing the whine you give him when your naked body rests against his. His wet cock slides against your skin, teasing his sensitive tip, forcing a ragged moan from his mouth when it slides over your mound. You giggle at his reaction, smiling at his eyes, squeezed shut as he takes slow breaths, trying to calm himself. You open your legs, grip his cock, and rest it on your thigh, his eyes snap open. You smile and pull him in for another kiss as he reaches behind him blindly for some lube, lotion, coconut oil- something to get your thighs anywhere near as wet as your pussy is.

You take rest your hand over his as he rubs himself with lube, moaning into your mouth at the sensation. He brings his hand to your face, giggling and apologizing when it smears with lube but devouring you in a kiss once you tell him it’s okay. You close your legs over his cock and whimper into the kiss when his shaft fits itself between your lips. He pulls away with a moan and his hips start fucking into you fervently, overly sensitive and desperate after months of denial. You’re moaning loud and whiny at the way he’s assaulting your clit, constantly stimulating her from the way he’s thrusting against you. You’re digging into his shoulders, feeling the way they flex as his hands grip your hips and run all over your body frantically.

“I’m not gonna last, mi amor.” The words spit out of him quickly as his thrusts get shorter, more focused on making himself cum than making the moment last. His head is clouded with need, his balls are pulsing painfully and his cock is throbbing between your thighs. You’re gripping his hair like you’ll fly away if you let go and moaning his name like it’s the only word you know. Your hips are bucking into him too now, some incoherent words falling from your lips like music to his ears.

You’re trying to tell him that you won’t last either, that you’re on the brink of cumming already, that you’ve been craving him for months, and finally having him is one of the best things you’ve felt but your brain has been shut off since he started moving his hips. You can feel the heat in your stomach bubbling over already, spilling into your bloodstream as you shake against him. “Mig-” Your thighs tense and shake around his cock as he groans your name, almost overwhelmed with how you’re stimulating his cock, at how you’ve been unable to get any sound out but once you’re cumming you can find the strength to say his name. You’re shaking on him, your eyes are rolled back into your head and your jaw is dropped open in a silent moan.

He’s able to grunt out a warning to you before thrusting once- twice- you reach down for his cock and spread your legs, opening to fit him against your entrance. His third thrust stutters to a stop and he’s cumming.

Fuck. He’s cumming inside you.

He folds over like he’s been punched in the gut, a rough moan tearing from his chest as his cock throbs against your wet walls. He sounds distraught, like you’ve ruined him. His entire body is tensing in time with the ropes of cum he’s filling you with. It’s an entire flood, a surplus of cum he’s pouring into you, he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. He never even imagined that you’d let him cum inside you, let alone that it’d feel so fucking good. He shudders out a groan and holds you to his chest, giving you curt thrusts to ensure he doesn’t push in too deep but still trying to fuck him cum into you. His eyes are crossed painfully and all the air is gone from his lungs as you pulse around him, massaging his tip and forcing him to give you more cum.

Your name is the only thing he can utter as his cock spews its last few ropes into you, softening and letting his cum leak onto your thighs, leaving a slick, shimmering trail on you as it soaks into the bed.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

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lemonlover1110 · 1 year ago

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𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 1] Passionfruit

Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Sex, Breeding Kink, Praising, Referenced Cheating (MEANING TOJI ONCE CHEATED ON READER AND IT'S TALKED ABOUT), Creampie, Sad Sex(womp womp)

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Getting married to Toji was the worst decision that you’ve ever made. You love him more than anything, yet he’s been the worst husband that you could’ve asked for. Your wedding day was the happiest day of your life, yet since that day, you haven’t been happy. You try to be shocked but since the beginning of your relationship, Toji told you that he wouldn’t be a great husband.

You had dumb hopes, of course, that you could turn him into the perfect husband– Not necessarily perfect but at least a good one. You should’ve backed out on your plans the first month of your relationship, when you caught him in bed with another woman. But you were so into Toji back then that you managed to move past it, luckily, the incident never occurred again, and of course, he made it up to you.

But Toji was never a great boyfriend though. He did the bare minimum every time, and you praised him for it. You don’t recall him even telling you that he loves you until your wedding day. To this day you don’t know why you stuck with him when the universe sent you a clear sign the first month of your relationship. You were still young, and even if you broke up with him you would have accomplished your five year plan in time.

You met Toji when you were twenty two and he was thirty four. He had a nine-year-old son and your first thought was no, you didn’t want to be a stepmother at such a young age. You just hooked up with him a couple times, and eventually you caught feelings. It was nothing too passionate, but you liked him enough to start a relationship with him, and to stay when he betrayed you early on.

By twenty four, you got engaged. You surprisingly didn’t have to ask him, he did it himself with no issue. He heard about your five year plan, married by twenty five, and he knew a wedding or at least the type you wanted, took at least a year to plan. Within a year, you were married.

You were getting cold feet on your wedding day, coming to the realization that Toji had never told you that he loved you. While he wasn’t a man that expressed his emotions, he surely would’ve told you that he loved you at least once, right? Toji heard you were getting cold feet, and he was at your door thirty minutes before the ceremony started.

“Isn’t this bad luck?” You asked him, unsure of what he was doing at your door. You didn’t really couldn’t stomach having a conversation with him. Toji looked as handsome as ever, it was the first time you’d ever seen him so dressed up. He shrugged.

“Heard that you were having second thoughts.” Toji began, and you crossed your arms. You couldn’t even look him in the eye. He cleared his throat before asking, “Care to explain?”

“Do you even love me, Toji? We’ve been in a relationship for three years, and you haven’t even told me that you love me. I do love you, Toji, but I don’t want to get married to someone who doesn’t love me.” You told him, and his brows raised. He took slow breaths, and you were on the verge of tears. You stumbled over your words as you continued, “Just please be honest with me, Toji. I can move on and start over, even if it’s hard at first.”

He took a couple steps toward you before his hands cupped your face. His lips met yours in a short but sweet kiss. He smiled at you before telling you, “Have I really not told you how much I love you?”

His words made you continue with the marriage, bringing you a sense of comfort and safety in your relationship. You weren’t so hesitant about being married, and the first month of your marriage you were genuinely happy– Until you weren’t.

Being a stepmother wasn’t hard. Megumi was a sweet child, only twelve when you got married to his father, but old enough to make his own decisions and to know right from wrong. You didn’t have to teach him anything, in fact, Toji asked you to stay out of that aspect of Megumi’s life. Unless Megumi did something that was clearly wrong, he didn’t want you to discipline his son. However, you never had any issues with Megumi.

You only ever had issues with Toji. The honeymoon stage is supposed to last longer than a month, but within a month Toji was dismissive of you. He was cold towards you, he didn’t bother communicating any issues. It felt like Toji was just using you to come home to a clean house, a cooked meal, and for sex. You tried to fix it many times, but he never bothered to change.

You weren’t treated like his wife. He couldn’t care about your interests, blamed any of the issues of your relationship on you, and what you found the worst, constantly compared you to his late wife. You were worried about that before you got married, and you expressed your concerns to him; sometimes it felt like he did it on purpose.

You had this concern that you never felt in your relationship, even after the incident of your first month together. He was cheating on you– He had to be. He came home late, and didn’t pay any attention to you. But you were proven wrong after you followed him around and he was just working. Simply working. He didn’t even look at another woman… It relieved you, and once again filled you with this sense of comfort in your marriage.

You were fine until he nearly forgot your twenty-sixth birthday, he only remembered at night, and your heart broke. But he was so loving towards you after he remembered, for a week, he treated you like his wife but things quickly went back to normal.

Dismissive, cold, reserved.

But you still dealt with it because you loved him. Even when you constantly argued and he blamed every issue of your marriage on you. You were growing tired of it, and each time that he brought up her name, you threatened to leave. He didn’t take you seriously though. And you weren’t serious until your twenty-seventh birthday, when he completely forgot to congratulate you again. But this time it completely slipped. He came home late that night, but you didn’t get to see him because you had cried yourself to sleep.

You were the wife that he wanted for some time– Quiet. You didn’t bother talking about his day, asking if he liked dinner, if you were going to do anything special for the weekend (you never did but you always asked), you didn’t ask Megumi anything either. You mentally checked out of the relationship. Until you realized that you can’t live like this forever, just emotionally isolated while you played housewife. And now you’re sitting on the couch of your apartment, waiting for your husband to come home.

Your heart is almost beating out of your chest, your hands shaky and getting worse with each second that passes. He’ll get home at any minute now, and it’ll all be over. He won’t argue your request, Toji isn’t one to argue much. You’re usually the one that starts the arguments to actually communicate with him, but you won’t be arguing with him tonight.

“Why are you still awake?” Toji’s voice spooks you, you were so lost in your own thoughts of what will come next that you completely missed the sound of the front door opening. Toji furrows his eyebrow as he looks down at you. You blink slowly before shrugging, the same response he would’ve given you. You stand up, pointing to the coffee table where the divorce papers lay.

“I want a divorce.” You’re brief. Before you can see his reaction, you take off your engagement and wedding ring, setting them down on the coffee table beside the divorce papers. You go back to your bedroom, leaving him in the living room to process the news. You doubt he cares too much.

“Are you sure you want this? A divorce?” He ends up following after you which surprises you. You get in bed, throwing the blanket over you. You don’t pay much attention to him before you respond,

“Yes. It’s what we both want.” You answer. He shakes his head.

“It’s what you want because I don’t want a divorce.” He responds, and you raise your brows. You shake your head disapprovingly.

“Right… You’re right. Because with me you have a live-in maid.” You point out, your voice calm as ever. Toji blinks slowly, tilting his head to the side before he opens his mouth.

“Don’t I pay the bills?” He argues, making you get out of the bed. You can’t stay calm at this moment, even if you try.

“And you hold it over my head every damn day. I don’t even get an allowance to buy myself some clothes because all the money you have left over, you throw away gambling!” You raise your voice at him, so much pent-up anger slowly unleashing. “And I wouldn’t care too much about that if you gave me the place as your wife– You treat me as if I were your fucking servant.”

“What the hell? Since when do you care about that?” Toji asks, and you freeze in your spot. You end up laughing in disbelief because you can’t believe your own husband is saying that. He’s supposed to know you better than anyone. Yet he doesn’t seem to know you at all.

“Since always! I want to be loved, Toji, how do you not know that?” You sound defeated, and he’s stepping closer to you. You’re nearly crying, realizing how you’ve wasted your time. The man that stands in front of you doesn’t love you, he’s only with you because– You don’t even know why he’s with you. “What kind of wife doesn’t want to be loved?”

He cups your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. You’re getting lost in his eyes, and you have to force yourself to look away because it never ends well when you look into his eyes. You’re so fucking weak for him. You never thought you could love someone as much as you love Toji; at first you definitely didn’t think it’d be such a strong emotion since you didn’t care much for him at first but when you fell, you fell hard. You truly believe that the man that stands in front of you is the love of your life, yet you’re leaving him because you doubt that you’ll be able to be happy by his side.

It’s the worst kind of love. The one that makes you unhappy because you yearn for it to be reciprocated.

“Then let me love you, baby.” Toji says, his lips moving down to meet yours. You’re taken back, and even though you want to pull away you also want to stay like this forever. Instead of pushing him away, your hands meet behind his neck and pull him closer to you.

His tongue swipes on your lips before you part them to let his tongue meet yours. His hands move down your body, his fingertips like fire, arousing every inch of your body as they move down your skin. You should pull away since a strong sentiment takes over as you realize that this is the only way Toji knows how to love you, and you hate it. But you’ve melted into the kiss and you can’t pull away now.

Toji’s lifting up your nightgown, and the back of your mind is telling you to stop. You’re not listening though. You only ever pull away– You don’t pull away, Toji does. He kisses down your neck before focusing on that sweet spot on your neck that makes your knees weak.

His finger hooks under your panties, and he begins to play with the waistband before he pushes them down to the floor. When he stops kissing your neck, his fingers go to the hem of your nightgown and he lifts it up. When he takes off your nightgown, he picks you up to put you down on the bed. His hands cup your face and he gently kisses your lips, and while he looks down at you, you’re thinking that maybe– No, no, nonononono you can’t be so weak. What are you even doing under him?

Just as you’re about to get up, his lips go on yours again. He caresses your cheek, “I really love you. So much.”

His lips kiss you again and then they move down. He kisses every inch of your body, “You’re so beautiful.”

“So fucking perfect.”

“You’re my perfect wife.” He praises you with each kiss to your body, and you can’t deny how you’re like putty under his touch. Toji seems to realize the grasp he has on you, that’s why he’s kissing every inch of your body so you won’t leave him. Toji isn’t always so loving with you as he is right at this moment. He presses one final kiss on your lower abdomen before he goes to your face. He kisses your lips again, “I love you so much.”

Your hands go to Toji’s tie, and you loosen it up. Toji takes it completely off and your fingers begin to unbutton his shirt. Toji takes off his shirt completely, tossing it aside. Your hands go up his torso, and you’re almost in disbelief that Toji manages to keep his build even after getting an office job. He kisses your lips one more time before kissing down your body once again, each kiss making your body crave for more. This time he gets lower than your lower abdomen.

Toji kisses your folds before his tongue runs through them. His tongue begins to flick your clit and your bottom lip is quivering before a soft moan finally leaves your lips. Toji’s tongue is slow but slowly picks up speed.

There’s nothing Toji loves more than the taste of you on his tongue, yet he rarely does it. It’s a treat for both you and him. He’s doing it to get you to stop, hoping that his tongue giving you pleasure is enough to stop the insanity that you want to ensue.

Your voice is soft as you let your moans into the air. It doesn’t take long for pleasure to consume your mind since Toji knows how to use his tongue. He knows your body too well, and you know you’ll grow to hate it when you’re away from him, but right at this moment you love it more than anything.

His tongue moves down to your entrances, and he teases it. A low moan leaves your lips when his tongue enters your cunt, while his thumb begins to play with your clit. Your back is arching while your bite down on your lip. He’s making you feel so fucking good, but you have to be quiet. Megumi’s room might be on the other side of the apartment but you don’t wanna risk him listening to any of this.

Toji’s tongue moves in and out your cunt a couple of times before it goes back to your clit. You’ve always loved how Toji is always so determined to get you to come, even when you weren’t dating and you were just his hookup. This is one of those times that he won’t stop until you’ve climaxed.

He gets his index and middle finger wet enough before he pushes them inside you, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. He curves his fingers so they brush right against that sweet spot that’s enough to drive you wild. You fucking hate it so much– Not in the moment, in the moment you’re loving it; you absolutely hate it because you know it’ll make it hard to leave. But sex is not the only factor in a marriage.

“Toji–” You moan. Your orgasm begins to approach, and it feels harder to hold back the noises that threaten to leave your lips. Your hands grip onto the bed sheets as your climax nears. Toji does such a great job, and if he wasn’t so focused on your cunt, he’d be praising you because you feel so nice around his finger and taste so good on his tongue. “Oh, fuck– I’m gonna…”

You stumble over your words until you finally reach your high, and God, the sound you make is like music to Toji’s ears. And while usually clarity hits you when you hit your orgasm, it doesn’t this time. He takes his fingers out of your cunt yet he continues flicking your clit until he’s had enough. When he’s finished, he kisses your clit and detaches himself from your cunt.

Toji stands up and unbuttons his pants. He pushes them down with his briefs. His arm goes under your back and he brings your back up, kissing your lips ever so lovingly, which is rare from Toji. Your legs wrap behind his back. One hand holds your back, forcing you to sit up, while the other strokes his cock a couple of times before he runs the tip through your folds.

“I love you so much, I really do.” Toji kisses the tip of your nose as his cock stretches you out. He’s making eye contact with you as his cock bottoms out, and you feel the tears that well your eyes. You wish it was of pleasure– While it does feel great, your tears are filled with sadness. Maybe he does love you.

A tear falls from your eye, streaming down your cheek and Toji doesn’t waste a second before he wipes it away. He kisses your lips and he begins to move, letting go of your back so you’re able to lay back down. “Will you stay with me, please? I need you.”

No, no he doesn’t. He doesn’t need you. He just doesn’t want to be alone. A need is something you need to live, and he clearly doesn’t need you. You bite down on your lip, looking away from Toji because just looking at him makes you want to burst into tears.

“Please look at me.” Toji says, his hand going to your chin and moving your head so your eyes fall on him. He’s so… Perfect. Toji might have many imperfections, but in your eyes he’s perfect. That’s why you’ve stayed for so long. You will never find someone as perfect as he is. You try to focus on what’s happening to you physically, his cock filling you up and hitting every right spot, but it’s hard when so many emotions run through you at the same time. “Do you love me too?”

“I love you, Toji.” The words slip past your lips. You watch as he smiles, and you avert your gaze elsewhere. You don’t like giving him the satisfaction of knowing that, even when he deeply knows it.

“I love you more than you know, baby.” Toji tells you, his hand going down your body to play with your clit. You try to ignore it, letting the feeling of pleasure take over, but your other emotions are too overwhelming. So many emotions flow through you.

Tears keep streaming down your eyes as Toji reminds you that he loves you so much. His hands land on your hips. His hands feel so gentle on your body. “Please stay with me.”

Toji is usually much rougher during sex, but this time he's gentler with you. It still feels so fucking good. You bite down your lip, feeling as your second orgasm of the night approaches. Your walls begin to squeeze around him, and Toji begins to curse under his breath. He fucking loves this, fuck fuck fuck fuck, he could stay buried inside of you forever.

“Will you stay with me, baby? Do I need to trap you?” He says, and what he’s saying is so wrong but it just sounds so fucking hot. It arouses you even more. “Do I need to knock you up?”

“Fuck–” You’re so close to finishing and his words are certainly helping. His cock just hits every right spot and he plays with your clit perfectly. You have to put your hand over your mouth when you reach your climax, not being able to contain the sounds but at least your hand muffles them.

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into you. I need you by my side, baby.” Toji continues, his thrusts slowly becoming sloppy. His nails unwillingly dig into your flesh. “Gonna make you a mommy, fuck–”

Toji throws his head back, shutting his eyes. He groans when he finally finishes, filling you up with his cum. He stays buried inside of you until he makes sure every drop of his cum is inside of you. He finally pulls out after a minute.

Toji lays down beside you, an exasperated breath leaving his lips. He tries to bring you closer to him, for you to lay your head on his chest how you usually do. He doesn’t usually like it, normally he pushes you off saying he has work early the next morning before he turns on his side. But not this time, he’s the one that tries to bring you closer, and Toji feels a sense of relief when you do.

You hear his heartbeat as it settles, and it brings you so much peace. His hand lovingly strokes your arm, an action that Toji only ever does when he’s making up for something. He places a kiss on your forehead before he mutters, “I love you.”

No kiss or caress can change your mind though. You’ve made your decision. He’s so loving now but within a week he’ll go back to being the same cold Toji. Toji doesn’t know though, and he thinks you’re all good when your hand fondles his chest. His lips then peck yours.

“Are we good now?” Toji asks. He doesn’t want you to leave, and while he might not show it, he does love you. Toji would not sit on his ass for nearly twelve hours a day, five days weekly, for anyone else but you. Plumbing was paying more than enough for him and Megumi, but it wasn’t going to be enough for you.

Toji changed jobs for you, wanting to give you a lavish lifestyle. He bought you a somewhat expensive ring, gave you a proper wedding, and now you’re living in an apartment that he wouldn’t have been able to afford in his previous job. Sure, he does have somewhat of an addiction and he doesn’t give you money to buy whatever you want, but you’re a housewife, you don’t get to buy whatever you want. At least that’s what he believes. Toji has done so much for you, and it pains to see that his efforts go underappreciated.

“We are.” You answer his question. You peck his lips again. He’s smiling at you but you can’t bring yourself to smile at him. “But we’re still getting a divorce.”

“What?” His eyes widen when those words leave your lips. Your head remains on his chest, your hand still running on his chest. You’re ever so calm listening to his heartbeat.

“Toji, if this is the only way that you can show me you love me then I don’t want that.” You tell him. You’re ever so calm, you have come to accept that your marriage is ending. You did think you’d be more of a mess while telling him this, but the tears from before are more than enough. “You’re better off with someone else.”

“But I want to be with you. You’re the woman I love.” He says, and it causes you to laugh.

“You just like having sex with me.” You argue, even though you know that he does love you. But you want to leave. You have to because by his side you won’t be happy.

“I told you I wanted to have a baby with you, that’s no small deal.” He brings up.

“Just a spur of the moment thing. If I thought you were serious, I would’ve pushed you off.” You tell him, getting up from the bed and walking to the bathroom to clean yourself off. Toji watches you from the bed, watching as his cum drips out of you. He’d find the scene hot and pull you back into the bed if it weren’t for the fact that–

His hand go over his face, a sigh leaving his lips, “She fucking wants a divorce.”

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2cupids · 3 months ago

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — dilf!jaemin x f!reader

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 — daddy k!nk, panty sniffing, p*ssy eating, f!ngering, pet names (princess, pretty girl, baby), reader’s in the fdau position. mdni (17+).

“did you miss daddy?” jaemin teasingly questions you while he’s face to face with your clothed pussy.

you hum, “missed you so much daddy.”

he presses a finger to your slick pussy lips, tracing their outline through your panties and making you gasp. you can feel your panties move as he pushes the fabric inside you with his finger, your wetness instantly soaking through the panties and onto his finger. a grin spread across his soft, plush lips, “i guess she missed me too.”

jaemin brings his face closer to your core and takes a deep breath, inhaling your intoxicating scent through your panties and it’s got your pussy clenching around air and has his dick twitching. he pulls them to the side and his eyes are glued to your pretty pussy, watching the way your arousal practically leaks out of you.

his middle and ring fingers are prodding at your entrance, further teasing you until he decides to slip both fingers in at once, barely giving you time to adjust to his thick fingers before he starts dragging them in and out of your slick core.

“always keeping this kitty nice and wet for daddy.” he says more so to himself, but it’s loud for you to hear. you whine and clench around his fingers, which he smirks at.

he lays his tongue flat against your clit, drawing circles around it before switching to using the tip of his tongue instead.

it’s been a while since you’ve had jaemin’s mouth on you and you’ve almost forgot how good it feels. you grind your hips back towards his mouth, driving his fingers deeper into your cunt and his tongue harder against your clit. jaemin groans against your core and the reverberations cause goosebumps to form on your skin and you moan into the pillows.

a few minutes have passed and now, he’s lapping at your clit like a dog and thrusting his fingers all the way into you until his knuckles meet your folds. you’ve created a steady rhythm so everytime you push your hips back it matches with the thrusts of his fingers.

“daddy.. so close,” you whine, knitting your eyebrows together as you put all your focus on coming undone all over jaemin’s fingers and face.

“yeah?” he asks, taking his mouth off you for a second before quickly going back in and attacking your sensitive clit.

your breathing starts to come in short, shallow breaths and you grip the sheets underneath you as you feel your orgasm getting closer by the second.

tears fill your eyes and you’re on the verge of cumming when jaemin suddenly stops what he’s doing and pulls away, watching as you clench around nothing.

jaemin licks his fingers clean while he waits for you to catch your breath and when you do, you turn over and lean back on your elbows. your wet eyes look up at him and you poke your glossy bottom lip out. “jae.. why did you stop?”

jaemin chuckles at you, realizing he’s the cause of this behavior and this is what he gets for constantly spoiling you. “i’m sorry princess, i just wanted you to cum on my dick instead.”

you sit up and cross your arms, still pouting. jaemin puts his hand on your thigh and proposes a way to make it up to you. “if you let me fuck you pretty girl, i’ll eat that sweet pussy later and put you to sleep. how does that sound?”

you tap your finger against your chin like you have to think long and hard of his proposal when you already accepted it before the words even left his mouth.

“hmm, i think i’d like that.” you uncross your arms and smile at him.

“really?,” jaemin asks, his voice dropping a few octaves as he crawls over to you, eyeing you like he’s a hunter and you’re the prey. “i knew you would baby.” he places a finger underneath your chin, lifting your face so he can kiss you as he guides you to lay down.

he grabs your scarf and hair tie off the nightstand and helps you tie up your braids, something he only does when he plans on fucking you for hours on end until you can’t remember your name.

yeah, this is going to be a long night.

#𐙚 .. 2cupids #nct smut #nct dream smut #jaemin smut #na jaemin smut #nct hard hours #nct scenario #nct x reader #x fem reader #kpop smut #kpop x reader #nct x black reader #kpop x black reader #kpop x poc reader #daddy k!nk #x black reader #black reader #chubby reader

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vrisrezis · 1 year ago

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Atsv characters realizing they’re in love with you

Gwens on the verge of tears, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her like this in all the time you’ve known her. You’ve known gwen for almost your entire life, and never once have you ever seen her in such a state of affairs.

You suppose it’s reasonable, she lost Peter and she thinks she lost her father forever, the only other people she ever had. And then there’s you. Somebody she felt such deep emotions for even if she was unaware how deep they ran.

There’s so many emotions and so many thoughts running through her head, when she sees you for the first time in what feels like years.

You don’t say anything.

You stare at her, the state she’s in.

Your movements are slow and meticulous, calculated. And she wonders if you’re doing that because you’re cautious, because you’re scared of her.

“I don’t know what dad told you.” fear drips from her vocal cords, “but I promise you,” she’s desperate, wanting your touch so badly but fearing you truly saw her as a monster too, “I would never, ever, kill Peter.”

the building you’re both on, feels so much darker than it really is. It feels like she’s revealing herself to her dad for the first time all over again. She wants to cave in on herself but she fights every need to push you away because she needs you in her life.

“And believe me, I wanted to tell you! I did! I really did!” she tries desperately to explain, finally letting a tear slip out.

As soon as she let one go, it became a waterfall of tears.

“I love you.” she says, voice barely above a whisper, taking you both by surprise.

She realizes what she said, but she doesn’t dwell on it for much longer. Because she realizes, finally, what she said was true.

And now that she finally knows what it is she’s truly been feeling for you all these years, it hurts even more to look at you and not know what you could possibly think about her. She wishes she knew what was going through your head, she wishes she could just tell what you were feeling by searching your face but she just can’t find anything. She doesn’t know what you make of this. She doesn’t know if she’s going to lose you today.

“Please.” she feels her lips wobble, she knows she’s going to completely break down if you don’t say something, anything, in the next minute.

All she’s met with is more silence.

Miles knew he had a crush on you, sure. That simply made sense, it was common knowledge to anyone that wasn’t an idiot. Well, except you. But miles didn’t think you were an idiot, just maybe oblivious. It’s not like he minded, he was grateful that he liked the one, singular person in this very world that was oblivious enough to not catch onto Miles’s adoration for you.

Miles talked about you a lot, admittedly. His parents were naturally happy he had found an actual friend that wasn’t away, that wasn’t ganke, and that clearly made him so happy. In fact, Rio mentions how she’s never seen her son so happy to talk about somebody. She had teased him a few times, and although miles tried to deny it, both her and Jeff knew he liked you a little bit more than a friend should. Though, a little bit is a stretch. He liked you a LOT more than a friend should.

And man, when you finally met them. Ohhh boy.

Miles had tried to prevent it for so long, in fear his parents would embarrass him, even worse if they didn’t like you. But he had been delaying the inevitable long enough, and the time had finally came.

In the past, Rio had teased him about being in love. Of course, miles denied the fact. He had a crush sure, but love? That’s a lot, isn’t it?

But seeing you interact with his parents, getting along with them so well. Even with his dad?

He just can’t stop staring, and while normally Rio would be concerned, she simply walks over to her son with a knowing smile.

“I think Im in love.”

“I know, mijo”

Hobie had a rough day, to say the least. Being spiderpunk, spiderman, was tough. And as much as he complained about it, he was perfectly content with the way he went on living. Especially since it had given him the power to protect you, and fight for his beliefs.

But regardless it was sometimes a painful experience, being spiderman. The gash on his side wasn’t too huge, but was deep enough to cause him pain anytime he walked. Swinging around wasn’t much better.

He decided to swing by your place, since it was closer to him and while he hated the idea of bothering you while he was in this state, hated the idea of worrying you, he knew it was the best option if he wanted to get back to fighting as quick and as painless as possible.

He lets himself in through the window, as always. He walks over to your hunched over form at your desk, peeking over. “Biochem?” he asked aloud, and you, unbothered, simply nod. “Yknow you should really start locking the window sweets.” he says with a grin, and while you’d normally be annoyed by his remarks, you notice a strain in his voice that makes you look up at him.

You’re quick to stand up, “hobie! Jesus what happened to you!?” you said, ushering him into your bathroom so that you can get your first aid kit.

He sits down on the toilet, before shrugging. “Stuff..”

you’ve fixed him up before, but this was a little different. There was a change in your demeanor. It wasn’t out of this world for you to worry for him, but this felt vastly different this time around.

You were so kind, so gentle with him.

In his mind, he’s undeserving.

The warmth of your hands on him, was the only thing he could think about. Not even the pain of literally being stabbed could compare to how electrifying your touch felt.

Perhaps it was the blue led lighting in your bathroom or the loss of blood but, you looked so beautiful right now.

“I think I love you.” he whispers quietly, staring into your eyes.

Staring back, you can’t help but think you love this idiot too.

Pavitr is an idiot when it comes to romance, whether he likes to act like he’s good at it or not. He is not as smooth as he pretends to be. He realizes this anytime he tries to shoot his shot at you. He fumbles with his words and has to come up with some excuse as to why he needs to leave in that exact moment, immediately. Even pretending to flirt with his best friend, gayatri, doesn’t work. He does it so well with her, but when it comes to you he just cannot articulate his words. He finds himself totally lost.

It doesn’t take an idiot to figure out his feelings for you are strong, and that his feelings go deeper beyond friendship. You seem to be the only moron in all of mumbattan that hasn’t noticed, and he’s not sure if he’s grateful or in great agony.

One of the biggest reasons he was so obvious about how he liked you, was shown through how clingy he was. Physical affection is his love language, after all. But it goes beyond that, he always finds himself wanting to spend time with you. He even insists on walking you home even when his house is in the opposite direction, his excuse being that he wants you to get home safely despite being in broad daylight. It’s still a dangerous world out there, is his reasoning.

But it’s been so long since he last walked you home. When you were kids, he did it all the time. As you grew older, the tradition seemed to stick but as he became spiderman this occurrence became less frequent. It’s been months since he’s been able to do this.

The sun is bright, but it hits your face perfectly. And he can’t help but think you look like some ethereal god. Given his line of work, he doesn’t think it would be that weird if you were one.

He feels like he can’t breathe, and he doesn’t even realize its cause he’s way too focused on you, every little feature. Your hair, eyes, your nose, cheeks, mouth. Anything he could possibly look at on your face, he’s looking. He’s not listening to a word you’re saying, he watches your lips move but he cannot catch a damn thing. The grip he has on his bookbag becomes tighter, his face feels hot and he wants to say it’s because of the sun but he knows that’s not true. God, has your laugh always been so pleasant to the human ears? Or was that just him?

His lips move, before he even has a chance to stop the words from coming out, like word vomit.

“God I love you”

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barcaatthemoon · 10 days ago

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fireball || alexia putellas x reader ||

Alexia learns firsthand why you don't drink often.

The shots that many bars in vacation areas gave were much bigger than the shots that you wereused to. Alexia had warned you of this several times, and yet, you still hadn't slowed down one bit. The two of you were still in Barcelona for the night, but she had indulged you in letting the two of you go to one of the places only tourists sought out. It was a bit gimmicky and most of the staff spoke primarily English. Alexia hated it, but you absolutely loved it.

"Ale, come dance with me!" Alexia stared at you skeptically. You could barely stand up straight, having nearly fallen twice as you tried to get another drink at the bar.

"One dance, and then we have to go amor," Alexia told you. You nodded, more than happy to leave with Alexia. However, you didn't realize that Alexia wasn't taking you home for the reasons that you wanted her to. She needed to get you in a bed for some sleep, but you could feel a subtle hum in between your legs as Alexia held you for the dance.

You tried and failed to dance on Alexia to seduce her, instead managing to nearly fall onto the ground. Alexia caught you and simply carried you out of the club. You would have normally protested, but you were more than enjoying the view of Alexia's ass as she carried you over her shoulder.

"You're so strong. Will you hold me up against the wall and fuck me?" you asked her. Alexia's jaw dropped at how nonchalantly you asked her that. You were definitely the bashful one in your relationship, often trying to bat Alexia away when she started kissing you in public. For you to just say that on a busy night street where anybody could hear was a sign that Alexia should have made you stop drinking an hour ago.

"Amor, you are very drunk. I would not feel right taking advantage of you in this state," Alexia told you as she helped you into the car. You whined and pouted, nearly on the verge of tears as you mumbled incoherently. Alexia sighed as she realized just how long of a night she was in with you. It wasn't often that you even drank a glass of wine with dinner, much less got drunk. She had learned on a trip with your national team that you were a legendary drunk, hundreds of stories coming from just a couple handfuls of nights.

Alexia thanks whatever powers in the universe she needed to that you willingly let her carry you inside. You seemed eager to get out of the car, and you managed to make the ride without getting sick. Alexia knew that it was only a matter of time, most of the alcohol you had been drinking was cheap and full of sugar. Still, you had enjoyed yourself, and that was the whole point of tonight. Alexia had given you the green light to do whatever you wanted, promising that she'd stay sober to take care of you.

"Ale, now that we're home, we can do shots!" you cheered. You made a beeline for the kitchen, but Alexia stopped you. She held onto your waist as she guided you to the couch to sit down.

"Wait here, I'll be right back," Alexia told you. You pouted, but sat there anyway. She grabbed a couple of snacks that she knew you liked whenever you'd been drinking and a bottle of water. It was a struggle to get you to drink the water, claiming that it would completely ruin your buzz.

"I can't believe that Alexia Putellas has regular chips. You always get on me for snacks," you pouted. Alexia sighed, not having the heart to tell you that she kept those around for you. You stayed on top of your fitness better than anybody Alexia had ever met, so she didn't see the harm in keeping a couple of little snacks for you around at her place. It had been early in your relationship when she asked if your snacks were approved by the nutritionist, long before she knew how hard you really worked.

"Maybe you're a bad influence," Alexia teased. That seemed to be the wrong move as your eyes began to well up with tears. Alexia quickly backtracked, but as she continued to talk, Alexia noticed that your attention was elsewhere. "Amor, you aren't getting sick are you?"

"I don't like this," you said as you pulled your top off. Alexia quickly covered her eyes, despite having openly stared as you got dressed earlier that day.

"Why are you undressing?" Alexia asked, slightly panicked.

"Because it's hot. And I'm hot. God, it's almost the winter, and I am baking Ale!" you exclaimed. Alexia rolled her eyes as she dropped her hand, unsurprised to see every bit of your clothing on the ground. "Let's go to bed."

"Are you just going to sleep naked?" You nodded as you stumbled your way towards Alexia's bedroom. Alexia followed you in and watched as you fumbled your way through your nighttime routine. Alexia tried to help where she could, but you were stubborn about doing it yourself. Alexia went through her own routine and found you asleep in bed by the time that she was halfway through the second step.

#woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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nariism · 5 months ago

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to the ends of our world — i. rin

academic rivals to lovers + "i could kiss you right now!" + "we fell asleep by accident and woke up as a mess of tangled limbs."

synopsis. all rin said was that he would help you with calculus. he didn't think he'd be waking up to your morning breath and wishing the moment would last forever.

wc. 1.6k

notes. kind of a highschool au where rin is out for the season because of an injury 🙏 also kind of a one-sided rivalry because rin is a loser :p

— for @itoshiexx <3 | event masterlist ✉️

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I could kiss you right now.

Those were the last words you spoke to Rin almost an hour ago.

He's agonizing over it, really. He probably should have at least said something back to you instead of shutting you out like he does every time he feels himself getting too close.

Instead he's dutifully working through his calculus notebook.

If he focuses enough on perfecting derivatives, he can ignore the way your presence beside him has only gotten weightier. But it's hard to do that when the words are still echoing in his mind.

I could kiss you right now.

You're just as adamant on finishing your workbook, eyes glued to the page and attention completely devoted to making numbers dance.

When you asked him earlier in the day if he could help you with the new sets, he was confused. You'd always been the one to best him.

It irritated him. You reminded him too much of his big brother.

But then he saw your notebook. You'd hesitantly handed it over to him when you showed up at his doorstep with courtesy snacks and a bag of oranges for his mother.

(Which she gushed about, by the way. He felt like burying himself in a hole when she asked if you were dating.)

You'd been trying for so long to figure out the solutions that some areas of the page were torn where you had kept erasing and redoing the work. He even found things scribbled out in frustration.

He would have laughed if you didn't have such a grim look on your face. Rin was never one for humour, anyways.

He reluctantly agreed to help, though he was sure your other grades would make up for one botched math unit. It was the petty pride in him speaking—in reality, the way you looked like you were on the verge of tears was enough to send him into fight or flight mode.

He had never seen such a dazed, stressed expression on you before. You were the epitome of a model student—good grades, class representative, and friendly enough that no one ever wanted to step on your toes.

No one but Rin, that is.

He told himself he hated you. Goody-two shoes. Smiley. Obliviously and annoyingly cheerful. Successful enough to do anything you wanted to do, so long as you had the drive.

Everything Rin would have been if he hadn't injured his knee right before the football season started.

But what he thought he felt about you was a lie. He hadn't even realized it until you were sitting down on his bed, knee bumping into him as you lounged there criss-crossed.

He'd always just seen you as the person who sat in front of him in homeroom. Untouchable. He envied you, even though his grades were nearly as good now that he had all the time in the world to study.

Now, though, you're just as human as he is.

Rin can see your face instead of the back of your head. Your words are meant for him—thanking him, praising how easy his method for solving these equations is.

Then, you shattered his daydream.

I could kiss you right now.

You said it so unseriously, not even looking at him when you did. You had gotten to the end of your third page of work, conquering the math with ease now that you understood it.

It was your funny way of expressing gratitude. He knows you didn't mean anything by it, definitely. But it's been stuck in his mind.

And neither of you have uttered a word to each other since.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you slam your pencil down in your notebook and shut it with an audible thud.

"Break time!" You sigh blissfully, though he isn't sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

You flop back into his mattress and he just stares in quiet disbelief while you scroll through your phone like you fucking pay rent here.

Rin debates whether or not to kick you off his bed so that he can finish his homework without distraction, or if he should just leave you be. Ultimately, he decides that it's too much of a hassle to deal with confrontation and silently goes back to doing derivatives.

He would feel bad shoving you away when you finally started talking to him, after all. And you look so at ease now, with your work almost done.

(Yeah, you started working at a faster pace than him with his method. You seriously piss him off.)

He comes to the conclusion that this is going to be a one-time thing. Rin hates the twist of despair in his stomach seeing you about to burst into tears.

He hates the peace that fills him when you're back to your smiling self even more.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Rin wakes up to warmth.

Groggily, he blinks the sleep out of his eyes until they adjust to the light of sunrise pouring into his room.

It's strange. He doesn't remember falling asleep at all.

What was he doing last night? He shifts a little bit and freezes when he hears the crinkle of paper beneath him.

Oh, his calculus homework. Did he finish it? It's due today.

He's just about to sit himself up to check the time and hope he has at least another hour to sleep before school, when he realizes much too late that there's a weight on his arm.

Rin gets yanked back by the arm that's pinned down, yelping quietly in surprise.

And then everything hits him like a goddamn truck.

Maybe more like a freight train, really, because he feels like he's about to have a fucking heart attack. Rin dares to turn his head, so comically slow that it's like life itself moves in slow motion.

Somehow in your sleep, you've become a tangled mess of limbs.

His arm is tucked under your neck—the culprit for making him whelp like a child when he tried to sit up. Your legs are twisted together and... Oh god. His free hand is resting where your hip melts into your thigh.

Panic rises in his chest because one, he's never had another person in his bed before. Period. And two, because there's heat boiling in the pit of his stomach and he's pretty sure he's about to keel over and pass away.

Just as he's about to shove you off the bed, realization dawns on him.

You look so peaceful when you sleep.

Your breath smells, and your hair has gotten tangled under the weight of his arm. You're muttering to yourself quietly in your sleep, and he's pretty sure he can see a bit of drool in the corner of your lip.

He so desperately wishes that his first thought would be to tease you about this until the end of time. Or maybe use it as blackmail against you, if you were to get a higher grade on the upcoming calculus exam because of his methods.

But instead, his first thought is that he never wants to move from this position. That he needs to savour this moment.

It's horrifying.

18 hours ago, you pranced up to the side of Rin's desk and asked if he could help you with the problem set.

All he said was that he would help you with calculus.

He didn't expect you to show up at his door right after dinner. And he didn't expect you to seat yourself on his bed before he could offer you the chair at his desk.

He certainly didn't think he'd be waking up to your morning breath and wishing the moment would last forever.

You've just been a bag full of mysteries. Rin hates mysteries. It's part of the reason why math works for him—no surprises, no ambiguity. There's always an answer.

Rin can't formulate an answer on why his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his ribcage.

You shuffle in his arms and suddenly the pounding in his chest ceases.

Is this what death feels like?

"Rin?" You murmur sleepily, shifting into his warmth as if this is something regular classmates should be doing. "What time is it?"

"I can't see the clock," he deadpans, though it's just a facade to hide how utterly enamoured he is right now. "It's behind you."

You groan, rolling over to check the time. He breathes a sigh of relief as you pull away but it gets stuck in his throat when you collapse back into him, your back against his chest.

"6:07," you tell him nonchalantly. And then you cozy yourself up in the blankets again, nice and warm, and go back to sleep.

"Hey," he shakes you lightly. "Don't just go back to bed, moron."

"We can talk about the homework later," you mumble as if that's what he fucking meant.

A million words run through his mind, parading to the tip of his tongue where they all fall off and die. He can't find them when you're slotting yourself closer and closer in your sleep, squeezing his arm against your cheek.

Eventually, he decides that it's not worth the hassle of getting up and having you see his flustered face right now. You'd never let him live it down.

So he closes his eyes and pretends that you're not just the person who sits in front of him in homeroom. Goody-two shoes. Smiley. Obliviously and annoyingly cheerful.

"I could..."

He swallows loudly, the words like molasses in his throat.

I could kiss you right now.

You're dead to the world, but he doesn't dare speak the thought into existence, anyway.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

("Rin! 95%!"

You shove your paper into his face and he opens his mouth to snark back about it.

But then you leap forward and press a kiss to his cheek. Everything in his head instantly melts into mush.

"You're the best," you gush.

He just glowers at you with burning red cheeks.)

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divineecelestial · 1 year ago

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Pretty Girl [3] Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary — Eddie thinks he'll actually die if you keep ignoring him. So he's going to make you talk to him. Even if that means climbing through your window.

Word Count — 3.1k

Warnings — graphic depictions of sexual activity, oral sex (fem receiving) dirty talk, Eddie jerks off while eating you out

18+ ONLY

I didn't forget about you sluts.

“I can take you home.”

You watched as your group of friends slowly disappeared from view, their voices diminishing into silence as the car drove further down the road. The smile faded from your lips as a chilly breeze crashed against you were overcome with the realization that you were alone. Both literally and figuratively. Your friends, something you weren’t even certain you could call them, had forgotten you. No, that wasn’t the right word. Left you must’ve been more accurate because they knew you were there but none of them seemed to even care they left you alone under a yellow streetlamp on an empty road as raindrops dampened your uniform. Yes, left behind was the right term for it. Disregarded and ignored. You glanced down at the brown stains on your white, or what used to be sneakers. Goosebumps rose on your exposed legs as you crossed your arms, trying to preserve as much warmth as you could. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the journey home as your eyes stung with warm tears.

With reluctance, you peered over your shoulder and sighed shakily. There was a flicker of anger passing through you as you took him in; casually leaning against his van with his adorned hands stuffed inside his pockets. Of course, he was there. He was always there whenever you needed him as far away as possible. You blinked away the dwelling tears and whirled around, ignoring his presence entirely. You didn’t make it very far before you heard his heavy footsteps near you. “Oh, come on. I might be a dick but I’m not gonna let you walk home alone, at night, in the rain.” You wanted to remark that ‘might’ wasn’t accurate. He was a dick. “Especially in your pretty little uniform.”

You could feel your strands of hair sticking to your skin as you hesitantly faced him. “Oh, so you’re gonna protect me?” You questioned as if the mere idea of him keeping you from everything that goes bump in the night was ridiculous. Because that wasn’t him and that wasn’t how this dynamic worked. “I don’t think so. I’d rather take my chances with whatever is out there.” You said, glancing at the darkness surrounding the town. You knew what was out there. Dealt with everything that could’ve possibly killed you and survived, but here you were, dreading getting inside a car with him.

He loomed closer and your glare hardened as your nostrils flared. God, he couldn’t get over how pretty you looked when you were mad at him. You were finally acknowledging him again with that delicious anger he’d been craving. And for a brief moment, he couldn’t have even bothered to notice your wrath flaming beneath your harsh gaze because you were finally acknowledging him. You were finally looking at him with those damn eyes he swore he could lose himself in and he didn’t seem to care that you were only looking at him because you were on the verge of slapping him across the face.

Things were different. And this time, this change wasn’t a welcome one and you were desperate for everything to suddenly transform back to ‘normal’. Or as normal as things could get between you two. The weekend arrived and you didn’t want to go anywhere, irrationally worried you were going to see him. Avoiding him like he was contaminated with the plague wasn’t something you were used to. Sure, before this relationship progressed, you didn’t go out of your way to speak with him, but now, you couldn’t even walk in the same hallway without being consumed by embarrassment.

As ridiculous as this might’ve seemed, the kiss you abruptly pressed against him was strangely intimate. Well, for you it was. Because sex could just be something as simple as people seeking physical pleasure from another person. A simple hook-up. That connection was fiery, consuming, and temporary. You might not have had sex with him, but he allowed you to chase that all-consuming pleasure from him and you felt stupid for thinking he could’ve thought of you as anything other than some sex toy. You kissed him and he rejected you.

“You don’t mean that.” His smirk was cruel and you were moments from scratching his face until he was unrecognizable. “Come on, pretty girl. I’ll keep my hands to myself and drive with two hands on the wheel.”

As soon as the words fell from his lips, another breeze moved through the ice-cold air and you shivered. The light rainfall slowly dampened his unruly hair and you knew the downpour was going to drastically change soon. You looked upward at the dark skies and clamoring clouds, silently cursing at them for this. Oh, gosh, this couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t seriously be considering this. Sitting in a small and enclosed space with Eddie Munson for who knows how long after he had practically rejected you was outrageous. You were going to deny the offer when a loud crack echoed throughout town. Thunder. His smile only widened. “Fine. Give me your jacket.” He raised his eyebrows at the sudden demand but complied regardless. That’s how it worked between you both; you demanded and he complied. Most of the time. In one fluid movement, his jacket was removed and he wordlessly handed it to you. You removed your backpack and cheer bag and roughly smacked it against his chest before walking to his passenger door, decidedly ignoring his groan. He quickened his pace to open the door for you. “If you try any of your shit, I’m jumping out of the car.” You warned.

His jacket was warm and smelled like his cologne and weed. You tightened the fabric around yourself and flicked on the heater. He pulled away from the school’s desolate parking lot and drove away. A minute hadn’t gone by before he opened his mouth. “Why were you at school this late?” He knew why. He had practically memorized your schedule and knew exactly what you were doing most days, but he just wanted to listen to your voice. It had been too long since he had heard your voice directed at him.

You were quiet and didn’t answer immediately. He was going to ask the question again before your voice filled the confines of his car. “Cheer practice.” You answered shortly, gaze remaining outside the window and at the passing blur of colors. “You?” You hesitantly asked. You didn’t know why you bothered asking. You knew what he was doing there. He was cleaning the mess left behind by the Hellfire Club and doing whatever else dungeon masters do. You only knew because the kids were practically attached to him. It’s not like you wanted to know or asked about it before. Of course not.

“Hellfire.” And you must’ve been delusional if you thought Eddie was granting you some kind of mercy and deciding to drive the remainder of the trip in sweet silence. Yes, delusional indeed. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. These past couple of days, you know.” You did know, it was impossible to not notice such an imposing figure in your life like him. Beneath the facade of flippancy and sarcasm, there was the undeniable truth—he was hurt. And this wasn’t an ordinary kind of hurt. This was an ache that throbbed and demanded to be felt, the lifeless thump of a cracked heart before transforming into a sharpness, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Heartache was a disease desperate to be felt. The cure of his was inches away from him, shrouded with his clothes.

“I didn’t notice.” You lied straight through your teeth and he knew you were lying.

His eyes remained on the road, but his grip on the wheel tightened. “I just wish you would let me explain—”

You breathed in sharply. “There isn’t anything to explain.” Another lie.

There was another crackle and a flash of light scattered across the sky. “Yes, there is. Just let me—”

The driveway of your household was steadily approaching and you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, practically tumbling outside as soon as the van stopped moving. “Thank you for the ride.” He watched as you disappeared behind your door, closing it without glancing back.

Beneath the warmth of your blankets, you readjusted yourself with your eyes closed. Your face was smushed against your pillows, a small sigh escaping you as you squeezed your pillow tighter. The sound of your window opening filled the silent air and your eyes snapped open, hurriedly looking over your shoulder before jolting upright. “Your hair is sticking out everywhere.” A voice said casually. “Cute.”

The chill from the midnight breeze crashed against you like an icy tidal wave. Across the room, and casually perched on your windowsill, was Eddie. You rubbed the side of your face and groaned, promptly shoving your face back onto your baby pink pillows. You should’ve been worried, frightened even, that he had broken into your room, but the only emotion you could manage was exhaustion. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was muffled as you spoke into the fabric.

This must’ve been a figment of his depraved imagination, a scene plucked from his dreams—you were languidly sprawled across your blankets and wearing nothing but a small nightgown. And that nightgown revealed the softness of your breasts as you slowly faced him, your bare ass peeking beneath the thin fabric. As you pressed your cheek against your palm, finally offering your hazy attention, the breath was stolen from lungs and he subtly latched onto the windowsill to steady himself. “You know, those friends back there didn’t really seem like friends. Just an observation.” He was stalling. He knew he was, but he was desperate for a semblance of normality.

You breathed in sharply. “Well, you can keep your observations to yourself.”

It was silent for a beat. “You wanna hear another observation?” He didn’t care if you didn’t.

You yawned, blinking slowly. “Not really, but I’m sure you're going to share anyway.”

He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the annoyance searing your voice. “I think you like being around me because you don’t have to pretend. You can be your mean, stubborn, and bratty self around me. Around them, you have to be The Head Cheerleader.” You weren’t even focusing on the coldness filling the room or even acknowledging that he was inside your room. That hadn’t been processed completely. Yet. “It’s obvious. I don’t know how no one else doesn’t notice.”

Through your sleepy gaze, you narrowed your eyes. “You think you know me, Munson?”

“No, I do know you.” He answered so surely. “I think you’re forgetting I grew up with you.” That wasn’t something you could ever forget even if you had tried. And you had desperately. “You were my first-ever crush. I was obsessed with you. Still am, by the way.” He casually added. “I grew up watching you. I memorized everything about you. I even watched those damn pep rallies for you. Failed classes so you could be my tutor. I even bribed Mr. Johnson so I could be your partner for the project that let me see those pretty little panties of yours.”

He moved away from the windowsill and loomed closer to the edge of your bed. “So I need you to understand something. You were my first and only crush. You were my first of many wet dreams. You were the only girl who made me nervous and made me feel like some lovesick loser because you looked at me. There were times when I couldn’t fucking function because you smelled so good, said something so damn smart in class, or yelled at Carver for being a dick. I need you to understand I have been and still am, fucking crazy for you and you kissed me.”

He kneeled, his tentative hands softly caressing your thighs before pressing a small kiss on your knee. “I need you to understand that I’m the loser who plays D&D with freshmen, sells weed, and hasn’t had a girlfriend, who fucking watches porn to practice for this exact moment and you’re you.” Another gentle kiss on your other knee. “And, fuck, you’re so perfect. The goddamn prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss on your thigh. “So damn smart.” Another kiss on your other thigh. “And you’re funny. You challenge me.” His nose nudged the hem of your nightgown as he licked the inside of your thigh. “So I do know you and I know you like me. And that’s something I can’t wrap my head around.”

You shuddered as his breath brushed against your skin, unintentionally wrapping your leg around his shoulder, your calf pressed against his back, pulling him closer. You whispered his name, a plead for something. Anything. Your voice, breathless and desperate, was a siren’s call and he would’ve swam to the depths of the darkest ocean to hear it again and again.

The words uttered from his flushed lips were barely processed as lifted the hem of your nightgown. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before closing them, almost as if he were murmuring a silent prayer, and he took a moment to admire the godly sight before him. Hidden beneath the softness of your nightgown and thighs was something he had only dreamed of. Yeah, of course, he’d seen pussies before. From porn, mind you, but this was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He didn’t understand how you, probably the most perfect woman to ever roam this earth, had just become even better.

You could feel each slow breath from him as he simply admired. “Do something.” You whispered. Your voice was a soft reminder that he needed to move, do something as you put it. Slowly, his tongue dragged across your pussy and a primal groan escaped his mouth. He pulled away suddenly and you glanced at him curiously. He looked concentrated, brows scrunched together in deep thought. “I-Is something wrong?”

A moment passed and he shook his head. “I’m just trying not to cum.” He eventually said.

You threw your head back and laughed, which was stifled by a moan as he shoved his head back between your thighs. His initial movements were experimental, unsure, but as he continued and listened to your sounds, he knew what he was doing. Sort of. “Fuck, yes.” Your voice was unrecognizable to your own ears and the moans slipping from your lips were unlike anything you had made when alone.

This was the exact moment where Eddie decided he was going to marry you in the future. But first he was going to make you cum.

With his tongue still flicking against your clit, occasionally sucking, he unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock from the confines of his clothes. Your legs shook as he shoved two ringed fingers inside you, slowly pumping you and memorizing every detail of this moment before he gathered the juices of your arousal and jerked himself off. “So fucking wet.” He said, pathetically whining as the pornographic sound of your wetness coated his cock. “I don’t know how I lived this long without tasting you.”

Your thighs pressed against his face as your hand pulled his hair and he promptly decided if he were to die tonight, he would die a happy man. This is where he belonged. Most men wanted to be businessmen, sleep on a bed full of money with dozens of women keeping them company, but he didn’t. His face shoved between your shaking thighs, sucking on your clit as you yanked his hair and moaned his name, was where he belonged. “Please don’t stop.” You pleaded. And as much as Eddie loved hearing you yell at him, he decided this was how he wanted to hear you from now on. "Yes, yes, yes. Don't stop."

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my pretty girl.” God, him and that nickname were going to be the death of you.

“I-I’m gonna—” Your voice cracked and you couldn’t finish your own sentence.

His hand clutched your thigh with a newfound roughness, pulling your closer, and his other hand squeezed and tugged his leaking cock. “Come on, pretty girl. Come for me.” His pace and movements didn’t change or falter. “Give it to me. Come for me, please. I need it.”

At that moment, you decided Eddie wasn’t going anywhere. He was never getting rid of you because he ate your pussy like a starving man and made you cum until you saw twinkling stars. “You have the filthiest fucking mouth—”

His wet mouth pressed against yours, his hands coated with your juices and he clutched your cheek. “You taste that?” He asked after pulling away, his lips faintly brushed against yours, teasing. “That’s the taste of the prettiest girl—” He kissed you again and you were barely able to process the softness of his mouth against you before he pulled away again. “Who fucking likes me and can’t deny it.”

And his knees buckled as you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you. “What have you done to me, Eddie Munson?” You mumbled. He could feel your glittering smile against his and there wasn’t anything more beautiful.

He saw the gilded walls surrounding your heart and decided he was going to do everything he could to get there. He poked and prodded, tugged and pulled before deciding to take a jackhammer and destroy everything keeping him from you. “My five-year plan of seducing you finally worked.” And he stopped for only a moment, processing the mere fact that this was real. He was really touching you, tasting you, licking your cum off his soaked lips. “I’ve dreamed of this.” His voice was low and below a whisper, his warm breath tickling your face with each word. You could feel the warmth of his lips touching your shoulder, a ghostly caress against your skin.

You placed a few random pecks on his face. “I really like you, Eddie Munson.” There was vulnerability exuding from you, unlike anything he’d ever seen from you before.

“So this is what the famous [Y/N] is like behind closed doors.” The pouring rain soaked the floor outside your room, the grey clouds visible through the droplet-covered windows. "Who would’ve thought my pretty girl was so sweet?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, smacking his arm. “Shut up.” You laughed. He would've fought (and probably lose) anyone just to hear that beautiful sound again and again.

“That’s not what you were saying earlier. Oh, Eddie, please don’t stop. I’m gonna cum!” He mocked with an obnoxiously high pitched voice.

You decided a another kiss would be the best way to shut him up. “God, you’re so pretty I’m gonna faint.” He mumbled, squeezing your breasts and pinching your hardened nipples. “Can I please fuck you? If I don’t fuck you and cum inside that pretty pussy, I think I’ll die.”

You moaned into his mouth and he gratefully swallowed the sound. “Yeah, come on, Eds, fill me up.”

“Fuck yes.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fics #eddie munson filth #eddie munson fic

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sweetinsaniiity · 2 months ago

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Give Me Liberty Or Death

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - mysterious!jongho x ex!heartbroken!reader ◄ ► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - exes-to-strangers-??? trope, mafia au, plot with a side of smut (warnings below), heavy angst, Jongho's career choice is !unknown, regret, intense verbal fighting, reader is very !lonely, lots of crying, sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a knife, slice of life, slow burn, time lapses, path to healing, redemption, miscommunication, plot twist ◄ ► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!!, Jongho is an absolute DOM! and he has a !filthy mouth, degrading names (be warned), degradation kink, reader has !masochistic tendencies, spanking, hair pulling, hard biting, overstimulation, blowjob, choking, acarophilia, dacryphilia, creampie, no protection (DO NOT DO THIS!!!!), night terrors, mental breakdown, depressive state, mentions of self-ending (NOT DESCRIBED), extreme violence, gunfight scene (not towards reader) ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 27K+ words ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - A storm hits not only your town, but also your heart when Jongho knocks on your door in a panic after not seeing him for more than five years. Everything would have been fine, except he wasn't the Jongho you once knew and loved. He was tense, and paranoid like he was running away from something, and instead of your heart, he now carried a gun. ◄ ► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - I'm back from my vacation!!! This one might be on the more emotional side and I kept pausing because I got so into it, that it was actually affecting me. I wasn't going to put smut in this one, but it was so necessary. You'll see why. Also changed my name from "dearinsaniiiity" to this one. Hope you enjoy! ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @ginger-mingi @0rangemilk @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos ◄ ► 𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @cultofdionysusnet @wonderlandnet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @whipped-kpop-creators @illusionnet @pirateeznet ◄

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

"We interrupt your afternoon delight with a weather forecast of heavy rain and zero visibility in most areas..."

A strong gust of wind that passed and shook my windows slightly broke me out of the trance I almost went into. With a heavy sigh, I got up and double-checked if I had closed them tightly, twisting and turning the lock just to make extra sure.

It's been pouring rain the last couple of days and everyone, including me, thought it was going to pass, but clearly not.

I was disheartened to find out that there was a hurricane in my area when I turned my television on. I looked out my window again, the wind was picking up and it was raining so hard that I could barely make out what was outside.

"Shit, shit!" I panicked when I saw smoke rise up my ceiling and realized that I had overcooked my dinner for tonight.

I hurriedly took out my baked salmon, or what was left of it, from the oven. It was basically inedible.

I sat on the dining table with my head buried in my hands in frustration. This week has been terrible for me.

Because of the oncoming storm, my boss from the local bakery decided that he was going to close for a couple of months and leave town to avoid the storm while vacationing somewhere. I didn't mind, I wasn't going to stay in that job forever, so I applied to a corporation in the next city over, but I was rejected today.

Life hasn't been easy on me, but I'm working towards it.

Just when I was about to burst into pitiful tears, my doorbell suddenly rang. I was alarmed; I wasn't expecting anyone, and nobody in their right mind would be out in an active hurricane.

"Alright, I'm coming, please hang on," I scurried to the door when the doorbell rang over and over again hurriedly, as if the person on the other side was on the verge of collapsing.

But who could this be? I didn't really have anybody close enough with me who would visit without any prior notice. I wasn't really reclused, I just saw no point if they're going to leave anyway eventually.

With a deep breath, I opened the door slowly to peep out and see who was knocking, but that was pointless. I quickly grew frigid and loosened my hold on the door as it swung open on its own.

I recoiled at the surprise - there was someone I was not expecting to see right now. I blinked my eyes over and over and over, and over again. I even went as far as to rub my eyes repeatedly, pressing onto them almost dangerously, just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

"J-Jongho?" I squeaked, my voice cracking pathetically towards the end.

I curled my hands into fists. All the pain, raw and real, came rushing towards me as I stared into the eyes of the man who hurt me the most five years ago.

"Hello, Y/N."

His voice sounded so far away, and if it weren't for him actually standing in front of me and looking at me straight in the eye with an expression I couldn't pinpoint, I would have knocked my head against the wall so I could wake myself up from this nightmare.

"I-Is that you? Jongho?"

"That is my name, yes," Jongho spoke as his eyes stared into my own again. There were a million emotions to be said yet none in his eyes.

His voice sent delicious shivers down my spine, my legs started going numb from the pressure and the intensity. It had been years, and his eyes still had this unique, telling amber hue to them from afar, but up this close, his eyes had gold specks swirling in the middle near his irises.

"W-What are you d-doing here?" I sputtered out, my voice clearly holding distress.

"I know this is very sudden and I really don't mean to bother you," he cleared his throat. "I just...didn't know where to go, I passed by and I didn't know there was a storm."

My heart ached uncontrollably. If it wasn't for the storm, he wouldn't even show his face in front of me. "Do you need a place to pass the storm?" I asked rhetorically.

"Do you mind?"

"N-No, not at all. I'm just surprised you still knew your way here, that's all..."

A flashing look of hurt crossed his expression before it completely disappeared. He knows he can't blame me - after all, this was the first time we were seeing each other after five years of complete radio silence from one another.

I hesitated, biting my lips in contemplation. It's not that I didn't want him here, it's just that I was too hurt to see him.

A strong gust of wind howled from a distance and it was so strong, it had nearly uprooted a nearby tree. I turned back to Jongho in panic and urged him to come inside before he got uprooted.

I waved my hand towards him as a gesture that he could move. "Come along, Jongie---Jongho."

When Jongho started to walk inside and pass me, he paused and stiffened at my mistake. We stared at each other wide-eyed, either of us unwilling to move for fear of what's going to happen next. It was the nickname I loved calling him when we were still together.

But one of us had to. I laughed nervously and broke eye contact as I closed the door behind me. It was so awkward and for a couple of minutes, none of us did anything. The only sound that could be heard was the storm happening outside and Jongho's coat rustling as he took it off and set it somewhere.

My mind was blank except for the constant buzzing that reminded me that this was real, my heart palpitated in an abnormal manner, and at this point I was sure I was going to pass out.

"C-Coffee? Tea?" I blabbered nervously as I tried to busy myself so I wouldn't make eye contact with Jongho.

He chose to sit cross-legged on the couch. In my peripheral vision, I saw him close his eyes momentarily to savour the sensation - I get it, that specific spot was his favourite. It was to the point that we used to joke that when we had kids, he would pass on his 'throne'. Clearly, that didn't work out for us.

"Tea is good," Jongho murmured. "A dash of honey, no sugar or lemon."

I raised a brow, Jongho and tea never used to be in the same sentence. But then again, five years had passed. A lot of things can change in five years. But this was my ex-boyfriend, and I knew Jongho. He was never the type to deviate from what he liked.

I went to work and I could feel Jongho's sharp eyes following my every movement. It was making me extremely nervous. It was very evident in my actions, especially with the way my hands shook. I accidentally dropped the kettle with how clammy my hands have become and I yelped when it clanged loudly.

I stood frozen at my spot, staring at the fallen kettle. A sigh resounds from the far corner of the room and then the footsteps I missed.

"Are you alright?" Jongho picked up the kettle and set it down. "Sit down. I'll do it."

My head short-circuited from how close Jongho was to me. I could smell his cologne, something that used to comfort me. I had to stop the emotions threatening to bubble up from my chest because this felt so intimate.

"No, please, my hands were just a little clammy. Just relax," I explained, still avoiding eye contact.

My breath was cut short when a hand held my shoulder and a finger gently lifted my chin. I was forced to look into Jongho's eyes and I was surprised at how close he actually was to me.

It was the first time I was taking a good look at him. Jongho's hair was slicked back, something he barely did before because he loved his bangs. I resisted the urge to frown. It wasn't the only thing that changed, Jongho was much bigger than me now. He's always been taller than me, but now his shoulders were much broader and his chest was definitely harder.

"Do I make you nervous?" Jongho whispered. His eyes searched my face for answers. My breath laboured when they stared a little too long on my lips before his eyes met mine again.

"Yeah," I nodded, my voice quiet. "You do."

I was rigid as I returned the gesture. I had long forgotten how his plump lips felt like against mine, and I forgot Jongho's face overall.

I forgot about how insanely, utterly, ridiculously good-looking he was - it made me want to pull my hair out. I felt beads of sweat starting to form slowly at my forehead, I must have looked so dumb staring at him with slightly wide eyes.

He pulled away. "Sit down, Y/N. I won't burn down your kitchen."

"I know you won't," I frowned with a slight blush on my cheek. "If you could just let me---"

Jongho snapped his head at me and stared straight into my eyes with an expression that startled me. "Sit down," he repeated, his voice leaving no space for arguments.

I did as told, but I couldn't even concentrate as Jongho prepared the tea, not even when he opened the correct cabinets and worked my stove as if he never left five years ago.

There was something about his eyes and demeanor that was scaring me a bit. I could argue that it might just be my own anxiety and surprise at seeing him, but no, that wasn't it. I couldn't explain it, when he told me to sit down, I had to.

I had to. It was either I follow or else.

I stared at Jongho as he stood by and waited for the water to boil. He had always been a very nonchalant person as he was quite mature for our age group, but he was different. I wasn't sure if it was the way he moved or the way he talked, but he was very much different from the carefree and easygoing man I once loved.

"Careful, it's very hot," he murmured as he handed me the mug. We both chose to sit at the dining table and I tried my best to stay unaffected than I actually was.

When I took a sip, I whipped my head fast at Jongho who was busy sipping his own tea. There was a ghost of a smirk on his face when I sipped again, this time, savouring the tea and allowing myself to relax a little.

"You remembered," I swallowed. "A sugar cube and a dash of lemon in mine."

Jongho stared at me for a couple of seconds before completely ignoring me. It was awkward, but I wasn't going to push it. There was this dread I'm feeling that I couldn't pinpoint. Moments later, he had completely finished his drink.

"How are you, Y/N?" Jongho asked softly. His voice sounded so calm like the ongoing rain, and I've always loved the sound of the rain.

"I've been good, well, mostly anyway. I'm trying to apply at the capital, but no luck so far," I answered truthfully. "Are you okay, though? The way you knocked got me so worried."

Jongho's face softens significantly. I didn't even notice how tense his body was until he relaxed. "You were worried?" he snorted quietly. "You haven't changed at all."

It hit a nerve. I wish I did change, because if I did, then there wouldn't be a single part of me that was so hurt by his presence right now.

There was still a part of me that will always mourn how he suddenly just left one day and never came back, that is, until today.

"How can you just act like nothing happened?" I looked up at him with inquisitive eyes. "I guess that part of you never changed."

"That's what you think," Jongho murmured. His soft, calm voice always sent shivers down my spine.

Once again, he started staring at me again with those deep eyes of his. I couldn't help but be taken aback. His eyes looked different - darker. It made me think, what in the world has he been doing after he left town?

I broke eye contact, awkwardly shifting my body in a different angle. "And what of you?" I asked, trying to change the topic. "How are you, Jongho?"

My tone held weight in it, and Jongho knew. We both knew the hidden meaning behind the question - I wanted to know the real reason why he gave up on us when we had it good. His demeanor falters a bit and he sighed deeply before responding.

"Exhausted," he replied like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "I am very tired."

Silence. I didn't know what to say. This entire time, the way his eyes were reaching out and speaking to me made me want to take all his worries away, but I can't. I wasn't prepared for the day I would have to face him again, fuck, I haven't even moved on.

"Are you going to tell me why?" I whispered, my voice giving out my real intentions.

I knew he wouldn't say anything, but still, I wasn't ready for the instantaneous rejection. "No," Jongho denied, his tone firm and absolute.

I always had this gut feeling that Jongho was doing something behind my back. No, I knew it wasn't an affair. I never did ask why, until today.

"What are you really doing here, Choi Jongho?" I squinted my eyes at him.

He raised a brow in amusement. "I already told you---"

"You're lying!" I gritted my teeth, slighted, then banged my fist on the table. The sound didn't even startle Jongho. "Don't you at least owe me an explanation if you're staying in my house?"

"You would be correct," he agreed, his eyes shifting into something darker; sinister. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat as he slowly leaned forward until our faces were only inches apart. "But there are some things better left unsaid, Y/N."

Better left unsaid, my ass!

The urge to fight for him as we stared at each other unblinking was overtaking all my sense of rationality. As always, I had to back down, else we'd be like this all night up until the next night. Jongho would rather die than give in, even in the little things like this. It was petty and it was endearing before, but now, it just angered me.

I nodded robotically, effectively ending that conversation. "Right," I stood up from the chair as I looked out the window before turning to him. "It's getting late. Would you like to clean up before heading to sleep?"

The urge to pretend we were strangers was immense ,but I couldn't turn my back on him. It was a trait of mine I've always wanted to change - I'm a little too forgiving and caring. I always get hurt in the end.

Jongho had always been a man of few words, and tonight wasn't any different. He stared at me calculatingly, gauging my facial expressions, but I had already gauged his - he did not want to stay. My eyes must've looked more pleading than I wanted to because he looked away with a soft sigh.

"Oh," Jongho hummed awkwardly. "I'll have to go in my car to see if I have some spare clothes."

I shook my head immediately. "No need. Hang on a minute."

I descended towards my room with a blush with what I was about to do. I went into my room and grabbed the clothes I'd always kept at bay, I didn't even sweat looking for them; they've always been hidden away in the most immediate place of my closet.

I paused on the doorway, willing my shaking hands to stop, but to no avail. I had to mentally tell myself that it was okay, it was just Jongho, he needed help and you were just helping him. It was nothing more than that, nobody deserves to be in the middle of a raging hurricane with nowhere to go.

But why is the hurricane raging in my heart instead?

I could feel Jongho's eyes burning onto my hands - at the clothes I was carrying. When I handed them to him, it was the first time real emotions crossed his features.

"For all this time?" Jongho asked, his eyes holding turmoil and his voice strained with pain as he held his clothes that I've kept. I didn't have the heart to throw them away, I didn't want to.

My words kept getting stuck in my throat. I nodded my head and ignored his burning gaze. His body stiffened in realization before he moved in urgency towards a certain room in my small and modest house. I could only stare at him as he opened the door.

"You could sleep there," I offered, though he probably knew that already. "It's clean, I promise..."

My chest felt extremely heavy as emotions rushed through me, emotions that I've long forgotten because they died along with my soul a long, long time ago. Jongho stared at me, his hand gripping the doorknob so tight, I was afraid it would crush under his strength. His other hand was balled into a tight fist.

It was the master bedroom, our room when we were still together. However, it was mostly Jongho's room because it was his gaming room. I was starting college back then, mostly online, so I used the other room - the room I used ever since. Jongho would end up sleeping there so it made sense that all his stuff be moved there.

We were so secure in our relationship that we had no problem sleeping in separate rooms. Of course we'd sleep next to each other most of the time, but the principle behind it stood.

In hindsight, maybe we weren't so secure after all.

"When was the last time you were here?" Jongho asked in urgency. There was an underlying threat to his voice, like he was trying to hold himself back from exploding, but I don't care. I was too focused on my own hurt.

I hesitated. "Five years ago," I replied honestly. "When I...found your letter that said not to look for you."

It was the first time that that door was opened in so long, I couldn't bear to even look at the door because it held so many painful memories for me.

"Why?" Jongho questioned, the heat of his gaze almost melted me into a messy puddle, but I couldn't bear to look at him, he looked so hurt under all the surprise and the facade.

Because I was hoping you'd come back one day.

I shrugged, hoping that I could sell the notion that I didn't care. It was so far from the truth. I couldn't tell him what I really felt.

Jongho was about to say something but I immediately cut him off. "Anyway," I cleared my throat. Jongho frowns deeper but he lets me be. "I'm a bit tired, you know where the shower is."

I turned my back quickly to leave, but Jongho stopped me. "Wait, please."

I stuttered in my steps, only turning my head to look at him and not my whole body. He also wasn't the type to say 'please'. His mouth opened to say something, but he opted to close it. "Good night, Y/N. Sleep well," was all he ended up saying.

I ran to my room a little faster than I wanted to and closed the door a little harder than I intended to. I don't care if Jongho notices, he knows damn well what he was doing when came here.

There was a point in my life where I never wanted to see Jongho again, but at the same time, I needed him to let me heal. But not like this.

I couldn't sleep that night. Up until this point I was working with empathy as my fuel and my body on autopilot. Tonight, everything came crashing down on me now that I was alone. It was horrific, the heartbreak and the pain that came with it barreled down my body and I couldn't breathe.

I could still feel the biting cold of the harsh winter snowfall when we first laid our eyes on each other. We were just teenagers, no older than fourteen, and it wasn't love at first sight, but it was a slow burn; a gradual fall that would have happened eventually even before we knew it.

Jongho's love always gave me an out-of-body experience, for his love was true and passionate. It was something you'd have to experience yourself to know what I meant. He was the sweetest lover, he was so patient with me and he had the most beautiful smile that always made me cry tears of joy for having him.

I built a world in my head that revolved around Jongho. Him and I managed to graduate high school, but we never went to college because we didn't see the point of it. We did odd jobs here and there until we bought our first house to prepare for the rest of our lives together. We had it so good.

Until it wasn't. He took a part of my heart that I can never, ever get back again when I found a letter in his room one day when I woke up. There was no other explanation. The amount of tears I cried for years could rival the hurricane happening right now.

I'd always suspected it was because of his career. The way he got so irritated and angry whenever I'd want to talk about what he did back then petrified me. He told me he found solace in a bank, but I knew he was lying. I was pretty sure the bank didn't give him all the bruises he came home with all the time.

I did try the dating scene after two years or so, but no such luck. I left every man that I'd make a connection with all the time because I would end up comparing every single one of them to Jongho and it wasn't fair to them.

But everything was in the past now. As I closed my eyes to try and rest, I made up my resolve to try and not catch feelings for him. I would break his heart before he broke mine again.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

It took approximately five days for the rain to finally stop and by this time, it was safe to go out and see the sun.

These five days were some of the most challenging days of my entire life, more so than when I was trying to move on from Jongho before. We were so awkward around one another, it was as if we were strangers that were forced to co-habituate.

The only consolidation was that both of us barely went out of our rooms, except when I made dinner, but even then, we'd still eat in our rooms. I don't know about him, but I refused to go out there willingly and interact with him. Living together again felt a little too intimate for my liking.

And now he was leaving again. It's like he never even came in my life.

"A-Are you sure you're going to be okay?" I asked apprehensively from across the dining table.

Jongho zipped up his duffle bag that contained some of his clothes that he took from the room. It hurt me more than I'd like to admit, it was like he was permanently uprooting what's left of him from this place - from me.

He looked up and nodded. "Yes," Jongho responded curtly. He hesitated a bit before speaking again. "You're going to go grocery shopping this morning, aren't you?"

I raised a brow in surprise. Jongho pointed at something and when I looked, it was a note I had put there from a week before to remind me to refill my fridge. The tips of my ears warm up with embarrassment. I nodded at him, not knowing where this was going.

"I'll drop you off so you don't have to walk," he offered, voice soft. "The town exit is by that area...I can drive off from there."

I hesitated, biting my lip to think about it. To be quite honest, I was hoping that he would just say his thanks and leave. In reality, I don't want to watch him leave, my unhealed soul won't be able to take it.

However, maybe seeing it would help me finally move on and heal. "Okay," I agreed, my voice barely audible even in the silence that enveloped us, but he heard it anyway.

It was how I found myself sitting in the car with him as he drove. It was a small town, I could have walked to the store if I wanted to, but driving was still more convenient for me.

"I hope life will be a bit nicer to you from now on," I whispered all of a sudden as I watched the scenery bristle past us. Even with what happened to us, I will always want Jongho to succeed and be happy.

I could feel his eyes burn through me and I tried not to look at him. "You've always been such an angel," Jongho remarked quietly. The statement made my stomach drop. "Thank you, Y/N. You had no reason to take me in, but you still did."

Before I could ask if I was going to see him again, Jongho halted the car all of a sudden. I yelped a bit when I jutted forward, thank God for seatbelts, and I wanted to look at him in intense confusion, but when I looked up, I understood why.

There was destruction that laid across the streets and the town. Thick, gigantic trees had fallen over and covered the entire divide. It gave me the shivers to look at, but what made both me and Jongho pale was that the exit bridge was entirely destroyed. This town was located at the very edge of the country, and that bridge was the only thing connecting them.

I was startled when a knock sounded from my window. It was a construction worker. I lowered the window and we said our respects.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," he began. "It's very dangerous here, please turn back before you get hurt."

"How long until everything is up and functioning?" Jongho asked, obvious tension and anger tainted in his voice even when he was trying to hold back. "I'm not a resident here. Is there any other exit?"

"Afraid not, dear sir. Please, turn back. And it would probably take a couple of months to fix everything..."

Jongho's grip on the steering wheel became dangerously tight. He knew the answer to that question, but he still asked anyway. I didn't pay attention, my ears were ringing loudly in my brain

"Fuck!" Jongho hit the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hands, the force of it so intense, it shook the car a little bit.

I jumped a bit when he did it again, harder than the last. I've never heard Jongho curse with this vehemence, hell, I've never even seen him lose his temper this quick. Rage was written all over his face, his blown out eyes were wide with adrenaline and thick veins angrily popped out from his temples.

My heart stopped beating for a full second when Jongho snapped his head towards me and ran his eyes all over my terrorized state. His glare held cold emptiness. Who was this man? The Jongho I knew only looked at me with nothing but love and even if he didn't anymore, surely I don't deserve this?

He forced himself to stop glaring at me. It was such an odd sight, as if he was trying to reign in the demons that threatened to overtake him. He tried and tried until all that was left was his softened gaze.

I got so lost in thought that I didn't even realize that Jongho had not only parked his car , but he had also gotten out and opened the door for me.

"Let's go," he gently coaxed out. "I'd like to be home before sundown."

Home? My head started hurting from all the overstimulation. I looked around me, surprised that we were in front of the grocery store. I stared at Jongho in confusion. "A-Are you going in with me?" I blurted out dumbly.

My skin tingles when Jongho placed his hand at the lower part of my back and started making me walk with me inside. "How am I going to pay for the stuff if I'm not here?"

He grabbed a cart and started pushing it with one hand while his other hand had now travelled a little higher as he gently guided me with him.

"I have my own money," I frowned. "If this is about you staying for a while now, I'm not asking for anything in return."

"So keep them and stash them somewhere as savings," he replied. His hand separated from my back and he paused at one aisle. "You like instant ramen?"

"Oh, yes—wait," I sputtered like an absolute idiot, face getting redder by the minute. "Don't change the topic."

He grabbed the biggest box of instant ramen. Not only did he do that, but he also got my favourite variety. There was a look of amusement painted on his face, it made him look so much younger; it made him look so good.

We carried on doing the groceries together. I was so distracted by how domesticated we both looked. We looked like we were a married couple just trying to replenish their groceries. Jongho grabbed everything I needed but more so the stuff he knew I liked because I would eye them a little longer. I couldn't freely do this, my job at the bakery provided just enough for me to survive but not splurge on things I didn't need.

By the time we were done, the cart was so full that Jongho found it difficult to steer the cart. "There's a lot of things here I'm not even sure how to cook," I deadpanned.

"The internet exists, blossom. We'll figure it out," he assured. He cocked his head towards the cashier area. "Come on."

I lagged behind him, I didn't want him to see how red my entire face had become. Blossom. I'm not sure if he did it on purpose, but it was what he called me during the entirety of our relationship.

"Hey, Y/N! Good to see you out and about," Choi San, the cashier and one of my best friends, greeted. He turned to Jongho and bowed a bit. "Thank you for shopping with us, Sir..."

I stopped the smile threatening to come out. If only San knew that he was technically older than Jongho. I can't blame him though, Jongho was born with an old soul, it was one of the things that made me love him so, so much.

San kept wiggling his eyebrows at me in a teasing manner while Jongho wasn't looking. I put my finger to my lips to shush him, but that seemed to spur him on even more.

"Hope the storm wasn't too bad on you, Sannie. How's Haneul?" I asked him to distract him.

"She wasn't here when it happened, thank God," he laughed a little. He stared at Jongho, me, and then back at Jongho with a sly smile. "Your boyfriend is very generous, Y/N."

I fumbled, redness immediately spreading across my face. I wanted to retort, but the idiot purposefully turned to Jongho to ask some questions.

"Haven't seen you around here before, where are you from?"

"Seoul, my work is based in the mid-city," Jongho patiently replied as barrages of questions were hurled at him.

Jongho never really stayed long in this town for people to recognize him, and even if he did, he barely went out anyway. As the conversation went on, I realized that Jongho never corrected San when he said that he was my boyfriend. It sent me into an intense mental whiplash.

"A total of ₩973,841," San stated after he was done doing his cashier things.

My heart thudded and my grip on my wallet became impossibly tight. I was on a restricted budget since the bakery isn't going to be open for a while, luckily I was good at saving, but still. I was about to open my mouth to retort but Jongho beat me to it.

"Do you accept dollars?" Jongho inquired. When San confirmed they did, he fished out a prestigious black card that everyone only dreamed of having.

Shame crept onto my face. It meant that Jongho was thriving in his career and even went international. It wasn't a surprise because Jongho had always been meant for greater things while I was still that painfully normal girl. We weren't even in the same level of status at this point.

"Stop thinking what you're thinking."

I was a bit startled when Jongho tucked a piece of my hair behind my ears. "I know you, and it's okay," he murmured. When my expression didn't relent, he sighed. "Make me dinner tonight then, but I'm telling you, I don't need anything."

I agreed. It was better than owing Jongho. He picked up all the heavy shopping bags effortlessly and San's widened eyes made me giggle. San was crazy strong, but Jongho's strength was something out of this world.

"Loaded and strong," San whistled. I blushed in embarrassment and playfully glared at San. His laughter was still ringing in my head even after we left the store.

The drive home was more peaceful this time, except for my internal turmoil. Jongho was going to live with me for God-knows-how-long.

"That cashier, your friend?" Jongho suddenly asked. "He seems nice."

"San? Yes, he is," I paused for a moment before I spoke again. "He's my ex, actually."

Jongho's brows raised in genuine surprise. "Oh? What happened?"

"Nothing," I shrugged. He side eyed me, unimpressed. "No, I'm serious. Nothing happened, which was why we broke up."

He didn't say anything, waiting for me to continue. "I met San through a mutual friend of ours. He just had his heart broken, and I was lonely, so we tried for each other. Instead of developing romance, we ended up being extremely good friends instead. It was a win-win for us."

It wasn't the entire truth. There were countless nights where San and I cried in each other's arms in desperation because we both wanted to move on and genuinely be with each other, but we just both couldn't. San's heart wasn't ready and I was still desperately in love with Jongho.

"What about you?" I asked with genuine interest. "Anyone within five years, or perhaps as of now?"

I was nervous to hear his answer, but it was only fair that I asked. "Had a few," he admitted. "None of which lasted for more than two weeks, I'm afraid. Last time I even bothered to try was three years ago."

"Why?" I bit my lip as I waited for his response, though I was a bit surprised. Jongho was shy, but he was extremely attractive so that's that.

He parked in front of the house before turning to look at me. "For the same reasons as yours," he whispered.

My heart started to beat a million miles per minute. "You don't even know mine," I frowned.

"But I do," he shook his head slowly. That darkness in his eyes was back. He stole my breath relentlessly when he grabbed my chin and tilted it towards him.

It wasn't normal; the gesture was rough and demanding. "I can see it in your eyes," he said with a small smirk. I gulped when he pressed his thumb on my bottom lip. "We were each other's anchor. You'd do best to believe that."

Jongho got out of the car and I remained frozen in my spot. That was weird, the Jongho I knew would never act like that! Just who was this man I took in for almost a week, and now, will be taking in for a couple of months?

But wait, was he implying that he can't find someone else either because he still loved me?

"Then why did you leave?" I bombarded him when I quickly ran to the house before he could do anything else.

Jongho stared at me blankly. It was uncomfortable, his eyes were the darkest I have ever seen. Without replying, he turned around and locked himself in his room.

I scoffed, tempted to pull my hair out, the nerve of this man! I might as well be talking to a wall! I decided to put all the groceries away and start on dinner.

I couldn't concentrate though, I genuinely thought we had a connection already. And his eyes, his demeanor, it was freaking me out.

Him walking out wasn't technically new, even before, he'd walk out when he didn't want to be confronted, but this was different. At least before, he used to smile and they would hold this softness to it that I never saw again in another man since he’s walked out of my life.

Dinner was silent. I made homemade ramen and I could see the surprise in his eyes. I smirked in satisfaction when his jaw hardened. He loved it but he doesn't want to admit it.

"Want to drink tonight?" Jongho blurted out all of a sudden in the middle of dinner.

Just when I thought we were strangers, he busts out things that bring me nostalgia.

"I suppose I don't mind," I shrugged. "Where?"

"Here. I bought alcohol earlier," Jongho put his dirty dishes in the sink before he turned to my confused expression. "You forgot to check the trunk, blossom. Again."

I blushed in embarrassment. Jongho and I loved drinking occasionally after dinner, we both held our alcohol well, and he has a habit of putting them in the trunk of his car instead. I don't know why, and he doesn't either.

Jongho went outside and when he came back, he was carrying two cases of soju. They were two different flavours, one for me and one for him specifically. My heart was confused if it wanted to soar or drop.

We both excitedly opened a bottle and clinked our bottles together. I couldn't hold back a smile when I began drinking. Jongho had the regular flavor, and I had the peach one. When I got another one, I couldn't open the bottle in a heated fervor.

Jongho saw my struggle and grabbed my bottle. "Really, Y/N? I have to do everything for you it seems," Jongho smirked at me as he gave me the bottle. "Think I should wipe your ass for you too?"

I squinted my eyes at him. He was definitely feeling buzzed, but so was I. "Better than doing it myself," I scoffed.

I got the shock of my life when Jongho reached out and wiped my face vigorously. My mouth drops at his grin, the nerve of this man!

I got up and walked to the fridge to get the dessert I made - homemade doughnuts - as he burst out laughing from behind me. I smiled a little, how I missed that sound coming from him. Too bad it was the alcohol acting.

"It looks like assholes," he blurted out when he got one and inspected that misshapen doughnut. I didn't mean for them to come out like that, I couldn't concentrate.

I snatched the doughnut from him. "Yeah?" I hissed. "I was thinking of you when I made them."

It was his turn to scoff, but I could see the mirth in his eyes. "Don't you think this is getting old?" Jongho smirked.

"So are you," I bit back.

This time, the comeback really made him snort and began laughing so loud that I see tears forming in his eyes. I couldn't help but laugh with him and then we were two idiots just laughing at anything and everything we see. When we stopped, all we did was look at each other and begin laughing all over again.

It was like five years ago all over again and I temporarily felt five years younger as I turned back in time with all the nostalgia flowing through my body with the alcohol.

"Remember that one time you told this kid in our class that he was weird for being right-handed?" I hiccupped, the alcohol taking its full effect on me.

Jongho turned red, if he wasn't already, and began laughing again. "Yeah, well I thought everyone was left-handed like me."

He leaned his elbow on the table and closer to me. "Remember the first time you gave me a 'love letter'?"

I was mortified and I buried my face in my hands with a loud groan. It triggered another laughing episode between the two of us. "Shut the fuck up," I groaned loudly, highly embarrassed. "I really didn't know!"

A year after we met, I already knew I loved Jongho and I knew he felt the same, but he wasn't making a move and I got extremely impatient. I wrote him a love letter and decided to put it in his jacket pocket when he wasn't looking.

Imagine my mortification when I found out that the letter was still in my purse and my sanitary pads were gone.

"You were probably so nervous, so you switched them up," he chuckled, amused by the memory even thirteen years later.

We began mellowing down and just enjoyed each other's presence. I was beginning to get woozy and halfway drunk while Jongho still looked okay, though I can tell he was restraining from getting drunk to a point like mine.

"Jongie? My baby bear?" I squeaked out, lids almost dropping down.

"Yes?" Jongho mused after he got over the initial shock of me calling him my favourite thing.

"Why did you leave me?"

He froze midway from drinking out of the soju bottle. He decided to set it back down the table and heaved a massive sigh. "I can't tell you that, blossom," he whispered, the agony of his words dampening the mood.

I swallowed, my tongue itching for one question I swore to ask him if I ever saw him again. "Did you ever love me?"

Silence. A chill in my blood traveled through my head and made me nauseous. I was coherent enough to ask and remember the next day, but I was far too gone to even care if Jongho answered or not.

"My love, you're pushing it," Jongho desperately shook his head. "Don't."

How dare he call me his love? His hypocrisy made me giggle out loud. "It's okay," I lied. "You can't break my heart like I can."

I walked every broken path for this man, fought everyone in my way just so I could have him and him I, yet when push came to shove, he was nowhere to be found.

The hurt and the pain cut deep like a razor blade. There were times that I wanted to end it, for dying felt more justifiable than not having Jongho in my life, but I was a coward; I couldn't do it.

"Hold on to me," Jongho murmured as he started to lift me from the chair and carry me to bed when I started to snooze from the alcohol.

But dying felt unnecessary, I was dead long gone before my conscious body did. Jongho knew how I'd feel if he left, and he still did it. He was content watching me wither away from afar.

He tucked me in like he usually did. He gave me a tender kiss on my head before pressing his forehead on mine. The gesture made my heart clench in my chest. He stayed like that for a while.

"Y/N?" Jongho whispered so softly. I hummed out a reply, I was too sleepy to talk. He shuts his eyes tight. "I am so sorry."

𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟐, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

Two months with Jongho felt like a breeze. It wasn't all bad being with him. Ever since that night, we were both on edge for a while but all of that drifted apart when we relaxed a little and communicated more.

I never asked anything about his departure and his career ever again. It drove him away and even though I'm trying not to love him again, my gut always felt sick when I felt that Jongho slipped away when I asked.

Right now, summer was at its peak and I decided to work on my small garden that was directly in front of the driveway. Gardening was something I picked up from years ago to make myself busy and not think too much about Jongho.

And speak of the devil, and he shall come. I felt his presence by the door. "Is there a tech store here somewhere?" Jongho asked.

"Yeah. You know surprisingly, this town literally has everything," I giggled. "It's in the plaza near town square."

"Great. I need to upgrade my computer for my work, so I'm going out."

I froze. He's never gone out without me before, not because he liked taking me or I wanted to go, but because I wanted to show him around since, again, when we moved he wasn't here long enough to explore the town.

"H-How long are you g-going to take?" I brushed past him, not bothering to even face him, and washed my soiled hands in the sink. My heart was beating so fast in anxiety.

"Two hours, maximum. I'll pick up lunch on the way too so you don't have to cook. What do you want?"

Something ugly was beginning to rear its head inside me and I turned around to confront it with him, but for the second time, I froze.

His hair was styled into a purposeful tousle that stopped below his ears, his bangs parted in the middle. He wore this very, very tight shirt that emphasized his bulked out chest and arms. It fit him perfectly, and I swear, they were inviting me in so I can get enveloped in a welcoming embrace.

"Y/N?" Jongho's fingers were snapping to get my attention. "You okay?"

No, I wasn't. When Jongho was met with silence and my teary eyes, he sighed heavily with realization - that I was terrified at the prospect of him leaving and never coming back.

Pain shines in his eyes. He approaches me and grabs my hand to place something in it. "Keep this safe for me, okay?" Jongho murmured. He squeezed my hand and my heart squeezed along with it. "I will need it back."

When I looked down, it was the black card he uses to pay for things - which was everything at this point - and it's all he's been using. I stared at him as he wiped a lone tear from my eyes.

"I'll be back. Be a good girl," he said. Butterflies exploded in my stomach.

Suddenly his phone rang and his expression changed into relief, like he had been expecting that call. It's probably work. Jongho grabbed the back of my head gently and pulled towards him so he could kiss the top hastily before he left.

I stood on the same spot for well over half an hour after. I could still feel the ghost of his kiss on my head and in a daze, I inspected the heavy card. It looked like an ordinary card, but when I looked closer, it was thick, like there was something inside it...

I shook my head. No, Y/N, you need to sleep," I muttered to myself as I laid down on the couch

Soon enough I fell into a short slumber. It was one of those situations where I know I'm asleep but my mind can't stop working. I was scared to hear those screams again.

For the last two months, I've been waking up every single day in a cold sweat because in my dreams, I could hear Jongho scream for help. I felt so helpless every time because my body can't move and I can't seem to find the source of his anguished voice.

I hated nighttime, I hated closing my eyes because it's where he would haunt me the most.

"You excited?"

I nodded with unmatched enthusiasm. "Of course Jongie bear," I giggled. "I don't think we've ever gone out on a date by the beach before..."

It was beautiful. I could my skin crawl with excitement as I stared at the bluest waves, the finest sand against my feet, and the saltiest smell of the ocean before us.

"My blossom, my love, please be careful, I'm begging you," Jongho pleaded with mercy when I excitedly climbed over a railing and balanced on it. It was old with age, and thin with the constant water hitting it.

It resembled a plank more than a railing. "It's okay," I laughed, playfully rolling my eyes at my worried boyfriend. "You'd always catch me---"

Suddenly, I felt rumbling beneath me and the snap of eroded wood that you would never want to ever hear. And then I was falling to the ocean, and I couldn't swim.

But instead of water, I hit solid ground - more wood. It all happened in a split second, Jongho managed to catch up to me and toss me but he can't swim either.

"Jongho!" I screamed as I tried to grab onto his hand, but to no avail. "Jongho!"

There it was. That raw, guttural scream for help that I was forced to listen to as the love of my life slowly disappeared from my sight.

"Y/N! Help me, I can't wake her up!"

I felt someone shake my shoulder and another one try to gently pat my face in an attempt to wake me up from my nightmare. When I opened my eyes, I was met with sighs of relief and a comforting hug.

"You can't scare us like that!" Wooyoung squawked as he let go of my face.

Someone wiped my tears and I realized I was in someone's arms. "I've never seen you like that," Mingi admitted, rubbing my arms for comfort. "You just kept screaming."

"Drink this..."

I greedily took the water that San gave me and gulped the whole thing in one go. My head pounded, the four of us were so close that they just barged in without knocking to hang out, especially now since we're trapped in town with nothing to do.

"Thank you," I murmured.

Mingi was in some of my classes in high school and we were both surprised when we both saw each other move here. He introduced me to sweet Wooyoung and he claimed that I was his 'best friend' and I just went along with him. He was the mutual friend that introduced me to San.

I got out of Mingi's hold and paced back and forth in my living room. "I was screaming?" I was confused. "Was I screaming anything?"

The three of them looked at each other with hesitant faces. The atmosphere in the room got tense, and I frowned. "What?" I joked. "Please tell me I wasn't saying something embarrassing."

"No, you weren't," Wooyoung pursed his lips. "You were screaming Jongho's name over and over again."

It was like a time bomb set into motion, like that song. Truth be told, that dream was the scariest I've had of Jongho so far.

"Your ex?" San frowned. "I thought you had a boyfriend?"

Mingi and Wooyoung's head snapped towards me in record speed, both of their eyes wide in utmost shock. Betrayal coated their features and I gasped softly, I haven't told them about Jongho living with me!

"That big ass guy reminds me of a bear," San chuckled, unaware of my glare at him. "He always comes every other day to buy your favourite snacks."

Jongho had always been attentive. Obviously, my taste in food has changed in five years, but still, he just knew what I liked.

"Ya, we were supposed to tell everything to each other, you traitor," Wooyoung fake sulked.

"Do we know who it is?" Mingi wondered.

I froze. Mingi was dead spot on; he did know Jongho because of our classes, but I've never shown both San and Wooyoung what Jongho looked like because there was simply no need. All they needed to know was my pain.

"You might," San beamed, making me glare at him harder. "Though I haven't seen him before until a couple of months back..."

I was about to retort something to try and wiggle myself out of this sticky situation, when I heard the keys and the doorknob jiggling.

"Why are there so many shoes out here? Y/N?" Jongho's voice grumbled from outside. Shit, shit!

But it was too late. When Jongho entered, his body tensed with mild surprise at two grown adult men smiling ear to ear at him. Mingi's jaw slacked open and he turned to look at me.

"Ah, that's him," San grinned. "Hello, Y/N's boyfriend!"

"Hello, San," Jongho curtly replied in true Jongho fashion. I can tell he was getting annoyed with the onslaught of attention.

It was something that never changed with him - he hated interacting with people he didn't know. He looked around and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he composed himself.

"You? Mingi seethed. Wooyoung and San were surprised at the animosity but I wasn't because this was a long time coming.

Mingi charged quickly at Jongho before anyone could stop him and grabbed him by the collar. "You're a piece of work, aren't you?"

Jongho was taken aback a bit, but a nasty smirk covers his face and I can tell Mingi immediately faltered. "Am I?" Jongho taunted.

"What the hell is going on? You know each other?" Wooyoung frowned. He protectively put me behind him. "Stay here for now, okay?"

San took the initiative to try and break them. "Mingi! What are you doing?" San panicked a bit. "He's not bothering you, let go of him!"

Jongho laughed menacingly, his eyes getting sharper and his aura darkening before my very eyes. "You lot are the ones who are bothersome right now."

San's eyes widened and was visibly taken aback at Jongho's venomous attitude and Mingi's hands noticeably loosened its grip.

"How are you, Mingi?" Jongho patted Mingi's back threateningly with a smirk. "Miss me?"

"Bastard!" Mingi spat and harshly shoved Jongho away from him.

"Stop it!" Wooyoung hissed as he rubbed my arms in comfort. "Can you guys not do this in front of Y/N?"

Jongho quickly regained his footing but not before San tried to help him. Jongho roughly shoved San off of him. "Woah, woah buddy," San put his arms in defense. "I'm just---"

"Get away from him," Mingi gritted his teeth and pointed at Jongho. San, being the helpful person he is, refused until Mingi spoke. "You have one minute to explain why you're here, Choi Jongho."

San gasped and his arms turned limp from his sides. "What did you say?" he hissed, pointing vehemently at a bored looking Jongho. "This is your ex?"

Everyone turned to look at me, even Wooyoung. I looked down at the floor in shame and I nodded. Mingi marched towards me and grabbed my arm to go to the other corner of the room while the other three tried to settle in.

Jongho's eye twitched as he turned to look at San. "Why didn't you tell me?" San snarled.

"You never asked," Jongho scoffed. "I've been paying with my card with my name on it and you never saw?"

"So," Mingi turned to me with his arm crossed. I sheepishly smiled at him but it wasn't working. "When are you going to tell us that you're back with your ex?"

"I-I wasn't!" I sputtered out at his bluntness.

"Jongho sure as hell ain't denying it," Mingi deadpanned. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Nothing," I shook my head. "He won't be here for long anyway."

It pained me to say it, but it was true. Mingi bit his lip in apprehension. "And how do you feel about that? Do you still love him?"

I froze. It wasn't something I thought about ever since he came along two months ago. "I don't know," I admitted, much to Mingi's dismay.

"Goddamn it, Y/N," he cursed. "You're setting yourself up for failure, and this time, it might hurt more."

When Mingi and I got back, Wooyoung and Jongho were in a heated verbal match with San interjecting a piece of his mind occasionally.

"You should have never come back," Wooyoung hissed, his attitude rivaling Jongho's. "And then what? You're going to leave again?"

Jongho's eyes blazed. "Watch your tongue or have it cut from your head."

I choose to sit between Jongho and Wooyoung so they won't have a fist fight. "Jongho, please stop," I pleaded. "You're making it worse."

Jongho glared at Wooyoung, his eyes focused and unblinking. At first, Wooyoung stood his ground and stared back, but when Jongho grinned and bared his teeth, Wooyoung caved in and crumbled.

"You don't scare me," Wooyoung mumbled - a total lie.

"And I don't like you," Jongho scoffed arrogantly.

My eyes widened. Five years ago, Jongho was never this straightforward and I could tell Mingi was a bit taken aback too. Wooyoung squawked at the admission.

"I don't like you either," Wooyoung huffed. "You hurt my best friend!"

The whole afternoon was spent with San and Wooyoung arguing with Jongho back and forth, but I couldn't shake off what Mingi said. Jongho showed no signs of wanting to up and leave but what's to say that he's only biding his time until the bridge is done.

I shuddered. It was possible. With Jongho, the future is uncertain and nothing is set in stone.

"Forgive me for saying this," San said sarcastically. "We were here when you upped and left Y/N."

"Exactly," Wooyoung interjected. "You can't just show up like nothing ever happened!"

"I hate to say it, Jongho, but they're right," Mingi shrugged.

Jongho leaned forward. There was an unmistakable gleam of cynicism in his eyes. "So," he began. "You mean to tell me that all of you are opposed to me staying here?"

"Yes," all three of them said at the same time.

Jongho nodded. "Fantastic. I shall stay longer, then."

He stood up and made his way to his bedroom with all of our mouths agape with his audacity. "Call me when you've kicked these cretins out, I'm going to take a nap," he told me before he shut the door.

"What?!" Wooyoung screeched as he stood up from the couch so fast, I got a whiplash. "That bastard!"

It took a while but I had managed to convince these three that I was going to be fine. The moment they all left, I managed to let out the breath that I didn't even realize I was holding. The cat's out of the bag now, so that's one less thing to worry about.

I knocked softly on Jongho's door to see if he was okay, but there was no response, so I'm assuming he fell asleep.

Bored, I plopped down the couch and turned the television on. The last time I turned this on was when I was watching out for the storm and it was still as mundane as ever. I shook my head as I flipped through channels.

Finally, I managed to settle on one that's watchable enough. Animal Kingdom. Fine, I could live with that. I groaned hard when a commercial came in, but instead of the regular commercials, this was a newscast.

"Coming all the way from our Korean Intelligence Agency live is Deputy Director Jeong..."

I frowned. Now that I think about it, there was this ongoing case of a well-known mafia in the city that the government was trying to take down. I raised the volume up to hear.

"Sir, would you say that we are close to solving this? And what about the infamous bank heist by the south of Seoul?"

Now that caught my attention. Jongho used to work in that bank when we were still starting out our relationship.

"We are doing our very best. We are closer than ever to---"

I was confused when the television suddenly turned black. I looked behind me and Jongho was glaring holes at the television as he held the remote control.

"You should go to sleep," he said, voice tight. "It's getting late."

I didn't know how to react. This wasn't the first time that Jongho turned off either my television or his car radio when we drove somewhere.

Deep down, I knew he was hiding something. I'm not foolish enough to not speculate. "I'm not sleepy yet," I said. "Would you like to watch something else with me then?"

"No," Jongho gritted his teeth. I jumped a bit on how harsh his voice had become.

But something in me snapped. "Choi Jongho," I marched towards him until I was directly on his face. "I understand perfectly well that you have problems with your career or whatever, after all, you left me for it."

Jongho's lips twist into a sneer and then he scoffs, but I cut him off. "I don't deserve this, this is my house," I stood my ground. "You can't act like you own it when you haven't even told me why!"

"Your house?" Jongho growled in anger, his tongue pressing against cheek in arrogance. "My name is still in the deed."

"So what?" I retorted with equal arrogance. "I'm the one who made this a home rather than just a place to sleep in!"

"I'm not telling you anything, we've talked about this!" Jongho raised his voice in frustration as he turned to walk away from me. "Why are you so dead set on finding out?"

"Are you hearing yourself?" I screeched. "We belonged to each other at one point, the least you could do is tell me!"

"How much of me are you willing to take?" Jongho banged his palms on the dining table, the sound of it echoing in the distance. "There's nothing left for you to take, don't you understand?"

"Why are you acting like this is my fault?" I screamed in frustration. "I've taken your bullshit for you! You have no respect!"

I also went to the table and banged my hands on it as well, just to show that he can't push me around like he used to. "Give me your reason!"

"Because I hate that I need you! Then, and right now," Jongho confessed in one breath.

My arms went limp at the revelation of his thoughts all along. When Jongho looked at me again, his eyes rimmed red as his chest rose up and down

When we were young, Jongho was my solace - my salvation, my everything. In another life, we could have had children by now, we could have been that couple that grew old and gray. But the truth was right here in front of me, I was the only one to ever have these dreams.

He'd made up his choice a long time ago, I was the only one holding on to a distant memory. This one hurt far worse than when Jongho left, because right now, I can't drive a nail through his mistakes.

"Y/N, please," Jongho's voice brought me out of that darkness. He still sounded angry, but he also sounded desperate.

His hand reaches out to cup my face and his thumb strokes my skin. "You're the only thing that's keeping me alive. Please, go to sleep."

𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟑𝟏, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

I awoke to cold sweat again, the stickiness of it uncomfortable with how my shirt had clung to my skin. I sighed, another nightmare.

There were nights I fell asleep only because I got too tired from staying awake. I couldn't concentrate much when I woke up from the lack of sleep and it was concerning me.

Jongho and I haven't been on speaking terms for a week or so. His words had plagued my mind since then, but that's not what woke me up tonight.

The screams were back. Jongho's screams in my head were back.

With a heavy sigh and a massive headache, I got up from my bed and left the room to grab a glass of water. I didn't even bother putting on pants, I knew Jongho wouldn't be out in the dead of night.

"Get away from me..."

I paused midway from the glass touching my lips. I looked around, spooked that I was hearing things that I wasn't supposed to because of the sleep deprivation. I waited a little to see if I was going to hear something again.

"Please!"

A high-pitched, grating scream resounded from the entire house and I dropped the glass in shock. The sound of the glass breaking got drowned out from, yet again, another guttural scream.

At first, I thought someone from outside was asking for help and their voice was loud enough to filter in the house, but when another scream resounded, I gasped and slapped my hands over my mouth in a heartbreaking discovery.

It was the same scream in my dreams. The scream was coming from Jongho's room, and all this time, it was never a dream.

"Jongho?" I worriedly knocked on his door. My knocks got louder and louder, more frantic, when he didn't respond. "Jongho, please!"

His repeated screams pierced my heart. I tried everything I could as I screamed his name in urgency - punching the door, jiggling the doorknob, even kicking the door even though I knew it would be fruitless - but nothing.

An idea popped in my head and I quickly acted upon it. Tears started freely flowing from my eyes pathetically as my hands shook too much from finding the right key in Jongho's room. All this time, Jongho was having nightmares and I didn't even realize or help.

"Fuck, fuck!" I hissed when I dropped the keys. No matter what I did, I couldn't stop my shaking hands.

I almost tripped on my feet when I quickly rushed into the bedroom. My heart broke when I looked at Jongho. He was contorted into an odd angle onto himself, his face red and his entire body sweating. He had no shirt on, but I couldn't even care about that right now.

"Jongho, love, please wake up," I tried shaking him gently so he wouldn't freak out when he woke up, but when that didn't work, I tried again.

I burst out in pitiful tears when Jongho let out an anguished groan. His voice was agonizing, primal even, and my heart couldn't handle seeing him like this.

"Jongho, come on now, wake up," I tapped his beautiful face a little harder this time. But that also didn't do anything.

In desperation, I peppered his face with little kisses while also shaking him. "Jongho!" I said out loud since gentle methods didn't work. But nothing.

What did work was when I thumped my fists on his hard chest. It was my turn to scream when Jongho suddenly grabbed me and flipped me on the bed so he was on top of me. He started choking me in a blinded rage and I clawed his hands in a panic.

"J-Jongho, i-it's me," I coughed, wheezing as I felt the oxygen leave my body. "B-Baby bear, p-please..."

The light seemed to come back to his eyes and they slowly melted from this hallucination to something more sentient. I took a big gulp of breath when he let go and wheezed uncontrollably. Jongho's horrified face put two and two together when he stared at the red marks on my neck.

"Oh God," he choked. He hurriedly grabbed my shoulders as he smoothed my hair out of my face so he could see. "I am so, so sorry, are you okay?"

I nodded and unconsciously held onto his arm. "Are you okay?" I worriedly asked.

"For fuck's sake, love, can you please try and worry about yourself for once? I choked you, for crying out loud!" Jongho said, irritation lacing his features.

"I'm good, seriously, I expected it," I assured him truthfully. I pressed a hand to his face and caressed it. "How are you feeling?"

His body froze at the gesture and a storm started to brew in his eyes as he hesitated to move. I bit my lip and nodded. It looked like a huge weight was lifted off of his shoulders as he closed his eyes and nuzzled his face in my hands.

A realization started to slowly dawn on me. The fear I felt as Jongho slowly slipped from my fingers just now was the proof of my love for him.

The intimacy of our setup right now also slowly dawns on me. A chill went up my spine when Jongho kissed my palm. The chill further down and I almost cursed when I realized that I was only wearing my shirt and my panties, no bra.

Jongho seemed to realize it at the same time. He slowly traced my skin with his eyes from my legs, my stiff nipples, and my face. I wasn't faring any better - Jongho's toned chest was up my face. I gulped, he was much bigger than I remembered him to be.

"May I?" Jongho tugged my shirt. When I nodded and raised my arms, Jongho hastily took my shirt off.

His breath hitched as he looked at me over, the desire in his eyes overpowering the nightmares that plagued his mind.

He hovered over me as I laid down flatly on the bed. I let out a breathy moan when he started to kiss the sweet spots on my neck as his rough hand gently kneaded my tits. I whispered his name directly in his ear when he rolled my nipples in between his fingers.

"You know," he pulled away to spread my legs so he could go in between them. "This was my favourite position when I was with you."

It caught me off guard. I blushed at his crudeness and straightforwardness. "Why?" I asked.

"Because," he began. I gasped when he humped my clothed pussy. "The way I could go deeper in you always made my head spin, especially when I see your fucked out face when you're close."

My eyes widened. Sure, back then, Jongho would talk dirty, but he never talked this dirty. I couldn't hold back a loud moan when he humped particularly hard against me.

He leaned down directly to my ear and whispered sensually. "But I especially love when you scream my name when you beg me to make you come."

"Kiss me," I blurted out.

Jongho growled before he held the back of my head and pulled my lips to his. It was passionate, but at the same time, filthy. It was years and years of longing and want. I felt wetness down there when I felt his hard cock twitch inside his sweatpants.

"Jongho," I moaned as I tried to pull away, but he kept trying to chase my lips with his. "Jongho..."

"Mmm," he complained in between his kisses. It took everything in me not to keep going.

"Maybe we should stop," I squealed when his hand brushed against my inner thigh and pussy.

"We should," he agreed, his voice hoarse with want. "One more and I will."

This time, he claimed my lips stronger. He groaned in my mouth when I pulled on his hair as we both blindly touched each other in random places. But eventually, Jongho had to reluctantly break the kiss.

One thing that never did change was his sweetness and aftercare. He put my shirt back on and we both laid down next to each other with his arm around me and my head on his chest.

"I've been having these nightmares for a while," Jongho said out loud all of a sudden. "I've done...things I will regret for the rest of my life."

He kissed the top of my head. "Things you don't want to know."

He was right. If it's supposed to be like this, then I don't want to know what's bothering him because the more he dives into it, the more I get hurt seeing him fight the demons I don't even dare expose myself to.

"I'm trying to help you," I said, despite my thoughts. "It always seems like you're always running away."

"Maybe because I am," he sighed. "I've been a prisoner in my own hands for a while now."

"I'm sorry," was all I could say. I wanted to say that he wasn't the only one; I've been trapped and enslaved in my own mind for so long that I'm surprised that I haven't lost my mind yet.

When Jongho didn't say anything else, I slowly got up from his hold. I already missed his warmth. "I should get going so you can rest," I mumbled.

When my feet were close to touching the floor, I felt his hands hold on my arm to stop me. "Wait," Jongho whispered.

I was taken aback by how soft his voice was, especially if I was comparing it from a week ago when we had that argument. He pulled me to his lap, his head nuzzling the corner of my neck. I blushed profusely, I didn't even feel this way when we made out.

"Stay," his muffled voice requested as his hug became tighter. "I need you right now."

"Jongho," I whined softly. There was nothing left to say, we were blurring the lines between a host helping an old friend out. I bit my lip, to be fair, we already blurred that line earlier when we made out.

"Just for tonight," he bargained. "Then we can ignore each other again tomorrow."

I know I shouldn't. The logical part of my ego is aware that this was a terrible idea, but the emotional part of my psyche wants me to give myself to my desires just this once.

I crawled out of his lap and positioned myself comfortably on the bed. "How can I go back to ignoring you after this?" I mumbled as he started to spoon me.

"You don't," he answered. "It was hell to know you're here with me but refused to talk."

I hummed. "You know it was your fault right?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Let's catch up on some sleep now, okay?"

"Are you insane?!" I buried my face in my hands. "Don't scare me like that ever again!"

Jongho laughed, his face breaking out into the most beautiful ray of sunshine as he smoothed his wet hair out of his face. He hugged me as tears started to flow from my eyes.

"Hush now, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd react this bad," he rubbed my back for added comfort.

"Are you kidding?" I sniffled, shuffling my feet to turn and point at the spot where Jongho had fallen by the ocean as a prank. "That scream you'd let out, I thought that was the end of you, you bastard!"

"I'm so sorry," he chuckled at my pouty face. He pouted, how could I resist him? "Let's go swimming properly now, okay? This beach is perfect for us."

I just knew after that, that I will never hear that scream ever again.

My eyes flew open for absolutely no reason this time. My heart was beating out of control when I did. I didn't feel good, I'm about to throw up.

Something was very wrong. There was a sense of impending doom looming over me that I can't explain.

Or maybe I'm just too exhausted and paranoid. I moved my hand to hug Jongho for comfort but my heart could burst out of my ribcage when all my hands touched were pillows and blankets.

I could feel tears forming in my eyes faster than my mind could comprehend as I rose up quickly from the bed. I did it so fast that blood rushed towards my head and it rendered me nauseous. I almost cursed when I tripped on my two feet, but no matter, I had to find Jongho.

There was only one thing in my mind - had he left me again?

It was definitely a panic attack rising. The room was spinning, the overwhelming doom and desperation was making me function, but it was difficult. What might be something as innocent as Jongho maybe using the bathroom had distorted into something horrifying in my mind.

It's terror, it's shame, it's desperation and it's death all at once.

"You know they're just going to find you, correct?"

I rejoiced at the voice I heard, but all that doom came rushing back when I realized that the voice did not belong to my beloved.

"Of course, I do. You play me for a fool."

That was Jongho, but the way he spoke terrified me. I quickly rushed to the backyard when I realized that the voices belonged there, but I stopped when I took a quick peek at the window overlooking there. My heart dropped, I wasn't expecting anything, but I definitely wasn't expecting another man to be with Jongho.

"What do you want?" Jongho snarled lowly, his voice taking a darker turn. "It must be important if you made your unwelcome presence known."

The man laughed heartily. "Oh Jongho, straightforward as always," he smirked. "Fear not, I won't take long. How's life as a domesticated man?"

"You shut your fucking mouth, or I'll make sure you never talk again," Jongho hissed. He took a step of two towards the man, who didn't even flinch. Rather, he looked amused, like he knew Jongho wouldn't go through with it.

As for me, I felt freezing water pour over me as the cold reality of what Jongho said rang through my head. My Jongho was sweet and kind, and this man in front of me was not him.

"Feisty," the man grinned sadistically. "You know I love that fire inside of you. Quite a shame that you don't want to be something more."

I didn't move or even breathe. More than what? Something tells me I wasn't supposed to be listening to this.

"You say that as if it's such a bad thing," Jongho smirked.

"It's not," the man admitted. "But for the life we lead, it can be."

"Cut the crap, Hongjoong. Tell me what you want."

"Say 'please' and I'll think about it."

Jongho's laugh afterwards made my body rigid. It was sinister - evil. This was the man who bared his heart and soul to me last night, and he wasn't one for feelings to begin with. I never thought I'd get scared of Jongho, until now.

I strained my ears when they talked in hushed tones. I couldn't hear any but if I moved even an inch, I might get discovered. If this was the choice that Jongho made after he left me, then God bless us all.

"In all seriousness," the man - Hongjoong - spoke. "That's all I know. I won't tell anyone you're here, but if I were you, I would do something about it."

"You think I give a fuck about all of this?" Jongho snapped, his loud voice piercing through the night. He looked nothing short of terrifying. "Do not lie to me, I'm the worst person you can lie to and you know it."

"Or you could just call it quits. You know what to do," Hongjoong tilted his head in amusement. He reminded me of an undertaker for some reason.

I gasped but quickly covered my mouth with my shaking hands. My heart stopped beating for a bit as I watched Jongho hold out a gun and point the other end at Hongjoong, whose expression changed from amused to irritated.

"Or you can tell me what you know or I'll put a hole on your head and look for it, myself," Jongho threatened, his hold on the gun firm and absolute.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Hongjoong's lips curl to a taunting sneer. "What would she say? What's her name again? Y/N?"

Flashes of memories go through my head one by one. I still remember the day we first kissed. Jongho was so shy at that time he didn't even want to look at me. It was slow, sweet, and sure. I also remember the first time we laid under the stars and watched the shooting star. My wish back then was for Jongho to stay the way he is. And he told me he would.

What a terrible lie that had been. The Jongho I knew held my hands, not the cold barrel of a pistol.

"Keep her out of this," Jongho snarled, his hands clearly shaking from where I was with rage. "No mafia is going to stop me from destroying all of you if you involve her, so whatever you're thinking, think again."

“You’re the one who should think twice, Jongho,” Hongjoong hissed as he tips the gun away from his face with his. “We have an audience.”

My heart exploded then and there when Hongjoong’s eyes met mine. He was smirking, but there was a hint of regret in his eyes, something he didn’t hide. How did he know I was here? Had he known I was eavesdropping all this time? It was as if he wanted me to hear everything.

Jongho visibly stiffened before he turned to also look at me with disbelieving eyes. I couldn’t help the tears that threatened to fall from my eyes - he looked utterly defeated and devastated at the sight of me. It was the face of a man whose whole world was falling right before his very eyes.

There was only one expression I could give him - fear.

“Blossom,” Jongho croaked as he dropped his gun, as if it disgusted him, but we both knew it didn’t. “I can explain…”

Before I knew it, I was running away from the scene - away from Jongho - like if I pretended that I wasn’t there, then surely none of those happened. I ran as fast as I with my wobbling legs as I heard the back door swing open and slam close, signaling that Jongho was here.

I felt like free falling, what had my beloved become? Who was this criminal living with me? What had he dragged me into now that there was someone like Hongjoong who knew I existed and how important I was to Jongho? I was no fool, despite my emotions, I knew what their conversation insinuated.

And then the regret came. If I had held onto Jongho a little tighter five years ago, would he be the same person I once knew? If I had just searched for him a little harder back then, would I have pulled him away from this darkness that clouded him?

It hurt seeing the love of my life transform into something I knew he wasn’t.

I screamed bloody murder when I felt a hand hold my arm like a vice, refusing to let go. “Y/N, look at me,” he demanded with the same authoritative voice he used outside. When he saw the fear in my eyes, he softened.

“No, Jongho, get away from me!” I cried out as I tried to pull my arm away, but it only resulted in him holding them tighter. “Jongho!”

“No,” he growled. “We’re going to talk---Y/N!”

Somehow, through pure adrenaline, I was able to twist my arm free from him to quickly enter my room and lock the door shut. My heart was about to fly out of my ribcage with the emotions I was feeling and I didn’t even know which one to acknowledge first.

“Y/N! Open the fucking door!” Jongho shouted as he violently rammed on the door like it was a punching bag. “You better not let me catch you once I break this fucking door! Open it!”

I broke down sobbing as all the energy left my body. I sank down by the corner of my room, burying my face in my knees while I covered my ears with both my hands to block out Jongho’s violent rage outside the door. Each bang had me jumping out of my skin, the terrifying sound rattling my head.

This wasn’t my Jongho, I kept chanting to myself like a crazed person, but I can’t deny it any longer.

I knew this wasn't him the moment he stepped inside the house. He was different - he was angrier, more temperamental, soulless - and all this time, I kept making excuses for him, but I can’t anymore.

I screamed in terror when the doorknob was kicked with force and Jongho used that opportunity to slam the door open. When he tried to march towards me, I screamed again as I backed away.

“Don’t come near me!” I sobbed pitifully, my shaking legs almost giving out from the weight of my emotions.

Jongho looked devastated. He kept reaching out to me but all I did was back away and shout at him. “Please, love, please,” his voice cracked. “I’m not going to hurt you, please don’t look at me like that…”

“Like what?” I glared at him as I felt my blood pressure rise to a dangerous level. Something in him snapped with how mad I sounded.

"Like I'm vile," he spat, his glare leveling mine. "Like I'm a monster. You don't know anything, so quit it."

I scoffed loudly. It ticked him off but I didn't stop. I feel like I was slowly losing myself to this massive disconnect from reality. I am losing my mind.

"Does the man become the monster, or the monster become man?" Uncontrollable tears were now falling from my eyes. Something snapped and all I saw was red.

But I wasn't the only one. "Yeah, you think you're smart?" Jongho laughed out loud like the maniac he had become in my eyes. It was the type that seeped through my bones. "You want to know what I did? You really want to know?"

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled out the same gun I saw earlier and he disassembled it right in front of me. He wasn't gentle with it either, he was rough; deliberate. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he slammed the remnants of it by the bedside table I had.

"I've used this far too many times that I can remember," he hissed. "You think that this is some sort of game that I can just pause just because this life isn't going according to what you want right now? You think that this world revolves around you?"

He spat on the ground as I felt the sinews of my heart break. "Did you honestly think I was that same man you knew before, Y/N? Did you honestly think that we could ever go back to being the same?"

"You said it yourself, didn't you?" I snapped. "There was nothing left to take---"

"So hate me for the things I've done!" Jongho raised his voice before he rubbed his face, frenzied. "But not for what I've now become."

I was at a loss for words, taken aback with how frantic we both had become in each other's presence. "We're basically strangers now," I gritted my teeth. "You have no right to talk about this like you're the victim!"

Jongho's face melted into something of concern when he realized that my sanity was slowly slipping away from me. I laughed, and then I laughed some more, and then I cried. I cried so hard even Jongho was surprised at all the hurt I was holding in.

"Everybody kept telling me to move on, to find someone else when they see how lonely I've become," I took a deep breath, but all that did was strengthen my resolve to break something. "They don't get it, I physically, mentally cannot move on."

"I gave you five years to do it," Jongho said as if it was so simple. Everything stopped all at once, except for the

That did it. I screamed, that spiral within me surging my voice to let out all the pain, the anger, the melancholy. The need to hit and destroy something became so overwhelming and worst of all, I had no idea how to let it all out.

"I hate you!" I wailed as I swiped everything I saw - glass, paper, furniture - anything. Jongho tried to go to me but all I did was hit him in the chest. "I hate you! You don't know, Choi Jongho, I was driven to madness with denial, you make me fucking sick!"

He narrowly avoided me as I tried to lunge at him. "Stop this!" Jongho hissed. I can feel the anger in me start to form. All the denial, the hate, was overtaking me.

I tried to thrash away in panic when I felt Jongho's hands steady me, the remorse and sorrow evident on his face, because he knows - he knows that he did this to me. He drove me to my insanity.

"Shh, baby, please," Jongho shushed as he tried to hold me, but my adrenaline was stronger than the both of us. "It's okay, shh, I'm sorry, I'm here now---"

"No!" I shrieked, my throat not being able to take it. I punched, kicked, scratched at anything, my vision was black. "You killed what was left of the good in me! Let me go!"

"I got you, my love, I got you," Jongho hushed me like I was a child that needed comfort and reaffirmation. "Just like that, let it out on me..."

My screams were muffled when Jongho brought me to his chest. He held my arms behind me for good measure and it was when everything came crashing down. I sobbed pitifully in the arms of the very man I swore to love and hate for as long as I lived.

"You're doing good, baby, let it out," Jongho rubbed all over my back. "Everything's going to be okay..."

"Jongho, please," I begged as he kissed the top of my head over and over again. "I'm so exhausted, please let me be broken..."

"How?" he whispered. "You're not broken, stop saying that."

I couldn't feel my body when Jongho laid me down on the bed. All I did was stare at the ceiling while he leaned his head on my chest. He stayed like that for a while, unmoving.

"Stay here," he murmured. I saw his misty eyes when I got up, but he tried his very best to hide it from me. Was he crying for me or was it for the burden I caused him?

I laid there for what felt like forever, the dissociation of my body from my conscious mind weighing heavily in my mind. Everything hurts - my body, my heart, my soul, Jongho. Shame trickled but I couldn't seem to care right now. I had just temporarily lost my mind on Jongho, how was I supposed to look him in the eye again?

All the things I've said, I can't take them back. Not that I would, everything I said was the God-honest truth.

So hate me for the things I've done, but not for what I've now become.

But I could never, ever hate him. It was such a sad way to live, because I knew I'd still love him from the bottom of my heart even if he's worse than a monster. I would take all of him and more, I would give him all of me just so he can always have more backups in case he ever felt empty.

I would kill for him. That's how much I loved him.

"I'm going to bathe you," he said rather than ask when he came back. "We can either do it here so you wouldn't have to walk, or we can go to the bathroom."

I stopped the urge to smile. Leave it to this man to still stay sane and rational even after a horrible mental crisis. I shook my head, indicating that I had no interest in walking, and he took that queue to start undressing me.

There was nothing malicious about it as he stripped me naked. He was deadest focused on soothing me and making me feel better by using the basin and damp cloth on my body. But why did it make me feel worse?

"Was it something I did?" I whispered. I was treading on dangerous waters here. "Was it my fault that you left me?"

While I knew I didn't influence Jongho directly on his decisions, I can't help but believe that everything was my fault as to why he'd turn into the darker side of life. "Where did I go wrong?"

He paused from dabbing the cloth on my chest. I didn't realize how close he was until he looked me straight in the eye. "Is that how you see it?" he asked, his breath fanning my lips as he tucked a stray hair from my face. "You think that this was your fault?"

Fresh set of tears flowed down my eyes, but instead of anger, they were from the loss of out blossoming love. "If not me, then who?" I smiled through them. "C-Can you tell me if there was something that I needed to change in myself back then?"

It stung to ask it, but I had to. Grief passed through Jongho's eyes as he completely stopped what he was doing. It made my heart ache because I've never seen him look this sad before. He set down the cloth back in the basin and he got into the bed beside me.

He grabbed my chin to make me look at him. "I hate that it seemed you were never enough," he pursed his lips. "Nothing I can do will ever put all your tears back in your eyes, but I can assure you, you were perfect."

In that split second before his touch, every nerve in my body and brain was awakened. It's the anticipation of being together in a way that's more than words - in a way that's so completely tangible. The tension was palpable.

"Then tell me all the things that you regret," I coaxed with gentle persuasion as his hand traveled all over my naked body. He hissed, like he was now just realizing that I was in my naked glory right in front of him.

Jongho shook his head. "The regrets are useless in my mind," he murmured, his breathing laboured. "But if I must confess, you never left my damn mind for five years. I never hated that I needed you."

"And if I'm being honest," Jongho leaned in to give my shoulders sweet kisses. "I'm not over you. Never will be."

I tried to cover my modesty by putting my arms on my chest, not that he hasn't seen anything before. He grabbed my hand firmly and set it down. "Don't," he warned.

The way he stared at me had me mesmerized. I've seen this look, but I never noticed how intense they were. His eyes could burn me down, and it was everything I ever needed and wanted. but at the same time, it was the sanest out of all the madness and possessiveness he held.

Jongho was my drug, I realized. I was instantly intoxicated. "You're going to break me," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Jongho's arms wrapped around my back and in one touch, everything was over. "Then I'm going to make sure I break you in the best way possible."

Our bodies still fit together even after all these years; our lips molded with each other. I was never meant to win - I need him but if I give in, then I lose everything. But losing everything seemed so little in comparison.

I feel his hand wrap around my hair and tug it lightly and it makes me sigh a little in between our kisses. "I love the little sounds you make," he murmured as he tugged my hair harder. He tugged it so hard, my head fell backwards.

"Jongho," I groaned at the inexplicable pleasure the pain brought.

My hands tightened their grip on his shirt as his hands traveled everywhere, each touch igniting a fire that cannot be extinguished. "You've always been mine," I felt his hand move from my cheeks to my mouth. "Even if you were with someone else, you were still mine. Tell me, did you let anyone touch you?"

I was at a loss for words. His thick, veiny hands suddenly wrapped itself around my throat, his eyes were cold as his gaze remained determined. I squeaked when Jongho tightened the choke. The pleasure was insurmountable. We've never had it rough during our time together and the very thought of happening now made my stomach churn in excitement.

"No," I breathed out. "Only you."

"That's right," he chuckled darkly. I let out a soft squeal when he licked a stripe on my exposed neck. "God knows what I'd do if I found out you did. Nobody touches my whore but me, yes?"

I felt a small tingle at the base of my spine and I let them spread all over my body. I bit my lip, highly turned on, and it didn't escape Jongho's attention. He smirked, a wicked look that overtook his soft features.

"Aw, is my little slut wet?" he mocked as his hand slowly went down and down. I whined when he stopped directly above my pubic area. He laughed when I tried to gyrate my hips up, but Jongho deliberately pushed me down. "Ah ah ah," he grinned sadistically. "You're not getting off unless I say so, got it?"

"Then what the hell are we doing this for?" I snapped.

The moment I said those, I instantly regretted it. His eyes widened at my defiance before he snapped out of it and roughly grabbed my cheeks and squeezed it. It whined because it hurt but it only encouraged him to squeeze even tighter.

”You misunderstand something,” he began. “I have no problem leaving you here dripping while you beg for your hole to get fucked, but let’s get one thing straight.”

His words sent a chill through me, and his voice was this smooth, dangerously low tone, but it was sharp and firm. “You’re mine. You know what that means? I get to do whatever I want with you. You just have to say ‘yes’.”

I know I shouldn’t as this was far from my personality, but I was to be a brat for him just to see how he’d discipline me. “Go fuck yourself,” I hissed.

He raised a brow, smirking at the game I was playing. He begins to pull me forward as his lips finally create their mark on my skin. And then, he bit my shoulders as hard as he could. Wetness rushed through my core at the intense pain, but when he didn’t let go, I screamed in protest.

"Say you're sorry," he murmurs softly. I feel the hairs at the back of my neck rise.

"I'm not saying sor--"

My voice is cut off as he shoves two fingers into my mouth. "If you’re not going to, then I’d rather you keep your mouth shut," he sneered in that condescending tone I know so well.

His thick wet fingers slid from my mouth when he saw me tremble. He effortlessly towered over me when he laid me down and for a second, his facade fell as his eyes searched mine for permission. Despite the haze, I smiled at him, and before I knew it, his lips were on mine.

It was more intense than when we made out before. It was raw and it left both of us breathless. It could have made tears in my eyes; I could tell he was pouring all the things he couldn’t tell me in this one single kiss. I mewled when I felt his roam all over me while our tongues were tangled in a fierce battle for dominance.

I felt his hand go lower and lower until I felt that telltale pleasure I’ve been craving for. “Mmm,” I let out a breathy moan when Jongho’s finger traced my slit. “P-Please…”

”Take it then,” he groaned when he put a finger inside. My fingers grip the sheets as every thrust of his finger made me moan louder and louder.

He didn’t stay long in there but he made up for it when he began to stroke my throbbing clit. His other hand made its way up one of my swollen nipples, flicking it the same time as he did down there made me almost come undone.

’”That’s enough,” he deadpanned as he suddenly stopped and then he pulled away.

”Jongho!” I whined in frustration, pressing my thighs together to find relief, but he grabbed them so I wouldn’t be able to do anything. The only sign that he was into this like I am was the big tent on his crotch.

I blushed profusely. Years and years of pent up sexual frustration was getting to me, and now that Jongho was right here in front of me watching me almost beg for his cock, the feeling was exhilarating.

“Come here,” he growled. I squealed when he suddenly spread my legs and got in between them.

It was embarrassing but I couldn’t even think of that because he suddenly buried his face in my pussy. He hooks my legs up his shoulders and the intensity of his tongue had me dizzy with pleasure. “Jongho—”

”Less talking, more moaning,” he demanded with a painful squeeze to my thighs.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Pleasure rips through me as he lapped on my cunt like he was a starved man. When I tried to wriggle away, he snaked his arms around my thighs, effectively locking me down into place. Suddenly, he slapped my ass, tongue still working on my clit.

“Fucking hell, Jongho, love,” a long moan came out from me when the sting of his slap added to my growing pleasure. He did it again, his palms smacking my behind so hard, I jut forward the bed. And he does it again, and again, and again. It left me a blubbering mess as I uttered his name like a prayer.

”You little slut,” he hissed. Slap. “Yes, take it.“ Slap. “Fuck, you look beautiful like this,” Slap. “Take it, take it.” Slap. “Fucking take it!”

”Jongho, please, please!” I cried in mixed pain and pleasure. I was pretty sure I’d bruise the next day because my skin felt very raw.

“Beg for it,” Jongho sucked and lapped my juices again. “Come on, Y/N, beg for it like the whore you are.”

”Please, please, please!” I sobbed, tears falling from my eyes. He groaned at my pitiful state. “Make me come, please! I really, really love you, please!”

I screamed when he inserted two fingers inside me and began sliding them in and out, the wet sounds of my pussy rivaling how loud my moans were. “That’s what I want to fucking hear,” he chuckled darkly. “Say it again. Look at me when you say it.”

I arched my back involuntarily as I chased that high Jongho was willing to give me. His fingers pistoned in and out and I rocked my hips against him to meet his thrusts. “I love you, Jongho, I love you,” I choked out. I was overstimulated, the line between pleasure and pain blurring out.

He goes faster, if it is possible. My moans were desperate, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Then come,” he demanded. “If you really love me, then fucking come for me.”

The force of my orgasm had me reeling with a loud scream. It had me seeing white for the first time in a while as my back arched into an angle where it would have been unnatural had it not been for the quivering climax Jongho's fingers subjected me into.

He leaned in and gave me sweet kisses all over my face. "You okay, love?" Jongho murmured softly. I wrapped my arms around his neck and nodded. "Good. Because now I need my fill."

It took me a minute to recover and my eyes widened at his crudeness. He smiles sadistically. "I don't care if you can't take it. I'm going to fuck you anyway."

I whimpered in response, my entire body flushing with heat as my pussy clenched onto nothing. I could not believe that I was getting off to Jongho being this dominant and rough. It certainly scratched that itch I've been trying to relieve for a while now.

I did not want to just have sex, I needed to get fucked.

"I can see it in your eyes, you know?" he chuckled as he slowly undressed himself. My mouth ran dry when I finally got a glimpse of his body - he was huge. That included his cock. "You need to be taken, pounded like the fucktoy you are."

He grabbed my hair and aligned my mouth to his throbbing erection. "Suck," he demanded. He didn't wait for me to accommodate him, he just straight up thrusted in my mouth until he bottomed out.

I gagged but he didn't stop right there. My muffled chokes spurred him on, my eyes started to water as tears rolled down my cheeks and saliva mixed with his salty precum started to drip to my chin. He groaned, low and breathy, picking up a good angle as his balls started to slap against my chin.

"You dirty little whore," he growled, gripping my hair tightly. "You love choking on my cock, don't you?"

I whispered a sound of agreement, because he was right. I did love it. Suddenly, he pulled out from me. I tried to breathe, but clearly, Jongho had other plans. He got on top of me and aligned his shaft to my entrance.

“Ready?” Jongho bit his lip when I nodded. We both let out a groan when he finally entered me, bottoming out in one go. “I missed this,” he thrusts once. “I can’t believe I lasted this long without this cunt.”

"P-Please move,” I moaned. “I need to feel you—”

I began to spiral at the intimacy and at how hard he was thrusting into me. The feel of him stretching my already abused pussy was what got me. His instantaneous domination towards me as he plunged deeper and deeper inside me almost tipped me to the very edge of that white chasm I’ve been craving to fall into.

“Fuck, baby, you’re fucking killing me like this,” he hissed when I squeezed my cunt on his cock. “You like my cock filling you up?”

It didn't take long before I was squealing with wild abandon and trembling with how rough he was being. It was filthy fucking; the only sounds in the room were skins slapping against each and other the bed creaking. He looked down at his cock sliding in and out of my dripping cunt and I could tell the sight pushed him over the edge.

"Jongho, fuck! Yes, fuck me harder,” I sobbed.

"Shut the fuck up,” he sneered. He fucked harder anyway and I gasped when he wraps his hands on my neck. “You do not tell me what to do, yeah?”

His hand squeezed my throat, his grip strengthening, but he really wasn't really choking me yet. It was more like holding me in my place. His eyes widened and I closed my eyes in shame when we both felt my pussy gush. “Holy hell,” he grinned. “Didn’t know you liked that.”

“Only when you do it,” I moaned.

At first, the sensation was ecstatic, but when Jongho actually started getting carried away, I tried to pull at his elbow. I didn’t want to come yet, so I tried again, but Jongho didn’t budge. “Take your hand off or I will actually choke you,” he threatened.

I bit back a whimper but I obeyed anyway. “J-Jongie, if you k-keep doing it, g-gonna come…”

“Hold it. I haven’t allowed you yet,” he leaned forward until his face was inches from mine. “You are going to obey. Not because I forced you, not because of any punishment, not because you need to, and not even because you want to.”

His lips claim mine in a stormy kiss. “You are going to do it because you are mine. Clear?”

I moaned, my lips pressed firm against his. Without breaking the kiss, Jongho reached around my waist, lowering it until he reached my ass. He pulled me closer and the angle of him pressing my ass up to meet his thrusts made him groan into my mouth erotically.

My hands weren't idle, reaching around him, one sliding to his head and running through his hair, and the other feeling the muscles in his back. I dug my nails onto his back when his cock touched my cervix and he growled against my skin.

“Do it again,” he groaned. I did as told and I scratched his back and dug my nails as hard as I could. “Fuck, Y/N, fuck!”

That did it for me. His high pitched moans always had me reeling, especially now that I felt the familiar tickle of another orgasm threatening to rip onto me and Jongho’s thrusts were getting sloppier as he chased his own high.

"Look at me real quick," he urged. I did as told. "I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know," he whispered as he tucked the stray hairs away from my eyes. "No matter what happens, I will always love you."

The desperation in his eyes scared me a bit. I blinked back the sudden sting of my tears as my emotions drove me greater heights of pleasure. Those three words were what I longed to hear all these years. “You’re not going to leave?” I choked.

”Love, that broken bridge was repaired a month prior, and I’m still here,” he gulped. “You can come now, give it to me.”

I came on command. It was the most intense orgasm Jongho had ever delivered to me. I twisted and writhed underneath him as his thrusts began to speed up with his own orgasm.

He ignored my shrieks of overstimulation as he fucked me harder and harder. His thrusts were becoming more and more erratic, and with trembling hands, I reached down and massaged his balls. With one hard thrust and a loud roar, Jongho came inside me, splattering my walls with his cum.

Between ragged breaths, the both of us slowly came down from our euphoric high. "Was I too rough on you?" Jongho asked softly. Long gone was the sex demon. "Are you hurt?"

"No," I mumbled under my breath. "A bit sore since it's been a while. You were perfect."

"Mmm," he hummed in response. I gasped a bit when he suddenly stood up and began to carry me. "Let's get you cleaned up," was all he said before he started walking to the bathroom.

I was so out of it that the next thing I knew was that we were both soaking in the bathtub, just enjoying each other's presence. I have never felt so peaceful in my life until now.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?" he thoughtfully asked.

"No, not now," I shook my head. "Just relax with me, are you okay with that?"

He hummed again. This was how he was, he never really talked a lot, and I was perfectly fine with it. I sat perfectly still in between Jongho's legs, leaning my head back on his chest as he played with my hair.

"You know what my biggest fears were during the five years we were apart?" Jongho suddenly said out of the blue just when I was about to fall asleep.

"No," I frowned. I was under the assumption that he was too preoccupied to focus on my memory back then. "What were they?"

"That I'll only remember your face, but not your name," he kissed my temple and his lips lingered there. "That I'd forget you, but not the time we spent."

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟏, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

We fell in love in September. It was as if no time had passed between the two of us and we resumed that flame that once burned for our love.

"Smile," I urged him as I raised the camera so I could take an updated selfie of the two of us.

At first, he rolled his eyes at my antics, but he smiled anyway and leaned closer to me. "Happy?" Jongho flicked my nose playfully. "You owe me something."

I giggled and I leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek but my eyes widened when he suddenly turned so our lips met instead. I felt him smile through the kiss and I knew he wanted to make out but I was laughing too much to continue.

His love was so warm and call me corny, but everything he did was so cute to me and I just wanted to explode.

He was my home. I have never felt more alive than when I was with Jongho. I know what love feels like - it feels beautiful, but it also hurts like nothing else. I suppose this 'true love', we always endured despite everything.

He was becoming less and less tense, something I never thought ever since he lost his temper back then when that man - Hongjoong - came around to visit. I wasn't dumb, I knew Jongho was doing something shady, but I digress.

At this point, I don't want to know what Jongho has been doing in his spare time the last five years. Whatever it was, I can live not knowing what happened so long as Jongho stays with me like this for the rest of our days.

He may not be the Jongho I once and loved, but I was willing to love this new version of him even more.

"Why don't you get ready? Wear your best dress," he said when we broke apart. "Let's go out for dinner. My treat."

"You always treat me," I frowned. "Let's split."

"Would that make you feel better?" he wondered. "I don't believe in that stereotype, blossom. I just want food."

I laughed, but nodded anyway. "It would. You're my boyfriend, Jongho, not my bank account."

"It really isn't like that, but whatever you say," he shrugged. "How long will you take?"

I told him thirty minutes, but unfortunately, when he saw me in this black bodycon dress I purchased years ago, we got a bit frisky and let it out of our systems before we actually went out and drove.

"We're going to be late at our reservation, Jongie. Seriously?" I frowned as I hurried to do my makeup quickly using the side mirror of the car.

He scoffed after he parked. "Oh, please. You love my cum---"

"Anyway," I hissed, to which he laughed out loud. "Let's go, sex always makes me hungry."

"Well, I already had my fill," he shrugged. I stared at him, flabbergasted because there were people around us and they most definitely heard what he insinuated.

Jongho took me to the local steakhouse where Mingi worked part-time as a waiter. He was unimpressed as he begrudgingly trudged towards our table. "It's going to be chilly soon, you guys want to go inside?" Mingi offered.

"I've been cooped up in the house, fresh air is nice," I smiled as I gestured at the outdoor tables.

"What would you guys have?" Mingi asked in his professional mode. Jongho was about to speak when got cut off. "I wasn't asking you," he hissed.

"Song Mingi," I frowned. "Be nice."

"Let him," Jongho smirked as he chewed on the free bread given to us. "He was about to just leave, weren't you, Mingi?"

Mingi rolled his eyes but left anyway along with our order. I frowned when Jongho reached out for my hand across the table. "Did you really have to be like that to him?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "But I wanted to anyway."

"Choi Jongho!" I was slightly appalled. All Jongho did was stare blankly at me. Without breaking eye contact, he sensually kissed my palm. I reddened automatically.

"L/N Y/N," he teased playfully, taking great pleasure at my shyness.

"Come on, can't you be serious for once?" I pouted.

"I am being serious," he laughed, his beautiful smile filling in his precious face.

I stared at him, unimpressed. "Are you jealous of my closeness to Mingi?"

"Yes," he immediately answered. "A thousand percent."

My eyes widened in mild surprise. Something that never, ever changed in him was his jealousy. I wasn't expecting him to actually admit to it straight up because back then, he always denied being jealous.

"My baby bear, you know there's no point in feeling this way," I sighed, wrapping my hand in his. "You're the only one for me."

"It better stay that way," he smirked. He sat straighter to look at me, but then his smile dropped off a bit.

I didn't think of it at first, but then I gasped when his hold on my hand became tighter. I bit my lip, slightly ashamed that I was getting turned on by his light aggression. I waited for him to say something, but he stayed still in his seat.

I thought he was messing with me. I mean, the way he was staring at me could have melted me faster than the sun. It was intense, and if I'm being honest, it instilled fear in me.

"Jongho?" I called out softly when I realized that he wasn't going to say something. His eyes narrow down into dangerous slits. "You're scaring me..."

His grip on my hand tightens with a force. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough for me to worry. My eyes widened at the gesture, and when I took a closer look at him, I realized that he wasn't directing his stare at me, but behind me.

Had he seen something, or worse, someone that made him so tense? I was genuinely concerned now, Jongho only acted like this whenever I tried to pry about his departure five years ago. I straightened up, maybe this was related to it?

"Do you trust me?" Jongho stopped me from looking behind me. I nodded, albeit hesitantly. His next words made me freeze.

"Then whatever happens, do not turn around. Act normal."

I tried my best to mask the fear that was overriding my body right now; the panic that scattered my brain. The hairs at the back of my neck suddenly rose, and I couldn't help but feel that someone was watching us from behind me. Or was that the paranoia talking?

Jongho suddenly motioned for me. "Pretend that you're going to give me a kiss," he ordered. When he saw my rigidness, his glare softened. "Please do as I say," he whispered, desperation evident in his voice.

"Jongho, what's going on?" My voice was shaky.

"I have no fucking time for this," he hissed, eyes widening in surging panic. "You either do it now, or we both die."

My breathing was erratic and the thumping of my heart was escalating. All the while, I thought that whatever Jongho was hiding from me was never going to hunt us down, or at least, not for a while. Suddenly, Hongjoong and Jongho's conversation floated in my head.

"You know they're just going to find you, correct?"

"Of course, I do. You play me for a fool."

"That's all I know. I won't tell anyone you're here, but if I were you, I would do something about it."

I thought wrong. With a deep breath, I stood up and leaned my head towards Jongho, as if I really was just going for an innocent kiss.

"Stay still," he whispered when I got close enough. My breath hitched when Jongho drew his gun and it dawned on me that he basically used me as a shield so whoever was watching couldn't see.

"Remember what I told you that night?" Jongho asked when I sat back down. I gulped and nodded, my eyes still staring at the concealed weapon that he hid in his inner pocket. "Answer me."

"Yes, I-I remember," I stammered, rubbing my hands together to stop them from shaking so much. "I'm scared..."

He told me he will always love me no matter what happened, how could I forget? His eyes softened. "On the count of three," he began. "Get up, run, and never look back."

My heart exploded then and there. "What? No!" I winced when he attempted to shush me. "I am not leaving you, Jongho, please!"

Jongho's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something but he froze when he realized that Mingi was approaching us with our ordered food. He cursed under his breath and tried to signal Mingi to stop walking.

Mingi, though visibly confused, does stop walking. But it was a mistake on Jongho's end, because whoever was watching had caught on.

"Get down, get down!" Jongho yelled when the first shot rang from a distance. My gasp was cut off from Jongho grabbing my arm painfully and dragging me down with him under the table.

Screams erupted from all over as the other patrons who came to eat had panicked all around us. Mingi dropped the food, startled, and immediately came running to me. "You both okay?" he asked when he ducked down along with us.

His eyes widened when he saw Jongho holding a pistol and then narrowed into slits. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Mingi growled in annoyance.

"No time to explain," Jongho looked left and right, up and down, to check for more gunmen. He turned to Mingi hurriedly. "This table," he tapped it with his gun. "Let's use this as a barricade."

Both of them wasted no time quickly grabbing the heavy wooden table we were supposed to eat on and pushing it down. I tried to help by kicking the chairs away from us. I got startled onto ducking back down when more shots were fired in the air.

"Fucking hell," Jongho cursed out loud, jutting the arm that held the gun and aimed at that distance with precision. Mingi and I looked at each with worry and we both turned our eyes on Jongho's murderous form.

"Where's the quickest exit?" Jongho recoiled his pistol and bullet shells fell on the ground. Shivers travelled through my spine at how experienced Jongho seemed at doing gunfights.

Mingi pointed quickly to a door that was near us. Jongho cursed loudly, it wasn't difficult to go to the door, but we would be exposed to the dangers of getting shot.

I flinched when another shot rang into the air and then screamed when a bullet landed inches away from where we were.

"On my count, both of you will run as fast as you both can to the door. I'll follow after," Jongho ordered both of us. But Mingi wasn't having it.

"Are you kidding me?" he gritted his teeth. "Whoever's out there will shoot us down!"

"And you'd rather we get shot here?" Jongho retorted back, rage etched on his face. It made him look terrifying, like I didn't know him to begin with.

Mingi raised his arm to try and push some sense into Jongho, but the latter put his gun up and pointed the barrel directly in between the former's brows. Mingi froze in his place. "I need her out of here," Jongho took one good look at me before glaring again at Mingi. "I won't hesitate to shoot you if it means getting your ass up to move."

"Fuck you," Mingi spat venomously at him.

Jongho pulled the safety lever and positioned his finger in the trigger and Mingi visibly flinched. My jaw dropped and I called out for him to stop, but he ignored me. "I'm not playing with you, Song Mingi," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Do it."

"Just calm down, okay?" Mingi nervously laughed. Jongho cocks his head in my direction and Mingi gets moving. I was terrified - I could tell Jongho wasn't joking; he will shoot Mingi.

He positioned me in front of him and lowered my head down so my whole body was completely hidden. "Ready?" Mingi asked me softly.

Tears started to blur my vision. Tonight was supposed to be a good time, but alas, nothing really lasts forever - even guilty pleasures.

Jongho started the countdown, and the moment he said three, me and Mingi started running as fast as we could.

I yelped when I heard Jongho fire another shot in the air. I made the mistake of looking back and I almost stuttered in my steps when I saw two masked men running faster and faster in our directions while their big rifles were pointed at us.

My stomach started to churn along with the burn of my running legs - people want Jongho dead. And Jongho want these people dead. A question kept lingering in my mind, how many has he killed? How long has he been doing this?

"Hurry!" Mingi's deep, booming voice screamed for Jongho, his arms motioning for Jongho to move faster when the both of us went through the exit door.

Jongho moved with deadly purpose. Little by little, my heart shattered as I watched him shoot two shots and hit someone square in the chest with his bullets. Mingi's hold on the door loosened as he watched the bloodbath along with me.

He was so close to the door too, all he had to do was sprint and Mingi would be able to close the door so the people firing at us wouldn't be able to enter the parking lot.

I slowly realized that the man I loved was killing people left and right like it was nothing to him. It made me sick to my stomach, but what got me was the fact that my love for him never lessened even one bit. Even if he killed twice the amount, I'd still love him. It was sickening.

"Close the fucking door and go!" Jongho screamed at us as he unloaded more bullets at anyone he saw fit to shoot. He made eye contact with me, and for a split second, there was a flash of pain, but it was gone before he could shoot one more time.

"I hate you, Jongho, but I don't want you to die," Mingi snapped. "So get in here before I actually close this door on you!

It all happened in a matter of seconds. It seemed to snap Jongho into moving towards us, and so he started to run. The moment his foot stepped past the door, Mingi shut the door firmly and the three of us started running.

"You okay, love?" Jongho quickly grabbed me and kissed my head as we sprinted towards no direction in mind.

I nodded, the fear clear as day in my eyes. It hurt to see Jongho's resignation as he put the gun away back in his holster, something I didn't even notice when we left the house.

"We can't use my car," Jongho sighed loudly in irritation. "They know what it looks like."

"Let's use mine then," Mingi began to run in the opposite direction of where we started from and Jongho and I had no choice but to follow him.

The aftermath was anticlimactic. Jongho directed Mingi to drive around in circles so we wouldn't have a tail, but we quickly went right back in track when we realized that we weren't even followed out. They both argued about what had just happened and in normal circumstances, I would have been happy about it. They were both like this even back in high school.

When Mingi dropped both of us at my house, I opted to enter first because those two were still fighting and I could hear them from the inside. I had no choice but to just watch from the window.

"You son of a bitch, what kind of trouble did you bring back to town?" Mingi shouted aggressively.

"Watch your fucking mouth," I heard Jongho hiss.

"Or what?" Mingi taunted, using one hand to viciously push Jongho around. "You're gonna shoot me?"

Jongho hissed in pain, clutching his arm where he had been pushed. Mingi gasped out so loud, it caught me off guard. His whole hand was red and covered in blood.

"Jongho?" Mingi worriedly went to him and quickly grabbed his arm. "You're bleeding---"

My world shattered right then and there and I blanked out as I hurriedly ran towards Jongho and stared at his bleeding arm. "Y-You were shot?" I squeaked in fear when I realized that his whole jacket was soaked wet with blood.

"Get out of here, Mingi," Jongho groaned in pain, making both me and the taller man panic. "In case they find us here, I can only protect one of you..."

Mingi hesitated, regret filling his entire face, but he knew Jongho was right. After quickly saying goodbye and informing us that he'll stay with Wooyoung for now, he drove off away from the house and hopefully away from trouble.

"Don't cry, my pretty love," Jongho chuckled when we finally relaxed and sat on the couch. "It was a graze, nothing to worry about..."

"Nothing to worry about?" Angry tears started to fall from my eyes. "Jongho, you scared the living hell out of me!"

Now that all of the adrenaline has worn off, my chest exploded and tears just started flowing out of me. I didn't want to cry, I wasn't the type to cry at anything in general, but I couldn't stop the overwhelming emotions that overtook all my senses.

"Nothing to be scared of, see?" Jongho tried to cheer me up when he took his jacket off and showed me that indeed, it was just a graze, but it didn't stop me from paling at the sight of his wound.

I blinked the remaining tears away, though at this point I wasn't sure where it was coming from - anxiety, exhaustion, or paranoia. It could be anything. I quickly got to work on the first aid kit and started patching him up.

"Are you ever going to tell me?" I sniffled as I wrapped the gauze all over his bulky arms. "That was an experience, Jongho, don't you think I deserve to know?"

Jongho flexed his arms before he lifted me up and sat me on his lap. He buried his head on my shoulders. "I'm sorry," his muffled voice said. "But I can't."

I sighed deeply, not at all surprised at his response. What he failed to understand was that I don't care about what he did, I just wanted to know if it was going to happen again. "You know I'm willing to endure everything for you?"

Jongho froze. He slowly lifted his head up to meet my eyes. There was an expression I thought I'd never, ever see in those beautiful eyes - fear.

His brows raised at the statement though, eyes roaming all over my face to search for any lies. "Yeah?"

I nodded, leaning down to give his lips a quick peck. "I mean it, Jongho. You could destroy this entire planet and I'd still stick by you."

His grip on my waist tightened and I thought it was because he was grateful for my words, but when Jongho's eyes hardened to a steely resolve, I started to panic. He was staring at me with this deep, unsettling eyes that I couldn't tell if it was awe, sadness, or anger.

"D-Did I say anything wrong?"

"No," he shook his head, his knuckles softly grazing my cheeks. "I just never realized how far I'd go to keep you safe."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Come on," I urged him to get up. "Let's go rest. It's been a long night."

Sleeping would prove to be difficult tonight. I had a lot of things to think about, but so did Jongho. The only difference was he had a lot of things that kept him awake at night and he was currently the reason why I couldn't sleep tonight.

"Y/N?" Jongho called out of the blue as we both laid down in the darkness. I hummed a response. "If I hadn't knocked on your door a couple of months ago, would you have already moved on from me by now?"

His question caught me completely off guard. "Probably not," I answered him truthfully. "You?"

"Ten years would have passed and I'd still love you the same, if not more," he whispered. "Have you ever hated me?"

"Absolutely," I replied without missing a beat. "I went mad being in love with you. I lost myself loving you and to this day, there are still parts of me I can never get back again."

Jongho heaved a weighted sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You did what you felt was right, and I was well within my rights to bear whatever made me feel right."

"Right. Why didn't you give out your heart again?"

I couldn't help but chuckle without humour. "It's not that. I don't want to trust my heart to anyone. Why are you asking these anyway?"

"No reason," Jongho yawned. "I was just curious."

I didn't reply. I had a terrible feeling that sank in my stomach, but I decided to ignore it for now. Maybe it was just the adrenaline rush of it all, being in a near death situation puts your mind in dangerous places.

Moments later, Jongho’s breathing evened out and that’s how I knew he was already sleeping. I watched him sleep for a little, he looked so peaceful, as if he wasn’t the man who used a gun so flawlessly, you’d think he was in an action movie of some sorts. He was a ghost of the man I used to know.

It was the worst sleep of my life. It wasn’t even this bad when I was heartbroken when he left. All the events of what happened tonight kept replaying in my head and I kept waking up in a cold sweat. I would go back to sleep and then wake up again. It was such a vicious cycle.

“Is everything okay, blossom?” Jongho asked me the next day when he noticed me spacing out in our living room.

"Huh? Oh, yes. Everything's okay," I lied through my teeth.

I couldn't possibly tell him that I was apprehensive about something that I couldn't put my finger on. There was this feeling in my gut, and there was another in my heart and they were both so contradictory that I didn't know which one to believe in right now.

My gut said that something was wrong, but my heart was telling me to trust Jongho a little more this time.

"Are you sure?" Jongho hugged me from behind and kissed my shoulders. He pointed at the purse I was holding. "Going out?"

"The grocery store. I want to make dinner for you since we couldn't enjoy last night," I turned around and looped my arms around his neck and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. "Happy Birthday, my love."

He smirked. "You remembered?"

"Of course I did. I celebrated it every year even after you left," I admitted, shame suddenly creeping up on me.

His eyes softened and he grabbed my face and gave it little peppered kisses. "I love you," he whispered. "More than you will ever understand."

He pulled me into a hug. It was the tightest hug I've ever received from him. "For as long as we both exist in this life, I am all yours," he breathed me in. "I will always go to you. If I can't walk, I will crawl. If they take my sight, I'd give up my eyes to see you one more time. No matter how broken I am, I will never stop fighting for you..."

He kissed my forehead tenderly. "You're my everything."

Tears began to prick at the back of my eyes. "Is everything okay?" I frowned. "You're freaking me out."

"No. Just wanted to let you know how I felt for you," he chuckled. He urged me to the door. "Run along to the groceries, love. Wouldn't want to miss that dinner for anything else."

I shrugged and went out the door to hurry up and get going, but not before looking back, only to see Jongho already staring at me. For a moment, we just stared at each other. Something wasn't sitting right with +me.

He mouthed for me to go with a small smile and an even smaller wave of his hand. The further I walked away, it was as if Jongho's was also slowly slipping away from me.

I couldn't concentrate on shopping. The goal was to get some stuff for Jongho's birthday, yet every time I stopped in an aisle, I would pause and space out, only for me to forget what I was in there for. The process would repeat and I was losing my mind.

On the other hand, his declaration of love for me made my heart extremely warm. He wasn't one to confess his feelings like that, and so was I. I was so lost inside my head, when I looked down on my cart, there was barely enough stuff in it.

I spaced out so bad that I didn't notice that I bumped onto someone. "I'm sor---Sannie?"

"I've been trying to get your attention for a while now," San frowned. I remembered that he had a shift today. "Are you okay? You look ill."

"I-I don't know," I admitted. "I don't feel so good."

San held my arm and I leaned onto him for support. "Want me to call Wooyoung to take you home?" San offered. "Where's Jongho?"

Something clicked in me at the mention of Jongho's name. I began to pull away from San. "I-I need to go," I murmured before making a run towards the door, not caring if San screamed for my name or the other shoppers looking at me like I just lost my mind.

I ran like hell, tears starting to form in my eyes. That confession meant something. I could hardly breathe, my chest filling with that dread I felt five years ago as my legs started to carry me back to my house. I didn't even realize that I was already crying, salty tears trailed to my mouth as I ran even faster.

I had to pause in my driveway to catch my breath. What would have taken me fifteen minutes of leisure running from the store back here only took me seven minutes in my panic. As I approached the front door, I felt lightheaded from the lack of air in my lungs, my hands were shaking terribly as I pushed the door open.

"Jongho?" I called out. My vision was still blurry with tears, but I was sure Jongho wasn't in my line of sight? "Jongho?!"

The house felt eerie. Not even an hour ago, Jongho and I were here just confessing our love to one another. "Jongho!" I called out louder, kicking the door down to his room in my desperation.

There was no answer, and there was no Jongho.

"Jongho, please," I was sobbing now. "This isn't funny, Jongho!"

I looked all over the house, even though at the back of my head, I knew my love wasn't here anymore. I went back to his room, horrified to find that his clothes were all gone. "J-Jongho," my voice rasped as I ran through every corner of my house, hoping that all of this was a sick joke.

I broke down, my legs wobbling until I crumpled on the floor, and I cried my eyes out. Jongho was gone, and this time, I knew for a fact that he wasn't coming back.

A part of me was hoping that he would come back after a day or two, after all, he did come back to me after five years. But I knew better - that declaration earlier sounded final. I couldn't stop picturing his face when he told me he loved me, I couldn't stop hearing his voice, and that just made me cry even harder than before.

Deep, gut-wrenching sobs and wails slipped past my lips and I buried my face in my hands in a sorry attempt to conceal the harsh sounds of my cries, but it was useless. My heart was so broken, there was a gaping hole in my chest where it used to be.

The force of my own sobs were straining my head and neck, but I couldn't seem to stop. I knew this day would come eventually, that Jongho would one day leave, but I thought we had it so good that he's changed his mind.

And I knew he changed his mind. He wasn't going to leave me anymore. So where was he?

I heard the front door creak open and the gasp that followed at my devastated, crumpled form on the floor. I felt someone kneel next to me, their own sobs filling the room as they tried to help me sit up. At first, my heart had hope, but from the touch, I could instantly tell who it was, and it wasn't Jongho.

"Babe, what's going on?" Wooyoung's panicked voice asked me hurriedly. He was openly sobbing with me. "San called me in hysteria earlier. Come here, oh my God..."

He quickly pulled me into his arms and I fell onto him instantly, burying my face in his chest and clutching shirt as I bawled helplessly. Wooyoung's body was shaking against mine as I felt his own tears fall on my hair. I have never, ever cried like this in front of anyone, and I can tell it was stressing Wooyoung out.

"Just let it out, shh," he hushed me, rocking back and forth to help soothe me, but the only person who could successfully soothe me had left.

"W-Woo," I mewled. "J-Jongho..."

"Did he hurt you?" Wooyoung instantly snarled, ready to beat up the man that wasn't even here anymore.

"Here," I weakly pointed at the center of my chest. "My h-heart..."

I told him everything. From Hongjoong visiting Jongho randomly one night, the gunfight with Mingi - to which his eyes widened and he exclaimed that Mingi never told him, but he could tell the taller was anxious - all the way from today where San saw me spacing out.

"I am so, so sorry. Are you okay?" Wooyoung asked tentatively, worry in his eyes as he helped me to my room. I almost lost control of my emotions then and there.

"Sorry, Wooyoung. You guys are always there to catch me when I'm feeling down," I hiccupped as he wrapped a blanket all over my body to comfort me.

He kneeled in front of me and shook his head. "You're our best friend," he assured. "We're worried about you," he patted my thighs twice. "Let me just call San to tell him you're fine now, okay?"

I wanted to hate Jongho. All this sadness was turning into anger because it was easier to be mad at him than deal with all the grief and loss he bestowed on me. But I couldn't. I had fallen for him twice and it was difficult to ignore the loneliness that was creeping in my heart.

"Yeah, she's good," I heard Wooyoung from outside my door. "I'm more shaken up, you should've seen her, Sannie. She was so broken..."

I could hear San's worried voice from Wooyoung's phone as the former paced all over my house. Tears began to form in my eyes again, but I tried to stop them. I didn't want to worry anyone anymore.

"He left, yes, he did," Wooyoung gritted. "I knew that asshole was trouble, goddamn it, he should've just stayed where he was at---wait."

I frowned at Wooyoung's sudden pause. He began whispering onto the phone and I had to strain my ears to listen to what he was saying.

"...by the kitchen..." Wooyoung's voice trailed off.

I heard his footsteps get faster and faster and I realized that he was running. I was so confused, especially when I saw him approach me with a letter in his hand.

"I found this," he handed me the letter, not bearing to look me in the eye. "I think...I'll step out of the house for a bit while you read it."

I eyed the small piece of paper in my hand, not knowing what to do with it exactly. I know it's bad when Wooyoung has to step out. He had the most forlorn, lost, and broken look in his face and it made me so nervous. I wasn't stupid, I know Jongho left me another letter.

I slowly unfolded the paper, and I was correct. Jongho had this distinct penmanship - it was cursive, it was beautiful, and it was his. Tears flowed from my eyes and dripped onto the paper as I read, my hands shaking as I tried not to crumple the paper with how emotional I was being.

You will heal and you will learn how to live without me. Until then, I’m going to set things straight on my end and I will find you when time permits. My soul will find yours again.

𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

The pain got worse as time went on. I had no idea how much time had passed, but I assumed it'd been a while.

I had no desire to do anything. My laundry was piled in one messy basket, my garden plants were all dead, any form of self care besides showering and brushing my teeth was beyond me. It wasn't a way to live, I was a shell of my former self.

Sleep wasn't better either. I hardly got enough hours every night. But by far the worst was my solitude. Being alone in my thoughts was such a dangerous thing.

There were multiple times where I wanted to end everything, but the fact that I wouldn't remember Jongho anymore stopped me. It was such a vicious cycle in my own head and I just want them to stop.

San would always get me my groceries for Wooyoung to cook and Mingi would always force me to eat something. The food was delicious, it was my stomach that was rejecting it because it would churn the moment anything went into it.

I was always worried for them because sometimes I'd hear one of them get emotional at my depressed state, so I knew I had to conquer my demons if I was to not make my friends worry, but how I was supposed to do that? I couldn't even go into Jongho's room without bawling my eyes out.

I wore a hoodie that Jongho left behind and laid myself down on his bed, something I've been doing to cope for the last couple of months. Tears automatically sprung in my eyes. Everything was always so warm in his clothes and on his bed, just like him.

What was worse was that I could still smell him like he was still here. It felt like a blow to my chest. His scent was so strong that I could have sworn he was still here. How long would it take for his presence to completely disappear? How long would it be until this room is nothing but a space full of unwanted memories?

A tear finally slipped down my cheeks. Jongho and I were talking a lot about our future and he always looked so alive whenever we did. I knew he was truly happy. Sometimes, I'd think I was dreaming because I still didn't want to let him go. We were through before we had truly begun.

Jongho told me that I had to live without him. How was I supposed to do that? This darkness always threatened to swallow me whole.

And so I cried. I cried for the love me and Jongho had always meant to have, but never will. I cried for Jongho and the path he took that overtook him. I cried for myself, most of all, because I knew that I was never going to be the same ever again.

As I was about to relapse into another mental breakdown, a loud knocking from my door interrupted me. I quickly wiped all of my tears away and hoped that my face wasn't swollen enough for Wooyoung to berate me, then cry with me.

"I'm coming," I grumbled loudly when more knocking ensued.

It was probably Mingi. I had a doorbell and he knew it, but he always thought of the stupidest things to try and get me up so I couldn't lay down in bed all day. It worked, but sometimes, it pissed me off to no end.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and saw that it was not, in fact, Mingi.

"L/N Y/N?" the random stranger asked. I nodded slowly, a little too depressed to even care and ask how this man knew my name and my address.

He wasn't a bad looking man, rather, he looked quite pleasant. He had the most intimidating persona I have ever seen, the aura and energy he gave out made me shrink from where I was standing. He wore this tight fitting business suit that reminded me of CEOs rather than businessmen.

"C-Can I help you, Sir?"

"It's more like me helping you instead of the other way around," the man gave me a wolfish grin. "We should talk inside."

I frowned, gripping the doorknob tightly and ready to slam it if this man tried something sketchy. Despite the haze of sadness, I was sentient enough to not let in random people, especially as arrogant as this one.

"You're going to want to hear me out," he tried to bargain. "It's about Jongho."

My expression must have been so crestfallen that the smirk that threatened to come out of him slowly disappeared the closer he stared at me. Despite myself, my bottom lip wobbled and I bit on it to stop it from doing it, but to no avail.

"Oh, Lord have mercy, he ruined you," the man sighed. "I give you my word that I am not going to hurt you in any sort of way, so please, let's talk inside."

I had nothing to lose because I had nothing to live for now, so I just let him in anyway. I was semi happy that he had the decency to remove his shoes and sat on my couch after I had sat on it. It was a basic form of respect.

"My name is Park Seonghwa and Jongho works under my department," the man started. "And I owe you an explanation."

I blinked at him multiple times. I don't know what I was expecting, and to be honest, I had no expectations, but I certainly was not expecting that.

"E-Excuse me?" I sputtered out. "Department?"

"Where's your television remote?" Seonghwa asked. I blankly pointed it at him and he clicked my TV open. "There's something I have to show you..."

He kept flipping through different channels until he found the one he was looking for. I was extremely confused, but I decided not to question it and just see what he wanted to show me. Something tells me that I wasn't going to like what I'm about to see.

It was some sort of press conference and it was live. There were reporters going absolutely crazy over a couple of people and guards trying to stop them from forming a horde. It was a hot mess. I side eyed Seonghwa and he was just staring blankly at the television, like he was already expecting things to happen.

Suddenly, the camera panned to a stage where a couple of people who wore suits and some people with handcuffs were getting swarmed by the crowd.

I knew what this was. It was the controversial fight between the Korean Force and the rising mafia family that orchestrated bank heists all over the city and a select few towns like where I was - like that bank Jongho used to work at.

At first I was still confused, that is, until I saw a familiar figure standing in the back. He was wearing a mask, but I knew it was him. My hands flew to my mouth before my eyes widened and more tears formed.

"I am Second Director Kang Yeosang, in charge of the capture of the most notorious group that has been running rampant in our city," a man spoke from the television.

"What is the meaning of this?" I gasped at Seonghwa. He didn't say anything and pointed at the television again.

"The credit goes to all our wonderful Agents who aided in their capture," the man gestured to where Jongho was. He looked so stiff, so rigid, but I knew he was the man I loved - the man who hurt me deeply.

The TV was suddenly turned off, but honestly, I couldn't bear to look at it for another second longer anyway, else I might break down completely, and I did not want to do that with a random stranger in my house.

“Do you have any idea as to why Jongho had to leave you all of a sudden five years ago?” Seonghwa asked me, his eyes showing genuine curiosity.

I gulped nervously. “Hell, if I knew,” I scoffed. Then, I realized something that made my heart drop. “Are you telling me that he left me for the mafia, or something?”

Seonghwa smirked. “Not quite. I would say he joined the group that stopped the mafia.”

No amount of self-control could have stopped me from the sheer surprise that crossed my face. “Impossible,” I shook my head in denial. “Jongho would never put himself in a position that purposely put his life in danger, let alone do something like that...”

“Are you sure about that?” Seonghwa crossed his arms. “I could tell you what happened, but do you want to hear it?”

No. Accepting what Seonghwa was saying means that I have to face the reality that Jongho really did choose to go his way and make his future without me, but not accepting it amps my fear for the truth. I nodded in resignation and Seonghwa began to talk.

“First of all, I would like you to know that Jongho joined us by method of force,” he said. “In fact, he wanted out so badly that he threatened us that he’ll bite his tongue. Literally.”

My heart dropped at the newly found information and my hands were already shaking, but I let him continue. “It was supposed to be a successful operation, we were tracking a series of money laundering crimes and we chose the bank that Jongho worked at as the place for our sting operation.”

“Long story short,” he continued. “Jongho saw something he wasn't supposed to. Did you know what his position was at the bank?”

“A t-teller,” I replied, my voice also shaking. I wanted to cry, Jongho had been carrying that burden all by himself.

“Right. Unfortunately, Jongho found out that we were having an operation that day. He suspected that something was wrong with the enemy’s bank information, so he started snooping and saw every illegal money deposit in it. We couldn't have that, it was either we killed him or he joined us.”

“What?” I couldn’t help but hiss at him. “It wasn’t his fault,” I snapped. “Your failure on your operation does not constitute an emergency on his part!”

All Seonghwa did was smirk at me and it pissed me off. I glared at him, but he just shrugged. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he stated. “In fact, I agree with you. I never wanted him, Jongho was just a boy.”

My face fell as I limply fell back on my seat, defeated and in disbelief. “I’m a failure,” I sarcastically laughed. “All this time I thought he left me because he didn’t want me as his partner anymore.”

“Not your fault,” Seonghwa sighed. “We were the ones who told him he had to leave you. It was either he told you, but then he’d have to take you, or keep you in the dark but you’ll be safe. Obviously, Jongho chose to keep you safe.”

I couldn’t stop all the tears that suddenly started to flow. It was both out of sadness and relief. After five long years, I now had the answers I’ve always wanted to desperately know.

But was it worth it?

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of this. My superiors don’t know I’m here,” Seonghwa said after he had waited for me to calm down and compose myself. I’ll give him that, I appreciated it. “Jongho loved you so, so much.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “Our training was in the United States, Lord knows how many times he got punished for trying to escape and come back here in Korea,” he chuckled. “You know, I grew to care for that kid. I owe this to him after years and years of denying him any contact with you.”

Jongho wanted to contact me all these years? I had to bite my thumb to stop myself from shedding more tears, but Seonghwa grabbed my sleeves to stop me from hurting myself further.

“That capture on the television, that was his doing. What would have usually taken ten years of a normal agent, Jongho cut in half all because he wanted to see you again.”

“Hongjoong told me you saw them talking that night?” Seonghwa asked. I nodded in conformation. “He didn’t mean any harm. Jongho wasn’t supposed to be here, let alone disappear for a couple of months. We covered for him, but it was only a matter of time until our higher ups found out.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. All these years I was wallowing myself in pity and Jongho had been suffering overseas because of something that wasn’t even his fault. All this time, this was what Jongho had been hiding.

”What was he doing here in the first place then?”

“He wanted to see you one more time before he went into hiding so we could erase all his ties to the CIA, so I allowed him. Imagine my surprise when he didn’t come back anymore. Hongjoong had barely found this place.”

I remember that day like it just happened. I will never forget the day I started being alive again when he showed up at my door. The storm had been an excuse after all, and that bridge falling over wasn’t part of his plans. It was no wonder he was extremely angry when it broke.

”And the shooting a couple of months back?” I asked. I didn’t even need to elaborate, his face already showed that he knew what I was talking about.

He shook his head. “That was the mafia set to eliminate Jongho.”

My blood ran cold. That meant that we were that close to actually losing our lives. My face fell, that almost meant that Jongho left me for the second time for the same reason he had the first time - to protect me.

Seonghwa patted my shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” he spoke silently. “It’s almost over, he’ll be back.”

I froze, craning my head in his direction, my breath hard and laboured. “Y-You mean that?”

He nodded. “You have my word. And I’ve never gone back on my word before.”

Hours after Seonghwa had said his goodbye and left, I still stayed unmoved from my spot, unwilling to get up just yet for fear that everything I just found out, I’d suddenly forget. I stared at the card that he had left on the table that contained his contact number, not knowing what to do with it exactly.

One good thing that came out of there was that the heavy weight that loomed over my shoulders was suddenly lifted and the relief it brought had made it easier for me to finally breathe.

I have everything I would wish for right now. All these years, I thought I was looking for happiness or the will to move on, but all this time, relief has always been the one I was after - it was what finally set me free.

I closed my eyes, I can almost picture Jongho’s smile when he looked at me for the last time before he went his way.

Life was so cruel, wasn't it? Fate had allowed me and Jongho to meet and fall in love again and gave me a taste of what it would have been like had he not left, only for the same fate to yank it all away.

What’s worse was that I would do it all over again, even when I knew that our love would end as a tragedy. I would give everything just to feel his warmth, even if it’s only a second. I would endure anything.

Suddenly, Jongho’s absence didn’t feel so heavy after all. For the first time in a while, there was a small smile on my face.

𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

The arches of my brows creased as I glanced up to the bright, blue sky. The tip of my nose was red, but it was okay.

My hands can't seem to feel themselves as I walk out. It wasn't even that bad, I thought, before I left my rented studio apartment without bringing my trusty wool coat. By the time I realized that the wind had picked up, it was already too late to turn back and grab it.

I can almost taste the bitter cold hitting my skin, but I was happy anyway. Autumn was my favourite season, I love the colours and the cozy pumpkin spice flavoured things, and most of all, it was also Jongho’s favourite season.

It’s been three years since that fateful day. I slowly got over the pain, but I never forgot what it felt like. I still had that note he gave me, I could never throw it away even if I wanted to.

I couldn't forget him, if I tried.

I did, however, decide to move away from South Korea all the way to the other side of the world in France. I couldn't bear to stay in the house where all the four corners had Jongho in it, so I decided to sell it. I made the impulse to apply for corporate work, courtesy of Choi San, and so far, Marseille has been nice to me.

And speaking of San, he took that giant leap and found love. The only thing surprising about it was that it was in Song Mingi. It wasn't because of anything bad, it was because I never even noticed the tension between them. I may or may not have cried at their obvious happiness.

Wooyoung was the only one who came with me to my journey in another country. For a while, we both lived together in my apartment here, but he got addicted to the feeling of traveling and now, he's been painting the town red somewhere in Italy.

I've never seen or heard from Jongho ever again. He hasn't contacted me whatsoever. The constant visits from Seonghwa doesn't really count, though I have grown a somewhat decent relationship with him and found out he was actually a nice man.

He hasn't found me and to be quite honest, I quit searching for him after a while. It was eating away at my life and it wasn't a healthy way for me to cope at his loss. I just hope he found somewhere safe to settle where the mafia couldn't reach or hurt him.

"Ticket for one?" the attendant from the museum entrance kindly asked me.

"Yes, please. Thank you," I smiled back. Today, I decided to treat myself to a day off by going to this local museum I've been eyeing for a while.

"Do you wish to get upgraded for the fair in the back?" they asked me after handing in my ticket.

I tilted my head in confusion. "Fair?"

"Ah, there is a local fair that comes here every year. The museum decided to collaborate this year to garner more people to come."

It was an easy yes for me. I haven't been to fairs in a while and I remembered loving them as a kid. It almost denied it though, all my memories of me going to one had all been with Jongho. He loved Ferris Wheels the most.

As I admired the museum collection, I couldn't help but rejoice because of how much I've grown into myself. Moving was definitely difficult at first, but I've managed to wiggle my way to success, or at least, my definition of success. Slowly, I began to put Jongho at the back of my mind.

I suddenly remembered what Jongho said to me three years ago about his fear.

That I'll only remember your face, but not your name. That I'd forget you, but not the time we spent.

I chuckled. What a terrible lie that had been on his end. There was no way I was forgetting him in any way, shape, or form.

There wasn't much in the museum, it was quite small, so I went straight to the fair and I was pleasantly surprised because it resembled a carnival more than anything. There was the usual fair food and the carnival-esque rides, like roller coasters and adult carousels.

But most of all, the biggest Ferris Wheels I have ever seen in my life was right here. I smiled, I will definitely have to come back to that.

It was great, as expected for fairs. The food was absolutely fantastic, and I have a thing for their huge cotton candies. I knew then and there that I made the correct decision to go here for my day off.

"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"

I was so lost in my thoughts that I was a bit startled when a masculine voice sounded to my side. I turned my head and I swear my heart dropped to my foot instantly.

"N-No," I stammered, redness spreading all over my face. "Y-You can t-take it if you want."

The man smirked and took the seat anyway. I didn't say a word - I couldn't - but neither did he. Rather, we basked in the sun that was shining directly to where we were both seated even though it was cold.

He was absolutely gorgeous. I have never, ever seen a man so stunning that it rendered me speechless for a bit. His brown cashmere coat perfectly complemented his physique. His cropped out hair fitted him well, and the way he carried himself was what was interesting to me.

His eyes were something else. There was a swirling mixture of amber as the tiniest bit of sun hit him made it very mesmerizing to stare at.

And those same pair of eyes were now staring at my very own.

I was shocked. I felt the shame slowly creep in and my face turn the reddest it has ever been in my life. I looked away clearly flustered and looked down on the forgotten sweetness of the cotton candy I hadn't touched again since this man sat down next to me.

Darn it, darn him for giving me the subtlest smirk as I looked away. From my peripheral vision, I can see him still looking at me, unblinking. I got so conscious that I didn't realize that I was holding my breath steadily.

I definitely looked like I was creeping on him. I almost hit myself in frustration. This is what happens when you're touch starved from a man for so long. I should have smiled back at him, I mean I still could given the fact that I can feel the hairs on my arms stand up in attention to his still unrelenting stare at me.

"How are you liking the carnival?" he had asked.

His voice was calming and it had automatically brought a sense of peace in me. I almost chastised myself, there was no need to be on edge. After all, I was here to relax, not to be awkward with the people I encounter.

"It's good," I shrugged. "I kind of wish it wasn't as cold as it was today. You? What brings you here?"

It was his turn to shrug. "Just to relax. I need to unwind after my work and all. It's stressful, you know?"

I nodded, surprising the need to smile. "Oh? What do you do?"

He chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets, his form also visibly relaxing. "Nothing interesting. There's just a lot of paperwork involved in it, that's all."

"I see," I murmured, trying to avoid eye contact all over.

I'm not sure when the tension started. Perhaps it was a subliminal thing. Or maybe, it was the physical proximity. Despite the cold weather, I could feel the smoldering heat from where he sat. He's been pretty respectful of the distance though, aside from the occasional stare he would point at me, but so far, I don't mind it.

"You don't look like you're from here," I pointed out, trying to start up a conversation. "What brings you to France?"

He hummed before responding. "I'm trying to find my purpose. I lost it a couple of years ago and now I'm intent on getting that back in my life," the man gazed at me meaningfully. "Sometimes you don't know what you have before it's all gone."

I gave him a tight smile. "And this," I waved my hand around. "Purpose, so to speak, how important is it to you?"

"Everything," he replied so fast it actually scared me a bit. He was looking at me dead in the eye too. "It means everything to me. I...made a lot of mistakes in my past, but now I'm here to make up for all of those."

I stared at him for a couple of minutes and he held eye contact with me, unblinking and unmoving. Was this my sign to move on from the past?

"Well, I wish you all the luck," I told him sincerely. "I suppose I can relate. I put my life on halt a couple of years ago, myself. My purpose had left me."

The man frowned and then sighed wistfully. "And how did that make you feel?"

It was a question I wasn't expecting. Suddenly, it was just the two of us, the carnival fading onto the background. "I was devastated," I admitted truthfully. "But not anymore. I know my purpose will always find me wherever I go."

There was a pleasant surprise on the man's face before he broke out into the most painfully beautiful smile I had ever seen. "I'm sure this world has been dying to give you your purpose back."

I went rigid at his statement. This world had been the one that orchestrated me and Jongho's end. It let me love and be loved again in return, and that same blessing turned out to be my biggest curse. I was this close to having it all, and now, I just stood still on the ashes of all my memories.

"Did I say something wrong? I apologize," he frowned.

I waved my hand. "No, you didn't. I, uh, just remembered something very unpleasant on my end."

He hesitantly held his hand out for me and motioned for me to grab it. "It's a beautiful day today," he mused out. "Would you like to ride that thing with me?"

He pointed at the big 'ol Ferris Wheel that was situated at the end of the fair, though it wouldn't have mattered. It was big enough for everybody to see. The way he smiled at me was of unbridled confidence and I can tell then and there, that he doesn't know how to lose.

"Let's," I smiled brightly and held his hand with the perfect squeeze and prolonged eye contact.

I could tell that it caught him off guard, but it didn't stop him from squeezing my hand back and leading me towards the line so we could get on the ride.

"Mind if I do this?" he asked, hesitantly putting his arms across my shoulder.

I shook my head. "Not at all."

My heart flipped incessantly in my chest when I felt him squeeze my shoulder once before pulling me plush on his chest. I blushed profusely, I can smell his cologne. It was fresh with hints of something citrusy, and by God, I couldn't help but close my eyes.

"Getting comfortable there, aren't we?" I could hear the smirk in his voice when I leaned my head against his shoulders.

I looked up at him with a playful smile. "Would you like me to stop?"

"No," he replied instantaneously. It was my turn to smirk at him.

It was pretty uneventful afterwards, and the next thing I knew, we were sitting across each other inside the little passenger cabin, or whatever that was called, and up we went really, really slowly, but surely.

The view from up here provided a perspective that only something from this afar would provide. It makes me realize that we are nothing but specks in this world, and our problems are usually so small compared to what everyone else has.

"The last time I was here was with someone really dear to me," he suddenly began to speak as he stared at the view with me.

I squirmed in my seat, but I forced myself to look at him. "I'm sure they loved it here as much as you did," I said. "Do you miss them?"

"There has never been a day where I didn't," he said, melancholy seeping in his voice and in my heart. He crossed his arms and heaved a sigh. "What about you?" He gave me a pointed look. "Have you ever been in love before?"

"Of course I have," I whispered, my voice thick and raw in the empty cabin we were in. "He had some things to finish, things that didn't involve me. Sometimes I think he already forgot me."

"What makes you think that?"

I smiled morosely at him. He was looking at me like I just tore my heart from my chest and presented it to him on a silver platter. "It's just my heart yearning for him," I shrugged. "I will forever treasure the rare love we both had, keep it as long as I live."

I lifted my head and looked him in the eye. "Even after everything, he was still the greatest thing that has ever happened to me."

"And what of you?" I asked when I saw that he wasn't going to say anything. "Have you ever been in love?"

He began to chuckle darkly, until he was fully laughing like I just said the most outrageous thing ever known to mankind. "The question is, when have I ever not loved you?"

He was done playing this little game and so was I. All I could do was stare at Jongho, I couldn’t afford to be surprised when he suddenly sat with me earlier because we were in public, but now that it was just us, I couldn’t help all the hurt that suddenly came crashing down on me.

But I wasn’t the only one. Jongho was struggling to contain himself, his breathing was laboured and any attempt to control his stance was long gone. “For three damn years,” Jongho chuckled bitterly. “All I ever wanted was you.“

I felt heat surge in my blood. “You were the one who left me,” I muttered. “You gave me misery I don’t want my enemies to feel.”

I almost didn’t want to forgive him. I could feel my bottom lip tremble so I bit it. I was terrified that if I let go, the dam would burst. Jongho heaved a shaky sigh, his eyes looking at me with such longing that I almost felt bad.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was thick with emotion. “I am so, so sorry, Y/N. I’m so tired.”

His voice cracked towards the end and I put my knuckles in my mouth to prevent myself from crying. How could I get mad at him? None of it was his fault, everything he did, both the good and the bad, all of it was to keep me safe from something he didn’t even want nor could control.

“You were my lifeline, whether you knew it or not,” Jongho began. “I’ve done a lot of stuff, things I had to do, and were forced upon me, but whenever I’d think of you, everything seemed to be alright, and whenever I was this close to losing myself, your image in my head always put me back on solid ground.”

“So please,” Jongho was shaking, trembling, as he put his hands up together like he was praying. "I'm begging you, Y/N, please have me. I’m so exhausted of not having you with me, I can’t take it anymore.”

I have never seen him this desperate before, or was I only seeing what I wanted to? Upon closer inspection, underneath all his handsome features was a man who lost his mind so long ago. His eyes were sunken, lips chapped, skin pale.

I’d made up my mind. I’d always viewed his love as something celestial, and he always made me feel divine. Despite all that happened, his eyes still held that gentleness I loved him for. He was my sweet summer sun, I could lay with him and always feel his warmth.

“I can’t survive without you anymore, blossom, I’m at my limit,” Jongho’s eyes reddened with emotions. “You don’t have to love me back like you used to and you don’t have to belong to me, but please, let me be yours.”

My heart began to beat so fast, I was scared that it was going to pop out of my chest and I wouldn't have time to catch it

He held my hand and held it tight. “Director Jeong and Director Kang were pleased at my work, and they gave me a lot of payment for it. It’s also for the life they stole from me,” he swallowed tentatively. “We’re set for life.”

I was hesitant, but he wasn’t done. “I bought a house for us and our future family, if you’ll have me. I know you sold the old house,” he said, his first tear falling on my hands. “My dreams are so small, but it looks much bigger when I picture you with me.”

That did it for me, and then I was hysterically crying. My emotions were all over the place, at first, it was my grief. It felt so strong that I couldn't help but drown in it. I haven't cried in a while - years even. The familiarity of my tears comforted me in a messed up way.

I felt myself being pulled on a firm chest. "It's okay, love, hush now, you're okay," he rubbed my back soothingly. "I'm here now, I'm not leaving you ever again..."

"What took you so long?" I sobbed pitifully, hiccupping at every syllable. I thumped my fists on his chest. "Goddamn it, Jongho, stop doing this to me, my heart can only take so much---"

I was hastily pulled onto the best kiss of my life. We were so rough about it too, I could feel both of our teeth clash onto each other because of how much we wanted to breathe each other in, but I didn't care. These were three years of longing, yearning for each other as our tongues danced with each other in a battle for dominance.

I could feel his tears mesh with mine and eventually we broke our kiss. "It's over, love, it's over," Jongho's hands were shaking so badly when he leaned his forehead with mine as he cupped my face. "I'm out of the CIA, I'm sorry it took me three years, but I had to make sure nothing will separate us again."

I could feel the waves of my grief lessen as Jongho kept whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and they slowly ebb into relief as my chest gets flooded with overwhelming love for this man.

"Don't cry, my love, I'm here now," Jongho whispered as he wiped my tears with his thumbs. He gave me the sweetest kiss on the tip of my nose. "I'm not going anywhere this time."

I couldn't help but giggle. "You promise?" I sniffled loudly. "I-I can't do this again, Jongho. I'm going to die this time if you leave me again."

"I'm never letting you go," he smiled tightly. He pointed outside the cabin. "Look."

I stared in awe. We were at the highest point of the Ferris Wheel and the colourful sun was beginning to set.

I buried myself onto his chest and he envelops me in a hug. "We made it," I murmured. He hummed. "I love you so much, Jongho."

I felt butterflies rush into my tummy, as if this was our first time all over again. He brought his lips closer to my ear. "I love you, too."

"How did you know I was here?" I couldn't help but wonder. "How did you find me?"

His embrace tightened and I couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped me. If someone had told me days ago that I would be this happy, I would have laughed at their faces.

I never thought this day would come, and I'm not sure what the future holds, but I have a feeling that today marks the start of me and Jongho's happily ever after.

"I told you, didn't I?" Jongho smiled, grabbing my hand and planting a tender kiss on it. "My soul will always find yours."

Dividers from: @arcielee ❤️❤️❤️

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