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midnightreid · 4 years ago

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SWEATER VEST | SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: After spending the night together, Spencer wakes up to you wearing something of his, and he can’t help but fall in love with you even more.

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT, MINORS DNI, oral (fem receiving), hand job, vaginal sex, softDom!Spencer, riding, fluff, mentions of food!

WORD COUNT: 4.3 k

A/N: We're slowly getting through all my Spencer Reid smuts, one more tomorrow night and then it'll be on to Hotch pieces! Once again, this is a cross-post, so don't be confused if you've read this post before!

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE NSFW SPENCER REID FICS!

Last night, Spencer Reid had a girl in his bed. A girl that was beautiful, soft, angelic and all-round too good for him and his awkward tendencies. He didn’t think it would become anything more than just sex, an act of intimacy that as soon as it’s over means nothing to you but everything to him.

But when he woke to the smell of coffee and something else that was sweet and intoxicating, he knew that this was something different than he’d ever imagined. The bed was empty beside him, sheets still warm and your scent still lingering on his pillow as he sat up and hung his legs over the side, eyes roaming the room for any sign of you. He knew you hadn’t left, which caused a bubble of relief to rise up in him, catching a glance of your clothes still placed in a pile on the floor, and when he stood and stretched before pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he smiled at the thought of you actually being here, in his apartment for him to wake up to. It wasn’t a thought that crossed his mind regularly.

Spencer didn’t often have one-night stands, but when he did they were unattached and both he and the other person knew that nothing was to come of it. He was fine with that, just wanted comfort and touch at the moment until the loneliness faded and he wanted space again, and he was never hurt or disappointed when they left afterwards, no number and no address given. That was how he liked it. Until you stepped into his life and he knew he needed more, wanted more, and couldn’t exist without you in his life.

He stepped out of his bedroom, bare feet padding across the hardwood floors as he caught a glimpse of you in his kitchen, sunlight flitting in through the open window and casting a golden glow across your soft skin. Soft skin he memorised the taste of with his tongue the night before, fingers dancing at your sides as you fell into his embrace. As he stepped closer, he could see the small bruises that littered your thighs where he held you tight, the pretty little marks on your neck that he’d made with his mouth, and how your hair was still in tangles from when he ran his hands through it, pulled it gently to bring you closer to him.

And then he saw what you were wearing, and he was surprised his knees didn’t give out as soon as he got a full look at you. The breath knocked out of his lungs and heart pounding in his chest, he watched you, eyes wide and cheeks flushed red at the sight of you. Because though he didn’t expect you to walk around his apartment totally naked the next morning, knowing it was way too cold for that during December, he didn’t expect you to find one of his treasured sweater vests.

It was dark blue, and due to its size, it hung around the middle of your thighs, swallowing your frame up but still giving him a peek at the body he adored. The V-neck collar fell down your front, showing off your chest and the arches of your breasts, and when you turned to look at him, standing there in the middle of the living space, the grin you gave him sealed the whole insane hard to wrap his head around deal. He had a woman standing in his kitchen, in his clothes and covered in evidence of his affection, and you seemed to like the way he was gaping at you.

“Morning Spencer.” You moved towards him, taking his hand slowly as not to frighten the poor man who was still frozen in the room, but when you gently placed your other hand on his cheek, his gaze snapped to focus on you, eyes filled with adoration, fierce want, and something you couldn’t place, a feeling he knew started with the letter ‘L’.

“Mm, good morning beautiful. I see you found something to wear.” He fingered the neck of the sweater vest, material soft against your skin and his fingertips, and he admired the way the dark blue colour looked so good against your skin.

“I needed something more comfortable than my work suit. And it’s not like you were using it.” You ducked your gaze down to watch his fingers linger over your chest, Spencer dying to touch you once again like he did last night, but you quickly looked up again as he let out a deep breath. “I uh, made us coffee and found some pastries in your cupboard. I hope it’s not too forward; I didn’t know if you wanted me to leave or-.” He shook his head, arm swooping down to pull you gently against his frame as he looked down at you after glancing at the kitchen bench which was littered with breakfast items.

“No, god, no please don’t go. I don’t want you to go, Y/N.” The words came out in a jumble, quicker than he anticipated and he thought that you nearly hadn’t understood him. But then you were smiling up at him, shifting your weight so that you were pressed into him even more, chests touching and his frame towering over you. “Trust me, waking up to find you here and not out my door is probably the best thing that’s happened this week to me.” You giggle at this statement, lifting a hand to run it through his curls before resting it on the nape of his neck, a shiver running down his spine at the contact.

“And not the seemingly mind-blowing sex we had last night, all around your apartment?” He blushed a deep red at your teasing question, memories of the night before flooding into his mind as you moved in to press a kiss to his exposed shoulder and collar bone.

“Okay, good point. This is a very close second then. Right after the sex we had last night.” He kissed you then, soft, and sweet as his lips touched yours and his hands moved to grasp you by the waist. You had been waiting for him to kiss you ever since he walked into the room, and now as he was doing it, you realised you didn’t ever want it to end. You felt loved, wanted, and even felt like you belonged in his arms, like this was meant to become the new normal; two lovers sharing soft and lazy kisses in the middle of your kitchen.

Slowly the kiss became hungrier, filled with need and a desire to feel the other closer, especially when Spencer tangled his hand in your hair, and you let your hands smooth over his chest. His tongue was tracing the shape of your lips, pressing gently against the seam until you opened your mouth to let him in, pulling a sigh from Spencer and urging him on. Unlike the night before, the two of you didn’t make any sudden moves to rip each other’s clothes off, nor did you act as if you didn’t have all the time in the world. Because this morning you did, it was the weekend after all, and by the way that Spencer pulled away slightly to look at you before gently attaching his lips to your neck, you knew that the both of you wanted to take your time with this.

He was moving your body slowly, a hand at the small of your back guiding you gently back towards his bedroom, and though you loved the feel of his hands on you, lips against your neck and his hair tickling your cheek, you had a sudden urge to pull away. “Wait! Spencer, the coffee and food are going to get cold, baby.” Spencer’s face of confusion was quickly replaced by laughter, deep and happy and a sound you wish you could record and play on repeat. He shook his head at your expression and then ducked down again to litter kisses over your face as he spoke against your skin.

“Sweetheart, right now the last thing on my mind is the coffee and food.” You let a small smile escape as he pulled you back into him, touch still gentle and sweet.

“Oh yeah, what’s on your mind instead, pretty boy?” He whined at the nickname, head falling to rest in the crook of your neck as his grip on your waist tightened, and he had to take a breath to keep himself in check. He wanted to take his time with you. “Well, the first thing on my mind, is that you look so incredibly hot wearing my sweater vest.” You sucked in a breath when you felt one of his hands slowly glide over your chest, raising goosebumps and leaving a trail of warmth. “Second, is that I want to take my time with you this morning, more time than I had last night. And I want to make you feel good, good enough that you’ll hopefully want to stay in my arms forever.” For a moment he hadn’t realised what he had said, your look of shock bewildering him as you blinked, mouth wide open and hands on his shoulders. “Wait I-, fuck, I didn’t mean to sound so, I don’t know, so forward.” He watched your face as a hint of fear crept into his veins as he just waited for you to say something. Spencer didn’t like waiting, you knew that, but when he had spoken those words, your whole world froze as a wave of happiness descended upon you.

“Sp- Spencer Reid, are you trying to say that you might love me?” Your words came out unsure, but there was a deep sound of hope behind them as you looked right back at him, hand pressing against his cheek to focus all his attention on you. And it wasn’t like that was hard for him, because from this moment, hell, even from last night when he finally kissed you, he knew you had become his whole world and nothing could pull his focus away from the most precious thing connected to him. But then he realised you were still waiting on an answer to his question, and he took a deep breath before nodding eagerly.

“Y/N, I’ve literally been in love with you since I met you. I just…just never knew what to say or how to show you and I know that it might come as a surprise to you, and I really hope this doesn’t ruin whatever we have going on because I want this. And I’m head over heels in love with you, Y/N. Everyone on the team knows, and, I don’t know, I guess I hope that you like me back but if you don’t then that’s fine because I totally understand why and-.” You cut him off then, pressing your hand over his mouth as you hushed him gently.

“Woah, woah, Spencer, baby. I know you love me, and I also like what we have going on. And do you want to know why, pretty boy?” He swallowed the lump in his throat as his eyes widened when your hand made its way into his curls again, nails scratching delicately against his scalp. “I love you too, Dr Spencer Reid, more than you can ever imagine. I’ve loved you for months, and I kid you not, last night was the best night of my life, Spence. Now, can we go back to kissing or are you just going to stand there like the cat got your tongue? Because if that’s your plan I might as well go make us some fresh coffee and-.”

“NO!” Spencer cut your teasing off in a quick flurry of limbs arms coming down to hoist you up to his waist by the back of your thighs until the two of you were as close as could be. He had you squealing then as he planted sloppy kisses at the curve of your neck, whispering “I love you” into your skin as he carried you to his bedroom, gently depositing you on the bed before joining you. You met in a heated kiss again, lips pressing against one another as he hovered above you, a hand winding in his hair. Already, after hearing you confess your love for him and the kisses in the kitchen mixed with the way you were touching him and looking in the sweater vest, he could feel himself getting hard, sweatpants becoming uncomfortable when you suddenly rutted up against him, wanting more than what he was giving you.

“Please, baby, let me take care of you?” Spencer looked at you with eyes full of desperation, and all you could do was moan against his lips in response, nodding your head and urging him to do whatever he wanted.

“God yes, please Spence.” Grinning above you, his mouth came down to suck against the skin of your chest that he could reach through the collar of the sweater vest, hands running up from your thighs and feeling around your waist and stomach, hands leaving a trail of fire against your skin as you arched up to his touch. You went to lift the hem of the sweater up, but Spencer battered your hands away, giving you a shy smile as he looked at you with eyes devoured by lust.

“Don’t take it off, you look so fucking good in it.” You nodded, letting go of the clothing as Spencer moved his body down, pressing kisses in his wake and then he was there, shifting the sweater up a bit to take a glimpse at what he longed to touch, the area that was already soaking wet for him and rutting up against the air. He didn’t hesitate to kiss you right on your folds, lips coating themselves in your juices as you moaned above him, a hand moving down to tug at his hair, bring him closer to where you needed him the most.

You could feel him grinning against you before his tongue was dipping into gently, sweeping up your juices and sucking gently on your clit, making you shiver as his fingers dug into your thighs, sending shots of sweet pain up your spine, and when he moaned against you when you tugged roughly at his hair in desperation, you shrieked, the impending orgasm rising upon you.

“Spencer, fuck, baby, so good, Spence, so fucking good, love.” His cheeks still heated at the praise, even though you were literally lying underneath him naked and about to come apart on his mouth, your words of love and affection still overwhelming him and making him feel like this was all a dream. He dug down deeper then, putting all his effort into making you feel good, his index finger sinking into you then, and as he thrust it in and out at you at a fast pace, you whined above him, head falling back onto the pillow as you gripped the headboard to ground yourself.

“That’s it, baby, you’re so close aren’t you, sweet thing?” You nodded frantically as he pulled himself away from your core, kissing over your thighs and adding a finger into you, thrusting, and curling his fingers in a rhythm that was bound to make you go mad with pleasure. You were whining, wanting some sort of relief and praying that Spencer would get you over that edge. And he did exactly that when he sat upon his haunches and lowered his mouth back down to you, sucking around you and then with a final curl of his fingers, pushing you over the edge and sending you tumbling into an abyss of pleasure.

You cried out at the intensity, loud and needy as he helped you through your high, watching as your eyes clenched tight and your hand searched for his hand. He grasped it quickly, moving his mouth away from you when you became too sensitive and wiped it with the back of his hand, lips glistening and still covered in your juices when he leaned in to kiss you.

“There we go, pretty girl, so good for me.” He’d come back up to be eye level with you, hand running over your cheek to calm your breaths and ground you back in the moment, smiling at you as you opened your eyes once again.

“Fuck, Spencer, that might have been better than last night.” Your voice was raw from moaning, and he chuckled at your statement before fluttering kisses over any part of you he could reach, loving how you kept reaching to hold him close.

But he also couldn’t ignore how hard he was, and when he shifted himself to try and gain more friction, you glanced down at his groin, taking notice of the wet patch at the front of his grey sweatpants. Leaning up, you looked at him to gain consent to pull his pants down, and when he nodded back, he was there helping you pull them down his toned legs, leaving him bare to you and cock spring up.

Your hand went straight for him, wrapping around his cock and slowly stroking, keeping a loose grip on the man because you could already tell he was close to cumming without even being touched, and when you did touch him, he threw his head back and groaned, gritting his teeth from the sensation of your smooth palm running over his veins and spreading the precum that leaked from the tip.

“Shit, sweetheart if you keep doing that I won’t last long, and I really just want to be inside you.” You let go of him, moving your hands back to his chest as he sucked in a breath, kissing your neck again.

“How do you want me, Spencer?” He nearly came right then, you looking up at him with eyes that were wide with love and lust, skin sweaty and your left breast exposed from the sweater sagging down. He hummed back at you, already knowing what he wanted to do.

“I want you to ride me, baby. You think you can do that for me? Is that okay with you?” You nodded eagerly, desperate to already feel him inside you, and then he was moving so his back was against the headboard of the bed, legs extended out against the sheets. You waited until he was ready, giggling as his hands gripped you and lifted you to straddle him, slick folds hovering over hard cock. His hands then slide up and under the sweater to glide over your back, hips, ass and breasts as you slowly sink down on him, eliciting a sharp moan from yourself and a relieved sigh from Spencer, whose head is thrown back and curls sticking to his skin with sweat.

You started to lift yourself up and down then, creating a smooth rhythm that had him groaning into your neck and nipping at your skin, teeth marks mixed with purple bruising that wouldn’t fade fast. He had his hands up the sweater too, fondling your breasts and tweaking your nipples as your movements only went faster, the both of you chasing a release that was coming quickly.

“God, Spencer, you feel so good, so fucking good inside me, stretching me open.” He hummed at your words, sucking a particularly large love bite into your neck, and then grabbing your ass, moving his hips with yours to hit that spot right inside you. “Such a good girl for me, Y/N, bouncing on my cock so well. Look at you, fuck, you look so beautiful.” You could only whimper at his words as he lifted his hips and thrust up particularly hard, earning a drawn-out moan that had him wanting more, and soon he was taking control, gripping your hips and letting you fall against him, arms wrapped around his neck and hands in his hair as you breathed near his ear. “So close, baby girl, you’re so close aren’t you? Are you going to cum on my cock like a good little thing? Doing such a good job for me pretty girl.” He couldn’t stop himself from talking, needed you to hear how much he loved you, how beautiful he thought you looked. Honestly, he just wanted to shower you in praise, and you were too blissed out to care. Nails scratching at his chest and your release about to cascade over you, you knew he was close too because Spencer’s thrusts were growing sloppy and his hips were struggling to keep up their rhythm until suddenly you were falling falling falling and cumming.

His mouth dropped open in awe as he watched your juices escape and drip down your legs, your head was thrown into the crook of his shoulder as you whimper into his skin, so tired and fucked out that you can hardly move, thighs aching and chest burning from your heavy breathing. But Spencer can see all this, and after thrusting up one more time and cumming into you, he’s pressing kisses to your face and running his hand over your back, calming, loving and grounding.

The both of you come down from your highs together, wrapped in the warmth of your shared embrace and heat of the room, now smelling like sweet pastries, coffee and sex, a scent that neither of you minded. For a moment Spencer didn’t want to let you go, didn’t want this perfect moment to end, but then you were fidgeting above him, growing cold from the juices on your legs and the sweater vest not providing much warmth on a December morning.

Slipping out from you gently, causing you to whine and moan at the way he left you empty, he only hushed you, kissing the side of your head softly, watching as your eyelids fluttered and your hand reached for his, wanting something to hold on to. He took it in his, kissing your knuckles as you smiled at him, lazy and blissful, and he knew this was heaven.

“You know, I thought nothing could beat last night, but I think I’ve been proven wrong.” Words soft and not wanting to break the peace of the room, Spencer moved a piece of hair back behind your ear as you hummed against his chest.

“I think you’re right; this definitely takes the cake over last night. Although, I think we’ve both forgotten it’s December and you don’t have the heating on…”

“Is that you saying you’re cold? Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute or two.” Spencer pulled himself out from under you reluctantly, letting you rest against the headboard while he stood up and pulled on a fresh pair of briefs, an old sweater and sweatpants, then padding into the bathroom. He came back with a warm washcloth, some water, and an old overly large hoodie of his and some sleep pants that he kept in the back of his draws for emergencies. “And uh…you should probably use the toilet.” You didn’t have to be told twice, standing up on shaky legs to pass him and walk into the bathroom, emerging a couple minutes after with a flush of the toilet.

Passing you the glass of water, he watched you drink it down as he wiped the cloth over your legs, soaking up the juices and making sure that you were clean, before helping you into a fresh pair of boxers that were too small for him, the sleep pants and then finally taking off the sweater vest, smiling at you softly when he saw your bare torso. He didn’t go in to touch, even though he knew you wouldn’t have stopped him; he just wanted to get you warm and comfortable enough to spend the rest of the day lazing around with him. And after tossing the sweater vest to the side and tugging the hoodie over your head, he finally let himself go back to you, holding you against him and listening to your heartbeat slow to a steady relaxed rhythm and gently running his fingertips over your wrist, the only skin that was available to him.

The two of you stayed there, in a moment of simplistic and exquisite happiness that did not need to be occupied by speech or distractions. Both burrowed underneath the covers and relishing in the embrace of the other, Spencer knew that you weren’t going to be awake for much longer and neither was he.

“You know…everything I said back in the kitchen, about falling in love with you and wanting to be loved by you, you know that was all true right? It wasn’t just something I said to get you into bed with me.” You were half asleep when he spoke, but you still smiled sleepily and rested your head on his chest.

“I know, Spencer. I know you love me, and I need you to know I love you too. You believe me, pretty boy?” He lifted your hand, kissing it gently as you tried to stay awake.

“I believe you, sweet thing, now sleep. God knows we need it after everything we just did.”

Spencer was a man of words, a man of touch and feel and eyes that sought out curious things. He was a man who longed for another to love him unconditionally, to hold him and to let him take care of them when he just wanted to show them how much they meant to him. He needed to feel a person, to hear their voice and see their face, and with you, it became so simple, so utterly perfect that he nearly couldn’t remember a time when he had you.

But now, here you were, in his bed and over the moon in love with him, something that he wasn’t ever going to take for granted any time soon. That to him was love, that to him was everything he needed.

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will-on-the-internet · 4 years ago

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Sweater Vests | Spencer Reid

Summary: After spending the night together, Spencer wakes up to you wearing something of his, and he can’t help but fall in love with you even more.

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, oral (fem recieving), hand job, vaginal sex, softDom!Spencer, riding, fluff, mentions of food!

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Had this idea while talking to @spookydrreid and kinda just ran with it. Did not mean for it to turn out so sickeningly sweet but oh well!

PLEASE INTERACT FOR MORE SPENCER REID FICS!

Last night, Spencer Reid had a girl in his bed. A girl that was beautiful, soft, angelic and all round too good for him and his awkward tendencies. He didn’t think it would become anything more than just sex, an act of intimacy that as soon as it’s over means nothing to you but everything to him.

But when he woke to the smell of coffee and something else that was sweet and intoxicating, he knew that this was something different then he’d ever imagined. The bed was empty beside him, sheets still warm and your scent still lingering on his pillow as he sat up and hung his legs over the side, eyes roaming the room for any sign of you. He knew you hadn’t left, which caused a bubble of relief to rise up in him, catching a glance of your clothes still placed in a pile on the floor, and when he stood and stretched before pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he smiled at the thought of you actually being here, in his apartment for him to wake up to. It wasn’t a thought that crossed his mind regularly.

Spencer didn’t often have one-night stands, but when he did they were unattached and both he and the other person knew that nothing was to come of it. He was fine with that, just wanted comfort and touch in the moment until the loneliness faded and he wanted space again, and he was never hurt or disappointed when they left afterwards, no number and no address given. That was how he liked it. Until you stepped into his life and he knew he needed more, wanted more, and couldn’t exist without you in his life.

And then he saw what you were wearing, and he was surprised his knees didn’t give out as soon as he got a full look at you. Breath knocked out of his lungs and heart pounding in his chest, he watched you, eyes wide and cheeks flushed red at the sight of you. Because though he didn’t expect you to walk around his apartment totally naked the next morning, knowing it was way too cold for that during December, he didn’t expect you to find one of his treasured sweater vests.

“Wait! Spencer, the coffee and food is going to get cold, baby.” Spencer’s face of confusion was quickly replaced by laughter, deep and happy and a sound you wish you could record and play on repeat. He shook his head at your expression, and then ducked down again to litter kisses over your face as he spoke against your skin.

“Sweetheart, right now the last thing on my mind is the coffee and food.” You let a small smile escape as he pulled you back into him, touch still gentle and sweet.

“Well, the first thing on my mind, is that you look so incredibly hot wearing my sweater vest.” You sucked in a breath when you felt one of his hands slowly glide over your chest, raising goosebumps and leaving a trail of warmth. “Second, is that I want to take my time with you this morning, more time than I had last night. And I want to make you feel good, good enough that you’ll hopefully want to stay in my arms forever.” For a moment he hadn’t realise what he had said, your look of shock bewildering him as you blinked, mouth wide open and hands on his shoulders. “Wait I-, fuck, I didn’t mean to sound so, I don’t know, so forward.” He watched your face as a hint of fear crept into his veins as he just waited for you to say something. Spencer didn’t like waiting, you knew that, but when he had spoken those words, your whole world froze as a wave of happiness descended upon you.

“Spencer, fuck, baby, so good, Spence, so fucking good, love.” His cheeks still heated at the praise, even though you were literally lying underneath him naked and about to come apart on his mouth, your words of love and affection still overwhelming him and making him feel like this was all a dream. He dug down deeper then, putting all his effort in to making you feel good, his index finger sinking into you then, and as he thrusted it in and out at you at a fast pace, you whined above him, head falling back onto the pillow as you gripped the headboard to ground yourself.

“That’s it, baby, you’re so close aren’t you, sweet thing?” You nodded frantically as he pulled himself away from your core, kissing over your thighs and adding a finger into you, thrusting, and curling his fingers in a rhythm that was bound to make you go mad with pleasure. You were whining, wanting some sort of relief and praying that Spencer would get you over that edge. And he did exactly that when he sat up on his haunches and lowered his mouth back down to you, sucking around you and then with a final curl of his fingers, pushing you over the edge and sending you tumbling into an abyss of pleasure.

“I want you to ride me, baby. You think you can do that for me? Is that okay with you?” You nodded eagerly, desperate to already feel him inside you, and then he was moving so his back was against the headboard of the bed, legs extended out against the sheets. You waited until he was ready, giggling as his hands gripped you and lifted you to straddle him, slick folds hovering over hard cock. His hands then slide up and under the sweater to glide over your back, hips, ass and breasts as you slowly sink down on him, eliciting a sharp moan from yourself and a relieved sigh from Spencer, who’s head is thrown back and curls sticking to his skin with sweat.

“Such a good girl for me, Y/N, bouncing on my cock so well. Look at you, fuck, you look so beautiful.” You could only whimper at his words as he lifted his hips and thrusted up particularly hard, earning a drawn-out moan that had him wanting more, and soon he was taking control, gripping your hips and letting you fall against him, arms wrapped around his neck and hands in his hair as you breathed near his ear. “So close, baby girl, you’re so close aren’t you? Are you going to cum on my cock like a good little thing? Doing such a good job for me pretty girl.” He couldn’t stop himself from talking, needed you to hear how much he loved you, how beautiful he thought you looked. Honestly, he just wanted to shower you in praise, and you were too blissed out to care. Nails scratching at his chest and your release about to cascade over you, you knew he was close too because Spencer’s thrusts were growing sloppy and his hips were struggling to keep up their rhythm, until suddenly you were falling falling falling and cumming.

His mouth dropped open in awe as he watched your juices escape and drip down your legs, your head thrown into the crook of his shoulder as you whimper into his skin, so tired and fucked out that you can hardly move, thighs aching and chest burning from your heavy breathing. But Spencer can see all this, and after thrusting up one more time and cumming into you, he’s pressing kisses to your face and running his hand over your back, calming, loving and grounding.

“I think you’re right; this definitely takes the cake over last night. Although, I think we’ve both forgotten it’s December and you don’t have the heating on…”

“Is that you saying you’re cold? Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute or two.” Spencer pulled himself out from under you reluctantly, letting you rest against the headboard while he stood up and pulled on a fresh pair of briefs, and old sweater and sweatpants, then padding into the bathroom. He came back with a warm washcloth, some water, and an old overly large hoodie of his and some sleep pants that he kept in the back of his draws for emergencies. “And uh…you should probably use the toilet.” You didn’t have to be told twice, standing up on shaky legs to pass him and walk into the bathroom, emerging a couple minutes after with a flush of the toilet.

Passing you the glass of water, he watched you drink it down as he wiped the cloth over your legs, soaking up the juices and making sure that you were clean, before helping you into a fresh pair of boxers that were too small for him, the sleep pants and then finally taking off the sweater vest, smiling at you softly when he saw your bare torso. He didn’t go in to touch, even though he knew you wouldn’t of stopped him; he just wanted to get you warm and comfortable enough to spend the rest of the day lazing around with him. And after tossing the sweater vest to the side and tugging the hoodie over your head, he finally let himself go back to you, holding you against him and listening to your heart beat slow to a steady relaxed rhythm and gently running his fingertips over your wrist, the only skin that was available to him.

“You know…everything I said back in the kitchen, about falling in love with you and wanting to be loved by you, you know that was all true right? It wasn’t just something I said to get you in to bed with me.” You were half asleep when he spoke, but you still smiled sleepiliy and rested your head on his chest.

“I know, Spencer. I know you love me, and I need you to know I love you too. You believe me, pretty boy?” He lifted your hand, kissing it gently as you tried to stay awake.

“I believe you, sweet thing, now sleep. God knows we need it after everything we just did.”

But now here you were, in his bed and over the moon in love with him, something that he wasn’t ever going to take for granted any time soon. That to him was love, that to him was everything he needed.

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Learning to Swim

Request: (whenever you have time of course.) What about a post-war draco malfoy x reader where after astoria dies draco and scorpius are left alone for a couple years then he sees y/n a friend from Hogwarts and they fall in love again (you can decide how). this is my vision and I'm a sucker for post-war fics with draco. 🥺💕 - @obx-beach

A/N: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH. Thank you so much for requesting it and for trusting me with your request! It got away from me but I really wanted to explore this idea in depth because for me, anyway, grief isn't something that disappears over time, but rather, becomes bearable. Please read the warnings before reading, I cover some heavy topics. As always, I hope you like it!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy talk of grief and loss, some swearing, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, mentions of ghosts, a very cheesy ending.

Word count: 11.9k

Draco so rarely finds peace nowadays; a consequence of a confidently walking toddler who’s penchant for curiosity has him grabbing at what he can – the paper, the rug, the dog’s tail.

Draco so rarely find peace nowadays, but once a week, on a Saturday, he drops Scorpius off at his parents. His mother and father doting over the blonde-haired boy who looks more like his mother everyday despite the argument from Narcissa – “He has your nose, Draco!”

On the days he drops his son off at the manor, he apparates to the familiar black gates. They squeak whenever he opens them and no matter how many times he visits, he never remembers to bring the oil he promises to fetch.

Now, he doesn’t look at the names as he makes his way towards the familiar row, hands in his pockets, shoes sinking in the wet grass.

Before, he’d drag his feet. Reading every name he could as he struggled to come to terms with his disbelief and grief.

The granite headstone sits prettily above its plot; the marker for Draco to slow his pace to an amble.

She had died a Malfoy but had been buried in the Greengrass plot.

Draco had known of Astoria Greengrass for years; had been schooled with her sister but had known the family personally for years due to similar social circles, and as a result, social functions. Draco spent ball after ball getting to know the younger Greengrass sister much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson who still held a candle for Draco since their fling ended in Fifth Year.

He worked up the nerve to ask Astoria to dinner after a particularly hellish function where his father had pushed him to dance with every available girl that looked his way. For the most part, Draco accepted – wanting to keep his father happy and his mother hopeful. But through every dance, through every twirl on the floor, his eyes would wander back to where Astoria sat very intently focused on the napkin design.

On his third circuit of the dancefloor, Draco broke away from his dance partner earning a glare for his disrespect. He apologised with a smile but turned to the brunette sitting alone; he held his hand to her, and she took it with the grace of a well-raised daughter.

They span around the dancefloor; circle after circle after circle. They laughed, and they smiled, and they settled into a happy silence. One Draco felt so comfortable in that by the time they had finished their second dance together, Draco was certain he wanted to marry her.

By the end of the night, Astoria knew she wanted to marry him.

They were married less than six months after that night.

Three months after they were married, Astoria announced her pregnancy. Rumours started; stating that was the real cause for their quick wedding. But their families knew different; their families spent the entirety of the pregnancy wrapped in a cocoon of worry.

Then blood curse on the Greengrass family meant that Astoria would die at a young age, and Draco had prepared himself for that. Though, in private, he researched what he could to see if he could break the blood curse. This meant, however, the pregnancy was watched closely by Narcissa, by Daphne, and by multiple Healers flooed in from St Mungos.

Nine months later, on an unusually warm day in January, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born. Immediately, Draco knew that though he had his hair, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes and mouth.

Three hours after the birth of her son; as she held him tightly in her arms, watching him with the love only a mother could know, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass took her last breath.

-----------

The months after her death, Draco barely coped. He woke up in the mornings solely for Scorpius and Scorpius alone. He devoted his time to his son, marking every milestone in his baby scrapbook which on occasion he would take to his wife’s grave and go through it with her. Scorpius never visited the grave; for starters, he was too young, Draco wouldn’t let his son go through that but his son knew that his mother was no longer with them.

But that didn’t stop Scorpius asking for his mother after a nightmare had pulled him from sleep.

Narcissa tried to help; tried everything she could to help with his grief – at one point even suggesting he go see a psychic, but the fear of transference was enough to put Draco off the idea.

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he didn’t need a psychic to tell him Astoria had made it to the other side and that she had found peace.

She haunted him nearly every night.

Flashes of her white night gown in the corner of his eye; glimpses of her beautiful face in the mirror.

His heart would race, and his palms would sweat as the panic set in.

For a long while, he believed himself to be going insane. The sheer grief he felt at the loss of his wife driving him to madness as though he were Heathcliff suffering the loss of his Cathy.

------

Draco had memorised the inscription on her headstone after visiting for a month straight.

He had memorised the path to her grave by the end of the first week; the soil still needing to settle.

His feet knew where the uneven ground would be, so it was all dodged expertly.

Draco has very little to say to Astoria when he kneels in front of her. He updates her on Scorpius; promises that he will bring him soon, but it was still too early for his son to see his mother.

In fact, most of his time at the grave is spent in silence. His knees soaking wet from the morning dew still covering the grass.

“Draco? Is that you?” A chiming voice asks as Draco’s head remains bent over his wife’s grave. He releases a sigh before looking up to see that it’s you – someone he hasn’t seen in years. The last he saw of you; you were stood defiantly facing the hordes of Death Eaters in courtyard at Hogwarts.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You frown, pointing towards the grave where his wife lies in perpetual sleep, “I heard, but I didn’t believe. I’m sorry for your loss, Draco.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You hold the flowers in your hand up in response, “I lost my grandfather less than a year back. I visit every week.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He was a great man.” Draco murmurs, shame washing over him from his curt tone.

“Thank you,” You murmur quietly, “It’s still hard.”

Draco wants to offer words of comfort; to tell you that pain eases over time, but he would be lying to your face. The pain doesn’t ease, and the grief doesn’t lessen, it simply moves to one side and becomes bearable until something reminds you of the one you’ve lost whether it be a sound or a smell and then the pain washes over you like a tidal wave and you start to wonder whether you’ll come up for air or simply drown.

Draco decides not to say anything; turning back to face the woman he had pledged his life too.

You walk away after a slow nod; you wouldn’t get anything more out of him now.

-----

They say that time heals, that grief lessens, but it doesn’t.

Draco loves his son; he adores his son, but he cannot help but see him as a reminder of what he lost on the day of his birth.

He had gained a son; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name but he had lost the love of his life.

Draco leaves the graveyard soon after his encounter with you; feeling surly with how he had spoken to you.

He searches you before he leaves, but he finds you knelt at the grave of your grandfather with your head bent as the silent sobs rack your body.

He leaves you to your privacy; understanding that right now, intrusion is the last thing needed.

------------

Draco sits in the living room of his marital home that night; a tumbler of whisky in his hand as he leans back in the chesterfield armchair gifted to him by his parents as part of their wedding present.

The wedding present being the house.

There are reminders of Astoria all over the house; from the pattern of the curtains to her photos lining the walls. She was everywhere. How was he was supposed to start living his life when his house remained a mausoleum?

He feels the hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t need to turn to see who it is.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” She murmurs.

He sighs through his nose, “I don’t see why.”

“You’re hurting everyone around you; you didn’t use to be like this.”

“It’s been a trying time, love.”

“I know it has. For both you and Scorpius, but it’s been three years, darling.”

The air in the room has become cold; too cold. To the point where his breath has started to fog; he takes a sip of the amber liquid to warm his body through.

“I can’t forget you, I won’t. He has no memories of you; he needs me to remember you.”

The voice behind him shakes, “My love, you’ll never forget me. I live on in him.”

Draco doesn’t say anything; the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to speak. The absolute yearning with him has him reaching up to take the hand settled on his shoulder.

The tears start to fall when his hand falls through the ghostly spectre.

-----

Morning comes and Draco wakes in the same chair he had fallen asleep in. He scratches at the stubble lining his face as he stretches his legs, bones popping as he stands to full height.

The clock on the mantle chimes seven times and Draco supposes he should start the day and collect his son from the Manor. He hadn’t been in any state last night to have him at home; it was better for Scorpius to stay with his grandparents.

The light to the bathroom flickers as Draco drags himself into the shower; the hot water and lavender shower gel doing a good job at leeching the tension that had become set into his shoulders.

He wipes the steam from the mirror before lathering his face with shaving cream and beginning the soothing action of shaving. Narcissa preferred him clean shaven anyway; believed that the stubble made him look like a vagrant.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye has Draco freezing with the razor halfway to his cheek.

His hand begins to shake, and he places the razor back in the sink as he braces himself on the counter. He counts to ten before he dares to look back up at himself in the mirror.

He was being haunted.

------

In the years after the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to entirely renovate Malfoy Manor from the dark, dank place it was to make it more of a home for her family. A home in which Draco should have been raised in.

Narcissa greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a concerned look that only a mother could pull off.

“Good Morning Mother, how are we today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you looked better. Did you get any sleep?”

Draco nods, thinking to the few hours in the armchair, “I got some.”

“Not enough by the looks of it, but at least you shaved. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, “I came straight here.”

“Luckily for you, Scorp is still eating.”

Draco hangs his coat on the grand railing by the door before following his mother through his childhood home.

His son beams at the sight of his father walking through the door, “Dad!” he yells, dropping his piece of fruit and jumping off his chair. He runs to Draco, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Draco chuckles, picking his son up, settling him on his waist, “Hey there squirt, did you have a nice night with granny and grandpa?”

Scorpius nods, still chewing his last piece of breakfast, “Yeah, me and granny baked, and she let me eat the mix!”

Narcissa lets out an overdramatic gasp, “That was our secret, Scorp!”

Scorpius laughs at his granny’s reaction, “I had to tell Dad!”

Draco tickles his son’s stomach; grinning at the laughter leaving his son’s mouth.

He had never known a world with his mother; and he never would, yet here he was as happy as any three year old could be.

“Are you joining us, Draco?” His father’s voice sounds; breaking Draco from his melancholy.

Draco clears his throat, letting Scorpius down so he can sit next to Narcissa at the table, “Yes, I think I will.”

Anything to not go back to the house so soon; anything to avoid seeing her in the corner of his eye or in the mirrors.

Narcissa nails him with a look she has made entirely her own after dealing with a supremacist order for over a decade.

Draco wavers under his mother’s stare; ready to drop the pretence and cry in her arms.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the bowl of strawberries and scoops a spoonful onto his plate before reaching for a waffle and grabbing his knife and fork.

“Lucius, darling, why don’t you show Scorpius your matchbox collection? I know he’d love them.”

“What are matched boxes?” Scorpius asks.

Narcissa laughs lightly at her grandson’s pronunciation, “Match boxes, sweetheart.”

Lucius stands from the table; knowing very well what the determined look in his wife’s eyes meant, “Come on, my boy. I’ll show you my collection; I want to see if you can count how many there are.”

Scorpius’ eyes light up at the chance to make his grandfather proud; he jumps down from the chair before reaching to grab Lucius’ hand. Together, they leave the dining room, Lucius prattling about the history of the match box and why they needed to be collected.

Narcissa waits until they’re out of earshot before turning on her son who on the outside, almost pulled off looking so put together. Inside, she knew, was a broken man desperate to find a way to lessen the pain.

“It’s been three years, darling.”

“I know,” Draco answers; resisting the urge to groan.

“How often are you visiting her?”

“Once a week now.”

There was a point in the first months after her death where Draco would visit the graveyard every day for hours. He didn’t even say anything; he just sat on the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her grave and sobbed for the life that had been lost and the future that had been robbed.

Narcissa nods, “That’s good, Draco.”

Draco nods; he had gotten better in the years since her passing but Narcissa would never understand what it feels like to lose a spouse a year into a marriage that should have lasted an eternity.

Narcissa sighs, “Do you think it’s time now?”

“Time for what?” He asks; voice hard.

“To think about finding somebody else? I’m not saying you need to do it right now, Draco, but it’s something to think about.”

Draco sees red, but he tries to keep a lid on his temper for the simple fact that it is his mother sitting in front of him, “I lost my wife, mother. She died giving birth to my son; your grandson. She died and now Scorpius doesn’t have a mother and I don’t have my wife standing beside me. I think I’ll take all the time I need to recover from this.”

Narcissa sighs, “Of course, Draco. You know I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Draco rubs at his eyes; feeling wretched for the way he had spoken to his mother. She barely left his side after Astoria’s death; she had been the one to pull him away from her body.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was a tough night.”

“You’re having a lot of those, I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s lip begins to wobble, and he thanks Merlin that Scorpius is out of the room, so he didn’t have to watch his father fall to pieces.

Narcissa folds her son into her arms with the care only a mother could show. She strokes his hair as he sobs against her.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Draco sobs.

“Neither did we, my love.”

-----

Draco feels better after talking to his mother. Lucius returned fairly quickly after Draco had dried his eyes; Scorpius following on his tail, chattering about what he planned to do when he returned home.

Draco opens his arms for his son who happily falls into them; preferring to be carried rather than walking unless he was running around the gardens or the park.

“Do you have everything you need?” Draco asks his son.

Scorpius nods as Lucius holds up the small overnight bag that holds his clothes, pyjamas and his priceless teddy, Wellesley. It was the first thing Astoria brought when she found out she was pregnant. Scorpius treasured it like nothing else.

Draco takes the bag from his father; well aware of the extra treats hidden there. Scorpius had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wrapped around his little finger.

After they apparate home, Lucius and Narcissa watch the spot in which their son and grandson disappeared. Hands clutching the other; both worried sick over their only son.

-----

He fills his week with his son; adventures, hide-and-seek, visits to the library. Draco makes sure Scorpius fills his day with activities designed to educate but to also have fun.

It’s also a way for Draco to keep his mind drifting to the one person who no matter how he often prays and wishes, will always remain absent.

The park is one of Scorpius’ favourite places to visit. He has a personal aim to swing as high as he can without giving his father a heart attack.

They spend their hours doing all sorts together, and every night before bed, Draco tucks Scorpius in tightly. Dropping a kiss to his son’s head and then his teddy’s head, Draco wishes Scorpius the sweetest of dreams.

On a night, Draco lets the memories of his short marriage consume him. He doesn’t wear his wedding ring on his finger anymore, but rather, attached to a chain he wears around his neck. He twists this chain for hours on a night thinking of the mother that Astoria never got the chance to be.

------

Draco’s visit to the graveyard is shorter this week on account of what happened last time. He knew what happened in the living room was down to the fact that he had spent too much time at her grave, lamenting how much he missed her.

It was expected that she would answer his calls.

So he resolves to make this visit shorter; long enough to clean the area and replace the flowers but short enough to not tempt fate and spectres.

Draco recounts to her tales of Scorpius’ week. Draco laughs and beams like a proud father when he tells the story of Scorpius adopting the family of Nifflers from their copse at the bottom of the garden. He had been so proud of himself; walking all the way back to the house with a four Nifflers in tow who had deemed Scorpius as one their own.

“You’d have thought he was a Scamander,” Draco laughs, patting the loose grass from his suit pants. “I think he could very well excel at Care of Magical Creatures but it’s too soon to tell, my dear.”

Eventually, Draco stands, wiping down his black suit trousers and whispering a goodbye.

Draco is a few steps away from the black, creaky gate when you bustle through; bouquet in hand, sad smile on your face.

You pause in the gateway when you see Draco standing before you.

“(Y/N),” Draco greets, “I was hoping to catch you. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you the last time I saw you.”

“Draco, there’s nothing to apologise for. You’re mourning your wife; the last thing you need is someone invading that space.”

“All the same, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“I accept your apology, Draco.”

“Would you like to join me for a coffee? It’s been years since I saw you last, and I think it would be nice to catch up.”

You glance between the flowers in your hand and Draco waiting patiently for an answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if you want to be with your grandfather.”

You bite your lip, glancing back to the flowers, “Do you want to come with me? All I need to is say hello and change the flowers. You don’t have to, though.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve had my visit today, so I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You smile at him gratefully, “Thank you; he’s just this way.”

Draco follows you as you walk the well-trodden path to your grandfather’s grave. He doesn’t let himself think as he follows, and as a result, almost bumps into you when you stop in front of a grey granite headstone.

“Hi Grandad,” You greet, “I’ve brought someone with me today, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just changing your flowers though because then we’re going to get coffee.”

You turn your attention to Draco when you finish speaking, “It’s morbid I know but it helps me process. I know he isn’t hearing me, but I can vent here and somehow I always find a solution to my problem.”

Draco nods, “I do the same with Astoria. I tell her about Scorpius and her parents though I know they visit just as much.”

You smile at the blonde-haired man before discarding the dried out flowers to one side, replacing them with the fresher, brighter flowers.

Draco watches you through the process; not missing the way your eyes dart between the headstone and to something just past it.

For a brief moment, Draco wonders if you’re being haunted too.

-----

The coffee shop is warm compared to the brisk wind that howls outside. Draco’s body relaxes as he takes in the familiar scent of bitter coffee beans; it was a recent love of his, but now, he wouldn’t find himself going a day without a cup of the acrid liquid.

You unravel the scarf hanging around your neck before taking a seat at a corner table, “I didn’t think it would be this cold today. It makes me glad I overdressed,” you chuckle.

Draco laughs politely; his own coat now hanging on the back of his chair.

You smile, “Do you know what you want? I’ll go order.”

“Nonsense, I’ll order, I invited you here.”

“Well I won’t turn down free coffee, I’ll have a latte please.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says before leaving the table to order.

As the drinks are being made by the teenaged barista, Draco starts to second-guess his intentions for why he asked you for coffee in the first place. All week the conversation he had with his mother had been replaying in his mind, and then he runs into you as he’s leaving the graveyard. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth and he was unable to stop them.

He’s panicking, but he doesn’t find himself regretting asking you.

He’s only regretting his intentions as to why he asked you.

He’s been alone for three years. He has Scorpius, and his parents, but he doesn’t have anyone he can talk to on a night when the air is quiet, and the moon is high. He doesn’t have that one person that he can simply hold and know that everything will be okay.

Then and there, he lets himself admit it: he’s lonely.

Astoria had been everything for the eighteen months they had been together. He was utterly devoted to her; completely besotted by her. Draco knew that he had found the love of his life; he just didn’t expect her to be taken from him so soon.

But still he wonders.

He wonders if it’s time; he wonders whether Astoria watches him and urges him to find someone new.

To feel that rush of falling in love all over again.

The clinking of mugs rips Draco from his internal debating. He thanks the barista with a smile, picking up the tray of drinks and walking carefully back to where you wait for him.

You thank him as you pick up your latte, “You looked to be thinking pretty intensely over there.”

“You were watching me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I got bored of the view of the café.”

Draco nods; sipping tentatively at his coffee, wincing before adding another sugar to taste.

“What were you thinking of? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind. I was thinking of Astoria,” he admits.

You simply nod your head; understanding completely that a widow would think of his loss.

“How are you coping with her loss? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same question about your grandfather,” Draco murmurs, “We’re coping okay. Scorpius is thriving; he’s such a smart three year old and I know I’m biased but he retains information like a sponge.”

You laugh, “I was going to ask you about your son, I’m glad to hear he’s happy.”

“He doesn’t have any memories of his mother, but he knows who she is. He has a framed picture of her in his room that he says goodnight to every night.”

“He sounds precious, Draco.”

Draco nods; thinking of his dear boy, “He is. And I know she’s proud of him, I just feel it in my bones.”

“I’ll bet my last sickle that she’s proud of you too.”

Draco blinks fast; ridding the sudden tears away. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking another drink of his coffee to distract from the sudden wave of emotion.

He clears his throat once the wave has passed, “I asked you here to catch up; not for me to ruin the mood with my grief. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since the war.”

“You can talk to me about this, Draco, I don’t mind,” You state before continuing, “I’ve been well – I travelled a lot after the war. The whole realisation of life is short really hit me, so I left the country for a bit; travelled through Europe before jumping ship to America.”

Draco’s eyes widen, “That’s incredible. Where was your favourite place to travel?”

You glare at him playfully, “That’s such a hard question!”

He laughs lightly, “Still – you have to answer.”

You tap your fingers against your thigh, thinking his question over. You had loved everywhere you visited; feeling extremely fortunate to have met such a range of magical communities as well as integrate yourself within muggle society for a time.

“I think it would have to be this tiny island in Greece; it is said that in ancient times, the locals believed it was the end of the world, and if you went any further, you would fall off. I stayed there the longest; around a month where I explored the island, ate their food, and drank with the locals. It was the best time of my life.”

Draco inhales sharply at your words; not realised that he’s instinctively leaned towards you through your speech. He leans back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, “It sounds wonderful,” he whispers.

You nod; eyes glazed somewhat as you think back to your time on that heavenly island, “It really was.”

You shake yourself from your reminiscing, “What about you then, Draco? I know about the wedding, and your son, but what did you do after the war?”

Draco waves his hand in a nonchalant fashion, “Nothing as wonderful as travelling the globe though I did go to France on my honeymoon. I trained as a Healer straight from Hogwarts; I’ve been at St. Mungo’s since Scorpius was born.”

“That’s great, Draco! I always knew you would make a great Healer ever since I saw you in Potions.”

Draco ducks his head, “Thank you, I enjoy the work. Are you working now?”

You nod your head, “I work for the Daily Prophet; writing real articles and not the trollop that Rita Skeeter used to waffle on about.”

Draco barks out a laugh, surprising himself at the volume of it, “I remember her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! It was so awful.”

You beam; eyes bright with joy, “Weren’t they? I promise I’m a much better writer… not to sound big-headed.”

“I completely believe you; I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for your articles. I haven’t read the paper in so long. I haven’t had the time if I’m honest – I get my news from my mother.”

“How are your parents? I heard about them after the war.”

“Mother coped so well. She made it her mission to entirely renovate the house, and with it, the Malfoy reputation. She donates to charities now; her focus is children orphaned during the war. Father struggled, but he’s found his purpose for life again in Scorpius. Last time I was there, he showed him his collection of matchboxes.”

You laugh lightly, “That’s brilliant. I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.”

“How is your family? I remember your mother from Kings Cross, always running to meet you off the train.”

“She’s doing okay,” You sigh, “She struggled after my grandfather but she’s working her way back to herself.”

Draco nods in understanding; he felt nothing but pride and a sting of jealously for your mothers process with her grief. Here he was, three years later, and still reaching out to the other side of bed only to grasp at empty, cold sheets.

However, as all things must, your time together comes to an end. The coffees are drank; coats are pulled back on and goodbyes are said on the pavement.

Draco walks away from you; apparating back to his home feeling lighter than he has in years.

------

Draco takes Scorpius to Diagon Alley on a Wednesday morning.

His son had been particularly restless the night before; a nightmare waking him. Draco does what he can to chase the monsters away before scooping up his only son and carrying him to the master bedroom. Scorpius sleeps soundly after that, but Draco remains awake – mind plaguing him with memories of Astoria but also of the coffee he shared with you.

It’s noon when Scorpius begins to pester his father for lunch. In his own words; he’s starving, and he hasn’t eaten in hours.

Draco laughs at his son. Three years old, but utterly dramatic. He kneels down so he’s eye-level, “How about we have ice cream for lunch?”

Scorpius’ face lights up and he begins to jump in his spot, “Can we go now? Please?”

Draco nods, holding out his hand for Scorpius take so he doesn’t get lost in the short distance to Florean Fortescue’s. He had lost him once; and whilst it was only two minutes before he found him, it was two minutes, he never wants to relive.

Draco lifts Scorpius so he can see the rows of flavours behind the glass. Scorpius’ eyes are wide as he checks the colour of every flavour. He even goes so far to press his face to the glass, fogging it up. Draco chuckles at his son’s antics; knowing full well he’ll pick the same flavour he’s gotten on every visit.

“Have you decided?”

Scorpius nods, “Chocolate please.”

Draco places Scorpius on the ground, “One chocolate tub, and one caramel fudge swirl tub please.”

Florean nods at the young Malfoy family with a large smile; watching them sit down at a window table before bringing their ice creams to them.

Scorpius attacks his chocolate tub with ferocity. Draco touches his son’s hand, “Slow down, squirt. You’ll get stomach ache.”

Scorpius looks as if he doesn’t believe his father’s word but not wanting to risk the chance of a stomach ache, he slows his pace. Carefully scooping the frozen treat before eating. His legs swing as he watches the scores of witches and wizards passing; they all look to be hurrying somewhere yet Scorpius doesn’t know where, but seeing all the different people, keeps his attention squarely on the window.

Draco works his way through his ice cream faster than his son; his weakness being the caramel fudge swirl that Florean makes fresh every day. He settles for drifting once his tub is empty and Scorpius is happily distracted by whatever he’s watching out of the window.

Draco begins to wonder about his son’s future – something he’s done a thousand times since his birth. He wonders about what Hogwarts house would best fit his sons personality; though he knew that the Sorting Hat would be the final word on that. But Draco can’t help but ponder over what attributes his son will demonstrate – will he ambitious enough for Slytherin? Courageous enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Creative enough for Ravenclaw?

He had eight more years to ponder over it, but it’s still a question he’d like answered. However, Draco would still adore his son no matter his house.

“Draco?” Your voice sounds, breaking him out of his deliberating.

“(Y/N),” He greets.

Scorpius turns from people-watching, taking in the visitor standing at their table.

“And you must be Scorpius, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Scorpius shies away slightly from the new person, inching back a bit in his chair.

“It’s okay, Scorpius,” Draco reassures, “I went to school with (Y/N).”

You nod, “I did! I was in Slytherin with him, and he was so smart! He still is; he’s a Healer isn’t he? Isn’t that so cool?”

Draco blushes at your compliments but it brings Scorpius out of his shell.

“My dad is the coolest! He fixes people when they are very sick.”

You nod seriously, “Yes, he does. It was very nice to meet you, Scorpius but I have to get back to work with my ice cream.”

Scorpius smiles, his teeth on show, “Goodbye!”

“It was nice to see you, Draco,” You say, smiling at the blonde-haired man.

“It was nice to see you too, even if it was so brief.”

You laugh, “Work calls I’m afraid, but I always have an ice cream, so I wasn’t going to let work stop me,” You wander back to the counter where Florean waits with your cone, “I’ll also cover Draco’s bill too, Florean.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco begins to protest.

You hold your hand up, smiling gently, “You treated me to coffee. I’ll treat you to your ice cream.”

Draco nods, wordlessly. Scorpius watches him with his eyebrows furrowed.

You take a lick of your cone, “I’ll see you soon, Draco. Have a nice day, Scorpius!”

And like that, you leave the ice cream parlour, heading back to the office where a pile of work awaits.

Draco leans back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

Draco shakes his head, “Nothing, squirt.”

Scorpius shrugs, determining it adult stuff. “I like the lady who spoke to us.”

“(Y/N)?”

Scorpius nods, “She was really nice.”

“She is. She was nice when we were at school together.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Draco murmurs once again, mind in another place entirely.

Scorpius lets his father have his moment; turning back to the window, wondering if he might get to see the nice lady named (Y/N) again.

------

Two months pass, and January’s winter gives way to March’s spring.

The gardens at his home and at the Manor have started to bloom beautifully meaning that Draco is constantly surrounded by floral aromas that make his head spin and Scorpius sneeze.

Draco starts to see more and more of you at the graveyard. After each visit, you seem to wait for the other – always asking whether the other would like to go for a coffee; very rarely refusing the offer.

He enjoyed the time he spent with you; Draco felt like he got to make up for the lost time he was an arsehole at Hogwarts.

The more time he spent with you; the more he started to feel the urge to begin his life again. But the hauntings continue; he continues to see his wife in the mirror; hearing her voice on a night whispering to him that it’s okay to move on. But hearing those words from the mouth of the woman he promised an eternity with racks his entire body with guilt.

But it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to stay away from you.

The more time you spend with Draco Malfoy; the more you can feel yourself fall for him – his smile, his eyes, his mind. You just hoped that the landing wasn’t going to be too rough.

------

Draco drops Scorpius off at the Manor before heading to the graveyard for his usual Saturday visit. He blindly hopes to see you again after running into you at the ice cream parlour and seldom seeing you after but refuses to let himself dwell too long on the hope.

He was visiting his dead wife, after all.

He still grieves for her; still reaches for her in the middle of the night, but there are times through the day where he doesn’t feel so weighed down by grief – where he feels as if he can begin functioning fully once again.

But then that brings the guilt.

And that leads to the sightings.

And then that leads to the visits.

It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s desperate to break it.

He knows logically that Astoria would always be a part of him; he sees her every time he lays eyes on Scorpius but the small voice in the back of his head tells him often that he isn’t ready to let go yet.

And all Draco is desperate to know is: when?

-----

You find him knelt before her grave. He’s silent; simply staring at her headstone, reading the words that are already seared into his mind: Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother.

You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps at the sudden contact. He relaxes once he sees it’s you, “(Y/N),” he breathes out, “I thought you were someone else.”

“I can tell,” you murmur, “Are you okay?”

He nods silently; gazing at the headstone once again, “I will be.”

“I can stay with you, if you need me.”

He shakes his head, “Go. Go see your grandfather; tell him hi from me.”

You want to laugh but nothing comes out. Draco looks at you; his blue eyes bright, “I’ll be okay,” he says gently.

The softness of his voice has you stepping away, “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Draco nods, hearing you walk away from him.

He’s a man made entirely of conflictions. He watches you from the corner of his eye and wonders whether he is finally ready to start his life again after Astoria; ready press play once more and see what happens but the sheer fear that runs through him, paralyses him.

He doesn’t know what to think; he doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that in the handful of times he has seen you, you make him want to live again.

----

Your time with your grandfather comes to an end, and you stand from where you had knelt, murmuring a goodbye.

You can’t miss the way Draco remains in front of his wife’s grave. Standing just after you; stretching out the tight muscles in his back that had stiffened the longer he had sat there.

You sigh at the sight; mindlessly wondering if you would ever find a love that would impact you this much.

It was unintentional; it hadn’t meant to happen but the feelings you once harboured for the Slytherin Prince were returning in full force the more you saw of him.

But now, there was so much more to consider.

At Hogwarts, it was social groups that kept you from ever revealing your crush – that, and Pansy Parkinson. Now, though, Draco was a widower still very much in love with his dead wife, and he had a son that came first.

You know you need to tread carefully, but there was something addicting about the man’s presence. His way with words; his hand gestures; how he’d slip off into his own mind – it all had you caught; you were hook, line, and sinker.

You make your way back to the blonde-haired man, “What do you say to another coffee? I wish I could have stayed longer the last time I saw you, but work, you know?”

Draco nods; looking very much as if he wants to accept – the words being on the very tip of his tongue, but he sighs heavily, “I can’t today, I need to grab my son from my parents.”

“Oh,” You shake your head – of course, “Another time then! I’d like to see you again soon.”

You make to walk away but a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, “Would you like to come with me? I need to grab Scorpius but we’re making dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. Scorpius has been asking about you.”

That makes your decision for you, “Alright, I’ll join you for dinner.”

Draco smiles; letting go of his hold on your wrist, “I usually apparate to the manor, do you mind?”

You shake your head, placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm.

Within a second, you’ve landed at the seat of Malfoy power for the last century. Draco was right you realise; Narcissa had lightened the manor up. Flowers border the main path; stemming from Hyacinths to white Lilies, to Irises. Colour lives up the home immediately, and the warm light coming from the masses of windows only makes the place more welcoming.

“I remember visiting here when I was a youngster,” You start, “I remember it being cold and uninviting… no offence, but now it feels so warm and happy.”

“That’s my mother’s influence,” Draco states; smiling wryly at the sight of all the flowers, knowing too well of the masses of Roses behind the manor.

Draco sounds the knocker three times before Narcissa pulls open the door with the smile reserved only for her son. She blinks twice before registering your presence; then she needs to do a double take.

“Afternoon, Mother,” Draco greets; leaning in to kiss her cheek which Narcissa returns distractedly – her eyes still on you.

“Draco, dear,” She greets, “And who have you brought with you?”

“Straight to the crux, aren’t we?” Draco laughs, “This is (Y/N). Surely you remember her?”

“Not Anthony’s granddaughter?”

You nod your head; ignoring the spear of grief flung through you at the sound of your grandfather’s name, “The very same,” you greet, “It’s lovely to be here. I was just mentioning to Draco how gorgeous your flowers are.”

Narcissa beams; her flowers are her pride and joy other than the son who had battled so much and came out the other side only stronger. “Thank you, my dear. Lucius and I were so saddened to hear of Anthony’s passing – tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“Better, thank you. She took his death as a blow – well, we all did but she took it the hardest being the only daughter and losing my grandmother so young.”

Narcissa nods; ushering you into the foyer of the grand manor, “We sent flowers, but we’re sorry we couldn’t make it to the service.”

A lumps forms in your throat at the mention of the service. It had been a beautiful and respectful service, but your memories of it were tied with the heart-clenching sobs of your mother as he cried about how she missed her father. It was a hard day and night for all; very few had dry eyes.

Draco notices your hesitancy at replying to his mother; notices the glazed look in your eye. He wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulder, distracting her from asking you any more questions, “How was Scorpius today?”

“Like always, an angel,” Narcissa coos, “Lucius has started to teach him French.”

“French? So early?” Draco asks; keeping a wary eye on you.

“Nonsense, my love. You were three when we started to teach you the basics.”

“You speak French?” You ask; mind now focused back onto the conversation. You shoot a grateful look to draco; he replies with a soft, kind smile.

Narcissa nods, “Most of our family does. Draco has spoken French fluently since he was nine years old.”

“Oui, maman,” Draco responds cheekily.

Narcissa playfully hit her son’s shoulder, “Hush you. Scorpius is with your father in the Library – shall we go grab him?”

Draco nods; desperate to see his son after hours apart, “Are you okay to follow?” he asks, throwing a glance to where you remain rooted.

You shake yourself free; banishing all thoughts of Draco and his speaking of one of the most romantic languages on the planet from your head.

You follow with a sheepish smile, “Definitely. Even I’ve heard tales of Lucius’ library.”

Narcissa chuckles, “He spends more time in there; researching and reading anything.”

“What does he research?” You ask; curiosity piqued.

“Anything – the pagan tribes of the celts at the moment. He’s focused on the history of Wiltshire at the moment; I’ve had stop him twice this week from apparating to Stonehenge and scaring the tourists.”

Draco pauses; falling into step with you as Narcissa opens the library doors, “My father needed something to do after the war; historical research turned out to be his niche.”

“It sounds like he’s having one hell of a time,” You comment; not kissing the grin that stretches across Draco’s face.

“Scorp, darling, your father is here!” Narcissa calls out after not having found her grandson where she had left him with his grandfather.

It’s hard to miss the footfalls of the toddler as he runs through the shelve stacks, crowing, “Dad! You’re back!”

Draco catches Scorpius in his arms, “Hey there, squirt. How was your day?”

“Fun. Grandpa taught me about the selts.”

“Celts, my boy,” Lucius says, appearing from behind one of the many shelves, “A hard C. Celts.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrows as he repeats the word again, “Celts.”

Lucius claps, “Excellent! We’ll make a historian of you yet.”

Scorpius beams at the pride rolling off Lucius in waves; he almost doesn’t notice you standing next to Draco.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Scorpius,” You greet.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

You laugh at his curiosity, “Your father invited me for tea, is that okay?”

The young boy nods, “We’re having pasta.”

You smile, “I like pasta.”

Scorpius nods again, and just like that, it’s settled.

Draco hitches Scorpius higher onto his hip, “He wasn’t much trouble?”

His question breaks his parents from staring at the exchange between you and Scorpius. Lucius smiles at Draco, “Scorpius is never any trouble.”

“Thank you for looking after him again.”

“It’s no bother to us. We love the boy,” Narcissa comments; blinking away what look to be like tears.

“We’ll see you soon, no doubt,” Draco says, “Say bye to granny and grandpa, squirt.”

Scorpius yells his goodbye with a large smile.

Draco holds his free arm out to you, and the three of you apparate to his home in the next village over.

Draco’s house is nowhere near the size of Malfoy Manor, but it is still large in comparison to the two bedroomed flat you rented in Diagon Alley.

It’s perfectly symmetrical you realise as Draco opens the garden gate. Two windows on either side of the pale green front door. Always a Slytherin, you think as you follow Draco up the main path. He readjusts Scorpius as he reaches for his key; putting Scorpius down as he opens the door.

Scorpius reaches for your hand, “I’ll show you the kitchen,” he states, leading you through the large foyer to a room just to the right.

The kitchen is the biggest one you’ve been in. The island being home to a breakfast bar where Scorpius tries to climb up to before you cave and place him on one of the stools.

Draco follows closely behind; opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.

You hop off a stool, “What can I do to help?”

Draco pauses, “You need to sit down, I said I was cooking.”

You roll your eyes, “I want to help, so what can I do?”

“Add the pasta to the pot when the water starts to boil. I’ve already salted the water.”

You nod, rolling the sleeves up on your blouse. Draco doesn’t miss the small tattoo on your left forearm, “When did you get that?” he asks as he starts to crush and chop some garlic.

You look down to the now familiar swirling patterns below the crook of your elbow, laughing, “I got it after our Eighth Year. I snuck out to a muggle artist and got it done; mum hit the roof.”

Draco laughs, moving on to slicing the tomatoes in two. You look down at the pot of water, happy to see it boiling. You add the pasta to the pot, stirring twice before stepping away from the pan.

You sit back down at the breakfast bar; ruffling Scorpius’ hair as you do so. The blonde-haired boy giggles, “Can I see your arm?”

You glance at Draco to check that he’s okay with Scorpius seeing your tattoo. Draco nods and you hold out your arm for Scorpius to gaze at your tattoo.

He reaches out a small finger, running it over the ink gently, “Did it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Not a bit.”

“Dad has a tattoo.”

You stiffen at his words; so does Draco.

The Dark Mark that mars Draco’s arm wasn’t spoken about when it was placed on his forearm, and it wasn’t spoken about now. It has been years since the Dark Lord was vanquished by Harry Potter yet his mark upon the house of Malfoy had definitely been left.

“It’s pale but I’ve seen it.”

Draco clears his throat, saying somewhat brokenly, “Dinner is almost ready. Go clean up, squirt.”

You help Scorpius down from the stool; grinning as he rushes away to the downstairs bathroom to wash his hands before dinner.

As soon as he’s left, you turn your attention back to Draco who’s stirring the pan of pasta quietly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“For what?” He asks incredulously.

“For showing him my tattoo. I didn’t think he would bring up yours.”

Draco shrugs, “It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it, and like squirt said, it’s pretty faded now.”

You nod, “I’m glad. Where do you keep your plates? I’ll grab them for you.”

“Second cupboard on from the fridge. There’s a small plastic one for Scorpius there too.”

You grab the three plates, wandering back to where Draco is adding the pasta to the sauce simmering away in the pan. Scorpius rushes back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Show us your hands, squirt. Are they clean?”

Scorpius holds his hands up, waving them at his father. Draco squints, pretending to look over his son’s hands with extra care, “Very good. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes!” Scorpius shouts, legs kicking under the table.

Draco laughs, “Well it’s a good thing it’s ready then!”

Draco takes over yours and Scorpius’ plates first before grabbing his and the cutlery. He cuts up Scorpius’ pasta before settling in his own seat and starting to eat.

“This is so tasty,” You compliment, “One of the best meals I’ve had.”

Scorpius nods rapidly, working through his own mouthful before saying, “Dad is the best cook! You should try his pancakes!”

“Thanks, squirt,” Draco replies, smiling at him.

“I’ll have to try those pancakes one day,” You murmur, casting a side glance at the blonde-haired man sat to your left.

“I think you will,” He replies, effectively knocking the breath out of you.

Of course, you would rekindle feelings for your teenage crush when he’s now a widow and a father. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you focus your gaze back to your meal.

The dinner is soon over, and the plates are cleared away to the sink where they’ll be washed after dessert.

Dessert is a slice of chocolate cake and ice cream; a treat from Narcissa. Scorpius makes as much conversation as he can; telling his father and you about the day he had at his grandparents where he learnt about the mystical celts and Stonehenge. Soon, though, his eyes start to droop and his final spoonful of cake clatters to the plate.

Draco scoops up his son; cradling in his arms as he once did those years ago. Draco murmurs an apology to you as he carries his son from the kitchen to his room, but you wave him away.

To help, you collect the plates and start running the hot water, adding dish soap as you go. You’re almost finished with the final plate when Draco returns from putting Scorpius to bed.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind – it makes me feel useful.”

“Alright. You washed, I’ll dry,” Draco bargains; grabbing the tea towel from the counter and picking up the first plate.

“Did he fall asleep okay?” You question.

Draco nods, “Out like a light, I had put his pyjamas on for him.”

You chuckle, “Bless him.”

“He really likes you,” Draco comments.

“Well, what’s not to like?” You quip, grinning, “I really like him too. He’s a credit to you, Draco.”

Draco finishes drying the final plate; putting them back in their assigned cupboard.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink, or do you need to be at work early?”

“I do, but I’d like that drink.”

Draco pulls two glasses from the display before reaching for a bottle of red wine. You already knew that you would wake up tomorrow with a headache, but it was worth it to spend more time with him.

Draco pours two glasses before handing one to you. He grabs the bottle and his glass, leading you to the living room across the foyer.

You take a seat on the maroon couch, taking a drink of wine before placing the glass on a coaster.

“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“That is all part of Narcissa Malfoy’s rearing of a good husband. She started teaching me to cook before I left for Hogwarts and would give me lessons every school holiday.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’ll be thinking of that pasta for days.”

Draco smiles at you from over the rim of his wine glass and your stomach flips.

“Why did you tell your mother that it was just dinner?” You question, referring to the incident earlier at Malfoy Manor. You take another sip of wine, watching Draco the whole time.

“Mother has it in her mind that it’s time for me to find someone new. She worries that I’ve been alone too long,” Draco drawls wryly.

“What do you think?”

Draco swishes the remaining wine in his glass; reaching for the bottle to refill.

“I don’t know,” is his answer as he tops off your glass too.

“Are you lonely?”

“You really are a journalist, aren’t you?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling, “Are you though? Lonely?”

Draco locks eyes with you; the answer is on the tip of his tongue, ready to make its entrance but he’s interrupted by the cry of his son.

Wine glasses are placed hurriedly as you both rush to the young boy’s room; his cries getting louder.

The both of you fall into the room in a hurry; desperate to help Scorpius. Draco shakes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

“Scorpius, Scorpius – it’s okay, open your eyes.”

“Dad?” Scorpius asks; his voice a sob.

“It’s me, squirt. I’m here.”

Scorpius opens his arms for his father. Draco picks him up with no hesitation; cuddling his son to his side – drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It sounded like a bad one,” Draco comments.

Scorpius nods, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m scared.”

Draco looks torn in two. On the one hand, Scorpius needs to sleep otherwise he’ll be as cranky as a Hungarian Horntail tomorrow. However, on the other hand, Draco won’t force Scorpius back into another nightmare by insisting he sleep.”

You step forward, perching on the end of Scorpius’ bed, “I have an idea, but you need to be all comfortable and cosy, okay?”

Scorpius nods timidly; rearranging himself against Draco’s side, cuddling his beloved teddy tighter.

“Are you cosy?”

He nods once more.

“Okay, I’ll begin: Once upon a time in a far off land there lived a king who was very lonely. He had tried for years and years to meet the love of his life, but he felt defeated for he hadn’t found the one…”

It takes over an hour – three stories and two muggle songs before Scorpius is soundly sleeping once again.

Draco shifts him with the expertise of a parent before leaving his bedroom with you in tow.

He goes to close the door, but you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it open two,” you start, “the light from the landing will comfort him a little if he has another nightmare.”

Draco leaves the door open a crack. Turning to you, he says, “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

You shrug, “It’s something my mum used to do for me.”

“You were incredible in there by the way,” Draco compliments as you descend the stairs together.

“Thank you,” You murmur shyly.

“Where did you learn those stories and songs?” He asks, “I feel like I should take notes for next time,” he chuckles half-heartedly.

You laugh too, “The stories I made up years ago and the songs are muggle ones I heard on my travels. I used to babysit my younger cousins for extra pocket money – I got to be creative very quickly.”

“Well it paid off,” Draco comments, eyes flickering to the stairs.

“It certainly did,” You murmur; eyes following Draco’s.

It’s silent for a few moments; the both of you thinking of the other without the other knowing. You, terrified to tell him for the fear of rejection. Him, terrified about letting down his dead wife.

You both go to speak at the same time and promptly burst into quiet laughter.

Through the span of the conversation, you’ve gravitated towards Draco – bodies angled towards each other, hands close to touching, heads close together.

If you leaned forward an inch, your mouth would be on his.

The alcohol coursing through your veins makes the connection for you as in the next second, you’ve leant forward and attached your lips to Draco’s.

He doesn’t respond at first; too in shock by your boldness but when you’re about to pull away, he wraps a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to his. Lips glide together seamlessly. He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp. He deepens the kiss then; shifting on the couch to press you further into it.

Your hand make their way into his hair, and Draco groans against your mouth at the feel.

But it’s all too much and you need to pull away.

Chest heaving, you drag your mouth away from Draco’s. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, pressing little kisses across your jawline to your ear before sitting back up.

“I didn’t expect that,” You gasp.

“Neither did I, but I’m not mad about it.”

“You aren’t? I did just jump you.”

Draco laughs, “It would have happened sooner or later.”

“Really?” You ask; a note of happiness unmistakable in your voice.

Draco nods, running his thumb across your lips, relishing in the fact that they’re swollen because of him.

The wine has gone to your head, and you feel your eyes begin to droop before the first yawn hits. You sigh, pulling away from Draco’s distracting touch, “I think I better head off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave.”

“Why, do you want me to stay, Draco?” You tease.

He nods, “I can’t offer much, but this couch is really comfy.”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You ask; the wine making you more brash.

Draco blushes. You take back your words, “I’m sorry, Draco. Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I just propositioned you and all we’ve done is kiss,” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

Draco pulls your hands away from your face, “(Y/N), it’s fine, really. The blanket on the back of the couch is really warm; grab it will you?”

You feel your face heat as you reach for the large grey blanket draped over the back of the couch. Draco stands momentarily to toe off his shoes before settling back down on the couch. You slip off your own shoes before clambering onto the couch next to him.

This was all so intimate.

Draco throws the large blanket over you both. Once suitably covered, his arm slips around your waist and your hand rests on his chest.

Neither of you say anything. No words need to be spoken now; everything expressed through actions alone.

With a kiss to the top of your head, Draco falls asleep unafraid of what he’ll meet in the morning.

--------

It’s the sunlight that wakes you. Bright light warming your face; you flutter your eyes open to find you face to face with Draco’s chest. Neither of you had moved in night; if anything, becoming closer together. At some point, his legs had tangled with yours and your hand had gripped his shirt so tight, it came away wrinkled when you loosened your grip.

You sigh happily; then you glance at the clock on the mantle piece where the hands make it abundantly clear that you were going to be late for work.

Extracting yourself carefully from Draco’s hold, you pick up your shoes from the floor. You search quickly for a spare piece of paper and a pen; scrawling a note for Draco to read when he wakes.

With one last look at the man you had fallen for in such a short amount of time, you apparated away.

-----

Draco wakes not long after you leave; feeling oddly light without the weight of your body pressed up against him. He frowns when he realises that you’ve left without a goodbye but with a glance at the clock, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it.

Scorpius would be awake any minute and demanding breakfast.

Draco sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept with someone by his side; wrapped around him the way you were, and he was happy to admit, he had missed the feeling of another human pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every contour in their body.

He almost falls off the couch when he notices your note lying on the table. He grabs it with shaking hands:

“Had to go to work – meet me for lunch if you can? Thank you for last night. You still owe me pancakes – (Y/N).”

He feels like a teenager again experiencing the rush of his first crush. He runs a hand across his face; standing up to get a start on breakfast. He folds your note in two before sliding it into his wallet for safekeeping.

It’s then that Draco realises he has two things he needs to do.

-----

Draco drops Scorpius off at Astoria’s parents for the morning. Apologising to his son for bailing on their plans of the park and the library; Scorpius simply pats his father’s face in goodbye before running to his grandma and grandad Greengrass.

Draco waves at his in-laws before apparating to see their daughter.

-----

The graveyard looks entirely different, but Draco knows nothing has changed. What has changed is him, and he need to tell Astoria.

Kneeling in his usual place in front of her grave, Draco releases a shaky breath.

“Hi darling, I know I’m early for our visit, but I have something important to discuss with you,” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I think I’ve met someone, and I really want to pursue it. I want to see where it goes.

“You have to understand, darling, I never thought I would love again after you. I really didn’t and for three years, I’ve been an island with just enough room for Scorpius. I didn’t expect it, but it happened, and I like the way (Y/N) makes me feel. I feel excited again; my hands are shaking from the very thought.

“Scorpius likes her by the way, and she likes him, but they both know they won’t ever fill the role that you were supposed to. And I think they’re both happy with that knowledge.

“I’m not asking for your permission, but I am asking for your forgiveness. For not loving you harder; for not taking more time to be with you; for not apologising immediately after every argument. But I’m ready to start living again and I’ve found someone that makes me want to live again; that incites that spark of life within me, and I desperately want to see where it goes.

“I haven’t seen you in a while; around the house. I think you realised what was happening before I did and finally made your peace with it. I can’t ever forget you and our time. I see whenever I look at our little boy, but I’m ready to begin again, and so I shall.”

Draco stands from the grave feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to speak to Astoria before he could speak to you; he had tell her his choice but to reassure that he would always love her, but his heart was ready to make room for another person.

And that person was you.

With one last glance at the marble headstone, Draco apparates to Diagon Alley.

----------

The offices to the Daily Prophet newspaper lie in a side street just off the high street. He signs in at reception but asks the receptionist not to alert you of his presence. The receptionist flushes when she realises that she’s now part of a romantic plot. Draco smiles at her gratefully as he makes his way to the main lift, asking for your floor.

He taps his foot the entire ride up to your floor, annoying every single person in the lift with him. But he can’t help it; he’s both excited and nervous.

In a few moments, he’s changing the direction of his life forever, and he couldn’t feel more ready to start.

The door opens on your floor and Draco rushes out, followed by the happy sighs of those journeying to higher floors. He wants to laugh at their reactions, but the butterflies rioting in his stomach make him feel as if he could vomit right on the muddy brown carpet.

It’s not hard to find which desk is yours by the amount of trinkets on there. Files are precariously high in one section, and then the rest of the desk bar the cream typewriter is covered by snow globes and tiny figurines of landmarks from your travels. From this first look at your desk, Draco already has a sense of what your flat will look like.

You gasp when you see Draco standing in the door to your office, “Draco, you’re early for lunch.”

Draco walks up to your desk; his hands shaking through it all, “Let me make you pancakes.”

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“Let me make you pancakes,” He repeats, “I want to make you pancakes in the morning.”

“Really?” You sniffle; tears collecting.

Draco nods, “I’m still grieving, but I always will be. However, that doesn’t mean my life needs to come to an end and I realised that I want it to continue with you by my side so… let me make you pancakes every morning.”

Tears have started to fall down your face and you sniffle before speaking, “Okay. You can make me pancakes.”

Draco beams; eyes crinkling. He leans in close to you, whispering, “Do you think you can get off early?”

You grab your bag before he finishes his sentence, “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco holds his hand out for you to take. At the feel of your skin against his, a jolt of electricity runs between you. It takes everything in him not to drag you into a kiss in the foyer of the building.

He waits until he’s in the street.

Like a gentleman.

He waits until the coast is somewhat clear before pulling you into his side and drawing your mouth to his like you did last night. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

It’s not your first kiss, and it won’t be your last, but this one kiss means the world to the both of you.

Through it all, you’ve learnt to swim.

-------

A year later:

Scorpius is almost five years old when he visits his mother’s grave for the first time in his life. He had been less than three weeks old when she was buried in the Greengrass plot

Scorpius watches as his father kneels before her first; apologising for his absence and asking for her forgiveness.

But then he looks to Scorpius; where he stands with his hand holding onto yours tightly.

Draco beckons to Scorpius with an open hand. Scorpius staggers to his father’s side immediately.

“Hi Mum,” he whispers.

Draco’s hand is firm on his son’s shoulders; a comforting presence.

“I miss you,” he starts, “I know I never got to know you, but I miss you. I have your picture in my room, so I know what you look like, and Wellesley. I’m starting school soon; a small magic school with kids like me and I’m really excited. Dad’s doing well. He was sad for a while but he’s happier now and he talks about you more with (Y/N) who I like too. I want to come back, and I think Dad will let me, so I’ll see you soon, Mum.”

And with that, Scorpius walks away, happy to have finally met the mother had wanted to meet for so long.

Draco watches his son potter back to the still creaky gate in awe. You join his side; fingers tangling in his. “How are you feeling?” You ask, watching Draco’s face.

“Happy and in love,” is Draco’s reply.

*****

Muggle songs:

Johnny Ace - Pledging My Love

Paul Anka - Put Your Head On My Shoulder

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04

Draco Malfoy taglist @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy reader insert #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n

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yugfics · 3 years ago

Photo

SECRET LOVE SONG LIM JAEBEOM (ANGST)

/unhappy with your arranged marriage, you find yourself having an affair with the man you fell in love with/

(inspired by & including some lyrics from Secret Love Song by Little Mix feat. Jason Derulo)

'All my heart is yours... it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever'

The words seemed to pour from the pages of the book you were holding, reaching out towards your heart and making it their home.

It wasn't the first time you'd read Jane Eyre, but this sentence, underlined and highlighted from rereading, always stood out. You'd memorised it -- like the words had been written especially for you.

Because it brought to mind the man you loved.

You closed the book, keeping your index finger where you'd stopped, leaning backwards onto the headrest of the bed you shared with your husband.

He was doing work in the spare room he used as his study, and you weren't sure when he'd be done -- he usually slept quite late. What he'd told you during dinner came to mind, and you closed your eyes to ponder on it.

The next day he'd be leaving on a business trip. It would last a few days, and you would be left alone. This thought lingered and you enjoyed the prospect of the brief freedom you'd experience. As you imagined everything you'd be able to do, excitement built inside you, causing your stomach to fill with numerous butterflies.

For it would mean you could spend time with the man you loved. Your husband wasn't that man.

You opened your eyes at the sound of your husband's footfalls.

"Mark?" you asked, surprised. "You're done early?"

"Yeah, I," he hesitated, approaching the bed. "Well, I'm leaving tomorrow and I wanted to spend a little more time with you before I went,"

"Oh," you replied, the sound not coming out at all the way you wanted as guilt settled in your stomach. You hated that you were doing this, being unfaithful to the man who was taking care of you and keeping a roof over your head, the man your parents had chosen for you. But what could you do, when your heart belonged to someone else?

You pulled your lips into a smile and pat the bed next to you. "Alright,"

He got in and laid beside you, arms slipping around your waist. It was quiet, and it was peaceful, but you couldn't seem to let yourself get comfortable. Because the only thing you could think about was Jaebeom.

—

You knocked tentatively on his front door.

Earlier that morning you'd said goodbye to your husband and promised that you'd talk at least once every day. After eating your breakfast alone, you'd decided to go meet with Jaebeom.

Now you were regretting not telling him you were coming. It'd been nearly a week since last being face-to-face, and a small part of you always wondered whether he'd get tired of what was going on between the both of you.

If he'd get tired of hiding your love.

The door opened, and as you found yourself looking into Jaebeom's eyes, those eyes that seemed to hold the universe, you felt previous agitation and nervousness fall away, replaced by a strong, unyielding love.

"Jaebeom," you said, softly.

His eyes were wide, and his lips formed a small smile. Before you could move, he pulled you inside, wrapped his arms around your waist, and swung you around.

You squealed at the suddenness of the action, and you both started giggling.

"I missed you," he told you, sincerely, as he set you down and closed the front door.

"I missed you more," you replied, turning to look at the living room of his apartment.

It was exactly the same as you remembered it, save for papers scattered all over the couch and coffee table.

"Are those...?" you began, approaching the mess and recognising the papers. They were your poems.

Along with reading, you had a love for writing, and you often wrote poems for Jaebeom, or simply left them over at his house.

He hurried in front of you, gathering the papers. "It's supposed to be a surprise, I didn't know you'd be coming today,"

"You were going to surprise me with my own poems?" you asked, confused and amused.

"I..." he struggled, trying not to reveal anything and ruin the gift.

"It's alright," you laughed." I know I'll love it if it's from you,"

Finished with putting the papers into a small stack on the coffee table, he approached you, standing opposite you and reaching his hand to push your hair behind your ear.

"How long can you stay?"

"He'll be away for two days. What should we do?"

"Have fun," he replied simply, before lifting his hand that held yours and spinning you around.

You laughed, and he bent forwards, placing a kiss on your hand. "May I have this dance?"

Smiling, you said "Yes,"

—

You sat on the windowseat in Jaebeom's bedroom, reading one of the books you'd left over.

Paintings covered the wall — he'd done them himself — and there were polaroids scattered around as well. He loved taking pictures. Especially of you.

Immersed in the book you were reading, you didn't register the sound of Jaebeom returning from buying lunch. He set the plastic bags on the dining table before walking down the hallway and entering the bedroom.

His eyes fell on your oblivious self, and he couldn't help but smile. You looked so beautiful in his eyes.

When he reached you and you still hadn't looked up from your book, he stood behind you and gently placed a blush-pink rose in the middle of your book.

Momentarily startled, you looked above to see a smiling Jaebeom. He leant forwards and kissed your forehead, causing you to blush.

"I didn't hear you come in,"

"Mhmm," he acknowledged, sitting next to you and pulling you onto his lap. You twirled the flower between your fingers.

"Where'd you get this?"

"On my way back from buying lunch. It was pretty, and it made me think of you, so I bought a few. The rest are in a vase outside,"

"It's beautiful. I love it, thank you,"

"Do you want to go out tomorrow?"

"Where?"

"It's another surprise," he replied, mysteriously. "Tomorrow is the day before your husband returns, so I wanted us go out,"

You nodded, turning to look out the window. There was a comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke. "I wrote a song for you,"

"Really?" you asked excitedly, turning back to him. "You wrote?!"

He laughed softly, embarrassed. "Yes, it's pretty short, though. I just... missed you a lot this past week and, yeah I wrote a song,"

You smiled. "Can I hear it?"

Before he could speak, the both of you were interrupted by your ringtone.

Rising from his lap, you approached the phone you'd left on his desk, among numerous polaroids and pictures. After reading your husband's name on the screen, you picked it up.

After a short while of conversing, you set your phone back down on the table and looked sadly at Jaebeom. "The trip was cut short and he's returning tomorrow morning,"

"Oh," he replied, and you could hear the disappointment in his voice, but he quickly changed his tone. "We have until tonight right? We can still hang out,"

He held your hand and pulled you out of the room and down the hallway. You sat on the couch and he faced you, hands still in yours.

You looked at him expectantly, and he smiled shyly. "Here goes,"

"We keep behind closed doors Every time I see you I die a little more Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls It'll never be enough

It's obvious you're meant for me Every piece of you it just fits perfectly Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep But it can never be this way

And you know this, We got a love that is hopeless...

Why can't I say that I'm in love?

I wanna shout it from the rooftops I wish that it could be like that Why can't we be like that? Cause I'm yours

Wish we could be like that Why can't we be like that?"

When he looked back up at you, he saw tears pooling in your eyes. He squeezed your hand and smiled comfortingly. "I didn't mean to make you cry,"

You shook your head. "I loved the song, and I... I'm sorry... I don't want us to be like this either, but... my parents... "

It was your parents who'd arranged for you to marry Mark. They'd said he would make you happy, and you knew that he did love you, but it just wasn't in the way you wanted to be loved. It wasn't the way Jaebeom did.

But you didn't want to upset your parents in their old age, and they always looked so happy when you went to visit them with Mark. You couldn't bear to break their hearts now.

He cupped your face and smiled. "I understand, okay? I love you,"

"I love you, too,"

—

The rest of the day flew by way too quickly, as it often does when one is enjoying themself. Soon, you were sitting beside Jaebeom in his car, parked in front of your house. After a few moments of not knowing what to say, he pressed a small polaroid into your hand.

It was a selfie, both of you smiling. You'd taken it earlier that morning, after dancing and running around like children.

In the white space below the picture, he'd written: "I'm yours,"

You smiled, leaning forwards and kissing his cheek. "I have something for you too—" you placed a carefully folded piece of paper in his hand— "I found time to write it after listening to your song. Read it when I leave,"

He nodded, and neither of your broke eye contact until you spoke, regretful that you'd be leaving him once more. "I… I should go now,"

"Alright," he replied as you opened the door. "Till we meet again~"

Smiling, you waved and closed the door behind you, before approaching your house. Jaebeom unfolded the piece of paper you'd given him. It was a poem, and when he finished reading it three times, he smiled and placed it in his phone case.

not a love that is hopeless but a love that is timeless; a love that will still live on for generations to come

in the poems that I wrote, in the things that you composed, in the memories we created in the things that were our favourite,

yes, ours is a love that will never be lost you're forever mine, and I'm forever yours. ____________ this is @yug.fics on instagram!

#got7 #got7 imagines #got7 imagine #jaebeom #lim jaebeom #got7 jaebeom #jaebeom imagine #jaebeom imagines

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simpsiren · 4 years ago

Text

sticky notes: the story

mark lee x reader

introduction

main masterlist

description. you use sticky notes to get into contact with your soulmate.

genre. soulmate au, high school au, strangers to lovers au

warnings. nonee

a/n. so some people requested for a full story of this so here it is! i really liked making this because the concept is just so cute cudndn oh and i did include the same idea as what i did in my previous post but i had to change it a little so that it would fit the plot. this is a really really long ff since its a slow burn typa thing so please try to stick with me on this one HAHA anyways enjoyy! :D

“you actually believe that?”

you lift your head up from your notes to look at soyoung. she nods her head and hum eagerly. you rub your temples from seeing her respond. “i do believe soulmates exist. but sticky notes to talk to them? what’s social media for then? and how is it even scientifically possible?” you question soyoung, bringing your eyes down as you continue to do your homework.

“that’s the beauty of soulmates, ray!” soyoung whines. you shake your head. “you’re dumb to believe it without confirming the information with other relevant sources.” you mutter out bluntly. you hear soyoung letting out a ‘tsk’. “here you go again being a history student. i swear im glad i never took it.” you scoff and slam your pen on the table gently.

“excuse me, woman! at least i dont have to memorise the whole textbook and only having 5 pages of content coming out in the exam.” you stick your tongue out playfully to tease soyoung. “i cant get over the fact that valcanos didn’t come out eventhough i memorised so much for it.”

the both of you laugh, knowing that the two of you can never stop debating on whether history or geography is the better subject.

“ray complete your homework at home. we cant stay in the classroom for long you know?” soyoung stands up to get to her seat, which is 2 rows down yours since you were sitting right at the back. you liked sitting at the back. it allowed you to always be able to use your phone in case you get bored in class. you still cant believe that your teachers think you’re a good and obedient student. you figured they only assumed that due to your high grades.

you sigh “that’s true.” you turn around to grab your back that was hanging in your chair and start packing your materials. once you were done, you grab the class key and walk over to soyoung’s seat, waiting for her to finish packing. you notice soyoung has finish packing and went to switch off the lights. you allow soyoung to step out first before you close the door behind you and lock the classroom door.

you and soyoung walked down the hallway silently, you were looking out the window to watch the sunset while soyoung had her eyes on her feet. only your footsteps could be heard as almost everyone has left the school grounds except for some teachers who were working late. the school normally closes at 7pm and you’re walking out at 6:50. to break the silence, soyoung opens her mouth to start a conversation.

“okay if you dont believe me why dont you try it yourself? like write a simple introduction to your soulmate.” you raise an eyebrow as you shove your hands into the front pockets of your mom jeans. “why dont you do it?” you fought back as you huff. soyoung bites the inside of her cheek as a moment of silence passes for her to think of an answer.

“because i believe it. and you do not. so you should try it.” you smacked soyoung’s arm, making her flinch back and shouting a loud ‘ouch’. you roll your eyes, knowing you didn’t hit her hard and she was just overreacting. “brilliant excuse,so. but if its going to make you stop talking about it, i might as well.” soyoung face lit up as she jumps happily and starts skipping ahead of you. you laugh and pull the handle at back of her bag to keep her explosion of excitement to the minimum.

“you owe me brown sugar milk tea. large.” you taunted. soyoung waves her hand lazily. “i’ll buy you one after school tomorrow. but you better update me during math.”

you wanted to say how you could just text soyoung to update her, but you remembered the fact that soyoung’s mother took away her phone since she didn’t do well for this year’s midterms. although to you, soyoung’s grades were decent. unfortunately for her, soyoung has to live up to her asian mom’s high expectations. the thought of this made you want to frown, but you showed a bright smile regardless as the two of you finally made it to the school gate, waving to each other and bidding farewell before walking down opposite paths.

once you arrived at home, you took out your phone from your back pocket. you saw a notification from your mother saying that your parents would be home late. you shrug your shoulders as you walk to your room. “as always.” you breathed out.

you did your normal routine of showering and eating leftover dinner that you needed to heat up at the couch while you completed one episode of the anime series you were so hooked on. you continue watching but with the amount of homework you have, you might finish them all by midnight if you dont slack.

you turned off the tv and washed your plate before heading into your room. as you close the door behind you, your eyes immediately went to your desk, which was pretty messed up since you had a test to study for yesterday that you completely weren’t prepared for and had to squeeze in as much information as you can. hence, the scattering of notes and textbooks.

you stroll over to your desk and sat down. you take out your homework from your back which was beside the desk. looking at the stack of homework, you groan in despair as shove it to the back of the desk till it hit the wall. “ah fuck it! im just going to ask kun for help.” you admitted your defeat depsite thinking you would be able to gain some energy from your dinner. you also thought about how you’ve done your homework in the morning plenty of time so i shouldnt be a problem unless kun doesn’t offer his help.

you jump to your bed and lay down, bringing your phone out and immediately start scrolling through instagram. as you swiped your finger up to look at the posts of the people you follow, you stop at one. a picture of a couple who met through the sticky note theory. or so they claim. your thumbs hover over the screen as your eyes look up to the ceiling, starting to remember what soyoung asked to do to get your bubble tea.

yoy tap your index finger on the side of your phone as you constantly started to think whether you should do it or not. you’ve heard the rumours. but are they even true? the more you thought about it, the more intriguing the idea got. but at the same time, you also thought of how stupid it sounded and was probably made to fool people.

after contemplating and having in a debate in your head that felt like forever, you finally place your phone down beside you and take a deep breath. “ill do it.” you groan to yourself, letting curiosity take over your other feelings.

you gather up your strength to stand up from your bed and walk over to your desk. you push all the papers and textbooks aside, grabbing a yellow sticky notepad from your stationery organiser. you had other colours too like pink and purple, but you figured that you should go with the classic.

pulling out a random pen that was laying in between the pages of one of your textbooks, you tilt your head to the side as you start thinking of what to write, unconsciously biting the end of your pen in the process.

you bite the side of your cheek and shrug, deciding to go with the plan of writing whatever that comes to your mind.

um hi? i dont even know if you’re going to see this. its funny, really. i heard a rumour that you can communicate with your soulmate through sticky notes. it’s probably just fake news and im writing to a nobody. that would honestly be embarrassing but it’ll be like love letters.. to myself(?) or my soulmate. write back? haha

you read over what you wrote an endless amount of times, thinking if you should make changes. you groan and immediately stick the sticky note onto your wall, giving up on giving second thoughts about what you call this ridiculousness.

you went about your night, forgetting you have left the sticky note on the wall. as you were on you bed scrolling through tumblr at 2 in the morning, you hear something. it sounded like a piece of paper had fallen from your desk.

unable to see in complete darkness, you turn on the flashlight from your phone and walk around your room, trying to find whatever it is that fell. it didn’t take you long to find a small yellow sticky note that you accidentally stepped on.

you pick it up, remembering that you wrote on the sticky note and thought that it was yours. however, once you were able to get a closer look, you noticed that the words on the sticky note have changed. so has the handwriting.

holy shit. i dont know what is this. but apparently a sticky note appeared on my wall saying i have a soulmate. my friends told me i should write back because of some rumour. so here i am trying. hi im mark. i dont know your name, but hope you’ll tell me once you recieve this. you’re in luck because apparently the rumour is true. im just as crepped out as you are.

you froze in your spot. your fingers shaking as you read the note again. you scratch your head. being too tired and unable to think straight at 2 in the morning, you place the sticky note on your desk and went back to bed to play with your phone. you soon forget about the fact that your soulmate has replied to your message that you have written on your sticky note.

as you got ready for the next period which was math, soyoung immediately runs over to you, dragging the chair from the desk beside you and taking a seat. you flinch a little when you suddenly see her close to you.

“so did you try it?!” soyoung asks, her voice filled with enthusiasm . you brushed a few pieces of hair behind your ear, nodding your head as you take out your textbook from under the desk. “did you get a reply then?”

your mind started to take you back to the mysterious encounter that you had last night. “mhm.” you reply simply. “though the only thing i remember because it seems to be the only relevant information is that the person’s name is mark.” soyoung gasped loudly, making you crease your forehead as you watch her overreacting again.

“your soulmate’s name is mark then.” soyoung concludes, folding her arms confidently as if she made a great discovery. you laugh, rolling your eyes sarcastically. “isnt it obvious?” soyoung frowns fakely.

your mouth gapes open as you hit soyoung’s arm lightly. “buy me my milk tea!” you demanded with a wide smile. soyoung places her notebook on your table and nods constantly. “i will you addict.” she groans. you happily say thank you as your teacher comes into the classroom and class began.

“what are you going to do about it now though?” as you recieved the question from soyoung, you kept silent for a moment, giving time to think of an answer.

“ill write something back? i dont know.. ill have to read the letter again when i get back home.” you whispe to soyoung. she nods in reply as the two of you payed your attention to the front again. it surprised you that soyoung was paying attention but you only assumed that she wanted to do better in class and shrug your shouders, writing down the notes youve missed while talking to soyoung.

as for you, your concentration in class dipped slightly because now, the thing that is occupying your head the most is the thought that the sticky notes theory might actually be real and you cant say its not possible anymore, making you even more shocked than you did last night.

lucky for you, today is the only day of the week where your class ends the earliest, along with two other lower ranked classes. you and soyoung quickly pack up to go to the mall to get your reward. after soyoung buys you your drink, you and soyoung went your separate ways.

after about 30 minutes of taking the bus and walking, you finally arrived at home. you place your drink on the living room table and proceed to place your bag in the room and head for the showers.

once you were done showering, you walk out of the bathroom to head to your room while drying your hair with a small towel. opening the door, you enter and went straight to your clothing rack. just when you were about to grab a shirt from the hanger, you heard the same noise last night. another piece of paper has fallen on the floor.

you turn your head and look down. this time, you found another sticky note right in front of your feet. the colour of the sticky note changed from yellow to a light blue. you tilt your head as you pick up the stick note from the floor, finding it odd as you wonder how the colour of the sticky note changed.

you take a deep breath before reading it, noticing that the handwriting was similar to the one you read last night. a little messier, but still readable.

hi again.. im not sure if you’ll recieve this since its the afternoon and i know people are busy with work or school. i skipped school today so haha. um i just wanted to write to you, despite me not knowing a single thing about you. its odd really. its like i feel the need to write something to an unknown identity that people assume to be my soulmate. i still dont know your name, so i hope youll reply soon. take your time and take care :)

- mark

“skip school? what is he, a bad boy?” you scoff to yourself. you try to take in whatever’s on the note, but another thought comes to mind. you walk over to your desk and saw that the yellow sticky note with mark’s reply was still there. you find everything about this weird and just odd in general. a lot of questions sprouted, but you didn’t want to think of it since you were afraid you would complicate your thoughts and just throw yourself into a stress hole.

you continue to dry your hair with one hand while the other held onto the light blue sticky note. you bit your lip and gulp. after letting out a long sigh, you place the sticky note next to the other one and changed into your clothes, as well as bringing your drink from the living room table to your room, placing it on the desk as you sat down.

you take out your pencilcase from your bag and brought out your fresh new black pen that you just bought at the school’s stationery store. the previous pen you had was full of ink till soyoung was dumb enough to drop it, spoiling the pen and was unable to be used again.

peeling off another yellow stick note from the stack at the edge of your desk, you were about to put your pen on paper when you realise you dont even know what to write. what do you say to this person you barely know about? you continuously tap the edge of the pen against your desk as you take a sip of your drink. you look over to the two sticky notes with the messages that the person has left. its funny how you have to think so hard just to write a short message.

hey again. i actually ended school early today. my name’s raven. but my friends call me ray. i honestly don’t know what to say to you. im still dumbfounded over the fact that you’re my soulmate and we’re here communicating over sticky notes. the world really does work in a strange way. if you dont mind, i guess i want to know how old you are and you’re education status?

you held out the sticky note in front of you and sigh in satisfaction. why? it’s because of your neat handwriting. it was always a trait of yours that you deeply appreciate. you place the sticky note on the wall and advert your attention to the other sticky notes, placing them on the wall beside the new one you have just written.

“will this drive me insane? i might end up with a whole wall of this.” you say to yourself, rubbing your face with your palm before going to your bed and laying down, wanting to have your evening nap.

“this is awesome!”

“no its scary.”

mark and his group of friends stared at the sticky note that has a message written with beautiful handwriting. mark flinched when he felt an arm on his shoulder, turning around to notice it was chenle’s. “when did you write your previous sticky note?” renjun suddenly asked. mark tilts his head as he tried to find an answer.

“less than an hour before you guys came i guess?” mark shrugs, standing up from his desk and taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside jaemin and haechan. “this raven girl is your soulmate then.” chenle walks towards mark and stands in front of him. mark nods slowly. the room grew silent again with everyone having the similar thoughts.

“you know what would be funny?” haechan smacks mark’s thigh, the sound making everyone turn their attention to mark and haechan. “what?” mark asked with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“why dont we prank her and say you’re a sugar daddy and live in a mansion?!” everyone gave yuta weird looks, making haechan laugh hysterically. “are you crazy? do you think i want to chase my soulmate away?” mark scolded haechan, smacking him hard on the chest, resulting in haechan’s back falling onto the bed.

“you’re always asking for a beating i swear.” renjun comments, walking towards haechan and balling his hand into a fist and acting as if he was about to attack. jaemin laughs to try and calm them down. “kids let’s not fight.” jaemin announced, looking over to jeno only to find him standing there watching quietly.

“go ahead, mark. you should write something. we cant keep her waiting.” jeno finally spoke up, grabbing the sticky notepad and a random pen from mark’s table and passing it over to him.

mark stared at the blank paper while the others were talking about what to have for dinner. it didn’t take him long to decide what to write. when mark starts writing and began to be in full concentration, everyone crowds around him to see what he’s writing.

sup raven! i wont call you ray since we aren’t friends yet. im still shocked. like the possibility of things like this being possible is just another possibility that can possibly happen. but anyways, to answer you question, im a high schooler from dream high. im in my third year. its kind of awkward for me while im writing this since my friends are reading every word im taking down. i guess i should ask you the same question back then. hope to hear from you soon.

“will you guys stop being nosy?” mark groans, standing up and pasting the sticky note on his wall, along with the other sticky notes he received from you. “you didn’t have to say that we’re here.” haechan retorts. mark rolls his eyes. “jesus..” mark mutters under his breathe. “anyways, yall are paying for dinner since you guys bribed me to write back.” mark sticks his tongue out playfully and runs out to the living room. everyone follows suit.. except for jeno.

jeno slowly walks towards the wall and leans forward to get a closer look of the sticky notes, specifically the two others beside the new one that mark just wrote. “raven? why does that sound so familiar? the handwriting...” jeno brings his finger up and lightly hovers them over the uniquely written words. it looked like calligraphy, and retro looking. jeno felt as though he had seen it before somewhere, or knew someone who wrote like that.

jeno snapped out of his deep thoughts when jaemin called out to him, making him walk towards the door and glancing at the sticky notes once more before joining the others in the living room.

you were currently video calling your friends when you heard the crackling of a piece of paper. of course you knew what that meant. you peered down the the floor from your bed and reached your hand out to pick up the sticky note. “ray?” doyoung called out to you when he noticed your face wasnt on screen. you lay back down on the floor and brought your phone up to show your face.

“what was that sound earlier?” lucas asked, currently sounding hyper. “the mysterious mark sent me another sticky note.” you reply sarcastically, waving the sticky note to the camera to let everyone look at it. everyone nodded their heads at the some time, some letting out a long ‘ah’ as well. “read it out loud!” yuta shouted.

“the fuck no!” you shouted back. you stared at the sticky note, but didn’t bother to read it. you thought of doing that once you’re done video calling them.

“how was today for you guys?” you asked, wanting to know how they’re doing.

“its tiring! we had dance practice, then we have to do recordings for our new albums. we barely get any sleep.” ten whines, his tone filled with stress. you laugh loudly. it made everyone frown and pout. you sigh. “pursuing your NCT world domination is never easy.” you commented, highlighting the word ‘world domination’ with a change of tone.

everyone lets out a long sigh and started to complain one by one, making the whole video call chaotic for almost 10 minutes. you could only smile and shake your head.

after about an hour or so of talking about basically everything and catching up with each other, everyone decided that they should end the call here since it was beginning to get dark and they needed to start practice soon. you bid your goodbye to them once more and ended the call.

you now adverted your attention to the sticky note. reading the letter, you raise both eyebrows. “dream high? that’s not far from here..” you mumbled to yourself. you started to think about everything you know about dream high. you know it’s was about an hour’s journey from where you live. it wasnt really well known either. the overall vibe of the school was mediocre.

however, you felt like you were missing something. something about that school is somehow related to you. you just couldn’t think of an answer despite squeezing all thoughts that you have in your brain. you groan and stood up from your bed and to your desk, proceeding to wanting to write a reply to mark.

hey. sorry if you get this quite late. i was busy video calling my friends. to answer your question, im a third year as well from jookin high. i would ask for your number so we dont have to do this all the time but my friend would scold me saying “but you’re removing the fun out of it.” but anyways, mark aka my soulmate, tell me about yourself, to start off.

you stick the note onto the wall, looking at the row of messages you’ve had recieved so far. you found it weird how the first time you’ve sent the note and got a reply back, it was on the same sticky note, just different handwriting. but you had to write on a new sticky note to send a new message only to get the same sticky note with a different message in return.

you only see his answers lined up on your wall. you started to wonder how this mark guy looked like. is he good looking? what are his hobbies? his attitude towards school? you really wished you could just text him through instagram and not have to go through all this trouble. but that option would earn you a large smack on the back by soyoung and your really didn’t want that.

“do we really need to be here now? like now?!”soyoung whined, while pushing the cart and following behind you while you tossed some packets of frozen bacon. you stopped walking and turn around, nodding your head intensely. soyoung groans and took out her phone, proceeding to use it while still pushing the cart.

you walk around the supermarket, trying to find the ingredients listed on your notes in your phone. it was the weekends and you’re parents were going to be away for a business trip for a week so you thought of inviting soyoung over and making home cooked meals as a bonding session for you two.

after about 30 minutes of gathering the ingredients and having soyoung constantly screaming and fangirling over tiktok edits of jaehyun from NCT. one note: she has yet to know that you know them and that they’re your friends. you figured that it would be best to not let anyone know so as to avoid any situation that would put your friends in a tight spot, since well they’re idols, you were looking for one last item that you had trouble finding.

“soyoung help me! stop watching tiktoks!” you groan, snatching soyoung’s phone away and shoving it in her back pocket. soyoung rolls her eyes lazily and the two of you proceeded to scan the different isles and shelves, looking over every item.

while you were too concentrated looking at the bottom shelves, you felt that you have bumped into someone. you squat down, letting out a soft ‘ouch’ before standing up and looking to see who you bumped into.

“wait. jaemin?” you furrow your eyebrows as you tilt your head, pointing your finger at the guy in front of you. “raven!” you noticed that it was jaemin after all, and both your faces lit up and the same time, grinning widely at each other.

“uhhh..” soyoung says out loud, you and jaemin turn your heads to face soyoung who was behind you. “oh! this is jaemin. we used to be neighbourhood friends before he moved out 4 years ago.” you introduced jaemin to soyoung. jaemin nodded and gave her a bright smile. soyoung only shrugged her shoulders and took out her phone. you turn your attention back to jaemin.

“why are you even here? dont you live quite far?” you ask, your fingers interlocked behind your back. jaemin nods, running a hand through his hair.

“well yes. but we came here to find something that only this supermarket sells.” jaemin replied back, his warm smile never leaving his lips. you smile, reached your hand out to ruffle his hair, laughing softly afterwards. “we? who’re you with?” you stared at jaemin with eyes of suspicion. jaemin started pinching your cheeks, making you whine and begging him to let go.

“with my friend, ray chill. im still single.” jaemin pulled away and folded his arms, pouting. “im sure you’ll find one soon.” you reached out to ruffle his hair and give off a wide smile.

while you and jaemin were catching up and being in your own world, soyoung got too bored of watching the two of you and decided to walk around the supermarket, leaving the cart behind you.

just as she was looking at the drinks isle to get her favourite sweet drink, she sees someone picking up a bunch of bottles one by one and placing them back on the shelve. out of kindness, she decided to help, picking up a bottle and placing it on fhe shelve before looking up to face the guy, who had a straight face while looking at her.

“i was just trying to help. im soyoung.” soyoung smiled, reaching her hand out and waiting for thr guy to greet back. he looked at her but doesn’t respond, proceeding to pick up the last bottle that was seen on the floor. “im jeno.” jeno stands up and nods his head to greet soyoung. soyoung nods back, walking down the isle to grab her drink from the shelve. “have a nice day.” soyoung says before leaving the isle and disappearing out of jeno’s sight. he only shrugged in response and went to do his own thing.

“you met who?!” haechan asks as he takes a sip of his ice cold water. everyone had their heads turned to jaemin, who raised an eyebrow at everyone’s weird expression. “i met my old friend raven. what’s so shocking?” jaemin asks back casually, picking up a few pieces of fries and dipping it into the sauce before shoving it in his mouth.

“dude that’s the name of mark’s soulmate!” haechan screams, making everyone flinch due to the loud noise. “i highly doubt it. there’s plenty of girls in the world with the name raven.” jaemin protests with his mouth full and chugging down gulps of coca cola.

“i mean that’s true. jeno you were with jaemin, right? dont you suspect anything?” renjun starts to question jeno, who was silently playing with his phone. looking up at the others, he gulps.

“i didn’t know he met his friend. i was picking out drinks. i just met a girl named soyoung.” jeno shrugs, taking a bite of his burger. mark scratches the back of his head, now starting to think of the fact that jaemin might have met his soulmate. though he also thought about how that could not be totally possible.

“nah i dont think its her. like really ‘raven’ could be anyone.” mark says, siding with jaemin. haechan tilts his head in awe. “jaemin do you know what school she’s going to?” jaemin only shakes his head.

“i lost all contact with her when i left her neighbourhood. plus we were young. i barely knew her honestly.” the living room falls silent, everyone trying to think of a conclusion to this.

chenle groans, standing up from his seat and slamming his hands on the table, gathering everyone’s attention as their heads shot up. “instead of pondering as if yall are solving some crime, why dont mark just ask her through the sticky note god dammit?” chenle pinches the bridge of his nose.

everyone’s mouths gape open as the room was suddenly filled with ‘ah’s all over. chenle shakes his head. everyone was now looking intensively at mark. mark furrows his eyebrows. “okay guys hold up ill grab the stick note.” mark stands up and takes one bite of his burger before going into his room for awhile and coming out with a sticky note and a pen.

jaemin noticed jeno being silent the whole way. and althought thats normal since its jeno’s nature and personality to not be so outspoken like the others, jaemin could sense that jeno was off and seem to be in deep thoughts.

and jaemin was right. jeno couldnt stop thinking about jaemin’s encounter with ‘raven’. the name sounded so familiar. he tried to recall every girl he has came into contact with during his life. why did he feel like the name was tied to the handwriting he saw on the sticky notes?

“jeno.” jaemin nudged him in the shoulder. jeno mumbled a soft ‘oh’ before turning his attention to mark just like the others. “she didn’t send me a reply after my last one though.” mark says, looking up.

“its fine. she probably didn’t see it. just write already.” chenle says in anticipation. mark shakes his head. “calm the heck down its not like we can get an answer immediately.” mark rolls his eyes and began to write.

hey raven. um i know this may sound weird. but have you gone to a supermarket and met a guy names jaemin? im not a stalker i swear. its just that he’s my friend and apparently you know him. though i dont think that such a coincidence and come by just like that. hope you hear from you soon.

jeno stared at the sticky note that mark proceeded to place at a random wall of the living room while everyone continued to eat and chat. his thoughts finally linked and a imaginary lightbulb appeared on above his head when he finally realises why he was so drawn to mark’s soulmate.

you were focused on wanting to solve a math question when the sticky note above your desk’s wall had fallen in front of you, revealing a new message. you place your pen down and let out a sigh, remembering that you hsve forgotten to write a reply and that mark probably sent you another one.

you tied your hair in a messy low bun before picking up the sticky note to get a closer view. you blink your eyes rapidly as your eyes furrow in awe. what the note said really shocked you and made you freeze in your spot. jaemin is friends with your soulmate? there’s no way.

you sat there for awhile as you constantly read over the words, still in shock with your moutb hanging open. you just couldn’t believe it. was it really what it seemed to be? another thought came to your mind as well. the thought of just who is this friend of jaemin’s? could it be mark? was your soulmate literally in the same place as you yet you never knew?

you grab a fresh new piece of sticky note and proceeded to write a reply after staring at it for so long and thought that it was finally time that you do something.

okay what you wrote really was weird. jaemin’s my old neighbourhood friend. its such a coincidence how you know him. i guess the connections are there. so haha yeah. damn. im very mind blown right now.

you take a look at your handwriting again, smiling to yourself. “i really do love my handwriting.” you mumble under your breath. you stuck the sticky note on the wall and resumed doing your homework, hoping that mark would reply soon.

while the boys were immersed in the horror movie they were watching on friday night, everyone turned their heads to each other when they heard the noise of a piece of paper falling onto the floor. in unison, everyone turned their head to where the noise came from and seeing the sticky note that fell.

jisung grabs the controller and pauses the movie. “we’re watching a scary movie and creepy stuff like that happens?!” jisung asks, stuttering out of complete fear.

mark decided to be the brave one after seeing everyone’s terrified face and stands up to pick up the sticky note, going back to take his seat on the couch soon after. “d-does that always happen?” mark shrugs. “well duh. that’s how i know she sent a reply. it wouldn’t be this scary if we weren’t watching a horror movie.”

everyone’s heads once again gather around mark as he read the note out loud. everyone gapes their mouth open, some covered their mouths while jeno could only stare at it in disbelief. “i guess we’ve confirmed its her.” mark breathes out, placing the sticky note on the table.

jeno reaches out to grab the sticky note to have a look. the unique handwriting that he suspected would belong to you really was yours. out of anger, he tears the sticky notes into two. everyone had their eyes widened at jeno’s sudden shocking action. mark snatches the now torn note back, looking down at them before facing jeno.

“what the heck was that for?!”

“dont talk to her anymore. she’s trouble.”

everyone lets out a sigh in unison except for mark, looking at everyone’s weird reaction. “what do you mean trouble? and why does it look like you all know something except me?” mark furrows his eyes as everyone exchanged glances continuously for a moment.

“she’s just not someone you should be with. that’s all.” jeno stands up and walks to his room, slamming the door shut and produring a piercing noise. the room was silent for awhile until mark speaks up.

“what am i missing here you guys?”

no one replies.

“we’ve been friends for a year and you guys are all keeping secrets for me?” mark scoffs in disbelief, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“we arent in the position to tell you. its jeno.” jaemin murmurs under his breath, looking down on the ground just like the others.

marks keeps silent and stands up from the couch, the palm the torn note was in is balled into a fist as he goes into his room as well.

haechan sighs. “jeno has to tell the truth. he’s been holding onto that grudge almost forever now.”

everyone nods their heads in agreement. “if not, he’s going to live in despair now that he knows she’s his best friend’s soulmate..” jisung adds on.

everyone could only silently hope that things could go well.

after that day you’ve sent a reply, you havent heard from mark since. you dont know why. due to your lack of information on him, it felt as if he disappeared into thin air. although only a week has past by, you felt concerned and somewhat worried for him. did something happen to him? what made him cut off his connection with you? its not like you did anything wrong.

out of pure desperation, you decided to skip school today. youve never skipped school before, and you felt so rebellious and bad. why did you do this? so you could go to dream high and meet mark in person. youve had enough of the sticky notes. you just wanted to see how he was like in real life, not having to think about it through notes.

with a little help from jaemin by texting him on instagram, you knew that mark’s class should be ending by 4pm, and you were there at 3:50 in the canteen where jaemin told you to wait. funny how the security guard lets a student from another school come in with a pass or anything.

you slowly start seeing groups of students going down the flight of stairs that lead to the canteen which had a path leading to the front gates. some eyes glanced at you as they notice someone who doesnt belong at their school, you couldnt care less though. your thoughts were only filled with mark. how he looked like, how he would carry himself. your anticipation was the only thing you felt.

you wore your headphones yet you could suddenly hear a lot of squealing and shouting. you look up, turning you attention to the stairs. a large group of girls crowding around another group of people, who you assumed to be guys. you scoffed, thinking about how there’s always that one group of good looking guys all girls seem to go crazy for. you watch as the group of guys push through the large crowd.

once you got a closer look, you tilt your head to the side. you slowly bring your headphone down from your ears and let them rest on your neck, getting intrigued by how the girls were getting so crazy, even more crazy than the ones from your school.

“its mark! he’s so cute!”

you widen your eyes as you heard the word ‘mark’. you stood up from your seat, peering your head up to find which one is the girl referring to. you only see two guys walking. one smiling sheepishly while the other kept a straight and cold face. just which one is mark?

suddenly, you felt an arm grabbing yours and pulling you back. you jump out of fear and turn around noticing it was jaemin. you calmed your breathing as you look at jaemin.

“meet mark under the block nearby. its too hectic here for you to talk to him.”

jaemin dragged you out of the school grounds and to a secluded block where only a few students where walking past and left you there. you were lost in confusion but decided to trust whatever jaemin was doing, sitting down at a random bench.

“jaemin told us to meet him here where is-”

“raven.”

“what?”

you immediately stood in front of the two guys you saw at the canteen as you notice a familiar face. you werent able to get a clear look at them before, but now you realise that you knew one of them. “jeno..” you look at a different direction a you tried avoiding his gaze, though you knew you couldnt, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.

mark looks at the both of you, utterly confused as his attention shifts from you to jeno constantly. “this raven?” mark points at you, tilting his head. you nod slowly as your turn your head to face mark. you observed his body up and down. he was good looking, just like jeno.. yet his aura told you that he was way more outgoing and open than jeno.

“you look...”

everyone was silent.

you gulp in nervousness. “im busy. bye mark.” before jeno could go, mark pulled on his arm to bring him back to stand beside him, earning a glare from jeno. the one you could never forget. “stay. i know something happened. you were always quiet whenever we talked about this girl. and i also know you all kept something from me.”

you slowly turned to jeno. you could he was annoyed whenever he looked at you. you felt it through his eyes, and it was terrifying. jeno took a deep breath in, folding his arms and placing his weight on one leg.

“if you remember clearly, chenle told you that before we became friends with you, we had a fight and didnt talk to each other for a long time. we didnt tell you this, but it was her who caused it. she brought chaos into our group. everyone forgotten about it clearly, but i cant. after what she did.. i cant forgive her.”

you opened your mouth, wanting to reply but your words were somehow stuck in your throat. you didnt exactly know what to say or do in this awkward situation.

“it.. it was a long time ago jeno, please. my feelings for you were real, even if we werent meant to be. i dont know how many times you need me to say sorry.” you pleaded, biting your lip as you waited for jeno’s reaction.

jeno sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he lets out a huff of rustration. “then why did you leave? you left me stranded, and because of you, i almost left my friends becaused i lived in agony since i missed you so much. i almost pushed everyone away.” you shivered as jeno’s voice started to raise.

you also glanced at mark, who still kept his confused expression on his face. through his gaze never left you as you felt his eyes scanning you body up and down.

“you two used date?” mark asks. you nod in reply.

“we were kids. we didnt know about all this soulmate stuff. but now..”

“you know what? be together. im not going to leave my friends just because of my pent up grudge and feelings. i cant control fate either.”

years had now past since you met mark. it really was fate. the two of you became close in no time and now.. you were fianally married. you couldnt be more happy to be with mark. who you were destined to be really was made for you, and you only. and to think this all escalated due to a note you sent out in pure curiosity.

you still remember what happened with jeno after that day, despite the lack of interaction between you two, jeno was open enough to accept you as his friend again. you are now living a happy life with mark, and always being able to hang out with his group of friends. today was no different.

“haechan get the chilli sauce!” you hear mark shout as you smile widely, feeling his arm snaking around your waist to pull you close. having a barbeque was a great idea to celebrate jisung’s birthday.

you soon see haechan with the bottle of chilli sause, placing it on the table where everyone gathered around the table which had jisung’s birthday cake. “before we do anything with the cake, let me announce my wish.” jisung announces proudly. you raise an eyebrow. “you cant say you birthday wish out loud!” you scolded jisung, but everyone laughs.

“his wish is something we all know.” jeno says, winking playfully at you. you tilt your head in confusion when you suddenly feel mark’s arm leaving you waist. you look over to mark who was shoving his hand into his pocket as if to find something.

you were completely clueless when mark nods towards jisung, to show some kind of signal. “i wish for mark and raven to get married!” jisung shouts.

you gaped your mouth open in shock when mark pulls out a small box, opening it in front of you to show a ring. you cover your mouth in disbelief. “did you guys really-”

“please marry me, raven. my sticky note soulmate.” you hear everyone clapping s a tear of happiness drips from your cheek. you quickly wipe it away as you heard the nickname that mark gave you. “we wouldnt normally do this but it was jeno that suggested this.”

you look over to jeno who had a soft smile on his face as he nod his head. looking back at mark, you grin widely as more tears started flowing out. “of course ill marry you, you dork.”

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cl-01-kestis · 4 years ago

Text

My Little Rebel - Inquisitor!Cal Kesits x Female Rebel!Reader | Part 1

Summary: You’re a Rebel who stays the night in Kashyyyk after a long day of fighting and unfortunately fall victim to the new Inquisitor after not minding your own business.

This is my first fic on here, I hope you like it :)

Warnings: None

(Gif is not mine)

The night was creeping in on the planet of Kashyyyk, the shadows were pouring in from every corner and only candle lit lamps kept the small towns and Wookie-owned homes alive. The nightlife was alive, as well as dangerous human eating plants and animals that wouldn’t hesitate to tear you into bits. You had to be careful when it was night on Kashyyyk, not even the Wookiee’s went out into the forests this late.

Within one of the many towns and small villages of Kashyyyk, you were staying for the night in a local tavern with many of your Rebel friends. It was the night of the domination over the Empire’s base on Kashyyyk nearby where you were staying, the Rebel’s rescue attempt was successful as many Wookiee’s were freed from the Empires grasp and used to attack and overthrow the base. This was the reason you were in a tavern; inside a pub and getting drunk as you could get to celebrate. It wasn’t your ideal way to celebrate something so dangerous and where many people lost their lives, but you drank to them and drank to the Rebellion. You didn’t get as drunk as your Rebel friends next to you, gulping down whatever they were given and their faces turning rosy and flushed as the alcohol began to take effect.

It took a while to get to your camp for the night, you preferably didn’t want to barge into a Wookiee’s home and sleep in the same room as they did, you felt that it was a bit rude and unnecessary; so you simply set up a camp and got yourself comfortable. Not only that, you had your own space as well and you could change out of your rebel clothes - which you had on all day - and give yourself a wash before slipping into your pyjamas and getting a well deserved rest. You waved goodnight to your Rebel battalion, kissing your friends on the cheeks and hugging them tightly before bidding them farewell and slipping into the shadows of the little village, passing the rest of the houses which were filled to the brim with Rebel guests and Wookiee’s who laughed and shared drinks and jokes. You smiled watching the different scenes of friendship unfold and stuffed your hands in your combat pockets, your boots scuffing the concrete slab pathway which led to the outskirts of the city; where many other Rebel tents were set up and had small little lamps lit up inside of them, shadows of silhouettes showing up against the lit up tents of Rebel’s either sleeping or sitting up with other people and chatting.

You approached your tent, fatigued by the fighting from earlier today and wanting nothing more than to lie in your tent and drift off into a wonderful sleep. The night life was very present, strange noises and chirps of either birds or small critters surrounding the tents but also keeping a distance. As you approached your tent - which was kindly set up by one of your friends - you heard a noice just as you were about to unzip the entrance. Vexed, you froze and stood up straight, looking out to the forest ahead of you which was situated right next to the camp of Rebels. No one else seemed to be awake or out of their tents, you felt endangered and almost felt like a deer in headlights as another sound made its way to your hearing. The sound of twigs snapping and footsteps caught your attention, looking up to a fallen over tree which was absolutely massive and taking a few curious steps towards it. Your breathing was rapid, eyes fixated on what was ahead of you as you crouched slightly, body preparing for something to leap out and grab you as you approached the tree and looked behind you, making sure no one was around to tell you off as you slid underneath the gap between the thick tree and the ground, entering the forest in a hurry to reveal the beautiful nature and plantation of the planet.

The air was thick around you, the humidity compared to the other side of the thick trees was almost overbearing and made you want to turn on your heel and get the hell out of there. But something in the distance, a cloaked figure, completely caught you off guard and made you duck the moment your eyes landed on it. Your whole body was tense, you crawled to the nearest place where you couldn’t be seen but you weren’t very good at keeping quiet, it wasn’t exactly one of your specialties. The dark figure in the distance turned its head, revealing a visor in the shape of a line, it was illuminated red and stuck out like a sore thumb against the forest which was full of darkened browns and greens. Your breath hitched in your throat, turning your head around to look away from the masked figure and focus on hiding yourself more. You shimmied to the side, your back hitting the back of a large tree and next to a few bushes where a few creepy crawlies lurked.

Your whole body was tense as you heard approaching footsteps, walking over more rubble which caused more snaps and made your heart beat just that little bit faster. You tried to calm your breathing as the figure got closer and closer, visor shining and covering any sign of humanity or whatever the figure was. Now, standing above you on another fallen tree, was an Inquisitor. The Sith’s little pawns who’s job was to pick off remaining Jedi, or take down rebel groups.

Your heart dropped the moment you saw the Imperial mark on the Inquisitors shoulder, eyes wide and mouth open in shock as you didn’t dare move in case you were killed on the spot.

“Well well well” The Inquisitor smirked, a deep, growl tearing its way through the speaker of the black helmet, revealing a male voice full of amusement and curiosity. All you could do was look at him. “What’s a little rebel like you doing away from the rest of her people? It’s dangerous out here, you know” The Inquisitors voice was sadistic, you could tell he was smiling underneath his helmet and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. You didn’t reply, you were too afraid to even do anything and felt completely helpless sitting underneath the Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor chuckled, jumping off the fallen tree and right next to you, startling you and causing a gasp to leave your parted lips. The Inquisitor found this clearly funny, once again laughing before crouching down right next to you, helmet inches away from your face.

“Don’t talk much? I didn’t think I was that scary” He joked dryly, but you didn’t even break a smile, not even the corners of your lips curved up. You just sat, shivering in fear.

“Alright then, say, you’re pretty cute, I wouldn’t want to waste such a pretty face by killing you” The Inquisitor said in a taunting voice, looking down at his lightsaber which was strapped to his belt as if to scare you even more for his entertainment. Your eyes widened and this caused you to shuffle back, the exact reaction he wanted from you.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you, there’s nothing to be afraid of” The Inquisitor said, his voice now reassuring and almost verging on comforting as he reached a hand out. You leaned as far back as you possibly could without pulling a back muscle, your lip quivering as your eyes watched his hand closely.

“How can I not be afraid?” You finally said, voice feeble and hints of panic and distress. The Inquisitor sighed, pulling his gloved hand back and waiting a few moments before raising both of his hands up and placing them on his helmet. This bewildered you, you watched in somewhat amazement as the the Inquisitors helmet sprayed out cooped up pressure from the oxygen levels and the Inquisitor finally took it off his head, revealing one of the most, if not the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

The Inquisitor had firey red hair that reached past his ears that was messily parted. His eyes were yellow and glistened with mischief as he gave you a smirk and saw the blush on your face. His jaw was sharp, angled so perfectly it could probably cut glass. On the corner of his right jaw was a large scar, racing up to his mid cheek. Another scar was across his nose, again a pretty large one but for some reason it was oddly attractive.

“See? I’m just like you” Was what he said as you looked at him in awe, face hot as you looked away as felt a whiz of emotions tug at your insides. You weren’t sure what to do in this situation, an Inquisitor, practically the most dangerous person besides a Sith Lord, was standing in front of you and trying to comfort you, it didn’t make sense. On top of that you were also on opposite sides - he should’ve killed you by now.

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly, breaking the cavalry of thoughts swirling inside your head and making you bite the inside of your cheek, taking a few seconds to think wether or not it’s worth telling him who you were. After looking at him and seeing that he wasn’t trying to trick you, you sighed.

“(Y/N)” You said blandly, voice still barely audible and laced with anxiety and stress, the Inquisitor smiled and nodded his head.

“What a nice name, I’m Cal” The Inquisitor stretched his hand out to you, you were hesitant to even think about touching him, nevermind talking to him. You slowly leaned forward and took his hand carefully, looking back to his face and seisng that he was watching you closely the entire time. You were stunned by his kindness, your mind buzzing with so many thoughts and questions, it almost gave you a thumping headache.

Cal smiled as you took his hand, his gold eyes shifting through every detail of your face and memorising them all within a matter of seconds. He kept a soft grip on your hand, hesitant to let go as you slowly got more comfortable around him and you didn’t feel as terrified as you did when you first saw him.

“Why haven’t you killed me, Cal?” You inquired, your voice growing more condfidence as your breathing got less heavy and slowed down a fair bit. Cal let out a soft and sweet chuckle, somehow it warmed your heart and made you blush as you watched the dangerous Inquisitor chuckle.

“I don’t have a reason to, like I said earlier, you’re cute as well, I think you’re too pretty to face such a fate” Cal answered. You didn’t know whether to feel offended or flattered, but you felt the smallest creep of a smile approaching and you tried your best to repress it in case Cal saw, but it was clear he could sense you were about to - I mean, he’s a force wielder after all, he senses things before they happen.

“T-thank you” You said, flustered as you looked away from the Inquisitor and letting go of his hand after realising you held it for so long. The feeling of his leather gloves were still on your fingertips, you wanted to feel it again but you didn’t let your hormones get in the way of your emotions.

“I hate to cut things short, but I need to get going now and you should too, before the Rebels know you’ve been gone for too long” Cal smirked, standing up and offering you his hand. You reluctantly took it, hoisting yourself up from the ground and patting yourself down whilst Cal still held your hand in his. You tried ignoring the strange sensations that were tingling deep within your chest, you tried ignoring the butterflies in your stomach as you looked back up to see Cal who’s eyes were now narrowed and staring at you like a piece of meat. You gulped, looking away from him and avoiding his intense stare before a gloved hand grabbed your chin and forced you to look back up at him.

“We’ll meet again my little rebel, don’t miss me too much, okay?” Cal smirked teasingly, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on your cheek which made you internally screech, eyes wide and cheeks ablaze with heat as he leaned back and raised a hand to hold your face. Cal started walking backwards, the smirk still purely visible on his face as he strayed further and further away from you before placing his helmet back on his head and running into the distance, out of sight and leaving you feeling more confused than you had ever been in your entire life.

What just happened?

#fallen order #star wars #cal kestis #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x reader

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mythicamagic · 5 years ago

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Sesskag week - Day 1: Crime

Summary: Kagome makes a startling discovery about Sesshoumaru's face markings. She then involves herself in his daily beauty routine. "Being so pretty should be a crime." Oneshot.

AN: For Sesskag Week Day 1 Crime.

Rated T

1,400 words

(all prompts posted on Ao3, fanfic.net and Dokuga)

War Paint

It had happened by accident while Kagome had been sitting upon a certain Daiyoukai's lap, enjoying a lovely make-out session. Their first, really. After clumsily navigating their feelings in an awkward exchange of confessions they'd ended up tugging each other close, starting to caress.

So Kagome had brushed her thumb across his elfin ear, his soft lips, his exotic stripes-

Only to find the magenta had smudged under her touch.

Kagome stiffened.

"What is it?" a content voice rumbled, Sesshoumaru very much occupied with kissing her neck.

"Your- um…I think I broke your markings?"

Sesshoumaru's lashes tickled her skin in a slow blink. "If they have smudged it is fine."

"B-but-" Kagome gaped, leaning back and hesitantly touching his crescent moon, finding a similar situation. "They're not permanent?" she rubbed her index finger and thumb together, noting the colour and substance on them. "Wait, is this makeup?"

He snorted, "if you wish to call it that. Demons refer to it as war paint."

Kagome rose a brow, holding onto his shoulders and peering closer. "No way, this is crazy!" she breathed, eyes wide. "I don't know how to feel right now...I mean they're such a part of your identity!"

"Hn."

"But they enlarge and become all jagged when you get angry- and they stay on your face even after you've transformed!"

Sesshoumaru idly kissed her ear, teasing the shell between sharp teeth and rather wishing she'd focus on their forgotten canoodling. "Some clans feed youki into war paint, fixing it to their skin. When youki fluctuates, such as when I am angered, it causes the paint to change, as you mentioned. It is because this particular paint combines so well with youki that we use it in humanoid form. It then stays on even after transformation, though it changes slightly in appearance."

"Wow," Kagome hummed, catching his wrist as he attempted to grope her, studying the stripes. "You apply them here too. Are they anywhere else on your body?"

Golden eyes glittered wickedly. "Allow me to show you the full extent of them, miko."

Kagome blinked, confused for half a second before she yelped, reading the warning signs.

Too late. The demon pounced, sending her to the ground in a tangle of limbs and breathy giggles.

---

A week into their relationship, Kagome lounged on a nest of furs, heels kicked up behind her. Ignoring the strands tickling her bare skin, she watched with rapt attention as Sesshoumaru sat half-naked before a mirror. She had witnessed his beauty- er- war ritual a few times now, memorising how he applied the colourful paint. He always started the day with them, touching up his markings within the privacy of his chambers.

Rolling off the bed and grabbing a robe, she tugged it on loosely, approaching. Sliding her arms around broad shoulders from behind, Kagome kissed a pointed ear.

"Can I try?"

Sesshoumaru paused halfway through starting his eye shadow-esque markings. Raising a thin brow, the demon shifted long claws up, handing her the brush.

Beaming, Kagome grabbed a pillow and knelt on it as the Daiyoukai turned to face her. Delicately holding his jaw with one hand, she coated the brush with paint.

Slowly and gingerly, she swept rich magenta over his closed eyelid. Her heart melted at the display of trust, pausing to gaze at his placid expression and closed long lashes.

"You're so pretty it should be a crime," Kagome sighed, carrying on.

"Hn."

Cutting her eyes to the ceiling, a grin wormed its way onto her mouth. What an impressive ego. Shifting up on her knees, the miko's tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth while she focused. Drawing the stripes on proved harder than first assumed. Her fingers shook a little. The magenta line wobbled and Kagome huffed, grabbing a rag and wiping it off. Sesshoumaru cheek twitched. A golden eye cracked open.

"No peeking," she huffed, fluttering a hand.

Thin lips curved, but he obeyed. "This one does not understand your initial reaction to them. You seemed confused, though I have witnessed you in war paint before."

"My eye shadow? I don't wear that for going into battle though- turn this way, please-" she guided his head to turn left.

Sesshoumaru felt a wet trail cut across his cheek, a twin, lower stripe gliding over the contours of his face. "I do not see the difference. You were fighting with it on."

Giggling, Kagome gently bid him to turn the other way. "I guess you have a point, but let's just say the intention behind it wasn't to mark me or intimidate any enemies. Girls in my time wear it for themselves or to appeal to boys."

"Only women wear it?"

"Well, some men do. Especially models, but it's usually to do with fashion or to give people confidence."

Sesshoumaru's mouth turned down at the edges, mulling over this information as she painted the stripes onto his right cheek. "Confidence to...slay their enemies?"

Kagome giggled, "no. I told you we don't do a lot of that in the modern era," she smirked, holding either side of his face and moving it so that he looked forward. Kagome then lay his arm over her knee, carefully painting his wrist.

"This one was hoping you'd been joking," he snorted, blindly lifting it when the miko shifted to try and draw the second line that licked under his first. "Tell me, what was your intention when wearing the 'eye shadow' that day?"

Kagome's cheeks flushed red, heart tripping a little before catching itself and returning to its usual rhythm. Shifting her touch to his restored left hand- she squeaked when he used it to grasp her wrist and draw closer.

"Sesshoumaru," she whined, grumbling when he dragged teasing lips over the racing pulse within her neck.

Sharp teeth scraped in a nip, causing a squeak to caress his hearing. "Tell me the reason," he purred.

"F-fine, alright already," Kagome glanced away. "I wore it for you, obviously. I wanted...to get your attention a little."

The smoke of a smile ghosted his lips, chest rumbling with satisfaction. "And now you have it, miko."

"Mhm," squirming, she gently batted him away. "And I'm very happy about that but I'm almost done, so control yourself, Mr."

Sesshoumaru's hands settled possessively on her waist, resting his elbows on his thighs, lingering close. With his eyes shut, the scent of her smelled that much more intimate and strong, twined with his own. Finishing the stripes on his arms, Kagome's chest bumped an aristocratic nose as she rose up, moving silky bangs slightly aside on his forehead. Changing brushes for a thinner one and dipping the end into a light, powdery blue, she held her breath.

Long fingers roved, wrapping around her waist to hold her steady. Squinting, Kagome ever so gently touched the paint to his skin, curving the brush down in a gentle sweep.

Exhaling in a rush, the miko nodded with satisfaction.

Setting the brush down in favour of the mirror, Kagome settled on the pillow and smiled. "Okay, I'm done. You can open your eyes now."

Inhuman eyes slid open like a lazy predator interrupted from a nap. Sesshoumaru blinked, drinking in the image of himself within the mirror. It was almost ideal, especially impressive for her first try. The only slight imperfection was the crescent moon, but he remembered his own frustration with it as a pup. Drawing it on was especially difficult.

Flitting a warm gaze up from his reflection to the miko peering out from behind the glass, he gentled. "It is almost perfect."

"Almost?" dark brows drew together, worried she had made a mistake.

Removing the mirror from her grasp and setting it aside, Sesshoumaru lifted the woman onto his lap and hummed, kissing the available flesh of her chest that remained uncovered by her loose robe. "As you have discovered before, Kagome, those are not the only markings needed on my body."

Tugging on his obi and loosening white hakama pants so that they slackened, falling low on his hips, Sesshoumaru gave a devilish smirk.

"You will apply the rest."

Kagome burst into giggles, eyes glittering with mirth. Picking up the brush and dipping it in magenta, she dutifully returned to her task.

End

#sesskag #skw2020 #sesskagweek2020 #Sesshoumaru #Kagome Higurashi #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #Inuyasha

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imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

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When In Dreams

Angsty Elf!Geralt x OFC one-shot

Summary: As an ancient war awakens, so does a love that knows no bounds. [Lord of the Rings AU with elf!Geralt x human OFC]

Author’s note: A sweet congratulations is in order for dear @mrsaugustwalker on her 5k followers. Hereby a one shot based on your prompt-lists! I hope you may enjoy it my dear -- as well as the many other fics you’ll hopefully receive!

Word count: 3.511

Warnings: NSFW - lots of angst and trauma with a smudge of fluff and smut - mentions of death, physical and emotional trauma, violence, blindness, prostitution and mentions of torture

I dreamt of home last night. I could smell the damp grass, feel the hug of threadbare cloth and hear the storm that roared in the distance. And I could see; I could see those heavy clouds as they gathered like wads of grey moss over the once crystal clear skies. I could see them threatening with fire, the white electric serpents of the gods already slithering over deep grey. But it wasn’t the serpents’ fiery, splitting tongues that worried me as much, as did the eastern horizon where the sun still kissed the grass and the loud beat of war drums echoed over the rumble of the storm.

War was coming.

It wasn’t the first time these lands would be wrecked by violence and pain. In fact it was as common as drawing breath in Northern Rohan, and I knew no different life ever since my mother gathered me in her arms. We lost father before I could memorise him, and then some years later, with the pestilence and the failing of crops, my mother was next to pay the inevitable prize that any herb-gatherer would eventually pay; with the point of a finger and the burning of a stack of wood she was gone and I was suddenly cast-out and alone, my life as I once knew it now but a faint memory.

I left, only to start my new life a few miles east of the village, where I found this abandoned cot near the Great Dwimordene Forest where demons danced and flesh eating faeries feasted. I never dared enter the dark grove, but my long-kept fear for the great ghost stories didn’t hold footing either. I never saw them, those faeries and demons, the months turning years without a single sighting. But I did see him. Accidentally at first, his face torn between anguish and surprise as I just watched him from the tall grass, his yellow eyes sparkling like golden treasure in the shadows.

I had never seen the like of a man like him before, but even long after he disappeared - just as quickly as he had appeared - I thought of those honeyed eyes and his pale long hair. Was he one of the forest demons? If so, why didn’t he come to claim me? Roast me on a spit and dance around the flames? Long days, weeks and months passed and as the memory of his eyes faded, the eastern horizon became restless, the storm that now brewed in the sky forming a battlecry for the courageous warriors who fought there, their wives and children left behind.

Returning home after the gathering of whatever meagre supplies I could find between burned crops and crevices - roots and herbs mostly, I felt the first tears spilling from the heavens, cold and bitter like the saltwater that would soon billow down motherly cheeks. I hastened my pace on the beat of the drum and thunder, my eyes reverting back to the east, where the last of the sun was now swallowed whole, spitting out only darkness and death, death that rode a pale horse.

Literally though. It looked like someone was speeding towards me. A rider.

I still wear the marks of that moment, in mind, body and soul, my now unseeing eyes remembering the pained expression of the rider’s face, an empty cry bursting from his lips. The white manes of his majestic mount danced in the fierce wind as the horse tried to free himself from the desperate clutch of his struggling rider. But alas, it was hardly a battle in the end, for the horse was too spooked and the rider too pained. With a thud his body fell down on the wet grass and the horse eloped, fleeing from the scene.

In that moment I realised the cause of his pain. A crude arrow stuck from the rider’s back, straight through the layers of leather and heavy cloak that now lay motionless in the waving sea of green. Was he dead? My eyes searched for his attacker, but all I saw was windy waving grass and sharp solid rock; the bare bones of Rohan, my home. And his grave now too, probably. With a hurried pace I forgot about my return home, my hair now dancing around my weary eyes as I ate the distance between myself and the man, my fingertips uncovering braided long brown hair and peculiar armour; swirling and elegant, which for a moment made me wonder if he was one of the famed Rohirrim horse lords.

There was no time for wonder though, for Rohan’s earth was restless. A deep growl thundered out over the storm and in an instant I forgot how to breath as death came again. This time not riding a pale horse, but a beast that I hadn’t seen the like of before. Horse-sized, houndlike and deadly, his daggersharp teeth rattled in the chase they were laying on the lifeless man..and me. Me. Me. Me-me-me…I froze in place and let slow seconds eat away, until finally I gathered my senses, my only option now being the one that presented itself by the dagger I found beneath the man’s cloak.

Silvery sharp, it gleamed in the low light of the mighty storm, a storm that roared in my blood now too. I felt sick in my empty stomach, for I knew not how to defend myself, my shaking hand betraying my inaptness. The beast and his rider saw it too, the rider letting out a orcish cackle of horrific amusement. My heart dropped even lower as our eyes met, his redbrown beads shimmering like blood diamonds on black marred skin. He was hideous. And unfortunately for me, graceful too. With a simple hop he got off his great beast, his split tongue flaking hungrily over his barely existent lips.

He spoke then, but I didn’t know what that snake-like tongue spoke of, though I could guess it was most likely vile..and something to do with his crotch, which he grasped for illustratory purpose. Again I realised that I couldn’t move, my feet seemingly swallowed by the grass that danced and danced - almost as if taunting me for my own inability to move. For a moment I wished I was dead already, my heart thudding nervously in my ears as the orc strode closer, his blistered black hands dragging out a cruel dagger, jagged edges still glistening with blood.

The war was here.

‘Please.’ I begged pitifully, but all the orc did was cackle louder, his horrid tongue once again flaking over his lips with a hunger. And again he spoke, and again I didn’t understand, my own lip now shaking from more than just the icy rain, the heaven water rolling down my cheeks mingling with bitter tears.

After all these years of misery, this is how I’d die. Alone, abandoned and scared. If only I was as brave as the shield maidens. If only I knew how to.. The orc reached out and I surprised not only him, but also myself when I lunged forward, my dagger finding the soft tissue of his belly. He cried out, his once amused lips now curling down in disapproval as his own dagger was raised. Our eyes met and by some odd twist of destiny, he hesitated, offering me yet another opportunity to grasp for what little honour I could find in shoving him off, down onto the ground.

This time I was less lucky though, his free hand taking me down with him, our bodies now rolling for life and death in the restless green sea. Somewhere in the tumble he too had lost his dagger, his freed up hand instead opting to rip out my dagger from his black oozing wound. What happened next was worse than the death I anticipated. Worse than life up to that point had ever been. His beady eyes burned into me as he choked me in a deadly grip and took from me what I would never regain.

He gauged out my eyes.

From here on the world literally became black, my eyes no longer crying for they were not there at all. And as faith would have it, he paid for it as I cried bloody tears, the Valar striking him down with all their might. At least, I think that happened as I heard his sullen cries. Perhaps it had been the faery demons instead. Either way, I wished they would be remorseful and offer me the only thing I now wanted; a swift and painless death.

—

Gasping I sat up, my empty eyes blinking even though there was nothing to see. A warm hand on my naked back soothed me back into welcoming arms, the death I had once pleaded for seeming so silly now.

‘Sssh melleth-nîn.’ Geralt’s deep oak voice pulled me back to the land of the living. The land of the elves. My new home. ‘I’ve got you.’

I wished he had. And that he could keep me. But with my awakening, I too realised that I was to start yet another day of misery. Of whispers that betrayed that our slow-simmering relationship was frowned upon. The war had felt like a beautiful start of something new, but reality learned that the elves, despite the great tales of Beren and Luthien, were little fond of relationships between men and kin.

I sighed and turned in his arm, trying to imagine how his golden eyes were now looking at me with a silent warmth. How his lips curled slightly. In fact, I knew they curled up, my fingertips almost unwittingly tracing them. ‘Good morning,’ He rumbled gently.

‘I guess.’ I said, betraying my melancholy, his cheek instantly rubbing into my touch, like a dog would to console his owner.

‘I see more of those guesses each day and it pains me.’ His hand found my cheek and brushed away a tear that strayed there.

‘I’m sorry.’ My lip trembled as the pain of being unwanted tightened around my heart, ‘I just…’

‘Ssh, my sweet. I will not abandon you. You must know that. You keep my heart,’ His large hand placed over my heart. ‘and anything else is unimportant. I know the cause of your sorrow, and though Lórien has been my home, it is no longer. You are.’

‘What are you..?’

‘Come away with me. Let us find ourselves a home where we are both welcome. Both can live and laugh and love.’ He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my nose..and then my empty eyelids - a thing I both hated for it emphasised how imperfect I was, but also loved, for he loved me all the same.

Our love was literally blind. From the moment he carried me out of the rain and into his forest, to the first time he and I confessed that there was more than friendship between us. And though it pained me to take him from his beloved Lórien, it was clear that the life we wished for, wouldn’t be lived out here between the Mallorn trees.

—

Our new home would be, quite fittingly, the Last Homely House, as was decided upon after he sent out requests far and wide. The good lord Elrond was welcoming to our indefinite stay and so, with the simmering war still pestering the lands, we started our arduous travel through long dark nights, our days spent in inns or trees.

I could feel the ache of his heart, like it were my own, whenever he laid his hand upon bark, only to feel that these trees were silent. The world of men we travelled through was crude and harsh and even with his hair braided back and ears cloaked, people knew he was a foreign thing, his tree-like height and strength making them gasp and whisper when we set foot in small towns.

But Geralt, my dear, didn’t relent. His warrior heart kept a steady beat as our feet again moved on, to yet another town, another waylay until the sun would come and travels were too dangerous. The long nights and days made us weary and cold, but our love held fierce as the fires on the mountain pass. We slept and wept and loved as one, and as our journey was soon to bring us to Rivendell, we felt that at long last the world would be kind to us. That our lives would find peace.

We were fools to think such a thing, for we never set foot beyond the mountains, our treacherous journey ending in yet more pain as our destinies unwound.

‘Geralt?’ I reached out for his warmth, but the cave was deserted, the meagre fire we had stoked gone cold. Outside the winter howled, silencing any other signals I could possibly pick up. I tried to ease my mind as I wrapped my cloak around my shivering frame. It's alright, don’t worry. He’s alright. He’s alright. I repeated the mantra as I listened and waited. Perhaps he had gone out. Elves were little sensitive to the wear and tear of extreme weather, so perhaps he had just left to retrieve more wood for the fire. Perhaps he had to relieve himself. Perhaps he...

‘NOOOOOooo.’ A cry echoed through the valley, soon followed by more voices. In tongues I knew too well now. Orcs. Quite instinctively I ducked away, hands following the rough rock as I tried with utmost terror to hear what was afoot. The voices were getting nearer and, where last meeting an orc I had frozen, now I ran, abandoning the cave for the bitter snowy wind that cut through my hair.

And as I did, I let my hands follow the solid rock on my right, as my feet pushed forward. I trusted myself not to fail this time. Not now. Not again. This time I wouldn’t get myself in trou..

‘NOOOOOOOOOO.’ The heart crushing cry returned, now even more pained and broken. And his. It was his. I knew it was his. I felt my knees crack beneath the sudden weight on my shoulders, my heart giving way to the strength as our bond was stretched further and further.

I sank down into the icy embrace of the mountains and realised that faith again, had decided I was to be alone. But not dead. I was never found by the orcs that took him from me and for days I then walked, my feet burning blisters and my skin bitten with ice. But none of it hurt as much as the loss of him, for whenever I heard the wind, I heard him too, his desperate cry calling out for me. Begging me to find him.

But how, I did not know, for my blind eyes lead me more astray with every step.

For a time all was forgotten. Our life together, those months of blessing, had become but dreams. The war wagered on and the lands remained restless as my journey continued, though I never made it to the last place I hoped to call home. Instead I drifted, my feet carrying me slowly over the licking waves of grass. And instead of a sweet life, again I was met with crudeness and pain, my ageing body the ship that broke through every storm. I ended my long drift in an inn, and where my heart still dreamed, my limbs were weary and in exchange for a bed I was accepting of the faith of lonely female flesh.

They used me, they did. And each time a grunt with hairy thighs ground himself into me with pathetic whimpers and moans, I’d remember him instead. Smooth and gentle, great power wrapped in silk and whispers, his sing-song tongue telling me of the moon, the stars and the trees. How they all came to be, and would remain until his immortal days were long stretched and his soul weary. In his one hundred years he had already spoke broken and hushed, but whenever he was in between my thighs, his touch came alive and his brooding thoughts spilled from eager fingertips. Even now, years later, I could feel my skin burn with lust and love on the places where others now held on.

All I could think of was him.

‘Wench.’ A brusk rap on the door awoke me from a restless sleep. I wasn’t sure whether it was day or night anymore, my life seeming one never-ending loop of misery.

‘Open.’ I croaked, my hands closing the coarse material of the robe that kept whatever little dignity I still had left.

The door opened and the voice of the keeper sounded oddly kind to the customer he had managed to reel into his whoring house. The war had meant long lines of problematic and abusive customers, but apparently this wasn’t one of them. At least, not yet. And perhaps I kept my hopes too high and was this customer only loved, for he had paid handsomely to do whatever.

The door closed again and, hearing the enthused whistle of the keeper, I knew that my guest was probably here, despite it still being so very quiet.

I was slightly taken aback when he touched me, a rough thumb brushing over my hollowed cheek, moving over a scar I had received from one of my less loving clients.

‘G’day.’ I quickly lowered my face and gestured at the bed, hoping he would be a quick and simple shag. But he wasn’t. Instead I finally heard him, heard his breath, a quiet hiccup barely managing to hide the sorrow that spilled from his hand that now returned to my face, brushing away the hair I had placed there to hide the wrinkles that had started to take away my youth.

With every passing second I felt more restless, the touch of this man far more abrasive than I wished it to be. ‘You have received the rates from the keeper?’

A short silence followed and then suddenly he was there, around me, long arms entangling me in an embrace that pushed all air and sorrow out of my bones. ‘Melleth..’ He cried and instantly I remembered these arms, this smell, the tickle of long hair and the oak of his voice.

Geralt.

My fingers braced him, finding he too had changed. He had become sinewy thin and as his lips crushed into mine, I felt that his cheeks too had lost their innocence. Scars riddled over his once unblemished skin and as I felt his silent tears on my fingertips I knew that a tree of a man like him wouldn’t cry so simply. He had suffered as much, if not more.

What followed was the physicalisation of a dream I had long kept to keep myself going. The dream that one day he’d find me and love me again. The dream that had him unwrap me from these rough wools, so I could feel his fingertips caress my flesh.

His rough fingers felt like home and as he carefully placed me on the bed I wished for the moment to not end, our lips locking in luxurious long kisses and soft hums and moans. I tried to forget about what I must look like to him, for it was now not only my blind eyes that made me imperfect. I had grown old, the chance of ever conceiving a child probably as slim as that he would love me like he once did.

And yet, here he was, worshipping the remains of our love until the flame was rekindled and the bond that had grown so thin and weary, once more felt as strong as it had once been.

We were one again.

I felt it as he stretched me around him, I felt it as he rocked me to my first true release in years. I felt it as he too joined me in the epiphany of love, my womb welcoming his gift with lust, longing and sweetness. Salty tears streamed down our cheeks as we slowly rediscovered the planes of our flesh; his once beautiful skin now marred and haunted with the many years he had been captured in dungeons of evil.

For a moment I wished I could look at him, could look into those treasure golden eyes and see him truly. See the pain and the pleasure that probably kindled behind the tears he cried. But never again I would, and so I just touched his cheek and laid him to rest on my breast, the release of finding each other being enough for now, the restless pub downstairs making the only sound above the soft hush of our exhausted pants.

That night we dreamed together; of the short life we could share before my old bones would become to brittle and break. We dreamed of meadows and kisses of the grass beneath our unmarred skin. We dreamed of our first time, gentle hands drifting over the ocean of shivering gooseflesh, anticipation licking at our hearts. For it was then decided, that our love was stronger. And again he whispered: ‘Come away with me.’

End

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august-unhinged · 4 years ago

Text

Routine

Setting: modern day, unspecified Alpine university town Genre & tone: some kind of evil unhealthy romance-porn. Tone is light with dark undertones, and ditches the light halfway in. Themes: desperate approval-seeking, power imbalance, student/professor, established relationship Content: transmasc main character, m/m Kinks: servitude, rope bondage, forced orgasms, noncon, forced anal sex, praise and degradation, sadism/emotional sadism, masochism/emotional masochism, forced cheating Content warnings: Noncon. Painful sex. Unsafe kink practices. Power imbalance. Manipulative/abusive relationship. Trans person as the victim, cis men as the enactors of violence.

Word count is ~10k, there’s 3k words of setup. If you want to skip straight to the porn, scroll until you see the paragraph starting in bold.

Killian’s alarm rings every morning at seven. It rings, and he hates it with every fibre of his being for a moment before he comes to and realises where he is. It really is a blessing, he reminds himself every morning. Killian wakes up on a cramped campbed that ruins his posture, simultaneously cold and sweaty on the mornings when the mountain chill threatens at the window panes, and feels nothing but gratitude for his surroundings. The pale beauty of the alpine city sprawling below them is breathtaking, but it’s the house he’s in that really gives him pause. Because he wakes in Felix’s office. On a roll-out mattress behind the Professor’s desk. At the feet of his master, even unconscious.

He has this thought process in the time it takes for him to reach over and turn off his alarm. It used to take him ten minutes to snap out of the daze - but he quickly learned that Felix doesn’t tolerate daydreaming. Killian mutters the Lord’s Prayer as he pulls on his slippers; he’s grateful for rising another morning and for where he’s risen. He pads softly into the kitchen, floorboards becoming tile under his feet as he steps into the day’s routine.

Today is slightly different, though. Killian’s heart’s trilling in his chest, resistant to his efforts to not get his hopes up again. The past couple of months had been a litany of scattered anniversaries. There was the first time Killian had been to one of Felix’s parties, the first time Felix had read one of Killian’s papers (and said it was ‘fine’!), the first time they sat and smoked and got unreasonably high until dawn broke the clouds while Killian listened adoringly to Felix’s every word. None of these were tangible, though - hardly an accepted marker of the progression of a relationship, either. But a year ago today was when Felix casually handed Killian a key to his apartment alongside a vague explanation that it would just be easier for Killian to be able to come and go as he pleased, rather than having to interrupt Felix’s day whenever he needed something. It was an offhanded exchange that still made Killian’s heart flutter for weeks after. He is hyper-aware of the gift in his possession at all times. No matter where he keeps the key it seems to burn through layers of fabric, the cool metal branding his skin in a hopeless reminder that Killian belongs.

He sets the water to boil and sits at the counter to go through Felix’s diary. Chapter review at 11 - a pushback of a pushback, but Killian is still bracing himself for an early morning announcement that Felix has something far more important to do. Donors’ lunch at 1pm, where Killian will be ever-presently taking notes. And lectures in the afternoon. Killian always memorises Felix’s diary a week in advance but looking at it with the kettle quietly rumbling in the background always frames his day with a sense of purpose. He pencils in some notes under the donor’s lunch - names and how to remember them, jokes not to make so they’ll still give us lots of money - Felix can’t possibly be expected to remember it all. Killian puts the diary on the left of the breakfast tray so Felix can read it while he eats, fills a glass with orange juice so it won’t be too cold to drink by the time he brings it through. The kettle’s finished boiling and he fills the cafetière - a spoonful and a half of the good stuff, which sits on the shelf in front of Killian’s instant. He drops two slices of granary in the toaster and hunts for a knife.

Routine.

He thrives on it.

That being said, he’s changing it up a little today - as the coffee steeps, he steams the milk in an attempt to recreate something he saw in one of the local coffee shops Felix hates but Killian secretly enjoys. He’s in his own head, dancing to an imperceptible tune, trying to figure out how to pour it right to get the shape on top of the coffee-

And the toast pops up. Killian jumps, spilling the milk on the counter, the floor, and himself. ‘Fuck.’ The cup now contains nondescript beige liquid and a smattering of foam - it’s hopeless to begin to contemplate starting another, because Killian always times breakfast perfectly to-

Felix’s alarm starts ringing insistently, and with a heavy sigh Killian marmalades the toast, piles everything onto the tray slightly more haphazardly than usual, and brings it to Felix.

Killian misses when he could watch Felix at peace. By the time Felix is awake and Killian comes to greet him, the Professor’s face has already settled into the practiced disdain that morning brings him. ‘Morning,’ Killian calls as he opens the door with his elbow, doing his quick inhale-and-hold-it in case there’s a pretty twink in Felix’s bed.

There’s not. And breathe.

Killian sets the tray down on the bedside table and stays silent, waiting. Felix appraises the tray with a cool gaze.

‘Killian,’ he says, with enough leeway in his tone for Killian’s heart to begin pounding. ‘You know I take my first coffee of the morning black.’ He’s reproachful, less sympathetic and more pitying.

‘Quite right, Professor,’ come the automatic words as Killian picks up the cup and returns to the kitchen to start the whole tedious process again. Even tediousness has a special significance here, though. Everything Killian does, he does it for Felix.

Killian has felt even more in a daze than usual today. By the time he gets back to Felix’s place, he’s frustrated with himself. He made a fool out of himself in the chapter review, nodding along but not really listening, which became apparent after one particularly unforgiving stretch of silence where Killian was supposed to be talking. ‘We may as well leave it there, then,’ Felix had said, his tone final. They broke half an hour early.

Killian doesn’t want to go home. The simplicity of the phrase is enough to make him stop in his tracks halfway up the cobbled hill to the apartment. When did it become ‘home’? It technically isn’t - Killian still pays rent to a student-sized cardboard box twenty minutes from campus, where he returns in shifts to wash his clothes and pick up mail. But he hasn’t spent a night there since Felix gave him the key a year ago. It feels alien to sleep alone in his flat, surrounded neither by the familiar leather-and-papers scent of Felix’s office, nor the comforting knowledge that Professor is breathing quietly in the next room. The idea that he’s still sleeping in the old flat and that this was all a terrible fever dream wakes Killian up at least once a week. Killian shakes his head fiercely, as though to shake all unwanted thoughts out of his brain. He’s being ungrateful. If he’s reluctant to go to Felix’s because he’s made a tit of himself, well… he shouldn’t have made a tit of himself. He shrugs. Simple enough. Killian continues up the hill and ignores the part inside him that implores him to turn away.

It’s dark by the time Killian unlocks the door - on his walk there the streetlamps were just beginning to flicker on, breaking the dusky early-evening monotone. To his surprise, when he gets there, lights are on in the apartment. He had been expecting to be alone this evening. It’s useless to try and quash the hope that Felix has remembered, that he’s planned something, so Killian reluctantly allows himself to foster the damaging expectation that Felix would ever consider the relationship worth commemorating.

‘Hello?’ Killian calls towards the bedroom light, uncertain. The door opens and Felix steps out. He’s still in the suit he’d been wearing at work but his hair, usually tightly pushed back, is now falling in front of his face and his glasses are tucked into his jacket pocket. With the warm glow of the soft bedroom lighting behind him, filtering through the salt-and-pepper strands around his head and bringing out the warm hazel in his eyes, he looks divinely formed.

‘You’re back earlier than anticipated,’ Felix replies disapprovingly.

‘I could say the same about you,’ Killian says, attempting to be jovial. He drops his satchel by the door and bends to untie his laces.

‘I was hoping you’d spend the evening going over what we discussed earlier today.’ Killian worries at his lip.

‘I did this afternoon, Felix. It just took less time than I expected.’

‘Ah. Possibly because you spent our meeting daydreaming?’

Killian might be a silly romantic, but it gives him butterflies when Felix uses the first person plural when it’s just them in the room. It makes Killian feel like he’s a part of something worthwhile. Something bigger. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘I’m sorry, Felix,’ Killian sighs. ‘I’m having an off day.’

‘Well, you won’t be able to afford that luxury in the future, Killian. So I suppose it’s best you have your “off days” now.’

This is Felix telling Killian he’s forgiven. He’s crossing to the kitchen now, busying himself with something Killian can’t figure out. There are cupboards that are functionally Killian’s to use, and Felix is inexplicably looking in them. ‘There’s marking on the desk, by the way. I need it before noon tomorrow.’ Killian grimaces internally.

‘Right - do you mind if I start later? I need to eat. Sorry.’ In the bustle of the donor’s lunch and the ever-present need for notetaking, he’d completely forgotten to eat and was now uncomfortably ravenous.

Felix tuts impatiently, as though at a slow child. ‘I’m cooking tonight, Killian. You have thirty-three papers to mark. Off you go.’

‘Oh. Right, okay. Yeah, I’ll just go and… do that.’ Killian hides the surprise in his voice as he answers but allows the confusion to stay on his face. It’s not that Felix can’t cook, it’s just that he has at least two meals out a week anyway, and it’s easier to delegate now Killian lives with him. Killian’s heart is fluttering again. He leaves the office door open a crack and crosses to the record player in the corner before he starts working on the papers. Well-practiced, he squats in front of the vinyl cabinet below the record player and slides out the fifth from the left - a jazz recording, one of Felix’s favourites. Reverently, he lifts the lid on the record player and sets the album A-side up, gently placing the needle onto the record’s outermost rim. The volume is already at the perfect setting for Felix to have it as background music, and Killian holds his breath.

No complaints from the kitchen.

For the first time that day, he allows himself to smile.

Dinner is gnocchi, brown butter, and sage. Killian scarfs it down, utterly and blissfully unaware of himself until the moment he drops his fork onto the plate and Felix clears his throat. For reference, Felix is less than a third of the way through his plate by this point. ‘Keeping your head firmly in the clouds is hungry work, I see,’ Felix gently mocks, and Killian laughs - breathy and embarrassing.

‘Hah, yeah, funny how that is, isn’t it,’ are all the words that tumble from his mouth before he reminds himself how to keep it shut. ‘How was your day?’

‘The lunch was frightfully tedious - it’s a constant source of horror to me that I must attend lunch after lunch to explain why the arts are worth funding ad nauseam. They’re trying to frame knowledge as a business, Killian, through the structures of client and customer and value for money - it’s reprehensible. To be frank, anyone who requires an explanation as to why the pursuit of knowledge is man’s only truly selfless act is not someone with whom I would engage anywhere other than a business lunch. Hopefully they won’t bother us for at least another year.’

Killian has been nodding furiously along the entire time - there’s just something about hearing Felix talk, in memorising every modulation in pitch and tone, that’s more relaxing to Killian than almost anything else in the world. ‘Write that down, by the way.’

‘About the pursuit of knowledge?’

‘That’s the one. Good boy.’ Felix always says these things so casually, like he doesn’t know what it does to Killian - namely, his mouth gets dry, his heart starts pounding, and a powerful ripple of heat shocks through his body. Felix is carrying on like he doesn’t know or care, though. He’s looking across at Killian’s notebook - full to bursting with Felix’s wit and opinions. ‘I am rather astute, aren’t I,’ Felix muses aloud - more to himself than Killian, really.

‘You really are, Professor,’ Killian murmurs, awestruck. He’s noting down what Felix has said in a half-daze.

‘Is that blue ink, Killian?’ Felix asks sharply, and Killian’s face contorts very briefly into a frown.

‘It is. I’m sorry, I can’t find my black pen for the life of me.’

‘Blue ink is for degenerates,’ Felix sighs, fixing Killian with a particularly withering look. But we are degenerates. Killian bites back the reply, hoping Felix can’t make out the defiance in his eyes. ‘You’d best carry on with your marking,’ Felix says pointedly, and Killian understands. He’s been dismissed.

By the time Killian emerges from the office it’s gone ten and his brain is exhausted. He’s done just under half the essays - more thoroughly than he needed to, probably - only relenting when his eyes started losing focus. Killian knows he’s tired when it takes him five minutes to piece together one sentence from the sea of quoted Greek and tiny little numbers, and is grateful that he’s forced himself to stop. As he stands to head through to the kitchen, he’s faintly aware of his head spinning, of every bone in his body grumbling. But beneath that, there’s an uncomfortable tension - a pulling together of muscles, a rush of connection at each synapse. His mind might be tired, but his body is very much awake.

He lets his breath out in an angry little huff and decides to have a bath, hoping to soak out of his skin any intention of not falling straight to sleep. The coldness of the kitchen tile radiates through his socks, grounding him to the present despite the discomfort as he gets ready to soak. Pre-bath rituals complete with some green tea now steeping in his favourite mug, he heads to the bathroom. There’s a window by the bath that overlooks the capital, high up enough that Killian can bathe without accidentally causing indecent exposure. He loves looking down at the city while wrapped in silky bathwater, dreaming about the thousands of lives bustling in the streets below.

Killian’s so wrapped up in himself, taking his time getting the water temperature right before putting the plug in, finding his favourite lavender bubble bath, that he doesn’t notice Felix’s presence until the Professor knocks on the bathroom door. Killian nearly jumps out of his skin, dropping the lavender bottle in the bath in the process. ‘Oh, shit.’ He laments.

‘...Are you quite alright in there?’

‘Yeah,’ Killian responds as he hurries to unlock the door, wiping wet hands on his shirt. He turns away from Felix once the Professor’s been let in, immediately dropping to the floor to mop up the splashed water with the bath mat.‘Yeah, I was just gonna grab a bath, then I dropped the bottle in and the lid’s still on but the water went everywhere, so right now I just need to-‘

‘You’ve been very clumsy today, haven’t you, Killian?’ Felix interrupts. It’s not really a question. Killian’s frantic movements slow, stutter, then halt entirely. He knows the tone and he nods, still kneeling, eyes on the slowly filling bath. ‘First the coffee, now this.’ Killian holds his breath as Felix sits on the edge of the bath and - after a moment that feels eternal - tangles his hand in Killian’s hair. Felix’s hand settles there, fingers pressing comfortingly against Killian’s scalp, and he can’t help but whine and lean into the touch. ‘What are we going to do with you?’ Felix murmurs. Again, not really a question. Felix already knows exactly what he’s going to do. He just knows how to tease Killian, press his buttons, work him up with anticipation. ‘Shower, and then join me in bed.’ Felix decides. Killian can’t help but find the affectionate tone under the imperative (or at least, he believes it’s there, and that makes it true enough for him). ‘I have a surprise for you. Tonight is a special occasion, after all.’ Felix gives Killian’s hair a short, sharp tug - a nonverbal reminder to hurry up - and leaves.

Killian whines helplessly again, all thumbs as he reaches into the bath to drain the water, heart thudding exponentially faster while he contemplates what Felix could possibly have for him. He can’t help but ponder the implication - that Felix has remembered, that he wants to show Killian he cares. His knees weaken under him. Absolutely pathetic, he chastises himself. For the next ten minutes, he concentrates on meticulously cleaning himself. He wants to make himself as perfect as possible, a blank canvas for Felix to ruin as he pleases. An involuntary shiver ripples through his body. He loves knowing that Felix has been planning something. That he’s been sitting contemplating new ways to get inside Killian’s mind, under his skin, and touch the raw nerves that he finds there until Killian is almost driven mad with it. The fact that Killian is important enough for Felix to even spend time considering this… surprise, whatever it is, is perhaps the greatest gift of all.

Killian shuts the water off. The sudden silence makes him hyper-aware of his short, trembling breaths. He reaches towards the bathroom cabinet where he had carefully laid his cross after taking it off, but his hand falters. He’s aware of how ridiculous this sounds - how ridiculous Felix would find it - but he wants whatever’s going to happen to be between Felix and himself only. There’s some things that he’s allowed to keep secret, he thinks.

Wrapping himself in a fluffy towel, Killian steals softly across the kitchen floor to Felix’s bedroom. Light spills under the door, which is open ajar - but Killian still feels the need to knock. The space he and Felix share may well be as much his as Felix’s, but the Professor’s bedroom still feels strangely off-limits. Killian doesn’t go in alone. And even when Felix is in there, permission is required to enter.

‘Come in and close the door behind you,’ Killian hears from beyond the door, and follows suit immediately. It’s only once he’s heard the click of the door closing and they’re fully alone together that he looks over at the bed. Felix sits on top of the covers, reading. He puts the book down, takes his glasses off, and appraises Killian slowly. There are two items to his right; a familiar length of black rope, and an unfamiliar box - also black, understated and nondescript. Killian waits for Felix’s permission to sit, which is granted by a wave of the hand. He sits on the opposite corner of the bed to Felix, legs tucked under himself, determined not to wither under Felix’s gaze. ‘Well?’ Felix prompts. Killian is tongue-tied, and can only look helplessly at his Professor as his face reddens - embarrassed at not figuring out what Felix wanted quickly enough. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Felix asks softly, and the tension in Killian’s chest dissipates into something manageable.

‘Y-yes, of course. Sorry,’ he mumbles, inching closer to what he can now be sure is the surprise. He’s slightly taken aback by the weight of the box as he picks it up, and his breath catches in his throat as he lifts the lid to reveal its cargo.

It’s a wand. The head is soft black silicone, perfectly smooth and about the size of Killian’s fist - the body tapers down into a dial and cordless end. The light below the dial is green; it’s fully charged. Killian tries to swallow but his mouth is suddenly dry. He settles instead for an audibly shaky intake of breath before he looks up at Felix.

The smirk on Felix’s face is maddeningly attractive, the upturn of his lip a promise that he knows exactly what to do with Killian’s new toy. ‘Thank you,’ Killian breathes.

‘You haven’t even begun to thank me,’ Felix responds, quick as ever - Killian wishes he had his notebook, because that one was good. He feels heat melting in his abdomen, a dangerous current pulling down at the simultaneous promise-threat. ‘Tell me, have you ever used one of these before?’ Killian shakes his head silently, still in awe. It’s true that he’s never even touched a wand before, but Killian had seen one used on someone else - the unforgiving hardness pressed against writhing and desperate flesh. A flush delicately creeps his way up his neck and across the tips of his ears. ‘It seems as though you know what to expect, though,’ Felix continues, tone low and dangerous. ‘I was going to allow you to feel it on your hand first, but now I see no reason to delay ourselves any further.’

‘I-I think that’s wise, Professor,’ Killian stammers, so desperate to ingratiate himself to the man who now holds the instrument of Killian’s pleasure-torture.

‘Oh, you think it’s wise, do you?’ There it is - the low growl, almost imperceptible, giving away Felix’s quiet affront. ‘Come here, boy.’

Killian crawls across the bed and, when he’s close enough, resists the urge to fall to his knees at Felix’s feet in supplication. It’s wise to start begging for mercy now, while he still has most of his faculties. Felix cuts his train of thought short as he twists his hand into Killian’s hair, tugging sharply to lift Killian’s head. ‘I don’t need to know what you think, Killian. That’s not what I have you here for.’ The slap round the face Killian gets for his actions is almost gentle - there’s a stolen moment of a caress that Felix gives Killian’s cheek after his hand has made contact with it.

‘Yes, Professor.’ Felix pushes him away and instead reaches for the rope. There’s a moment of untethered panic Killian feels in his chest at the loss of contact which takes most of his energy to quell.

‘Take that towel off,’ Felix orders offhandedly. On shaky legs, Killian stands, and lets the towel fall on the carpet below. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix watches. The soft curve of Killian’s thighs is only magnified by the gentle dusting of hair along the contours of his body. There’s some that gathers on his chest, an expanse of pale skin disrupted by two pink scars. The surrounding skin there is so sensitive - Felix can drive Killian mad by just tracing his fingers up and down the incisions. Felix looks away as Killian moves to get back on the bed. ‘Don’t leave it on the floor,’ he says in a practiced exasperated tone. Killian bends to pick it up and Felix allows himself a rare smile of appreciation. The boy’s skin is still slightly damp from the shower - the way the light catches the beads of water is rather appealing. Felix has finished unraveling the rope by now. Killian sits cross-legged on the bed, awaiting direction. ‘Come here,’ Felix says softly, and Killian crawls towards him, presenting his wrists to be tied. He knows the score and order of things by now; Felix is nothing if not methodical.

But tonight, as Killian should have guessed, is different. Felix frowns. ‘No, turn around. Hands behind your back.’ Killian does so, and feels Felix tug at his hands, pulling his arms into an uncomfortable shape for a moment. He winces just as Felix lets go, and the relief from the discomfort makes the throbbing he feels between his legs whenever Felix touches him all the sweeter. ‘Put them together.’

‘What?’

‘Palms together. Like you’re praying.’

Killian struggles for a moment - Felix’s hands are gripped just above each of his elbows, holding his upper arms firmly in place as the young man flounders in his grip. He can sense the Professor becoming more impatient with each passing second he fails to do what is asked of him, and just as he hears the click of Felix’s tongue preparing to tut, his fingertips press together in a prayer-like pose. His little fingers jut uncomfortably between the base of his shoulder blades, and he gasps out when Felix removes his hands from his upper arms and forces his palms together.

‘There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

Killian is trying to summon the will to say that it was, actually, and if this is meant to be fun he has several complaints, when he feels the rope around his wrists. Ah, shit. He tries to see the bright side; at least he can relax his muscles a little when Felix is done. Felix is tying him meticulously, spending much longer than usual, and Killian bites his lip whenever he feels the rope tug tightly against his skin. Felix announces that he has finished the tie by pushing Killian face-down onto the bed. It takes Killian aback somewhat, and he is about to move reflexively when he feels Felix’s hand on the small of his back. The discomfort from the rope is still there, but the longer he lies there with his arms aching, the more the pain is accompanied by another sensation under his skin. Deeper, in his belly and between his legs, and warmer, the heat in him building steadily. Felix gives Killian’s arm a tug, and the rope bites deliciously when he does. Killian cries out softly.

‘Oh, bless.’

Felix’s voice is dripping with condescension. Two of his fingers trace up Killian’s thigh and begin to rub his t-dick lazily. Killian whines, pushing his hips back against Felix’s fingers. He can feel himself throbbing and hard under Felix’s touch already. When they’re out together, Felix need only brush his hand against the small of Killian’s back a handful of times before he’s desperate for him; Killian has felt this need since Felix told him to come to bed. He’s just been waiting for Felix’s sign that he ought to express it. So conditioned, like a good pet ought to be. Felix hums in approval when he sees the wetness dripping down towards Killian’s cock, where the Professor’s fingers still circle tightly.

‘This is why I can never get rid of you, darling boy. It would simply be too much effort to train someone else as thoroughly as I’ve trained you.’ Killian moans at that; a deep sound barely muffled by the pillow, and he feels another gush of wetness between his legs as his pussy flutters and tightens. ‘Oh dear. I do underestimate the effect that statements like that have on you, don’t I, dearest?’

Killian writhes, incoherent mumbles dropping from his mouth at the terms of endearment Felix is lavishing on him. The writhing sends pain shooting from his arms, still tightly bound behind him, but Killian relaxes into the discomfort. ‘I think you’re ready now,’ Felix murmurs, and Killian feels something pressing against his dick, soft but unyielding, curved, and his brain is still processing this new information when Felix turns it on.

The wand is soft at first, but the vibrations go deep, shaking Killian’s core as he eagerly pushes back against the instrument, grinding his pussy happily against the wand’s head. He feels the hand Felix had been touching him with on the back of his thigh, wiping it clean before settling it on the small of his back again.

‘Good boy,’ Felix mutters, and Killian tries to turn to look at him but finds the weight of his own shoulder keeping his face in the pillows. He has a sense of something - Felix’s voice, just for a moment, has dropped from the cadence and tone he uses to praise and into something else, something more calculating. But just as Killian begins to consider this train of thought, there is a click - and then two - as Felix turns the wand up and up again, and Killian bites down against the pillow as moans shudder through his body. The best way he can describe the wand’s sensation is insistent - it ripples through him continuously, and though Felix is shifting it around every so often there is not one moment where the feeling is dampened, not one second of respite from the feedback loop being created between Killian’s legs. Killian has stopped grinding against it because he doesn’t need to, but his hips have started stuttering of their own accord, jumping every so often and snapping back down against the toy.

He is dripping, the wetness collecting in a small pool between his knees on the duvet and serving to make the wand glide against him more easily. Felix has stopped moving it and is just holding it there, right underneath the head of his dick, so that with every involuntary movement of Killian’s body he is pressing the most sensitive part of himself against it. This causes him to flinch, which causes his arms to pull away from one another, which causes the ropes to dig harder into his skin, which causes Killian to whimper and his dick to throb, which means for a moment the wand is that much stronger against him.

‘You’re in quite the predicament, aren’t you. I’m amazed you haven’t come yet, dear.’

Twisting his head as far as he can, Killian grits out: ‘you haven’t - given me permission - Professor.’ The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. He has learned control of his body, an extension of Felix’s command over him, and it comes so naturally to him now it is difficult to even consider breaking out of it.

‘Oh, of course. Such a good little thing, aren’t you? Go on, why don’t you come for me.’ Felix says it so offhandedly as he turns the toy’s intensity up once more, and Killian keens loudly. Just the act of receiving permission changes so much in an instant; he had been fighting, and now he relaxes into the way the vibrations rumble through him. Felix wants this, he thinks to himself. Felix wants me to make a mess of myself like the stupid little toy I am. He moans loudly, and Felix’s hand lifts from Killian’s back and twists into his hair. ‘I’m thinking of doing this to you more often, you know,’ the Professor mutters, and the feeling of his soft breath against Killian’s ear has his hips desperately grinding down against the toy again. ‘You’re so needy, it’d be far easier for me to force an orgasm out of you every so often to keep you at bay. So you can focus on your true purpose.’

Killian feels tears of gratitude gather at the corners of his eyes. The sensation is building in him now - he can feel it deep inside him, the desperate contracting of his pussy as more of his slick floods out of it, the sliding and shifting of his cock against the strong vibrations of the machine pressed unyielding against him. ‘That’s right,’ Felix coos, petting the back of Killian’s hair. ‘Really savour this one, darling. I understand the more of them I force you to have, the more unpleasant it is for you.’

With a surprised, choked gasp, Killian comes, his legs closing around the toy and frantically pushing it up against himself as his dick throbs and pulses. His pussy tightens, desperate for something to fill it as the orgasm rips through him. He is moaning into the pillow, thrusting down until his cock becomes too sensitive to bear it, at which point there is a groan followed by a long silence, and then higher, whimpering cries until Felix shuts the toy off.

He leaves it where it is pressed against Killian’s cock, though. As he slowly returns to Earth, Killian notes the burn in his shoulder muscles, waiting to feel Felix’s cool hands on the knots, to slowly untie him. But in his post-orgasmic state, Killian is completely pliant and does not struggle, let alone immediately process it, when Felix starts to wrap rope around his ankles. After several seconds utterly silent, Killian twists his head and asks, ‘what you doin’?’

Felix slaps the top of his thigh enough to sting. ‘What are you doing, Professor.’

‘S-sorry, Professor… what are you doing, Professor? What’d you mean about, uh… about forcing me to have… to have more…’

‘Well, it is a special occasion.’ Killian’s heart blooms in his chest. ‘I wanted you to have something to occupy you while I’m gone.’

The tie between Killian’s ankles is finished with a sharp tug, and the Professor moves onto something on his thighs. But Killian’s mind is singularly focused now, his heart floundering against his ribs, his face creased in a deep frown as he tries to figure out what the Professor could mean.

‘While… you’re gone, Professor?’

‘It’s my daughter’s birthday.’ Felix replies simply, before gripping Killian’s shoulder to turn him over, one hand holding the unfinished tie in place as he does so. Killian’s eyes blearily focus on Felix, whose attention is solely on the rope. Killian shakes his head.

‘N-no, it would’ve been in your diary… I would’ve seen…’

The Professor looks up at him at that.

‘That diary is for my work engagements, and personal engagements that happen to overlap with my academic ones. I only tell you what I need you to know, Killian, and I’m sure you’ll understand that I don’t need the assistance of a postgraduate barely out of his Master’s to remember my child’s birthday.’ Felix’s gaze is cool as he looks at Killian. Calm. He’s just stating facts, Killian reassures himself. This is what he’s like. Tears, again, at his eyes, but hotter this time. He can feel his face burning. Felix looks back down.

‘Her mother took her to dinner this year, but Yvette’s invited me to join her and her husband for drinks, hence the late hour. I’ve got no morning tutorials tomorrow; I doubt there would be any harm done.’ Killian nods. Felix didn’t have to volunteer that information, and it would have been no right of Killian’s to ask, but he wanted Killian to know. Felix is so thoughtful, even at times like this. But still…

‘Perhaps I could- you might need- in case you say anything noteworthy-’

Felix chuckles to himself. Killian hates when he does that. Like he’s too stupid to even be in on the joke. But there’s a reason, he reminds himself, always a reason.

‘You think my daughter would appreciate my turning up to her birthday celebrations with my pet whore?’

Killian lets out one shameful sob as his hips jump under Felix’s hands. Felix tuts. ‘Be still, boy. You’re meant to enjoy this.’

Killian cranes his neck up to see what Felix is actually doing. The tie is nearly finished; the toy is now held firmly against Killian’s cock by his own legs, pulled up to sit flush against him by ties that sit above his hips. He is trapped. ‘Felix, what-’

‘I had a look at those papers you marked before I came in to see you. The last handful are sloppy, Killian, and I couldn’t have you trying to mark any more when you’re clearly exhausted and in need of… something.’ Felix’s gaze drops pointedly to the wet spot on the duvet. ‘This will keep you busy, stop you from moping while I’m out and, most importantly, keep you from attempting to finish off the rest of those papers even more pitifully than before. Also,’ and it is at this point that Felix leans over him, and Killian can see how hard he is, his cock straining against his suit trousers, ‘I rather like the idea of you tied up like this, waiting for me to come home.’ He flicks the toy on again, and Killian whimpers.

‘But Felix-’ the older man gives him a sharp look, and Killian corrects himself, ‘Professor, won’t I be… what if it’s too much?’

‘It will run out of battery,’ the Professor responds airily, ‘eventually.’ He pulls at Killian’s shoulder again until the boy is laid on his side, and turns the toy up higher until Killian is gasping for breath, his sensitive cock pulsing already with the onslaught of sensation. Killian feels his muscles throb again as the Professor releases his grip on Killian’s shoulder. ‘Remember to keep wiggling your fingers, dear. I did make that quite tight.’

Killian opens his mouth to thank the Professor for his advice, thank him for going out of his way to do all this to save Killian from himself, to tell him to enjoy his night, but is cut off by the sound of a ringing phone from Felix’s jacket. Felix waves an impatient hand at Killian, having sensed he was going to speak, and picks it up.

‘Hello? Yes, darling, I’m almost there… traffic’s bloody awful, I’m afraid. Taxi driver’s absolutely not helping. He’s not getting a tip.’ He shares a laugh, Killian presumes, with his daughter, and he’d be pleased to see him so happy if it weren’t for the insistent buzzing between his legs, the pressure building before Felix has even left. Felix hangs up. ‘What was it you were going to say?’ Killian swallows.

‘How old is she?’

‘Yvette? She’s twenty-seven today, not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Of course, Professor. I’m sorry.’

Felix sighs.

‘You are pitiful, Killian.’ He turns the wand up one last time and goes to leave. ‘Have fun.’

Killian drops his head to the bed and starts to moan and shudder, relaxing once again into the sensation, trying to ignore the weight in his chest and the anxiety clawing at his stomach and the restless ache in his bound arms. Stopping in the door, Felix takes one look back at him, pale skin turned red and purple between the black ropes, body shifting and rippling under the onslaught, sighs, and turns off the light.

The bedroom door clicks shut, then the front door, the locks fall into place, and Killian is left alone with only the weak light of the toy between his legs to illuminate him.

He sobs his way through his next orgasm, which turns to screams as the toy doesn’t stop, the intensity felt so much more keenly in his tragic and post-orgasmic state. The boy has the decency to bite the pillow under his head as the toy rips them out of him, again and again, and all he can think of is Felix, and what the lesson here may be, and the fact that he’s four years younger than his daughter, that Felix is easily old enough to be his father, but that Felix has never remembered his birthday. When he thinks of this he comes hard and angry, tearing at the pillow with his teeth, and growling and sobbing until - mercifully - the fucking thing dies.

Killian cannot count the orgasms forced from him, but he can feel the number in his pelvic muscles, aching from the shuddering desperate motions he’d been making for hours. His arms and shoulders burn but he has run out of tears, so he sobs dry and resigned into the pillow until he falls into some kind of sleep.

The sleep is not restful; Killian only gets a few minutes at a time, sometimes half an hour, before he shifts unconsciously and sends a pain searing down his spine or his arms. Whenever he wakes, he tries to remember to wiggle his fingers. They’re tingly. He has just dropped off again when he’s woken by keys jingling, and his eyes light up. Felix is home. He hears footsteps crossing the threshold, but they’re heavy, heavier than Felix’s. Christ, he thinks, Felix has brought some musclebound twunk home. Killian lets out a sigh, waiting for the telltale click of Felix’s footsteps. The light clicks on, the front door closes. Still only one set of footsteps in the house, and if he strains his neck, Killian can make out a shadow under the door. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he turns to bite the pillow again to stay as silent as possible. Whimpers of fear are already rising in him, his sleep-deprived mind dragging forward nightmare scenarios to play with the panic.

The footsteps are getting closer. He screws his eyes shut. Tries to will himself out of existence. The door handle turns, and the door swings open. Orange bursts in front of his eyelids as the light switch clicks on, and Killian hears a sharp inhale and a long exhale. Hyperventilating, he scrambles to look; at some point in the night he fell forwards, and he struggles around on the bed to flip over and see this intruder. His thrashing around is useless, and soon he feels broad, warm hands lifting him onto his back. Killian squints up against the bright light, and is shocked to see that he… recognises this man. The man is physically imposing, tall and wide, with the weathered-muscle shoulders of someone past their physical prime but so set in himself that the structures of strength remain, stubborn against the greying stubble on the man’s jaw and the soft curve of his belly. His eyes are dark and glint down at Killian with menace, with glee.

It takes him a second to place, but no, this is-

‘Josef…’ Killian says. The bouncer at the fancy bar downtown where Felix tends to host his… parties. He turns a blind eye to a lot, provided Felix tips him generously at the end of each semester. ‘What are you doing in m- in Felix’s house? Why do you have the keys?’ His mind already begins to run through the infinite horrible possibilities - that the security guard, tired of his job, maybe, had snapped, assaulted Felix and had come here to find what valuables he could before fleeing the country. Maybe he was here to kidnap Killian. Maybe-

‘Felix sends his apologies,’ the man laughs, grinning down at Killian’s bound and aching body. ‘He was just about to head back to you when this kid walked in - exactly his type. Like you, y’know, but… kinda skinnier.’ He tilts his head. ‘Less tired-looking. Had to ID him and all. Anyway, the prof was fretting about you being here, all…’ he gestures to Killian’s predicament. ‘So I told him I’d come back here and take care of you. As a favour. He was very grateful.’ He smiles. Killian feels sick, and tries to concentrate on what Josef said - that Felix was worried about him. It warms his heart a little. But Josef still hasn’t taken his hands off him.

‘I refuse to believe he allowed this,’ Killian stammers, trying indignantly to struggle out of Josef’s grip. ‘He told me he’d be back. He told me he was coming home.’

‘Well, he told me to take his keys and get you out of this. Just in time, too. You’re looking pretty rough back there.’ Now that he mentions it, Killian has to admit that his arms are fucking killing him. Josef reaches into a drawer in the side table, and Killian thinks of protesting before he sees a familiar flash of silver. ‘Right where he said they’d be,’ he says to Killian, holding the safety scissors aloft. ‘Now do you believe me?’ Killian wavers still. ‘Look, you can say no if you want, but Felix looked pretty determined to fuck that guy.’

Killian imagines what this boy looks like. If he knows Felix, Killian doubts he’s over twenty. Probably exactly like him, a fresher wandering about and exploring, waiting for someone to take pity. His lip curls into a small sneer. Not exactly like him, though. Because Felix had said he was indispensable. That he could never get rid of him. He turns to Josef.

‘Then cut me free, please.’

Josef obliges, flipping Killian back over and making short work of the intricate ties binding Killian’s arms together. He hisses in pain as the movement and feeling return to his forearms, his wrists, his fingers, and he allows them to fall uselessly to his sides. Josef then turns his attention to the rope around Killian’s hips and between his legs, and pulls the toy out from between Killian’s thighs. Killian winces when he pulls it away, the head of his cock still so sensitive, the wand making a soft sound as it is pulled from the wetness between Killian’s legs. Last to go are the ties on his ankles. Killian shifts, intending to move, before noticing that Josef is still straddling him at the knees. The man’s body weight shifts up until he is astride Killian’s ass. Had he missed some rope? Killian flexes his arms; no, nothing still wrapped around him, no reason for him to…

He feels a rough hand caress his back. ‘It’s so close to the end of the semester, right… Felix said he thought I should take my own bonus tonight.’ Killian’s blood runs cold.

‘H…’ the sound dies on his tongue, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘He wouldn’t.’

‘But he did, darlin’.’ Killian feels something pressing against the crack of his ass, clad in jeans, rough against his soft skin. ‘Now, listen, I’ve helped you out here. Think I deserve a little something in return.’

Christ, Killian thinks, and his mind jumps to his cross - still where he left it on the bathroom shelf. He is alone in this place. And so he tries, really tries, to fight. But he’s so tired. He’s had less than an hour of sleep, his arms are useless, all pins and needles when he tries to force them to move, and he aches between his legs. He tries to kick Josef, bringing his heels up to catch the man in the back, but the bouncer catches his foot easily and twists it as Killian yelps.

‘Yeah, I thought so… see, I was thinkin’ about not lettin’ you out first first, then I took one look at you and knew, even untied, you’d be too weak to stop it from happening.’

Killian hears the sick metallic crunch of a zipper. Josef moves back between his legs, one strong hand on each of Killian’s thighs. And Killian feels himself leaning into the touch. Felix so rarely touches him like this. His hands always feel so dispassionate, but Josef’s…

No. No, this is wrong; Felix can’t have meant for Josef to do this. They’ve never talked about it. Killian shakes his head. ‘Stop.’ He mumbles.

Josef pushes his legs apart. Killian tenses in fear at the sensation of the fat head of Josef’s cock rubbing against his hole. ‘What’s that?’

‘Stop it.’

‘Ah, you’re all wet still… gotta thank Felix for gettin’ you ready like that. I can just slide right in.’

He does, and Killian lets out a choked cry. ‘Stop it,’ he tries to insist, wriggling pitifully, but the movement just makes Josef groan as he fills Killian’s pussy with his thick cock, forcing the boy’s legs apart farther to gaze down at the way the boy’s hole is swallowing him.

‘You know, fr’a boy who’s tryna tell me you don’t want it, you’re taking my cock awful well,’ he sneers, and Killian winces as the zipper brushes his cock with every thrust the man makes inside of him, but he doesn’t reply.

‘Aw, silent treatment, is it? Tha’s alright. Don’t need you to talk. Just need you to keep your legs open.’ His thrusts are rough and hard, and Killian’s body shifts and rocks with every movement. Killian’s head is turned to one side. He imagines it’s Felix fucking him like this. But Felix’s touches are so different; his hands are cool, smaller than Josef’s, and he rarely holds Killian down like Josef is. He’s usually pinching, scratching, slapping, pulling Killian’s hair; a constant onslaught of attack, physical and often verbal, always designed to make Killian arch his back in a more pleasing way, or take him deeper, or moan differently.

‘Felix…’ Killian whispers, eyes closed, pretending.

‘No,’ says Josef as he rolls his hips hard against the boy beneath him. ‘Don’t do that,’ he says between breaths. ‘Impolite.’ One of his hands moves from its place on Killian’s thigh, round to his front, groping and feeling for his dick. Killian tries to remain impassive, but can’t hide the way he jumps, gripping Josef’s cock tighter as his thumb presses down against the sensitive flesh. ‘You’re here.’ Josef mutters. He starts rubbing Killian’s cock in time with his thrusts. ‘Right here. With me.’ The man’s insistent toying with his cock combined with the rough thrusts into him begins to drag small moans and whimpers out of Killian. He whines helplessly every time Josef bottoms out inside him, a pathetic little mewl that he hates to admit sounds, ever so slightly, like he is enjoying this.

‘Yeah, fuck,’ Josef murmurs, and Killian thinks he’s talking to himself at first. ‘Said you’d be like this. Said it wouldn’t take you- long- to warm up to me.’

‘No he didn’t,’ Killian insists desperately, but Josef’s cock fills him so deeply for a moment that his last word is drawn into a whine. Josef laughs again. His laugh is crackly, a smoker’s chuckle, a laugh that Killian had come to appreciate over time. Not now, though. Not any more.

‘Yeah, he did. Talks to me ‘bout you. Tells me you’re a whore.’ Killian feels Josef’s elbow at the top of his spine as the man puts more of his weight onto him, leaving himself freer to thrust up harder into him. Every inch of the man’s dick ebbs and fuels the ache in Killian’s pussy at once, and his eyes squeeze shut as the man’s nicotine-laced breath tickles his earlobe. ‘Said he’s been thinkin’- ‘bout doing this - fr’a while. Whorin’ you out. Teachin’ you your place.’

Killian’s pussy spasms around Josef’s cock.

‘Like fucking clockwork.’

That’s what makes Killian lose it. How dare he? How dare he have the audacity to say these things, to assume he knows Killian, knows him like Felix does? He twists and wriggles, and the burst of adrenaline combined with the surprise of it allows him to struggle off Josef’s cock and up the bed slightly. There is a silence from behind him, before Josef grabs his hair and pulls his head upwards. Killian yelps in fear. Jesus, did he really think this would be enough?

‘Oh, you stupid bitch.’ Josef throws him back down on the bed, hard enough to make the frame shudder. Breathing heavily, he pushes Killian’s legs further apart.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Killian stammers.

‘Shut it. Need an incentive to keep still? I’ll give you a fucking incentive.’ Josef positions his cock, still dripping with Killian’s wetness, at Killian’s asshole. ‘Whore. Felix said you didn’t have it in you to fight. That you’d agree to it soon as I told you he allowed it. Didn’t say anything about having to teach you a fucking lesson.’

Killian begins to shake his head frantically. It’s rare that Felix fucks his ass, and Killian secretly relishes it because it’s one of the only times Felix really is careful with him. ‘Please don’t. It won’t go in. It won’t, I’m not ready, I don’t know where the lube is.’

‘Keep your fucking mouth shut, boy,’ Josef says, twisting his hand in Killian’s hair tighter as he grunts and pushes the slick head of his cock against Killian’s ass again. He’s pushing and pushing, and Killian is still, breathing fast like a frightened animal. Josef has his elbow screwed against Killian’s spine. There is no escaping it. He just has to wait until Josef realises he can’t fuck him like this. But Josef is still pushing, holding his cock with his free hand, forcing and forcing against the first tight ring of muscle until-

Killian howls in pain. He feels something give, and Josef’s cock, thick enough to have made his pussy feel stretched, sore, bruised, slides into his ass. Josef shoves Killian’s face down into the pillow, forearm on the back of his neck as Killian screams and sobs at the feeling, so alien, tearing through him. His arms are still weak but they are flailing in an attempt to grip onto anything as some kind of tether. He finds the bedpost and grips for dear life. Josef settles himself inside Killian and just as the pain starts to ebb away, Josef begins to move.

It does not feel like Killian remembered it. Josef is so big, and the slow burn of the stretch and endorphins from the pain are morphing into some kind of pleasurable haze, with the punctuation of a loud, low groan from the man on top of him. Josef lets himself fall onto Killian, keeping him still through the weight of muscle and flesh alone, as his cock pumps in and out of him. His stubble scratches Killian’s back. Killian is somewhat aware that he is still crying.

‘Shh, don’t cry,’ Josef mutters, and Killian lets out a moan-whimper at the sensation of Josef’s cock filling and stretching him completely once again. ‘Fuck, so tight. So good. See, you are good, aren’t you. You know how to be good.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ Killian whines.

‘Felix knows what’s best for you, see,’ Josef mutters, and Killian can smell the whiskey on his breath now he’s so close. ‘Wouldn’t’ve sent me here if he din’t know there was somethin’ I could give you.’

His hand slides beneath Killian’s body again, and Killian allows it.

‘Yeah, tha’s it. G’na make you come, baby boy,’ and Killian cringes at the pet name even as his cock twitches under Josef’s fingers. ‘G’na make you come before I fill you up.’

Panic sets in again.

‘Please don’t come in me,’ Killian whispers, ‘please, Felix will be angry.’

‘Shh, shh,’ Josef mutters. He is moving slower than when he was fucking Killian’s pussy, but there’s more weight behind his thrusts, and Killian feels each one ripple through him. There is some deep satisfaction in the way Josef’s cock stretches him open. Killian thinks about how he will look in the morning, hole puffy and abused, dripping with another man’s cum. He hates the sick thrill it gives him to know that Felix will see that. It runs down the back of his neck like a hot knife, and he doesn’t know if the sensation is driven by arousal or fear.

‘I’m gonna come in you, pretty boy.’ His rough fingers rub side-to-side over Killian’s throbbing cock. ‘Gonna fill you up like a whore. Felix must’ve known I’d do that to you. And he knows what you need, don’t he?’

Killian nods. He can’t not.

‘You just lie there n’take it, pretty whore. Take it for Felix.’

Killian allows himself, for a moment, to really think about Felix’s responsibility in all this. He thinks about how, yes, Felix has known Josef for a very long time and, yes, is probably able to make some fairly astute guesses as to what Josef might do to whatever poor thing he was burying himself in. And Felix has decided he needs this.

‘I need this,’ Killian murmurs to himself as Josef thrusts into him. ‘I need this.’ It becomes louder, and Josef nods.

‘Tha’s it. Good boy,’ he mutters approvingly, still stroking Killian’s cock.

‘Need to be good for him,’ says Killian, pressing his hips down into Josef’s hand. The feeling of Josef stretching and fucking his ass open is mixing with the sparks of pleasure Killian feels when Josef’s fingers brush his cock. Mouth open, Killian is panting, arching his back to meet Josef’s thrusts, letting the man rub his cock until he is moaning underneath him.

‘Faster,’ Killian pleads. ‘Harder.’ He’s not even sure what he’s asking for but Josef picks the pace of his thrusts up. Their skin slaps together as Josef grunts in exertion, burying himself in Killian’s ass over and over, forcing the boy’s tight hole open around him. Josef shifts his hand, sliding his fingers into Killian’s wet pussy and pressing the base of his callused palm against Killian’s cock. His movements are imprecise but consistent, his rough hand dragging over Killian’s dick as his thick fingers rub insistently at Killian’s g-spot. Killian can feel himself trapped, Josef’s fingers crowding into his pussy, Josef’s cock pounding into his hole, and all that weight pressed down to force Killian to grind his desperate cock against Josef’s open hand. Killian feels his muscles starting to tense erratically. His pussy clenches around Josef’s fingers.

He needs this.

‘I need you to come in me,’ Killian whimpers.

‘Not till you do first, baby boy.’

Killian thinks of how proud Felix will be of him when he finds out how well he took Josef’s cock, and comes all over Josef’s hand with a shuddering cry. His cock spasms and pulses, he feels his pussy and ass tighten desperately and spasmodically, and he hears Josef groan behind him as that - apparently - is what has pushed him over the edge. Killian feels his ass fill with cum, warm and thick, deep inside him.

Killian muses that he and Felix have never come at the same time as Josef collapses onto him.

He is dimly aware, some time later, of the man pulling out and getting off him, walking away and running the shower in the bathroom. His eyelids are heavy, and he knows sleep is about to take him. Killian smiles softly, thinking about Felix coming home the next morning. Maybe he’ll bring breakfast from the pastry shop they stop at sometimes. He’ll forgive Killian, he’s sure.

‘One minute,’ Felix says to the impressionable young gentleman with whom he’s spent the night and sunrise. ‘I just have to take care of something in the apartment.’ Leaving the boy in the hall, he steps into his home. It reeks of sex. The bedroom door is open, as are some of the kitchen cupboards. Josef had made his way here, he notes with a smile. Peering around the bedroom door, he sees Killian fast asleep, naked, ass in the air, cum dripping down his leg. He frowns. He didn’t recall giving Josef permission to do that. Well, Killian should have known better than to just allow him. They’ll be having words later, Felix imagines. He tears a sheet of notepaper out of one of Killian’s books - there are a few lines of uninspiring poetry tarnishing the page, so he draws a line through them and writes a note below. The black biro block capitals read: ‘Out for breakfast. Lunch seminar as per usual. Do try to turn up somewhat presentably. Professor.’

Replacing the pen in his blazer pocket, Felix grabs his umbrella from the coat rack - the weather is pitiful today - and slips back out of the front door to his young friend. ‘Thank you for waiting, dear boy,’ he murmurs. The boy grins at him. His teeth are crooked. Felix internally sighs.

Killian’s alarm rings at seven. It takes him longer to wake up, as it’s slightly muted through the bedroom wall. But when he does, he wakes aching and alone, eyes blurred and burning with sleep, and cold, so cold, from the mountain air.

#my work #10k #felix and killian

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normiewrites · 5 years ago

Note

can you write something where the s/o is on the girls team? i love your writing btw! ^for kags

i have a feeling that this wasn’t an angst request lmaoo

thanks to @kingtamakimurder and @kenmaksuwu for helping me out!

warning(s): angst, character death, a lil graphic stuff

your elusive dream-boy - tobio kageyama x (fem)reader

you felt him everywhere. when you would jump up to hit the ball for your serve, you could feel his hands on your shoulders and arm, directing you how to move your body to hit it at your strongest power. when you would pull the knee pads up your legs, you could feel his warm and calloused hands trailing your skin afterwards, but not lingering long enough to get addicted. when your team mates hugged you after a victory, you could feel his warm and broad chest up against yours, his arms enveloping your exhausted body and sending tingles up your skin, making you feel at home.

not only did you feel him everywhere, you saw him too. he lingered around you like a shadow; surrounding you in the dark and just out of reach in the light. when you would set the ball, he would be there, the opponent on the other side, right at the net. when you would practice your spiking, he would be there, blocking them. when you would go to refill your bottle, he would be there, his back turned to you as he refills his bottle, before walking off.

he was there but wasn’t at the same time. he was like those annoying mosquitoes that no matter how fast or how good your reflexes are, you can never seem to smack them. he was your elusive dream-boy. you even thought it was a ghost at one time, but that didn’t matter, because he wasn’t supposed to be there. he never had this much free time to be following you around, he should’ve been in practice instead, or rather, dead.

but no matter how dead he really was, there was something about this mirage that you made you want it to stay. maybe it was because of how greedy you were, clinging onto any memories that he had, because you were never ready to say goodbye.

you never would be.

or maybe it was the universe punishing you. for not being there on time. for not saying ‘I love you’ in time. for not letting go of him already.

the way he went out was pretty simple, a driver on his phone hits an unsuspecting boy as he tried to cross the street. they never knew why he was crossing the street, but you knew he was going to the flower stall where he got you your favourite flowers whenever he went out. it wasn’t anything special. it made the newspaper headlines for a week or two, ‘team mates hold ceremony in memory of pro volleyball athlete.’ he would reach people’s mouths for a while too, ‘he had so much potential’, ‘he was so young, how shameful’ or ‘I hope they put the driver behind bars for life.’ they never seemed to understand that it doesn’t matter what happened to the driver, there would still be blood seeping out of his head and onto the hood of the light blue car hood.

he would still be as lifeless as the chemistry books resting in the shelves of a delinquent student.

he would still be dead.

he would still be only a memory, forgotten and eluded over time.

but no matter what, he never left you. he was always there, even after death.

overtime, you got used to it. it was almost second nature to check if he was there or not. you never needed to check because he always was, but you feared that if you looked away for a second, he’d be taken away from you again, like your acknowledgement of him was the only thing keeping him here. you were the only thing keeping him here.

but maybe he didn’t need to be kept here any longer, make it was time for him to go. but you never knew what the right time was. the concept was always so weird to you, some would say that time is a social construct, others would say that it governs your body or even that it restricts empowerment. you knew the second one was partially true, but the concept was so abstract that it never had a definite answer. it made it harder for you to decide when you needed to let him go. especially because you knew, that if you never made the decision to date him, he would be earning trophies and getting interviewed.

“why are you still here?” you had asked him one winter morning, as you both sat on your porch stairs.

your breath went out as smoke from your mouth like a fire breathing dragon, joining the smoke that your warm cup of tea made as you both sat on the steps. the distant chirping of the migrating birds were loud yet empty, almost as if it was inviting you to mark the snow with your spirit and to sing along.

he didn’t answer, but for the first time you felt like he was actually looking at you for once, his dark blue eyes piercing into your side profile. you could feel them rake over your features, as if he were analysing a new object and regaining his surroundings or as if he were looking for the last time and wanted to memorise it.

he kept staring at you, till the point you felt slightly conscious about your face, almost wanting to mould everything into something else like clay. you had always wanted to melt away in the most uncomfortable situations, escaping to some gutter or drain, but his stare made you realise that you still had a face, even if you couldn’t feel it. that’s how the rest of the morning went. his stare burning into the back of your head. he might as well have tattooed his eyes onto you.

but just like time, the answer was never definitive and never given, and you didn’t know what to do. maybe you needed to actually tell yourself that the boy who hit you in the head with his jump serve and insulted you afterwards was really dead. that maybe he wasn’t going to be there to wrap up your knee injuries or scold you for keeping your nails too long. that maybe his time on earth was enough and he really needed to go.

so, little by little, he started appearing less, and you couldn’t feel him as strongly as before. you did start feeling a certain pang of sadness in your throat whenever he wouldn’t be there in your sight, but it wasn’t sad enough to pull out the tears from your eyes.

and little by little, you didn’t have enough time to focus on him. exams and practice was all that was on your mind, and sometimes he would squeeze in whenever there was space, like a mouse when escaping from a cat and diving in between the walls.

but he was pushed to the back of your mind, and you barely noticed or cared to look for him anymore. you didn’t want to admit it, but at times you would will him to appear when you felt yourself drifting off into your own world of school.

that’s how it was for the remainder of your years at karasuno high school. you were droned into a monotonous routine of studying, eating, practicing and sleeping, barely even stepping out to hang with your team-mates or friends. you seemed to like it better that way, all alone to do something productive or just be bored by yourself. in those times you were by yourself, you could feel a tightening tension in your throat, like you were waiting for something you didn’t know of. you would grip onto your shirt whenever that would happen, wanting to tear the murky feeling out.

it was surprising yet expected when that ‘thing’ you were waiting for was on your graduation day, when you found yourself face to face with him on the court.

everything was slightly dark but the lights from the main school building gave a soft glow to the gym, as if it were apart of your dream, a dream you knew you didn’t want to wake up from because he was there, right on the other side of the net.

he looked as fresh as the day you first met him. he was practicing after hours and accidentally served a ball out of the gym, hitting you in the leg as you passed by to go home from your own practice. he came running out, his face flushed unevenly and sweat dripping down it. the look he gave you told you he didn’t have the patience for you, but the moment you asked if you could help, it changed to annoyance. maybe it wasn’t the best first impression, but it wasn’t the last.

even with the grids of the net blocking the whole view of him, you could still tell he was as beautiful as the day he confessed to you. his raven silky and arrogant, his face pale yet full of life, his lips loud yet secretive and his eyes, dark and inviting.

the net felt so rough yet so familiar as you put your forehead against it, the pleasant warm and soft feeling of his forehead greeting yours. it was almost like you both were meeting at a border, you both were right there yet so far away. and like at a border, he watched you cry. he watched as the drops raced down your skin, very much the same way his fingers would, but he knew you weren’t sad, you were just so happy to see him one last time.

taking a few breaths in and holding in your sniffles, you talked, not caring that your voice cracked, “happy graduation, tobio. I would tease you for not being able to graduate because of how dumb you are at studies, but you still would have, because you could easily work hard if you wanted you, and I’m sure you would have bothered me to tutor you. you would have graduated with all your medals dangling on your neck, and you would get so annoyed by how loud they would clatter that you would hide them in your gown. in fact, they did mention you at the end. ‘tobio kageyama, the king of the court.’ I knew you would have grown to love the name, hinata told me so.”

he wondered how you could chuckle in such a sad situation. it’s actually one of the things he admired about you, knowing not to give up. it’s what attracted him most to you.

“fuck, I miss you so much. I know I’ll never be able to let go of you because you make a room in my heart and left all of your stupid books and equipment in there and I can’t move it. it will always hurt to think about you, because you aren’t fucking here, graduating with me or exploring the world like we wanted to, mapping off countries which we’ve been too for matches. we were supposed to be the setters couple, the best in the world. but it’s okay, I understood that you had to move on, and maybe you’re doing better things right now. but so am I, I’m going to join the national team and win every single match for you.”

the tears were so hot against your skin, you could almost believe that you were in a sauna. your nose was blocked and sniffling and your throat hurt so much with how many words you wanted to say but couldn’t. looking into his eyes, you could see a flicker of sadness, but what really caught you was that he was smiling. he did smile around you a lot, but this smile said it was the last one.

“I love you tobio kageyama, I love you for everything that you were and everything that you did. you will always be apart of me and each time I set the ball, you’re always going to be there, guiding me. I just want your dumbass to hit me in the head again with your serve, but we can only dream. happy graduation, tobio kageyama, everyone’s so proud of you.”

taking in his dark blue eyes for the last time, you closed yours, trying to feel his soul through his skin. even with the pain burning through your body, you could feel him and it calmed you so much, it made you understand that while there may never be the right time to let go, there didn’t have to be a right time, because he was always going to be there.

little by little, the feeling of warmth that he exuded was gone, leaving you alone in the court; the place where you both began and ended.

he was your elusive dream-boy, and he was always going to be your elusive dream-boy.

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spice-chan · 5 years ago

Text

Give me your vows.

Pro hero!au , marriage!au

Bakugo x fem!reader

Chapter 1 - My husband.

Word count : 2.4 K

There was no wedding. He was a hero, so it was a bit dangerous, plus, it’s not like you are in it for love. Still, it kind of felt like you were missing out on something every women should experience, the joy your friends described, how beautiful they looked in wedding dresses. You were prepared to get that, but now it felt like a massive loss that you never would, even though a part of you didn’t even want it anymore.

Love. The word still brought a searing pain through your heart, knowing you will never have what you once did. You dreamed of a future of the man you loved, Yuki’s kind smile filling your days as the two of you built a family together. All his little habits leaving a mark on your day, it was ripped away from you so cruelly.

Now your ‘husband in name only’, Bakugo, who you only had one conversation with, is in the car with you, driving you to your humble abode.

You were bitter, the taste remaining in your mouth throughout the whole drive.

It was so awkward as well, and you could guess that he also felt the same way, his default scowl was there, strong as ever, and his mouth had been sealed shut the entire drive, he didn’t even bother starting a conversation.

He parked the car, the house already fully furnished and ready to be moved into, including all your clothes and his.

Now all that’s left is to sleep and ignore the man next to you, or pretend like it’s a friend having a sleepover.

You moved to the door, unlocking it and twisting the doorknob, letting the fresh wave of clean air hit your senses. It was unfamiliar, not cozy like how you’d expect a home to be, it was stale. You slid inside, taking your shoes off at the door, your heart pounding in nervousness as he came inside too and took off his shoes. You went to the vase, taking out the extra key and handing it to him, deciding to break the ice.

“Here’s the key.” You said, holding it out to him, who took it wordlessly.

You offered a polite smile and went to the bedroom to change. Now that the situation sunk in, you accepted that you’re stuck for now, might as well try to get along. Bakugo saw the smile she sent him. He thought it looked oddly detached.

...............

You changed into your pyjamas, just some comfy shorts and a matching tank top. You hurried the process, knowing that Katsuki is waiting for you to finish changing to get on with it himself. You padded into the living room, and found his bulky form on the couch, scrolling through some of his social media. You coughed awkwardly, gaining his attention, and bringing to your own just how piercing and intense his gaze is. It made you nervous in a way, unsure of his thoughts.

“Uh, I’m done, you should go change.” You said, trying to hold the eye contact he seemed to be trying to make with you.

He promptly locked his phone, and left it on the coffee table, while heading to the room that you both now share. Damn, wedding nights aren’t supposed to be like that, ugh.

Now thinking about wedding nights, your expression fell, unable to maintain an optimistic view on the situation. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, in your eyes, fate had been too cruel to you. You were supposed to be with Yuki, and he was supposed to be with you forever. Now here you were, stuck with another man.

Why did you go through with this again ?

Taking a deep breath of the house which only smelt of sanitisers, you tried to bury your anguish. Bury it in the deepest parts of your heart, where Yuki resides, dead or not.

.........

Katsuki put on his loose sweatpants, mulling on his current situation.

He went to the dresser mirror, running his hand through his ash blonde hair.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears your soft voice and gentle knocks on the door.

“Uh, Bakugo, I’m making some tea, would you like some? .” You asked. Bakugo was surprised that you decided to use his surname. He wanted to say ‘yes’, but was scared that would sound too desperate. So instead, he opted for -

“Tch, guess I could spare some time.” He heard you hum, then the sound of your footsteps padding away to the kitchen.

Bakugo had a contemplative look on his face.

This situation was so weird for Bakugo. He had zero experience with women, now suddenly he’s married ? Didn’t he skip steps ? Because this was awfully backwards.

He never thought the arranged marriage fiasco was for him, then again he never thought he’d be married to begin with. But here he was, with the most beautiful women he saw, married, living together, sleeping together...

Bakugo scowled as he felt warmth rush to his head. No, nope.

He heard your harmonious feminine voice call out to him, snapping him out of his reverie. He made a strangled noise and made his way to the living room. You looked up, but your brows furrowed in concern when you saw his face.

“Bakugo, you ok ? Your face looks really red. Is it a fever ?” You rambled on, making Bakugo growl.

“Shut up Shitty woman, I’m fine !” He exclaimed, his embarrassment growing at her show of concern. Unneeded, totally unnecessary and stupid concern.

You made a confused face, but couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

“Ok shitty man.” She responded.

“HAH” his hair literally stood up as he suffered an internal explosion, ready to wipe that mocking smile off her face.

“Do you take your tea with sugar ?”

“No no, repeat what you just said, damn scum!”

“Such fine tea, I’ll put you a table spoon then”

A fuse popped inside Bakugo.

This was going to be eventful.

Before Katsuki could snap at her, she give him his cup of tea, and started drinking her’s as if nothing happened. The fun moment was over, and no one wanted to address the elephant in the room.

She opted to scrolling through her phone while enjoying her tea then having another go at a conversation with him, but all in all, he seemed harmless, just enjoys exercising his lung capacity.

After a while, she finished, and moved to put her cup in the sink, from what she could see, Bakugo greatly resembled her current state. He looked like he was so sleepy, he could fall at any moment now. She moved to him and tapped his shoulder, once again becoming the target of his intense stare. The intense, vermilion stare.

“You should go sleep, you look tired, I’m heading to bed too. Good night.” You walked out then, leaving Bakugo to his own thoughts. Katsuki decided he should go to sleep to, but, next to you ? The idea of sharing a bed is discomforting, a notion never explored before, and now he suddenly has to do it with his wife who he only had a handful of conversations with, about two or three.

Fuck, should he just sleep on the couch ?

No, that’ll only make this more awkward, and Katsuki likes keeping his back in good shape. He walked into the room, twisting the doorknob and walked inside nonchalantly, but if anything, there was a scowl on his face. Your eyes ripped away from staring at your phone harshly. You locked your phone before Bakugo could slide into the bed and see the picture you were staring at. Putting your phone beneath your pillow, you turned your back to Bakugo and eventually fell into deep slumber.

...........

you read the document to be handed to Bakugo, finding that the only thing missing is his signature. Ok, it was all set. Although there was something that your parents agreed on with Bakugo and that is if the firm ever needed financial support in the future, he will help, that was a minor possibility and the ten percent share he will get will be very beneficial for him. The publishing firm your parents owned, which will fully belong to you in a few days, was extremely successful, having opened in several countries too. Your parents also have very suited quirks for the job, your mum’s quirk is photographic, she can remember any image she says, and show the image on any part of her body, while your dad’s quirk is memory, remembering any text he sees. It was probably a quirk marriage, but I never bothered to ask. I did inherit somewhat of a similar quirk to them, more so my dad. I can take one glance at a text and memorise it, while I can also paste it down anywhere I want, be it my body or a piece of paper. It fades when I want it to. Would have been a great quirk for a hacker, too bad me and computers don’t get along, so I settled to reaping the advantages during examinations only. And giving quickie book reviews.

Oh well.

Now that you are married, where you supposed to go hoke and make dinner ? Do take turns ? Do you pretend the other doesn’t exist like in wattpad stories ?

Ok, the last one just seemed like opening the door to drama.

Maybe you’ll be nice and make dinner, then that will make the atmosphere comfortable enough to discuss things, even if every cell in your body screamed ‘avoid situation’. This is something you can’t avoid, you had to be mature in this situation. But while your thoughts were in a state of chaos, someone else’s weren’t in a better shape.

Bakugo sat in his own office, looking at a document that entailed the things he needs to get working on to improve his agency. He debuted three years ago, making him 21- two years younger then you- but his agency was only established a year ago, and there was many things that could be done better, such as the support material and such. However, money wasn’t really the reason he married you, no, that was only a helpful benefit he can reap from it not to raise suspension on his intentions. And his intentions demanded he treat you well.

As one of the heroes known to be single and successful( he was in the top ten on his second year as a pro-hero), and your parents reached out to him for the set up. But Bakugo wasn’t a stranger to you.

He debated accepting, but in the end, not only can it help his company, but help him understand the enigma that is you.

Plus, you wouldn’t know what kind of greedy bastard you might’ve ended up with, even if he was foul mouthed with anger issues, he was still the lesser of two evils.

He decided to bring his document home to read over it at home, he packed his things and prepared to leave. He was getting nowhere anyway, maybe a change of setting could help.

His patrol hours were over, so he changed out of his hero costume, and took a quick shower, before promptly making his way home.

He unlocked the door, twisting it, causing a rush of air to spring out, a certain aromatic smell assaulting his nose, making his stomach grumble in complaint.

She made food ?

He walked into the kitchen, confirming what he already knew, as he saw a simple set up of two plates and cutlery, with drinks next to them, and your tiny frame-he failed to observe before, but your stature was pretty chibi sized compared to his- bringing the ramen over to the middle of the table.

“Oh, hey ! Good that I decided to make this when I did huh, I wasn’t totally sure when you get off work.” You greeted, smiling a tiny smile at him, hoping to ease him a bit. To be real, you were kind of walking on eggshells, would it be like romance stories when the guy decides to tell his arranged wife not to bother him and that he doesn’t need -

“Tch, thanks, I - uh- appreciate it I guess...”

Katsuki said, cheeks tinting at having to express gratitude like that. This was entirety too domestic for him, back when he roomed with dumb, dumber and dumbest, he was the one who cooked or they had take out, convenience store food was an option too. Definitely no women telling him ‘welcome back home I made dinner’. You were probably just trying to be friendly, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

He went ahead to change, opting to wear sweatpants again and just a sleeveless shirt.

When he came out, he saw her sitting on the dinner table with her serving of Ramen, putting an excessive amount of pepper flakes in it. Interesting, did she not put any inside because she thought he was some wimp who can’t handle spice ? A tick appeared on Bakugo’s forehead at the thought, finding it irritating when he was underestimated, be it war or food.

“Thank you for the meal.” He said, getting the pleasantries out of the way before taking the red pepper sprinkler from your hand and dumping an unholy amount on his plate. Your eyes bugged out, but you stayed quiet, waiting to witness his untimely demise. He took his first slurp, surprisingly handling it better then you thought, but you can see his cheeks starting to flush after a while. Seeing his struggle triggered your sadistic tendencies.

“Oh, you like spicy too ?” You asked innocently. He nodded, attempting to finish all his food without anyway water. You grabbed the sprinkler, “oh, this one doesn’t taste all that strong to a seasoned eater, you should have more” you said, putting some more on top of his food. The look on his face was comical, his red eyes looked defeated, until they burned with battle like determination.

“Tch, yeah, can barely taste it.” Bakugo lied, eating his food with renowned vigour. You resisted that urge to giggle. In no time, he actually finished his ramen, even though his ears and face were a fierce red. He then got a second serving( must be hard to try to maintain all those muscles) and put spicy in it again. What a simpleton. You grabbed the glasses and filled one with juice, directing your gaze to him as you gestured to them.

“Want some ?” You questioned.

He begrudgingly nodded, believing that he finally proved his tolerance to be worthy.

You found his insistence to be somewhat comical.

.......................

So this switches from second to thid point of view sometimes, I should rlly work on that. I wonder how Bakugo knows you 🤔🤔 guess u’ll find out soon enough. This chap was kinda filler, but i wanted to couchen the story before it gets more intense.

#bakugou katsuki fanfics #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x fem!reader #bakugou katsuki #boku no hero fanfic #boku no academia #mha fanfiction

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chairismaticchair · 4 years ago

Text

Star Crossed Enemies

Happy Holidays @yellowartistsunshine ! @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary: When two rival theatre majors get cast as the leads in "Romeo and Juliet", something blossoms between them. Something beautiful.

This is Roceit, there are some swears. I had lots of fun writing this, especially since this was my first roceit fic!

If Roman despised a single person in the world with all his body and soul, that would be Janus Taylor. He hated how snagging lead roles in plays and musicals always became a fight between them. He hated how smug Janus constantly acted. He hated his stupidly posh accent that was only really obvious when he was on stage performing Shakespeare. He hated how he couldn't have any straight (not that it was possible with Roman any other way) or slightly logical conversation with Janus. He hated him, from the tip of his dumb black beanie, to the soles of his beige loafers. Overall, he hated Janus.

Whenever they passed in the college, there would be a flurry of middle fingers and middle-school-grade insults like "shit head" and "dumbass" thrown about with as much malice as two theatre majors could. They seemed to lose all common sense when in the mere vicinity of each other, instead becoming caricatures of theatre rivals. Arguably, that was exactly what they were.

"Taylor." Roman spat out. "I heard the LGBTQ+ Club's putting up another play soon. Suppose you're going to want the lead role. But it's mine." He declared, as if no one had expected Roman Diaz Santos to want the lead role.

Decei - shit sorry, Janus hissed back. "I heard it's gonna be Shakespeare, and guess who always gets Shakespeare roles? Me. Shithead." He added the “shithead” as an afterthought, as if this was his first rivalry and he had almost forgotten rule #315 of the Rivalry Book of Rivals.

They then tossed each other middle fingers like mutual salutes and marched off, heads held up high and refusing to turn back.

"Man, Janus really is a dick isn't he?" Roman complained to his best friend Virgil Teo, who sighed.

"Yes, Roman. Just like the -" He pulled out a notebook and made a little mark. "534 other times you've told me. This year. I don't even know what's that bad about him."

"Well of course you don't get it. You two dated freshman year. Honestly, I thought you had better taste."

"And I do. That's why we broke up." Virgil slapped Roman's shoulder playfully. "Who are you to insult my dating life? You haven't had a single date since the start of college."

"I've had dates." Roman protested.

"Bad dates, Princey. Those don't count. Maybe you could send it to the Guinness World Records."

Roman gasped in mock annoyance. "How dare you, Virgil.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Anyways, I just want to find my soulmate. They’re out there, I can just feel it. A Juliet or Julien to my Romeo.”

"You're always are full of bullshit, aren't you, Roman?"

---

Patton, a senior, walked up to the front of the leture theatre and tapped the teacher on the shoulder. He whispered something in her ear and the teacher sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose frustratedly. "Hi! The LGBTQ+ Club is putting up two Shakespeare plays for this November! The first one will be a gay Romeo and Juliet, called Romeo and Julien. The other will be a sapphic 'Much Ado about Nothing'. Audition sign ups start next week Monday and end on Friday! Thank you!" Patton was very chirpy for 8 a.m. .

Now, this was when shit hit the fan and our story gets exciting. Roman turned to Virgil enthusiastically. "I'm totally auditioning for Romeo." Meanwhile, all students in the near vicinity who wanted Romeo's role sighed in unison.

Across the lecture theatre, Janus turned to his friend Remus excitedly. "I'm auditioning for Julien! This is gonna be great."

"For fucks sake." Someone in the near vicinity groaned and his friend patted his back sympathetically.

---

Roman sat outside the auditorium, swinging his feet while waiting for his turn to audition. Walking down the corridor, Janus turned to Roman and picked up the chair beside him. He moved 6 feet away and plopped the chair down.

"So, Santos." He started, staring intensely at the auditorium door.

Roman found his shoes absolutely riveting. "Yeah?"

"What role are you auditioning for?"

Tapping the side of his chair, Roman said, "The lead one, obviously."

"Oh." Janus paused and turned to look directly at Roman. Sticking out his hand, he gave him a slight smile. "Well may the best one win."

Roman took the hand hesitantly. "Yeah Janus. Break a leg."

---

The large board outside the auditorium was a crowd favourite among students. It was constantly updated with rehearsal times, casting choices and upcoming performances, you know, the classic cool stuff.

Roman and Janus were the first to arrive at the board and glanced at each other before looking down the corridor with longing.

A boy with big circular wire framed glasses bounded down the corridor, an A4 paper in his hand. He waved excitedly at the two in front of him. "Hi Roman! Hi Janus! Waiting for results?"

The two nodded in synchronisation.

"Oh, well I got them here!" He got out a stapler and stapled the paper to the board, the sleeves of his turquoise hoodie large and dangly.

Romeo: Roman Diaz Santos

Julien: Janus Taylor

The two boys turned to each other in horror.

"Y - you mean -"

"You thought-"

"Julien."

"Romeo."

"WAS THE LEAD ROLE?"

The boy, Patton, looked at them in amusement. "Well, you both got main roles, so congrats! Rehearsals start in two weeks and I'll give you guys your scripts tomorrow. Have fun!"

He patted them both on the back before heading off, skip in his step.

Janus and Roman turned to look at each other in horror once more.

---

There is a moment in one's life, where they will reflect on everything they have done, and wonder what mistakes they had made to lead them down this path. As Roman flipped through the script Patton had handed him, that was exactly what he was doing. "You mean to say, I have to kiss this - this snake 5 times? Outrageous. Unacceptable."

They sat in a circle, everyone who participated in the play knee against knee. It was far too close for comfort and Roman was probably going to vomit onto the rest of the cast.

Virgil, who was in charge of lights and sound and sitting next to him, smirked. "Princey, this is literally a play about you two in love. 5 kisses are the minimum."

"And I am right here, you know." Janus looked slightly offended, leaning over and looking at Roman, who was a Virgil away. "And I'm not that bad at kissing. Ask Virgil. "

Virgil choked.

Before Roman could retort, Patton interrupted them. "Okay guys! Don't forget to practice your lines. Rehearsals start in two weeks so I hope you manage to memorise some of your lines."

As they left the auditorium, Roman whispered to Virgil. "Is Janus actually good at kissing?"

Virgil just shrugged.

Patton called after the leaving group. "Roman? Janus? Please get whatever feud is going on between you two and throw it away. You two need to cooperate so that we can all work together. Go bond over the next few days. Thanks!”

Bond? With Janus? Roman never wanted to hear those words in the same sentence ever again. There was an odd creeping feeling that grew in his stomach and crawled up his throat invasively. It was foreign and weird. Maybe an allergic reaction.

“Oy! Janus! We probably have to - to get to know each other better.” Roman could feel heat spreading from his toes all the way to his cheeks. Why was he blushing? He should not be blushing. “So, do you wanna go grab some food tonight?”

Janus’ eyes widened and he physically stepped back. He pointed at Roman, before pointing back at himself. “You? Offering me? Dinner?”

Roman shot a wink at Janus cheekily, before turning around to hide his blush. What was he doing? He never flirted with his rival. Was that even flirting? Tugging his hair down in a pitiful attempt to hide his burning red ears, he turned to Virgil.

Virgil wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, before elbowing Roman in the side. “Stepping up your game, Santos? Impressive.”

Roman blushed even harder, and looked away.

---

Roman had had his fair share of dates, if that was what you called a dinner like this, and he never knew what to say. He pulled out his best card.

“So...ya like jazz?”

Janus choked on his iced lemon tea. "Fucking Bee Movie?”

“Well, you do wear black and yellow 80% of the time, so you clearly like bees. Ergo, Bee Movie.”

An eyebrow was raised. “Impressive. You almost sound as smart as Logan.”

“I wish. He’s an absolute genius.” Logan was studying law, would probably become the valedictorian, and was dating Patton. Truly a legend.

“What’s your favourite animated movie then?” Janus asked. “Mine certainly is not the Bee Movie. There are loads of better Dreamworks films. I love Megamind."

“Oh, Megamind is really good! Choosing a favourite… that’s so hard though!” Roman bounced in his seat. Another movie lover? Perhaps, Janus wasn't too bad.

Janus laughed and the food must have been tainted or something, because Roman’s heart skipped several beats.

---

“Right! Let’s start at Act 1, Scene 5. You guys are at the party and this is when Romeo meets Julien for the first time. Action.” Patton, perched on the edge of a chair, announced, eyes shining with excitement.

Roman glanced over at Janus, clad in a hoodie and jeans. He was flipping through his script and mumbling lines to himself. It was their first rehearsal so they were still allowed to look at their scripts. It also happened to be their first kiss scene. Pink tinted Roman's cheeks at the thought. Kiss… Janus? The two words seemed so foreign next to each other, yet they felt as though they were meant to be. He couldn't stop his eyes lingering over Janus' light pink lips. He turned away quickly, glancing at his script. Romeo kisses Julien.

Romeo.

Kisses.

Julien.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the people on stage, waiting for his cue. He had to stop thinking so much. Thoughts were dangerous. Who knows where they may lead?

Roman wondered what Janus' lips tasted like.

Oh for fucks sake.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Roman shoved his face back into the script, mumbling his lines under his breath and waiting for his queue to come on stage.

Stepping onto the stage, he channeled Romeo Shakespearean thoughts. It was a little hard in his button up shirt and jeans, but he was a professional. “What lord is that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?” He gestured towards Janus.

A server bowed politely. “I know not, sir.”

“Oh, he doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. As yonder lord o'er his fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch his place of stand. And, touching his, make blessèd my rude hand.” He spoke to the audience, but couldn’t help think about how accurate this was. Janus too, was really hot.

Roman spoke some more about how hot Julien was, and the rest of the rehearsal was a blur. He wasn’t Roman anymore. In front of this audience? He was Romeo, a rich lovestruck teenager.

Then suddenly, he found himself staring into Janus’ eyes, and he was Roman all over again.

Janus’ eyes, a deep, rich brown that gave Roman a steady look, pierced into Roman’s heart. He spoke towards the audience, but he sounded so genuine and sincere as he uttered his lines. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

Roman gave Janus a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned in and brushed Janus’ lips. It was hesitant, and soft, and he could hear Janus' quiet gasp, as if he wasn't expecting it. It was barely a kiss, more like a peck, but Roman could feel heat rushing into his cheeks. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” He said, loud enough for the audience to hear him.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” Janus cocked his head to the side, looking far more innocent and coy than Roman had ever seen him behave before.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” This time, Janus stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A proper kiss that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and Roman wanted to stay like that forever and ever. The scent of Janus' cologne made him giddy and he took Janus' hands, pulling him closer. On one hand, they were playing parts in a play, and on the other hand, everything felt oh so real, from the hoodie toggles that tickled his button up shirt to Janus' soft fingers gripping his hands tightly.

When they finally pulled away, Roman gazed at Janus' shining brown eyes in what must have been a lovestruck expression. He found his Julien.

---

"You BITCH!" Virgil slapped the study table violently.

"What did I do?"

"1 year. 1 fucking year of you making fun of me falling for a white guy and here you are, falling for the exact same white guy." Virgil looked vaguely irritated. "Even my mom was like," He put his hand at his ear like a phone and did an exaggerated Chinese accent. "Aiyah ah boy, I know you like boys, but an angmoh gao is too too much already. But don't worry lah, 4 months is not long, you still can leave him.” Do you even know what that means, you ass?”

He suddenly burst out in laughter. "This is great, it's my turn to poke fun." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "What was the kiss like? Was it...spicy?"

"Weren't you there?"

"Yeah, but I want a personal recount. Actually, no. Give me the P.E.E.L. format. Point, evidence, example and link on Janus' kissing skills. Go."

"Oh, er. Janus was a… good kisser?" Roman didn't kiss much. "Um, point. His hair is all fluffy and I feel it brushing against my forehead, which gives me butterflies and this warm tingly sensation that ran through my body and gave me goosebumps. And he makes this noise whenever we kiss that is so cute, he honestly sounds genuinely surprised whenever it happens, even though we're following a script. And his cologne smells so good, oh my god I need to get the brand name, it's like kinda ashy, but not quite and it was a bit light, like a nice stroll in a forest. Holy shit it smelled nice. And-"

Virgil raised an eyebrow and paused Roman's tangent. "He wore cologne? He never wears cologne."

"Oh." Roman's eyes widened.

"Maybe…" Virgil wiggled his eyebrows. "He wore it for the kiss scene."

The heat that decided to congregate on Roman's cheeks was undeniable. "Why - why would he do that?"

"He likes you, ya dumbass. And he wanted to impress you, so he decided that hoodie plus beanie plus cologne was a good combo."

Roman stared at his feet. "It was."

Virgil stood up and patted Roman on the head comfortingly. "There, there, it's alright. White guys aren't all that bad."

"Oh fuck off."

Virgil bowed and shot Roman the finger. Truly a man of eloquence and class. Roman opened a picture on his phone from his date with Janus. Janus was smiling, and Roman could feel himself smiling too as he looked at the picture of Janus. Of his Julien.

#secret santa #sanders sides #janus sanders #roman sanders #ts #thomas sanders

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niall-the-churchboy · 5 years ago

Text

The Better One ~ Louis Tomlinson x reader

In which Louis leave Y/n for her sister

Warnings: Kinda angsty

Word Count: 1.8K

Y/n had always been the overlooked sister, I mean, she could understand why, being the smallest of three girls made it hard to stand out.

Her sisters were beyond unique and with extreme beauties, they were talented and intelligent and more than she could dream of ever being. And then, there was little Y/n, the one who always had to think twice before giving her opinion because she feared it would be wrong; the one who at the dinner table no one would hear what she had to say, sometimes even interrupting her mid-sentence; the one who everyone thought her suggestion on something was not reliable or useful. She wouldn’t dare to complain though, she had grew up with a silver spoon granted at her, and she was well aware of how privileged she was.

However it didn’t take away the pain, and she felt guilty for that, what right did she have to complain when people all around the world didn’t have to eat? Or a comfy place to live in? So whenever someone --her friends even-- joked about her being the failure of the family she laughed along them and made it look as if it was funny. She knew they didn’t actually mean it --she was sweet and people loved being around her-- but it still hurt.

She didn’t complain about her beauty, it was just a standard given by society, and she was happy with being ‘average’, but it killed her whenever someone would meet any of her two sisters and instantly comment on how beautiful they were. And their intelligence, Y/n could swear they knew almost everything, always had bright A’s and B’s without even trying. Unfortunately it wasn't her case, she had to study for weeks to ace an exam, try to memorise and understand the logic of every detail in every book. She knew she wasn’t the smartest --not that she was dumb either-- but comparing herself to her sisters made her mad. Was it too hard to give her a brain too?

She believes her mother noticed this repetitive comparison, maybe the countless of times her mother had overheard Y/n encouraging herself to keep on studying because her sisters would have had great marks, or the amount of times she had cached her own daughter glancing on the mirror, examining her nose or lips or face.

“What are you doing?”, her mother had once asked when she found Y/n comparing her report card to her sisters’ ones. “Nothing! I’m sorry”, she apologised.

Apologise. She would always apologise for the tiniest of errors. “Y/n, it’s okay. It’s no big deal, you don’t need to apologise”, her mom would asure her but it just didn't sit right.

Her parents were happy and eager when Y/n announced she would bring home her boyfriend for the holidays. In her short twenty-four years of life she had never had a boyfriend or a special someone, something that had also been different from her sisters’ teenage years. They where even more surprised when they found out it was no other than Louis Tomlinson himself.

Louis and Y/n had met in an interview, she was asking him question about his new album like the professional reporter she was when all of a sudden he asked her out.

“I’m sorry, I believe I didn’t hear you correctly”, she said brushing her hair behind her ear. Louis laughed, that charming laugh that would cause dimples in his cheeks and Y/n couldn't contain her blushing. My god! Why was she so dumb and awkward?!

“I asked if you would like to go out sometime, maybe go to a coffee place or to a bar...”, he asked again waiting for her to answer with a positive response. Y/n glanced at her coworkers who were filming them and the she looked back at Louis, “me? You want to go on a date with me?” Poor Y/n, she couldn’t believe it herself someone would invite her out, let alone a celebrity, she believed this was a twisted joke her mind was playing on her.

“Yes. If you don’t want to I totally understand”, Louis was quick to answer. So she said yes, and she pinched herself during the whole date just to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

It was difficult for Y/n to open up, someone was suddenly asking for her opinions in certain things and questioning about her day, but Louis knew what he was getting himself into and truly believed she was worth it. It took Y/n a whole year and a half to bring Louis home, she was scared of him meeting her sisters and suddenly realising how little she had to offer. Obviously she would never tell him this and always excused herself saying they were very far away from her hometown.

The day would eventually come, and now there they were, standing at the door of her childhood house with a grip on their suitcases and tight coats against the cold December winter. “Y/n!”, Avery, the second child, greeted them with a christmas hat and a warm hug towards her little sister before welcoming them in.

“Avery, this is Louis. Louis, this is Avery”, she said with a sweet smile as they shook hands. “Y/n, is that you, sweetheart?”, the cheerful voice of her mother reached her and Y/n felt herself grow happier, soon enough her mother was coming out of the living room with an eager look on her face. “Is this handsome man Louis?”, she continued to ask after hugging tightly her younger daughter.

Louis liked being here, they didn’t seem to treat him like a celebrity and that made him feel normal for once, he wrapped his arms around Y/n’s waist as they sat on the dinner table that was already waiting for them with a big turkey. The table held all new faces for him, Y/n’s father who smiled proudly when asked who had cooked; Avery and her Husband, Chris, who was a Lawyer; and Y/n’s mother.

“Where is Tessa?”, Y/n asked when everyone began serving themselves food. “Oh, Tessa wasn't feeling well. I believe she's asleep”, her mother answered her and Y/n ordered herself to remain happy even though she had a sad feeling forming on her chest.

Tessa and Y/n didn't have the brightest of relationships, Tessa had always been somewhat mean towards Y/n and the younger sibling had never know why. When she was eight she came to the conclusion that her sister hated her, Y/n tried everything to become part of Tessa’s white list but the task seemed impossible. So she kept her head down low and sinked in the words her sister would tell her because she clearly had done something wrong and she had to pay the price of it.

“Oh...”, Y/n made a pregnant pause, a year had gone by since she last saw her sister, why would Tessa prolong their reunion even further?, “I’ll be sure to go say hi to her when we finish eating.”

“That won’t be needed”, all eyes fell on the women who walked down the stairs with sturdy long legs, hair curled perfectly and her face completely clean even though she didn't have a single drop of make up on. Y/n felt Louis hand fall from her waist.

“Tessa, is so nice to see you again”, Y/n stood up from her chair and went to greet her sister. “Good to see you too, Y/n”, the older one answered looking at her right in the eye. “Em, sorry, this is Louis”, Y/n continued to present her boyfriend after a quick hug.

“Nice to meet you, Louis.”

-----

Their connection was almost instant and Y/n hated herself for it. Tessa had recently divorced and Louis seemed like the perfect distraction. However, Louis grew interested in his girlfriend’s sister. They both had the same age, so it instantly gave them more similarities; they liked football, a sport Y/n never really understood; and a special chemistry between them that Y/n had never experienced ever in her life.

Y/n became more impatient for the two weeks to end so she and Louis could go back home and escape her sister’s seductive stares. But Y/n knew, she knew her time was running out when Louis barely spent time with her and began replacing her with Tessa. Both Avery and her mother attempted to keep Y/n occupied with other things, but the reality was that no one knew what to do.

She was taking the garbage out when she spot them, it took her almost five seconds to realise that it was in fact his boyfriend kissing his sister, that’s when she knew it was over. Her stupid, little to offer self had lost again, this time however, the only person who actually listened to her. So she went back inside and told herself that she should leave because who was she to ruin their love? She wanted them to be happy, and if they needed each other to achieve that she would have to move from their way, even if it hurt her in the process.

The sun had already set and it was snowing when she told Louis. She had asked him to go outside to talk for a little while and he had agreed with an irritated look on his face.

“I bought an airplane ticket to leave at dawn”, was the first thing she said.

“What? Why would you do that?”, Louis asked as anger began stirring in his insides, they didn't leave until three more days and christmas was still to arrive! Y/n cupped her hands together as she tried not to cry, she wasn't allowed to cry.

“I only bought one, for me. You should stay here with Tessa and my family, I don’t want to damage things for you”, she explained sighing. It was hard to let go.

Louis knew instantly what she was talking about, she knew. Maybe they hadn't been as careful as they thought, but he wasn't sorry --probably just a little that he had broke Y/n on the process, but he knew she would get over it--, he wanted Tessa, he loved Tessa.

“I’m really sorry, Louis”, Y/n said. What was she apologising for? Oh well, she had forgot. “I won’t ruin things anymore. I’ll leave and grab my things back at home, it will be like I was never even there, I promise.” She felt angry at herself for letting tears spill from her eyes, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave now, thanks for everything Louis.”

Indeed she left, with barely an explanation towards her family and a shuttered heart. Don’t they say goodbyes are the hardest? And Y/n knows that what comes always goes.

--------------

I feel sad for Y/n and mad at both Tessa and Louis! I think she deserves a better ending, what do you guys think?

Part 2 is here

#louis tomilson #louis tomlinson one shot #louis tomlinson fanfiction #louis tomlinson imagine #Louis tomlinson blurb #one direction #onedirection #one direction one shot #one direction preferences #one direction fanfiction #one direction imagines #one direction 2020 #one direction fandom #1d #niall horan #harry styles #zayn zquad #liam payne

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evergreen-dryad · 5 years ago

Text

day 2 - soulmate

only death will do us part (2319 words)

They told him his soulmate must be dead.

All his life, the circlet of script around his left wrist had always been greyed out. Illegible. You had to squint in order to see it twining around the green-blue of his veins, and even then it might have been mistaken for scar tissue if it hadn’t been for how circular the soulmark was. How regular, the shape of the words were. Little rounded hiragana with a fat ‘ko’.

Amane had studied it as intensely as he had ever studied anything in his life, which was really only the moon rock, any astronomy books he could get from the library, and the newspaper for news of advances on space travel, so he could say for certainty he thought he knew what it said.

「Hanako-kun!? Are you hurt!? That looks painful...」

Strange, and a little sad, that his soulmate would recognise him for someone else. But that’d make them easier to identify, hopefully?

If they were ever coming. People whispered around him when they saw the little silvery words wrapped around his knobby wrist. Faded words, a gone soulmate. How unlucky...

Another impossible thing to believe in then. He wanted to go to the moon, he wanted to be part of the Space Race, if Japan could join in too... he wanted his parents and Tsukasa back.

They weren't really here right now. They haven't been the same in a very long time.

Tsukasa always seemed oddly triumphant whenever his eyes laid on Amane's soulmark. His eyes would curve just so, and for a moment Amane could believe he was the cat that had tasted cream.

(Tsukasa had no mark of his own. People whispered that that meant he was fated to die, unbelonging.

Unlucky boys, they whisper.

And Tsukasa—

—always gave that queer, cheery laugh, that said That's exactly what I want.)

Hey, have you heard? Those twin boys... are marked by misfortune. They say the dead do not have soulmarks.

But then came along Tsuchigomori-sensei, with careful dark eyes that did not immediately dismiss him, or cringe away from where he silently sat in the corner, mooning over his newspaper clippings that he meticulously glued in his notebook, or gazing emptily outside to the sky.

Only he said consideringly, one day after class, after a gaggle of schoolgirls exchanging gossip and tattletale had fled the class in giggles, on realisation the tall teacher was still in the classroom.

"Or, your soulmate hasn't been born yet."

The words hit him like a stone.

"Oh." He felt his breath drop out of him, as if gravity had changed his orbit.

Yet, cool relief swept over him also. Dead, or unborn: they're just not here yet. Their soul is still out there.

But what if he isn't here by the time they come?

He got up shakily from his desk, and uttered a quiet goodbye to his teacher before he left.

Tsuchigomori watched him with forlorn eyes. From the book he had read last night, Yugi Amane would have to grow to be 64 before he would meet his soulmate.

Those would be lonely years for him, but hey, the least he could do would be to commiserate with him over a drink or two.

Those of the Far Shore indeed do not have soulmarks.

When he met her, he was too caught up trying to remember to breathe right.

Don't cry. Don't let him see he's gotten to you more than this. Don't let anyone hear—

It was useless. Tears still pooled in his eyelids, blood still rose to the surface no matter how much he licked it away, willing the wounds to close. At least the blood would congeal soon.

The reopened scabs kept weeping, while the orange of evening sunshine drifted in together with the tinny music of the evening broadcast, and the desperate sawing of cicadas.

He hadn't heard the door open. But then suddenly she was there like a ball of energy, dressed in the zaniest clothes he'd ever seen, yelling something about the evening announcement. He can't remember. Trying to remember is like viewing the image through oily water.

(Even blurrier is the memory of when he fell for a pretty, kind older girl at a festival.

But—

—it couldn't have been her.)

She stopped, and turned to look at him, mouth open. He must have banged the bookcase beside him, he realised dimly.

And then she was over him, asking the words he had long memorised by heart.

Frozen to the spot, he couldn't breathe again.

Kind red eyes stared into his. They widened and began to settle into that expression he didn't know what to do with.

"Were you crying...?" The question broke through him like cold water.

She couldn't, shouldn't see him like this.

He ran. Scrambling out the door, she heard her yell "Wait!"

She had... fat ankles. Cute legs.

Heart in his throat, he sprinted out into the corridor. Don'tbebehindmedon'tbe-

She had nice hands. Nice, gentle hands in those fancy black gloves.

He ran and ran. The moon was already out in the swirling pinks and yellows of the sky.

runrunrun

Did she have a soulmark too?

His heart rabbiting in his chest, the only sound he could hear for a long time, the deep throbbing next to his ears.

I didn't say anything to her. Except 'goodbye'.

His legs whirred to a stop. Head bowed, he trembled under a lamppost.

He didn't know what to do. His hand slipped into his pocket hesitatingly. Shouldn't he just go back home and forget about all this?

(But what if she's still there?)

It was only then he realised he had lost his key. His copy of the house key.

"Oh no," he said softly to himself. The light of the lamppost flickered to life above him.

The moon was a pale thumbprint in the violet sky when he turned back.

But she wasn't there. Neither was the key. Both lost to the darkness.

A hiccup caught in his throat, as he felt himself crying again.

(Were they both ghosts?)

They told her her soulmate must be dead.

(Or, you are dying soon, they don't tell her.)

All her life, she had waited for the prince of her dreams, the love of her life to show up. Maybe they'd ride in on a white horse, she'd giggle as she daydreamed, watching the fluffy white clouds pass over the blue sky, or in a black limousine, she smiled prettily as she walked on pavements and crossed the road, hoping, hoping. The words of the soulmark though... left little to be desired.

「Yeeeeeeeees~ Over here.」

What kind of words were those?? Hmph, they came off a bit creepy. Why couldn't these words be something like, You're beautiful, m'lady, or I've fallen for you at first sight? Or even let me help you or good day.

She sighed as she traced the silvery rope of letters over her right wrist. The 'a's stretched and wriggled like snaky beads. Honestly...

It didn't matter as long as she could meet them soon. She always smiled to herself then, determined.

Yashiro Nene was optimistic.

This she would tell herself everyday.

Yashiro Nene ... was also easily tempted. Aaaaah, when a handsome guy swept by or even looked her way...

She was lost.

But! How was she to know otherwise, she told herself. From her soulmark it was obvious she'd have to approach or talk to them first, before they said the fateful words.

But she didn't feel ready talking to pretty boys unless she was also, either super pretty or feminine enough to pass.

She picked flowers, she picked stitches, she peeled and stirred and picked out bits of eggshell. All for her love to come true.

(Unsaid, was the what if the old superstition was right.)

So, in the meantime, she pined after boys she never really talked to, while waiting for the one to sweep her off her feet. Or in her case, beckon her over with a stretched-out word that might be a cat's yawn.

It was Aoi that talked to her in high-school. Kind Aoi that took a look at her and smiled brightly, and asked her if she liked flowers. While other girls might have laughed or fallen silent at her soulmark, Aoi 'ooh'd at it.

"It's so delicate," she said. "It's almost like a silver bracelet, I like it!" And then she'd showed Nene hers easily and eagerly, and they'd both speculated and giggled over their soulmarks for the better half of the gardening club session.

And then Aoi told her the tale of Hanako-san of the girls' toilets.

It captured Nene's heart at once. Why not, it coaxed to her. And before she knew it, she was creeping up the old wooden stairs to the third floor, and turning the old-style stained-glass door open.

Red doors stared back at her. Which one? One, two, three...

Braving herself to stand in front of the third door, she swallowed in the dusty silence and willed herself to knock.

"Hanako-san, Hanako-san..." Her voice creaked out of her, hovering before her. Sunlight underscored the dust motes drifting in the air. "Are you there?"

A beat. Two. And then the stall door in front of her creaked ominously, exactly like from a horror movie, and a voice called eerily in reply.

Nene hunched her shoulders, clutching her hands. She was ready to run if a monster came crawling out.

The door swung open, but there was only the toilet gaping mournfully in the dark. She let out her breath, sighing in relief. Just her imagination, huh...

"Over here." There was a husky voice beside her ear. Ahandonhershoulder—

She screamed and turned to shove the stranger, but flailed when they shot through someone's chest. Someone's chest. Ohmygodshewasgoingtodie...

Their laughter resounded above her head. She peeked out of the ball she had curled in. Huh...

"Are you alright?" A smiling boy's face entered her line of sight. She tried to gather her faculties, now that the shock had worn off. Something had struck out to her, what was it-

"Ah!" She sat up, eyes wide. "It's you!" The boy — the ghost — looked at her in confusion. "It's you?!" She realised with a start. "Oh, oh no..." Her voice faltered. "The rumours are true then. You're a ghost, right?"

"I am." He looked at her, puzzled. "Do I still need to introduce myself as 7th of the school mysteries? Because that's what I am, nice to meet you." He smiled.

"I…" Her mouth worked, speechless. Where were the words for this? Where were all the times she'd practiced what'd she'd say if, when, she'd found them? "Hi." She put on a brave smile. "I'm Yashiro Nene, and - I'm your soulmate, and I'm so, so glad I've finally met you." Her eyes filled with tears.

It was true. She was glad, even though he was dead. He was dead, wasn't he? It was a miracle they could meet.

Amber stared into ruby eyes for a breath's space. He stared at her as if she was the ghost.

"You...?" He looked really taken aback. His face was pale. "You are...?"

Be still my heart. Yashiro Nene prayed to herself. "Yeah," she said lamely, as she held out her wrist for him to see. His first words carved into silver links on her skin. Be still, don't be nervous, it's okay, it's going to be okay right? Tears rose unbidden to her eyes.

She was always really afraid they might not accept her. He kept staring at her as if he was in a trance.

The ghost finally moved with a start. His hand came up to her cheek. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I-" He dipped his forehead against hers as his arms curled around her back protectively. "I always thought you were dead." His voice cracked. She could sense the truth of it.

"Me too," she let herself admit, a tear running down her cheek. "I was always really afraid."

He held her tighter. He didn't feel like anything more than the temperature of the air itself, but she could feel his touch on her. There was a chillness where his face was buried into her shoulder, so she raised her hands to cradle his head softly.

"I'm really glad you finally found me," he said, after a moment.

"Mm," she agreed, cracking a smile. "Hey, what should I call you? I can't just keep calling you ghost in my head." She giggled.

He hesitated. "...I'm used to Hanako after so long," he said carefully. "But you can - call me Amane." He looked at her, oddly searching. "Yugi Amane was my name."

"Okay, Amane-kun it is then!" She said breathily, a giggle bubbling out of her. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the mixture of emotions boiling within her after the adrenaline and the tears had worn off.

He took her hand in his, turning her wrist this way and that. A finger traced the letters over her pulse point. He looked so pensive. "...Do you still have yours?"

"Ah." He caught himself. "I'm not sure," he faltered.

"It's okay," she told him, holding his hands before he could let go. "We have time." She smiled at him, full of hope.

He flushed, shaken. Appeared to pull himself together. "Actually." He grinned coyly, taking a step into her space. She took a step back, surprised by this change of pace. "We should make up for lost time, don't you agree?" He purred as he sidled closer to her, curling a lock of her hair around his finger.

"Ehhh?" She squeaked. "I mean- yes?" She was about to swoon! His breath hit her red cheeks. They must be red, she felt hot. Very hot and bothered.

Yellow eyes closed in on her, and she closed her eyes.

Be still my tongue, he thought to himself with dread, as he stared down at the scar where the soulmark used to be. She can't know she's dying soon.

He'll hold her hands, hold her in his arms, steal sweet kisses as much as he can before—

—he has to let go.

//note: if you’re confused about Nene’s soulmark it’s because it’s Haaaaaaaai, kocchi dayo. I chose to translate it more literally here.

edit 22/2/2020: rewrote where Nene knocked, forgot it's 3rd door. From left or right? Who knows, assume there’s 5 doors and it’s always at the centre.

#hananeneweek20 #hananeneweek #hananene #jibaku shounen hanako-kun #yashiro nene #hanako #yugi amane #my writing #jshk #fanfic #ed fics #jibaku shounen hanako kun

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

Text

sweetheart, you look a little tired

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian for being such lovely betas!

---

Peter Nureyev is in disguise once again, this time at a high end brothel. he has a clear goal, a clear head and voices haunting him from his past.

Until he meets his first client, Juno Steel.

---

Please reblog and let me know what you think in the tags or leave a comment on this fic over at Ao3!

---

Disguises were Peter Nureyev’s specialty. He didn’t like to think what a psychologist would say if they got their hands on that.

But he was something of a genius at them and, like all things he was unbelievably good at, he enjoyed doing it. He’d forged new faces out of wildly expensive materials only found on one planet in the entire known galaxy, he’d made them out of cheap stage paints and shoplifted supermarket make up. He’d spent close to a year making some of his most used, most dependable costumes and some he’d made in the handful of seconds he’d had between a door starting to open and the security guard behind it seeing him somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be.

Nureyev had been counts and cardsharps, he’d been street urchins and fantastically rich multibillionaires, he’d been priests and strippers, he’d been ghosts and shadows and monsters right out of folklore, he’d been someone so painfully normal that you wouldn’t look once, let alone twice. He’d been everything under the sun, apart from himself.

And now he had a rather unusual challenge. Now he had to make a disguise out of absolutely nothing.

The five minute call was coming down the corridor, hollered by an assistant with a clipboard who looked like they’d completely transcended the concept of ‘stressed’ and was now utterly untouchable. As they walked by, they remembered Nureyev was new here and said it again, for his benefit, reminding him that ‘five minutes till showtime’ meant he needed to be dressed and in the bar area by the time the brothel opened.

Nureyev nodded, wearing the face of an anxious young man who was realising he’d maybe bitten off more than he could chew with this job.

It must have worked because the assistant’s expression of self preserving numbness shifted into something like sympathy, “It’s a weeknight, man, no one’s gonna be picking a new face. Just sit there, look pretty and keep your eyes open.”

The moment of unexpected kindness, from someone who clearly didn’t need to give any amount of their time to comfort someone like him but had anyway, in their own rough manner, Nureyev could remember a time when that would have thrown him. When it would have filled him with guilt at what he was here to do, regret that he’d lied with every breath since he’d arrived, wonder what might happen if he didn't have to have that disconnect between himself and everyone he met.

Nureyev could remember. And he could recognise how far he’d come since then.

The five minute call continued, bellowed further down the hall, bringing a flurry of activity in its wake. Nureyev could hear silk whispering over skin and heels clicking on the floor outside the doorway, giggles traded between his coworkers for the evening who knew each other better, light arguments break out over who’s turn it was to wear a certain sapphire necklace as if such extravagance could be traded and bantered over so playfully. But of course it could, even the tiny dressing room Nureyev had been given as the newest member of the brothel had a chest overflowing with jewels and a closet bursting with silks, any one of which would have kept him fed, clothed and safe for a year when he was a child.

The luxury of this place was staggering in a hundred little ways like that. It was a fine establishment, loudly and proudly touted as the best in Hyperion City. Nureyev had to knit together a sparkling resume at four other, lesser brothels to be even given an interview for the recently opened position. His charm had carried him the rest of the way, as if often did. First rule of thieving, always make sure your greatest asset is something that can’t be taken away from you.

There was a huge bar area downstairs with a stage and, upstairs, fifty rooms, some elaborately and cringe-inducingly themed to your more standard fetishes. Others were simply beautiful spaces for the workers to take their clients, filled with flowers genetically modified to never wilt or curl or lose their scent, soft furnishings with gold accents and dramatic hangings, beaded curtains and diffusers and immense marble bathtubs. And of course beds of every sort, small and soft and intimate or expansive and lush and built for as many partners as you were willing to pay for.

And these clients were willing to pay. Being the best and most lavish brothel, it drew the best and most lavish customers. When a high ranking politician or stream star or oligarch wanted to indulge in some fun away from polite society, though the line was getting increasingly blurred, they came here. They came to The Fly-By Night.

And it stood to reason that the best customers would draw the best thieves.

Nureyev wasn’t here to rob anyone, not outright. If that was his only goal, he would just fill the pockets of the see through robe he wore over shorts that were barely there, he’d stuff them with the jewels and expensive aphrodisiacs left around this place like decorative potpourri and leave by the nearest window. No, he was here for something else. He was here for information. First rule of thieving, the most valuable items are never what is in plain sight.

So Nureyev had no intention at all of going down to the bar area to lounge and look pretty and flirt with the bar patrons who either hadn’t made an appointment or couldn’t afford one but could afford the ridiculous drinks prices. He’d nodded earnestly all through the floor manager’s careful instructions on what to do and how to present himself, letting his facial muscles do the work while knowing all the while that he would be here for a handful of hours, no more. The hard part had been getting through the door, earning the freedom to move through the building that only an employee would be afforded. Sure, posing as a client would have been simpler in execution but Nureyev had never been afraid of over preparing.

First rule of thieving, take the safest route, never just the easiest.

Nureyev set his jaw and finished smudging gold eyeshadow over one eyelid. He wondered when he would stop hearing that voice in his head. He always told himself one more job, one more planet, and the distance would be great enough that it would fade into nothing. Something less than a memory even. He’d forget the face that had ever been attached to that voice, he’d stop feeling the ghostly stickiness on his palms that came with those whispers.

Next time, perhaps.

He left Peter Nureyev in the dressing room and emerged as Freyr Zirconia, a ridiculous name to walk down the street with but perfect to wear as a sex worker in glossy, completely transparent samite. He made his smile a little false around the edges, clearly hiding nervousness, someone who knew their trade but hadn’t quite settled into their environment yet. He chose accessories that were far from the finest on offer, making him look low in the pecking order, hesitant to appear flashy or perhaps he just didn’t know where the good stuff was kept and was too shy to ask. Rather galling to Nureyev, who knew he’d look exquisite in the thick rope of black pearls he’d passed over.

Maybe he would find himself back in the dressing room before his exit, snagging them as a present for himself. Maybe. If he did well.

There was already a pleasant buzz of conversation and soft music audible from halfway down the stairs, all emanating from the bar area. It hadn’t been hard to feign Freyr’s impressed expression when he’d been given his tour of the brothel after his successful interview. The bar was done in a classic style you didn’t see often in the bigger planets further out in the solar system. It was all leather and oak panelling, faux of course because the trees necessary had gone extinct a century ago but the imitation was flawless. The lights were low and richly golden, encased in red coloured glass in some areas so certain booths and alcoves would be awash in a red you could practically taste, giving the impression that whoever sat inside it was in their own little world. And to help them get there, behind the bar was what looked like every alcoholic drink in the known galaxy, wildly expensive wines from Earth, flavoured vodkas from Saturn, heady rums from Jupiter, even liqueurs brewed only on the furthest outer rim planets.

Freyr almost wished he could be part of it. It would be nice to be bought extravagant drinks, to have people fawn over him, to have rich men smile at him and feel like they owned him for an hour. There were things a man who was not Freyr had been neglecting recently, pleasures beyond those that could be found in a brilliantly planned and flawlessly executed job. Simpler pleasures of lips and hands and sweat that wasn’t yours drying on your skin.

But Freyr could wish all he liked. A man who wasn’t Freyr had an elusive mark to locate the personal phone number of.

He’d memorised the floor plan at his interview and confirmed it for himself with some illegally acquired schematics. First rule of thieving, always double check. The administration office was in the basement so the acrid numbers and figures didn’t shatter the fantasy, meaning the easiest way to get to it was to cut across just one corner of the bar. He couldn’t exactly go around the outside of the building, dressed as he was. It was raining, after all.

It wouldn’t take a minute, just a handful of steps. And it wasn’t like he was noticeable, Freyr was just one of several nymph-like visions in samite and jewels and barely there underwear. The Fly By Nights became like celebrities of Hyperion’s underworld, their faces and names well known and often requested, their specific skills practically famous. The older hands had cultivated reputations that filled their schedules for months, sometimes half a year in advance. Someone new and unestablished like Freyr was unlikely to be chosen in the twenty paces it would take to get him to his goal. He almost felt lazy with how easy this would be.

Just in case anyone was watching, he took a moment before he walked into the bar, making sure his robe was lying just right across his chest, patting the seemingly effortless swoop of his dark hair, rubbing in the glitter on his chest to smooth it out better. Freyr would be nervous, eager to make a good impression, hungry to prove himself, a heady mix of emotions that the other man could understand on some level and didn’t need to work too hard to paint over his delicate, expertly made up features. A deep breath. Straighten the spine. Go to work.

Almost immediately Freyr was enveloped in the smells of dozens of different but somehow complimentary perfumes, the rhythmic clink of glasses and pouring drinks, light music played on simple instruments, a rich glow of light and luxury. Even the sharp sweat tang of the hungry clients coming in through the doors couldn’t ruin it. He put a sway in his hips, dropped the lids of his eyes just a little, leaned into it all. Twenty paces, that was all, so why not enjoy them?

There were conversations happening all around him, it was a bundle of coloured threads in a hopeless knot. But the man who wasn’t Freyr simply couldn’t help himself sometimes and began to listen to the snippets he walked through, just out of interest. First rule of thieving, after all, always keep your ears open, you never know when you might hear something that saves you later. It was mostly innocuous parlour talk, too early in the evening after all for tongues to be truly loosened. The workers pressed drinks on their clients, laughed and cooed at their bad attempts at flirting, old friends greeted each other, some light gossip was traded that Freyr already knew and didn’t concern him anyway. Nothing to snag his interest as another part of his mind counted down the steps left.

Until he skirted closer to the bar itself.

There was no reason why the voice should have stood out to him the way it did. It wasn’t even saying anything of interest, just one of many unfamiliar voices that didn’t relate to Freyr’s goal whatsoever, talking of nothing. But this one grabbed him, yanking him off his train of thought, spilling his focus on the floor like so many marbles.

“Yeah, I meant what I said,” the voice was harsh, snappish but it was like a thin crust over something deeper, “The full bottle, I have the creds and I’m damn well thirsty enough.”

It wasn’t hard to find the owner of the voice, there was only one person it could be. He looked as rough and worn down as his voice had sounded, clearly sober but not intending to stay that way with how determinedly he was gripping the edge of the counter, slumped into an aged trench coat shiny with wear and the rain from outside. It was in his hair too, droplets that now looked like diamonds under the bar lights. His jaw was strong and covered in the stubble of someone a good week into a string of bad decisions, his eyes hooded and bloodshot to match. His hands were covered in scars that could only come from the kickback of a blaster. Soldier? Too young. Bodyguard? Too wayn. Cop? Perhaps but whatever he was, he was clearly an ex.

First rule of thieving, observe. Always observe. Unless it’s a pretty boy, in which case, tear your eyes away Pete and focus, god damn it.

Freyr swallowed hard and stopped, sixteen paces in, trying to sink deeper into being someone who didn’t know that voice. That voice, light and joking and jolly but now he could name the undercurrent that he’d always sensed but never pinned down until after. Until after…

He took a breath. Clearly he was not in the right frame of mind. Clearly if he went into that administration office now he would make a foolish mistake. First rule of thieving, timing is everything, yes? So deviate, improvise, circle back around with your head on straight.

And until then, play the game.

“That looks like a two man job,” he reached out and snagged the rather large bottle of high end whiskey the bartender had reluctantly set in front of the tired eyed ex-probably cop.

Freyr could see the decision whether or not to throw a punch cross the guy’s scarred face. Fortunately he came down on the side of non hostile resignation.

“Lady,'' he corrected, not arguing when Freyr reached over the bar and collected two crystal tumblrs, puring each half full with amber liquid that smelled of woodsmoke and expense, “Sorry, you’re gorgeous and all but you’re out of my price range. I’m just here to drink.”

“And drinking is all I spoke of, madam,” Freyr smiled sweetly, holding up his glass expectantly, “But I thank you for the compliment.”

After a pause, his stranger knocked his glass against his own and drank just a swallow. Freyr copied.

“You don’t have to pay to ask my name.”

That got a rough smile, not quite a true one but close, “Then what’s your name, handsome?”

“Freyr. Yours, handsome?”

Now a laugh, amber warm as the liquor they were drinking, “Juno Steel.”

“Pretty name for a pretty face,” that made him laugh again but there were patches of colour on his dark cheeks that didn’t have anything to do with the fine, mellow burn of the whiskey, “Can I ask, Juno Steel, why a lady with no money for a sex worker is sat in a brothel?”

Juno didn’t seem to know how to answer that, doing an awkward kind of one shouldered shrug, “It’s raining outside. The door was open. There’s alcohol.”

A simple formula for someone who didn’t have anywhere else to go. Freyr was good at his job, he knew how to read people and shift his gaze to bring into focus the words behind what they actually said. And Juno Steel wasn’t a hard lady to read. Grief and loneliness etched themselves on a person’s face in a way few other things did, leaving traces that were clear as words on a screen, especially if you were already familiar with them. Especially if you knew them from the mirror.

First rule of thieving, get back on the job, you useless, twitterpated young fool. First rule of thieving, you know better than this.

Behind Freyr’s face, the man who wasn’t Freyr set his jaw. He was sick of that voice. He was sick of still following it’s commands, sitting up to the snap of it’s fingers like a well trained dog. Hadn’t he proven that he didn’t need it? First rule of thieving, he’d do what he damn well pleased.

And right now, what he wanted to do was Juno Steel. He looked like he could use it.

Freyr leaned forward, knowing the light would be making his dark eyes glitter, “And there’s me.”

Juno smiled wryly, not moving back to reopen the distance between them, “Yeah. That part was a nice surprise.”

“Listen, Juno. I don’t need to know why you're here or why you have that brokenhearted look in your eyes you’re doing a rather poor job of concealing. I’d just like to try and do something about it. How does that sound?”

Juno caught his lower lip in his teeth, want flashing in his eyes like a distress signal on a ship lost in deepest space, “I...I don’t…”

“I know,” Freyr leant in a little more, until he couldn’t tell whose breath the smell of whiskey was coming from, “But, I’ll be honest, this is my first day. I have no appointments. So why don’t we call this...a practise run? Ex gratia on both our parts.”

Juno’s eyebrow lifted, “Can you do that?”

“Of course.” What did it matter when Freyr wouldn’t exist in a day’s time?

There was still some hesitation, something still lingering in his expression. Freyr wondered what had happened to this lady the last time someone had reached out to him, promising something for nothing. And then he remembered he didn’t care.

“Why me?” Juno eventually asked, his brow creasing with uncertainty.

Freyr smiled softly, showing where he’d smudged a little lipstick on his front tooth, almost as if it had been deliberately placed there to show his nervousness on his first day.

“Why not you, Juno Steel?”

It was quiet upstairs, too early in the evening for any appointments to have moved past the initial flirting in the bar stage. Freyr had the night’s schedule memorised, he knew which rooms would be free and would stay free for however long this wonderfully bad decision would take, he knew where he was going as he pulled Juno along.

There was a giddy lightness in his chest, a pounding exhilaration going through his veins. Freyr had a lifespan of three days, he’d never had the chance to be a reckless teenager, going against the path that had been laid out for him. The man he wasn’t had never experienced it either, for different reasons. But this is exactly how they’d both imagined it, how it had always looked in the streams and in stories. This was exactly what the fantasy had promised.

Both of them were giggling like they couldn’t help it, throwing wild grins back and forth, drunk on each other and a handful of swallows from the whiskey bottle now swinging in Juno’s lazy grip. By the time they reached one of the more modest rooms where they were minimally likely to be disturbed, Freyr was wearing Juno’s overcoat, Juno had marks of Freyr’s lipstick across his cheek and was gripping his narrow hips, whispering filth into his ear to make him fumble with the keys.

Freyr retaliated by turning and bending to kiss him full on the lips, the first time they’d done that since leaving the warmth of the bar for this new, uncharted dimness. Juno was shorter than he’d expected, he had to guide his jaw up a little after a moment to press their mouths together more fully. But it was a sweet kiss, all the same. Juno seemed to think so too, from how he shakily exhaled into Freyr’s mouth in a way that sounded almost relieved.

Once inside, Freyr didn’t need to do much to undress himself, letting the coat still heavy with rain and warm from Juno’s skin fall to the floor. His partner proved a little more hesitant, hands shaking as they went to the hem of his turtleneck. If Freyr had thought the tremors were anything but the aftershocks of something in the past, he would have called time then and there. But as it was, he took Juno’s large, scarred hands under his own and guided them, supporting them as the layer of damp wool and black trousers came away, showing dark hair, dark skin, more scars.

Freyr was new to The Fly By Night but he’d been in this trade a while. He knew how to make the right noises and pull the right faces, he knew how to give the clients what they paid for, no matter what was under their clothes. If there had been anything about Juno that disappointed, it wouldn’t have shown on his face.

But there was nothing to be done about the awe that softened his features when he saw all of Juno, wearing only the soft light from the window. There was no way to mask the quiet inhalation, the way his pupils flooded open, the way his hips tilted unconsciously forward. Showing too much was as dangerous as showing not enough and, in that moment, all of Freyr’s professionalism went out of the window.

But Juno didn’t seem to know any better, only blushing and giving a destroying self conscious smile. Perhaps it wasn’t just Freyr who was new to this.

“Can we just…” Juno gestured to the bed, a luxurious affair with black sheets that looked soft as butter and ready to sink into completely.

Freyr smiled indulgently and nodded, “Go make yourself comfortable, handsome.”

He told himself he didn’t care why Juno would find it so difficult to hear the words about to fall from his tongue. First rule of whatever the hell this is, we don’t care, we don’t think, we just act.

It did him good to see Juno sprawl out across the bed, to see his muscles unwind and his expression loosen at the softness, to see him let go of the weight of himself.

“What can I do for you?” his voice was honey, eyes hungrily roving over all of it, the limbs with their wiry strength, the old scars, the comforting softness of his gut, the lines of thick, dense body hair he wanted to follow and see where they led.

Juno’s gaze was suddenly quietly desperate, “Fuck me. Fuck me until I forget everything outisde this room.”

First rule of fucking Juno Steel, don’t ask.

Freyr nodded, scrambling to equip himself appropriately, suddenly feeling a mad fear that it would all be different if he looked away for too long. Each of the rooms had the basics of what two individuals, or even more than two, might need. Other things could be requested in advance, some other things that Freyr had to admit he was curious about were too large or elaborate to be moved from behind the stage. Perhaps now he’d still be around to catch one of the nightly shows and see for himself.

His hands were practised at straps, buckles and knots, it was nothing more than a few moments before he wore a rather beautiful black leather harness with gold metal accents, a middle of the road sized cock comfortably pressed against his own. Freyr wouldn’t like to assume, after all.

He turned to see Juno had watched the whole thing, now practically salivating, on his back with a hand between his legs, stroking himself into hardness.

“A little rude to start without me,” Freyr grinned teasingly, putting a hand on his hip.

“Then get over here,” Juno’s voice was already thin and gasping.

Freyr did just as he was told, snagging a bottle of lube as he passed, tumbling gladly into the bed. Juno rose to catch him, kissing him eagerly, now unhurried and lazy seeing as they’d reached their destination. If he wondered why Freyr’s hands could still deftly open the bottle and soak their fingers, all while the rest of him was devotedly kissing him, licking into his mouth, sucking marks on his neck while he gasped for breath, then Juno didn’t voice it.

There was some force in his hands as he yanked Juno’s legs apart, like a pouncing cat with prey suddenly deciding to stop playing and make an end of it. Juno let out a ragged gasp, clearly into it. His eyes fixed on Freyr’s as he sank two long, clever fingers into him, the first breach of his body. Neither could make a sound.

They’d neglected to turn any lights on as they’d staggered in so the colours of the room shifted and melted through half a hundred shades as, outside and unnoticed by either of them, the late evening melted into dusk, into night. As he opened him up and carved a space for himself inside the other body, Freyr saw Juno Steel as a gold bathed god, as a drowned sailor glimpsed through the surface of an indigo lake, as a constellation mapped out in dark stars. And always as a person, just another person he was sharing a bed with, who was starting to gasp and moan and whimper, eyes never leaving his face.

“Ready for me?” Freyr whispered, realising he’d been doing nothing but fingering him lazily for a good long while.

Juno nodded, voice raspy, “God, yeah.”

The sheets whispered underneath them as Freyr drew back from between his legs, now settling his hands on either side of Juno’s face. They didn’t stay there for long, as soon as Freyr started to move into him, slowly at first, Juno bit his lip and tipped his head back in such an expression of pained bliss that there was nothing for Freyr to do but hold his face gently. As he began to speed up, moving deeper and with more momentum, Juno took Freyr’s thumb in his mouth and sucked and in that moment, Freyr could have died happy.

It didn’t take long, they were both already halfway there. But it could have taken a year and it would have felt too soon, before the gasps and cries that were now indistinguishable grew to a peak, before there was a strangled cry, the thump of a headboard against the wall, a rise in their bodies into a perfect arch and it was done.

When Nureyev came, he gasped out Juno Steel.

There was something delicate about the seconds after, something shy and awkward as Freyr pulled out, as Juno winced at the stickiness on his stomach, as the bedsprings creaked, as they mumbled vague apologies while Freyr settled on his back so they now lay side by side, both staring up at the ceiling.

Juno was the first to clear his throat, clearly not a fan of awkward silences, “So...thank you. I mean, that was...I needed that.”

“I could tell,” Freyr’s voice was weak as he caught his breath. He hadn’t realised just how long it had been since the man he wasn’t had done that. His heart was hammering in his chest like a caged hummingbird.

Juno turned, sitting up on one elbow. In the dark, his expression was unreadable.

“Um...if I came back another night, could I...could I ask for you? I’d pay, I know this time was, y’know, a gimme.”

Freyr froze. Another night, he wouldn’t exist. Another night, he would be off somewhere with a new face and a new name, he’d be someone who had never heard of Juno Steel. Another night, Mars would be a collection of trivia the man he wasn’t had collected and collated and filed away for any future jobs.

First rule of thieving, stick to the plan. First rule of thieving, make no promises. First rule of thieving, no distractions.

First rule of thieving, just keep going, keep running, keep working and then...and then…

Nureyev turned to Juno and smiled, reaching out and stroking his cheek softly, “For you, Juno Steel? I’ll stick around.”

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #jupeter #juniverse #junoverse #juno steel #peter nureyv #smut #cw: sex work

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