#when... in reality she's barely an adult

[fumiko-matsubara]

Speaking of endangered children.

The last thing young Irina needs while currently suffering from post-war trauma, grief of her parents' passing, and the fact she had to kill a soldier and hide herself along with the corpse to survive, was to be trained to become a honey-pot assassin where she specifically uses her body and sexuality to get to her targets 💀

Which, by the way, she didn't really have a choice of since Lovro just had to give a traumatized child an ultimatum.

Like no wonder her concept of boundaries is pretty non-existent.

But that's probably just me speaking.

[autisticrosewilson]

Let's Try This Again (I'm on the way to your house)

MORE TGIRL GRANT RAHHH!!! Fixing the Wilson family one hrt shot at a time. Cw for eye pulling at the end. Title from Black Hole Fantasy by The Crane Wives. If you see a typo no you didn't (it's 5 AM)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The school bus comes to a stop in front of her house. Strange, it used to stop down the street, and stranger still because it's not her house. Not anymore.

Her childhood home looks unkempt, the lawn overgrown, and the paint peeling. Dread pools in her stomach despite the sunny scene, an idyllic little neighborhood with pale sidewalks covered in chalk flowers and rainbows. It's warm and dry the way Kentucky tends to be when she steps out of the air conditioning, another change from when she was young enough to ride the bus.

The house looms above her like she hasn't grown at all. Maybe she hasn't. Maybe she's still the small, vulnerable, little thing that ran away all those years ago, looking over his shoulder and sure that his dad would come to scoop him back into the truck and bring him home. Equal parts disapointed and relieved when it was just the still silence of a summer night that kept him company. She tries to look down but finds she's at the whims of her body, and her body moves forward with the unyielding pace of someone who doesn't fear what's behind that door.

One step, two, three. She can feel her hands grasping tight to her backpack, careful to avoid the railing. She tries to recall why, and some thread of thought conjures the image of the railing wobbling beneath her weight, even though it never had before.

The door swings open before she can reach for her housekey, not that her body would let her, seemingly unsurprised by Slades presence in the doorway. She starts, would pause if she could, but instead she moves forward. Slade pulls her into his side, big arm squeezing her shoulder gently before letting go.

"Welcome home, princess." His voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. Princess? He's never- he didn't know. She sure hadn't, at least. She wasn't a girl yet when they were still close enough for Slade to pull her into hugs just because. She's sure she was much smaller than this.

Her voice says... something. She can feel the motions, her mouth moving, the sound vibrating in her throat, the click of her teeth as they form the words. It's not English, she doesn't think, but she's never heard the language before. Maybe it doesn't matter. Dreams rarely ever abide by logic, after all. Maybe it's just gibberish. Maybe it doesn't matter because Slade has an amused little quirk to his lips that would make something ache in her chest if she didn't feel so untethered, like she could float away at any moment and no one would even realize she was there. Her body would just keep on walking without her, going through the motions while she drifted up to the stars.

She's still talking to him, she realizes distantly. They've moved through the house, her shoes kicked off by the door as Slade goes about removing sparkly clips from her hair and gently taking out her braid. Since when was her hair long enough to braid? Even after years of growing it out, her hairs simply too curly. She'd have to straighten it first, and she hasn't cared enough to put in the effort. That begs the question of who did dream-her's hair. Was it Slade? She doubts it. It could have been mom, she supposes, but...well. Adeline never wanted a daughter. She was more than happy with two boys, even if she preferred one to the other.

She looks up at him through her pale(?) lashes, studying the face of a man she hasn't seen in years since her's started changing too much to reflect it back at her. He looks...not older. Actually, he looks almost exactly the same. His head is full of white hair, he's missing an eye, but somehow, his face is the same.

She hasn't seen him smile like that before, at least not for a very long time. Though his canines look a little too sharp, his smile is anything but. He's...he's looked at her like that before, she's sure. He must have because this has to be a dream, and the human brain can't just make up new expressions. So...so even though she can't think of a single instance where he's looked at her with something other than irritation or grim disappointment, he must have for her to see in stark clarity a dimple she never noticed before - never knew they shared - and the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs.

He leads her to the kitchen, bathed in sunlight, and looking far too clean to belong in a family home. Even with both her parents being clean freaks, there's an unavoidable level of clutter that comes from multiple people sharing a space. It's almost sterile now, dull and colorless from disuse. she clambers up to the kitchen island, and her backpack falls to the floor beside her with a heavy thump. She sees a flash of bubblegum pink out of the corner of her eye that makes the familiar feeling of gender euphoria flutter in her stomsch, and then her attention is drawn to the platter of apple slices and peanut butter in front of her.

She tries to imagine Slade in the kitchen for anything but brewing his morning coffee. Can't quite picture him lovingly slicing apples and spooning peanut butter into a tiny bowl, carefully arranging it on a plate, just waiting for her to come home.

Slade was rarely ever in the house before her, if he was there at all, and he was never the "greet you at the door" type when he was. He used to ask about homework. Sometimes, he asked Joey about his friends if he brought someone up, but Greta always brushed that off more as his control freak tendencies than any fatherly investment.

She reaches out for an apple slice and realizes that it's not her reaching at all. Her hand is small, the skin a warm brown speaking to a life in the sun far away from the overly sanitized suburbs Greta grew up in, the fingers scarred from gardening and woodwork rather than the telltale callouses left over from guns and blades.

Her nails are short and jagged from biting - a habit Slade used to cuff her upside the head for when he was around - the glittery nail polish is chipped and flaking, and the rows of colorful beaded bracelets clack together as she brings an apple slice to her mouth. It crunches under her teeth, sweet and ripe, and a thought rises unbidden of lush trees, branches heavy with mangoes and dragonfruit and others that she doesn't recognize at all.

She doesn't recognize anything about the scene, she realizes. It's so vivid, a pang of something like longing but more like grief blooms in her chest, and she knows that it isn't hers.

None of this is. Not the sun soaked memories or the feelings too big for her tiny chest. The fruit tastes rotten in her mouth, and she doesn't know who's fault that is.

Slade's hand is on her shoulder, and though she tries to flinch back, this body is completely unmoving. It just sags under the gentle weight.

"Your mom always preferred lychee." He remarks, seemingly at random.

No, she didn't, Greta thinks desperately. Her childhood was drowned in citrus. The smell of oranges lingering on her mom's fingertips, the tang of grapefruits in the summer, lemon pinesol permeating the floors and tables.

The girl that's not her says something, clearer this time, but still not English. Not all English anyway, and heavily accented besides.

She tries to squirm, or scoot away, or clear her throat, or- or do anything but sit here and live out the life of a girl she's never been.

A girl with a mother whose love tastes like sticky sweet rice and ripe fruit, a girl who gets to grow up with a version of Slade she only caught a glimpse of before everything fell apart. A girl who got to be born a girl, with long hair and glittery nails and a bedroom with pale pink walls. A girl who got to toddle around in her mom's heels without looks of disapproval or pity. A girl who gets to be Slade's daughter, who gets to have Slade as a father.

There are tears in her eyes, and she doesn't know who they belong to.

It's a little easier to tell the girls emotions from her own this time, the confusion, something like...like fingers in her head, poking lightly at her brain. At her.

Maybe she's not the only one seeing things she shouldn't, she realizes. She recoils, not physically, but somewhere deeper. Fading out until she can no longer see or hear the life her family made without her. Down, down, down away from the prodding touch of the girls mind.

She hears something, a distant echo. A heavily accented question dripping with suspicion.

"Daddy, who's Grant?" reaches her under the surface, and her squirming panic jolts her awake.

She gasps in air, so suddenly she chokes. She blinks her puffy, aching eyes open, and even through the blurry vision, she can make out the jaundiced ceiling of her apartment, long since saturated by the cigarette smoke of previous tenants. She blinks slowly, absently wiping away her tears, but she's alone in her living room. She fell asleep on the couch again and probably missed her last class, evidenced by the sun fading quickly in the sky, drenching everything in warm amber light.

She scrambles up, the second-hand furniture protesting every movement loudly. She feels better when she's standing. She's in control of herself again. She stumbles to the bathroom, not even caring enough to turn on the light.

She runs cold water on her face, feeling all the familiar contours to assure herself that she's still...well, herself. Her jaw has softened. She looks more like mom than Slade these days. Helped along by the way she's dyed her hair brown and the curls that have started forming since she learned how to take care of them. She frowns when she notices the pale strands of hair growing from her roots, too light to even be her natural hair color and too sparse besides. No WAY she's already going gray.

But then, maybe it runs in the Family.

She swallows a Tylenol for the growing headache and reminds herself to talk to the campus doctor about her sudden migraines. They've been getting worse. She scrubs the makeup from her face, takes out the cheap earrings her roommate gave her courtesy of an ex girlfriend. And finally gets around to removing her brown contacts, even though those icy blue eyes are the last thing she wants to see right now. (Although, his eyes are looking more gray theses days, softened by age and a lack of her presence no doubt.)

She peels it back slowly only to freeze. Her eyes are glowing. She pulls the contact out to be sure and blinks. Beneath the golden brown of her lenses, the palest purple glow illuminates her face and sends shadows dancing across the bathroom. With a shaking hand, she removes her other contact and is met with the same sight.

She presses the pad of her thumb into the soft skin of her eyelid, pulling it up and watching as the ghostly glow dims ever so slowly. The little pools of lilac inching closer to the natural blue with every second she stands wordlessly tranfixed by her own gaze. Until she's left standing in her darkened bathroom like nothing was ever amiss.

From somewhere in the other room, a familiar series of beeps and pulses emanates from her discarded phone.

[stuworbutwithchipmunks]

I know ppl couldn't care less about the humans in the cgi movies but Zoe and Dr. Rubin were both hilarious characters and the more i rewatch the movies the more i think about that.

[starryhyuck]

green gables. (m)

pairing: e2l!jaemin x afab!reader

words: 22.9k+

summary: your search for a family lands you at green gables, where you learn to adapt to the new challenges that come your way.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: takes place in the late 19th century, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, bigdick!jaemin, creampies, fingering

inspired by anne of green gables, anne of avonlea, anne of green gables (1985), anne of avonlea (1987), anne with an e

For your entire life, you dreamed of having a home to call yours.

Your parents passed when you were only an infant, leaving you to be handed off to the local orphanage who barely had enough funding to keep their heads above water. Most of the adults who came to visit were only looking for boys that could help around the house. It was rare for anyone to come in and request a girl, unless they were a newborn mother who couldn’t handle the constant screaming at night.

Still, despite every year passing with no sign of a couple willing to adopt you, your optimism never wavered. You imagined a great big life with green pastures and parents who wanted to shower you in the utmost adoration.

Until that day comes, you’re forced to face the reality of your current situation.

A mop drops in front of you, cracking at the base and standing on its last leg. Mrs. Baek gruffly orders, “Go clean up the kitchen. One of the boys was nauseous last night and it’s starting to smell rancid in there.”

“Yes, Mrs. Baek,” you reply obediently, taking the mop from the floor and trudging off to the kitchens.

Another downside of not being adopted yet is the constant onslaught of chores. Being one of the only grownups left in the orphanage, tasks were assigned off to you in lieu of the other younger children. Mrs. Baek always reminds you that she only has to pay for your housing for another year before the government allows her to start collecting dues. You try not to think about how you’ll possibly locate the compensation, hoping someone will come to take you into their home before then.

You clean up the sick from the kitchen floor, pinching the bridge of your nose to stop the smell from invading your senses. Mrs. Kim pops in, eyes narrowing at you. The elderly woman has never been very fond of you, blaming your lack of adoption on your incessant need to dream. She thinks if you were a little more grounded in reality, an expecting mother would have hired you into her household by now.

She calls your last name with a huff. “Put that down and come with me. A request has come in for you.”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. A request could mean two things — a mother finally caved in and asked for a helping hand or a family has decided to come rescue you from your misfortune. You skip to Mrs. Kim’s office happily, grinning at her when you take a seat across her desk.

“A pair of siblings have called in, asking for a farmhand to help around their estate,” she informs you, unbothered by your excitement at the prospect. “We’ve agreed to send you, as they need an older girl with more labor intensive experience. You’ll depart for the station tomorrow.”

“Oh, Mrs. Kim, thank you, thank you!” You leap up, rushing around her desk to envelope her in a hug. She grunts at you, pushing you away with a sneer.

“Don’t get yourself thinking this means they’ll adopt you. They could very well change their minds after hearing you talk for an hour,” she grumbles. “Now go pack your things and prepare for bed. You have a long trip ahead.”

You decide not to bother her any further, running back to the sleeping area and grabbing your suitcase. The other girls in the orphanage don’t care much for you, loathing your sheer positivity, which contrasted against their evident cynicism. You used to mind it when you were younger, lamenting over not having a close friend as they all deemed you too odd. Now, however, you’ve grown accustomed to fending for yourself.

“And where do you think you’re going, princess?” Ara mocks, watching as you lay your suitcase open on your bed. You grab what little clothes you have and shove them inside. “Off to your make-believe castle?”

The other girls echo her laughter, but you don’t allow their comments to dig under your skin. You focus on the joy of living with a new family, even if they decide not to keep you.

Anywhere is better than here.

“Oh, look girls,” Ara says as she jumps down from her bed. She dangles one of the strings of your tank top on her finger. “Maybe the little miss is off to find herself a boyfriend.”

You glare at her. “Give it back.”

She smirks when she pulls the reaction she wanted out of you. “Why? Need it for your date tonight?”

You lunge at her and she screams, attracting the attention of the caretakers in the next room over. They find you wrestling with Ara on the floor, the both of you resorting to a screaming mess as you yank at each other’s hair. The other girls cheer at the spectacle, forming a barricade around your blurry figures before Mrs. Baek invades the scene. She grabs the back of your shirts and hauls you apart, panting as if she ran across the orphanage just to break up the fight.

“That is it! I’ve had it with the both of you!” She growls, eyes darkening to a frightening shade of black as she looks at you. “I have every nerve not to send you off to your new family tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops at her words and Ara follows suit, albeit for a completely different reason. “She got adopted?” Ara shrieks, flabbergasted by the thought.

You smile proudly while Mrs. Baek replies, “Yes, she did. And if you had only held your tongue for another day, you wouldn’t be cleaning the washrooms tomorrow.”

Ara grows flustered at being disciplined in front of everyone. It’s enough to keep her mouth shut. Mrs. Baek yells that it’s time for lights out, and some of the girls complain due to not having their dinner yet.

“Then you should’ve been fretting over your empty stomachs rather than inciting this ridiculous squabble. For heaven’s sake, most of you will be of the age next year where you have to earn a sufficient wage on your own. I’m horrified by the thought.”

She ensures the room is tucked into bed before closing the door and shutting off the lights. You dig your head into your pillow, the corner of your lips twitching upwards at the thought of boarding a train in the morning. You’ve never been on a train before, and you wonder if it’s as glamorous as they say. Your eyes flit downwards to check on your suitcase stuffed under your bed, which was hastily packed by Mrs. Baek before she barked at you not to cause any more trouble. You feel Ara’s glare from behind you but you ignore it, dreaming of your new life away from here.

—

Your new family is late.

It concerns you quite a bit but you make an attempt not to show it, speaking to the policeman at the train station with much fervor. You rattle on about your first experience on the train and how it was dazzling to see all of the passing views of nature. He nods politely at you, allowing you to talk as freely as you wish.

The clock continues to tick slowly by, but you assure the policeman that your new family will be here to collect you soon.

The last train departs before you see a haggard man walk up the steps, a slight limp in his left leg. Your hope rises that this may be the new man who will whisk you off to his home. However, he stops and asks the policeman you were conversing with earlier, “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for a young boy.”

“No boy here. There’s a girl sent from the orphanage down south. She’s been waiting since midday.”

“A g-girl?”

You jump off the rickety bench, gripping your suitcase tightly in one hand and strolling up to the questioning man. You put on your best smile for him as Mrs. Kim taught you.

Keep your hands folded together and bow your head kindly. It shows you’re going to be a good girl for them to host.

You offer him your name. “It is such a pleasure to meet you. I have been waiting awfully long and worried you were injured along your journey. But then I got swept up in the cherry trees we passed on the train ride… Oh, have you ever ridden a train before? It was quite a lovely experience, you see, and I’d love to tackle it again if given the chance.”

The man blinks heavily at you while the policeman’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement. The man clears his throat, his wrinkled hands wiping away the sweat building from his brow.

“I’m Ilnam of Green Gables,” he introduces, glancing at the clock hanging nearby. “Let’s get going then. I’ll help you take your bag.”

“I got it!” You reply cheerfully. “I’ve got all my worldly goods from the orphanage here, but it isn’t heavy. They didn’t give me much.” You bid goodbye to the policeman and follow Ilnam to his buggy parked nearby. You continue to ramble even though you know Mrs. Baek would be scolding you by now for not understanding social cues. “Mrs. Kim from the orphanage told me it would be a long drive to Green Gables, isn’t that right? About ten miles. I don’t mind, honestly, as I love rides where I can get to fully invest my thoughts into the surroundings. Oh, I’ve heard Green Gables has beautiful trees around the estate, is that true?”

Ilnam gives a curt nod, gently placing your luggage in the back as he helps you into the buggy. You notice he’s not a man of many words, but you deem it to be fine considering you have plenty of words to share yourself.

You provide him a reprieve from conversing for half of the trek, admiring the blooming fauna around you. When you’re only two miles away from Green Gables, you reach your hand out to brush it against one of the trees covered in white snow, slowly melting due to the seasons changing.

“What do these trees remind you of?” You ask him, eyes sparkling.

He turns to look at you, both of his hands still gripping the reins of the buggy as the horse trots along. “What?”

“The trees, Ilnam,” you say softly. “Don’t they remind you of a winter wedding? A bride dressed head to toe in white, trying not to shiver as she walks down the aisle to her lovely groom? And as soon as her father gives her away, her husband-to-be whispers that she’s just as beautiful as the falling snow?”

He chuckles. “You’ve got one hell of an imagination.”

“Thank you,” you reply proudly, beaming at his acknowledgement. “The other girls at the orphanage didn’t care for it much. I’m glad I can settle in with a new family who appreciates it.”

At your words, Ilnam tenses suddenly, but you fail to notice it as your eyes are drawn to a shimmering lake over the hill.

“Oh, how beautiful!” You exclaim, nearly toppling over the buggy as you lean forward to take a look. Ilnam grabs the back of your dress to block your fall. “What is that lake called?”

“That’s Noh’s pond,” he says, keeping a stray eye locked on you in case your clumsiness pops up again.

“What a dreadful name,” you state with a frown. “Not very creative at all. I think we should call it the Lake of Shining Waters. Yes, that’s it! That’s a better suited name, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Better than Mr. Noh’s pond, I suppose.”

“And who is Mr. Noh?”

“He lives just up that hill,” he answers, gesturing to the great big house with his chin. “He’s got a daughter around your age, ready to graduate next year. Her name’s Hyojung.”

“Wow,” you murmur under your breath, sweeping yourself away in fantasies of Hyojung rushing over to Green Gables and declaring you to be friends. “I hope we’ll get to meet one day. It would be decadent if we could eat near the Lake of Shining Waters.”

“There’s Green Gables, up ahead,” he remarks.

You stretch your neck upwards, carefully balancing yourself on the seat of the buggy to not give Ilnam another fright. A grin stretches from ear to ear when you see the white house dressed with a green-gabled rooftop and window shutters. It sits on acres and acres of land, all with well-maintained grass that you assume Ilnam has been taking care of.

He brings the buggy to a halt when you approach the entrance, and a grey-haired woman dashes out, a scowl on her face when she spots you.

“Seo Ilnam,” she says condescendingly. “What took you so long? And where is the boy?”

Your heart falls when you recollect Ilnam’s earlier questioning to the policeman. Had they not been expecting you?

“No boy,” Ilnam replies gruffly, hopping down from the buggy. “I went to the station and there was only her.”

“No boy?” The woman repeats in exasperation. “There must have been a boy. We requested a boy.”

“No boy. Only her.”

You dig your face into your hands, erupting into sobs. “You don’t want me! I should’ve known that Mrs. Kim made a mistake. Of course you don’t want me! You want a boy!”

The woman clicks her tongue, holding the end of her dress as she comes around to you. She helps you step down and chides you. “Now we will have none of that,” she says, taking your hands away from your face. “We’re not going to turn you away for the night. We’ll bring you back to the station in the morning to get this sorted. What’s your name?”

You tell her despite your mouth feeling like it’s been shoved full of rocks. She guides you inside the house, and you would normally marvel at its beauty, but you’re so caught up in wallowing in your pain that you don’t get a chance. Now you’ll have to return to the orphanage and hear Ara’s speech about how you’ve never been destined for a family.

“My name is Ilkyung,” the woman introduces herself, sitting you down on the long dining table. She pours you a cup of milk. “Tell me exactly how the orphanage sent you here.”

You sniffle, staring down at the cup pitifully. “Mrs. Kim specifically mentioned you requested a farmhand to help around the estate. They decided to send me since I’m one of the older girls there.”

“There wasn’t a boy they could send?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “All the older boys have already aged out, ma’am. The oldest one we have now is only seven years of age.” She swears lightly, shaking her head and sitting across from you. You try to vouch for yourself. “I can be a good farmhand, ma’am, for you and Ilnam. I’m a good cook and I can learn how to work in those fields.”

Ilnam enters the house, giving Ilkyung a look that you can’t quite detect. She stares back at him with narrowed eyes, and you realize they’re having a wordless conversation. It brings a smile to your face.

“It’s exquisite to have a kindred spirit you can speak to without really speaking,” you comment. Both siblings turn their attention to you. “I’ve never seen it before, only read about it. I-It’s nice.”

A few moments of silence passes before Ilkyung sighs. “We’ll eat supper and then I’ll show you to your room for the night. I’ll bring you to Mrs. Park to discuss this ordeal in the morning.”

Your dream of having a home to call yours crumbles around you.

—

Mrs. Park is not a very pleasant woman.

She brushes off Ilkyung’s complaint swiftly. “Ilkyung, I told the orphanage what you directed me. Word for word, line for line. It’s not my fault they sent a girl to your quarters.”

Ilkyung has the patience of a saint, which you quickly learned after she handled your pathetic cries the entire night. She places her hands over your shoulders.

“I understand that, Hwayoung. No one is shifting blame here. I simply want to get the issue corrected with the orphanage.”

You shirk at being referred to as an issue. Mrs. Park exhales, taking a break from cleaning the buckets on her front porch. You don’t even want to ask what used to be contained in them, the smell being enough to ward off your curiosity.

“Well, if you don’t want her, I could use another hand around the house. My girl just gave birth to another son,” Mrs. Park says just as a sharp cry rings from inside the house. A girl slightly older than you stumbles out, hair sticking up in different directions and her clothes in disarray. She pleas for Mrs. Park to take care of the baby upstairs. “No need. Mrs. Seo is offering us a girl who will help.”

You look at Ilkyung with wide eyes and she understands your concern.

“Now, Hwayoung, I didn’t say that we wanted to give her away-”

“Ilkyung,” Mrs. Park scoffs. “Your eagerness to waste my morning is truly astonishing. Either leave the girl here or return to Green Gables. I don’t have the time to write to the orphanage again for you or dawdle while you decide whether you and Ilnam want to keep her.”

Ilkyung smiles tightly. “Have a good rest of your morning, Hwayoung.”

You don’t question Ilkyung’s decision as you travel back to Green Gables. You keep your mouth shut for the first time, perpetually worried she’ll turn the cart around and force you to live with Mrs. Park and her numerous grandchildren.

“Tell me about your time at the orphanage. I would like to learn,” Ilkyung requests as you come up to the Lake of Shining Waters.

“I was dropped off at the steps when I was a baby. They say my father was a bank worker and my mother was a gardener. Don’t you think that’s so romantic? She was probably planting roses when he came by from his shift at the bank,” you murmur happily. “Mrs. Baek says they were as poor as church mice as my father made very little wages. I would like to think we would’ve come across a great fortune if the fever hadn’t taken my mother so poorly. I was only three months old when she passed and my father handed me to the orphanage. I don’t blame him in the slightest — what was the man to do when the love of his life disappeared and he had no coins in his name to take care of their child? Frankly, I just wish she lived long enough for me to remember calling her my mother.”

“I’m sorry she didn’t,” Ilkyung says apologetically, but you beam at her.

“Oh, it’s no worry at all! I know she would have loved me. Mrs. Baek at the orphanage was the one who raised me, and I was taken into another house when I was eight to help a mother raise her children. She had so many twins, three sets of them! It was such a beautiful thing but she didn’t have much time to look after them. I told her firmly that she mustn’t keep having children as it was growing too much, but her husband was always drunk and didn’t take kindly to me.”

“They didn’t treat you well?” She asks, disturbed by the idea.

“They meant to, they really did! I could tell they wanted to treat me well but it wasn’t easy for them to divide up their attention, you see. The babies were always crying and taking up most of the day. They were good people, I just know it.”

Ilkyung swallows at your positivity, holding the reins of the buggy tighter. “And did they put you through school?”

You shrug. “It wasn’t a priority for them, which I understand. I learned to read at the orphanage after the family moved away and decided they didn’t want to keep me. It’s been my favorite pastime when I’m not assigned chores.”

“Well, as long as you’re living under our roof, I’m putting you through your proper studies,” she says definitively.

A spark of hope blooms in your chest. “Oh, does that mean you’re keeping me?” You clasp your fingers together, pinching yourself in case this turns out to be another dream.

She stutters over her reply. “I’m surely not allowing you to stay with Mrs. Park to raise her grandchildren. We will run a test trial for now, as long as you display good manners and listen accordingly. And I won’t have that imagination of yours running wild every second of the day, you must promise to be focused and attentive.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Ilkyung!” You yell as you launch yourself at her, wrapping her in a firm hug. She gasps at the sudden contact but pats your back assuredly. “I won’t let you down, I promise! I’ll bring you and Ilnam the best grades in school, I swear it.”

She peels you away. “Now don’t promise what you can’t guarantee. We’ll start off small — you’ll help me in the kitchen before assisting Ilnam with the lighter tasks around Green Gables.”

Your dream begins to rebuild itself.

—

You slowly adjust to your new life at Green Gables.

Ilkyung teaches you how to sew in the mornings before you help Ilnam with the livestock in the afternoons. Then you assist Ilkyung with preparing supper in the evenings, allowing you to brush up on your cooking repertoire that you picked up on at the orphanage.

Ilkyung never voices her concerns directly, but you know she’s worried about you attending the local school. You’re coming in quite late in the year, and the students have already grown up with each other and are ready to embark on the next chapter of their lives. To assimilate you, she brings you over for tea at the Noh residence, where you have a direct view of the Lake of Shining Waters.

Mr. Noh is a stout man with a curly mustache. He has a wife and two daughters, who all look like they should be on display at a beauty parlor. Mrs. Noh greets you with a smile, kissing both of Ilkyung’s cheeks.

“It is so nice to see you, you and Ilnam never come around for tea,” she murmurs.

Ilkyung rests a hand on your back. “Apologies for our absence, we’ve been busy with running Green Gables. I wanted to introduce you to our new girl.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Noh says as she turns to you. Ilkyung fashioned you a new dress just for this occasion, and although the greedy part of you would have liked it to have puffy sleeves, you didn’t put up much of an argument. Mrs. Noh examines you carefully, assessing if you’re the right fit to mingle with her daughter. Ilkyung warned you that the town had certain assumptions when it came to adopting orphans, but you take it in stride. “It is very nice to meet you. Hyojung has been waiting for your arrival.”

Hyojung shyly smiles at you, her hands folded over her stomach properly. Her long black hair reaches her waist, tied up neatly in a giant blue ribbon. Her matching blue dress has the puffy sleeves that you adore, and you try not to sulk at your own frumpy brown dress. Her sister, Chaeyoung, is at least ten years younger as she stares off with a bored look. She’s dressed very similarly to Hyojung, except her ensemble is in pink.

“Why don’t you two take a walk through the gardens?” Hyojung’s mother suggests.

Once you’re outside, Hyojung has a hard time finding the right words to say. You, on the other hand, seem to be saying all the wrong things.

“-I’ve just never had a friend of my own before. It’s odd, I know, but the girls at the orphanage despised me and mocked me endlessly. But I can already tell you’re nothing like them. Do you happen to know what a kindred spirit is?” She shakes her head and you grin. “Ilkyung and Ilnam are kindred spirits. They can sense what each other is thinking without having to say it out loud. Their souls are more attuned to the other, intertwining in this beautiful harmony. I-I’ve never found a kindred spirit of my own, I must confess, but I was hoping it could be you.”

“M-Me?” She stutters, laughing softly. “Oh, I’m not too sure. I’ve never been someone’s kindred spirit before.”

“It’s easy!” You say, taking her hand and leading her to the Lake of Shining Waters. “What do you see when you look out here?”

Hyojung shrugs. “A lake.”

“Not just any lake, the Lake of Shining Waters! See, look at how the sunlight beams across the water and reflects into a million dazzling lights. Doesn’t it make you think of a picnic in the summer, feeling the breeze nip at your face while the birds chirp around you?”

She giggles at you. “That sounds nice.”

“It is nice, Hyojung. And that’s what the lake represents — the happiness you feel when you see the shining waters.”

She purses her lips before looping her arm through yours. “I think we will be great kindred spirits. You should know the hierarchy of the classroom before your first day though. Soeun runs a tight ship and she has a crush on Na Jaemin, so don’t even bother looking in his direction. She can sense it.”

“Who’s Na Jaemin?” You inquire with furrowed eyebrows.

She scoffs. “Who’s Na Jaemin? He’s the most desired guy in our year. Top of the class, good looks, heading off to medical school next year… he’s everything a girl wants. Soeun’s been trying to win his affections since we were children, but it hasn’t really been working out for her.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to stay far from him.”

The Noh family dines you and Ilkyung for the evening before you’re finding your way back to Green Gables. When Ilkyung asks you if you’re getting along with Hyojung, you excitedly relay to her how you’ve finally discovered your kindred spirit. It eases her worries regarding your isolation from the rest of the other students.

You walk arm in arm with Hyojung on your first day, not revealing to her how you stayed up the whole night speculating on the different ways today could go wrong. Ilkyung reminded you over breakfast to hold your tongue and be mindful of when others need to speak their turn.

“I’ll introduce you,” Hyojung whispers to you as you step inside the schoolhouse, hanging up your hats together. “Soeun might make a fuss, but she’ll get used to it.”

The classroom is small, nearly the same size as the dining room of Green Gables. There are sixteen tables total, divided on each side of the room for the girls and the boys. The girls are already huddled into a circle in the middle while the boys throw around a ball in the corner. Each eye turns to you as you enter, and Hyojung squeezes your arm in reassurance.

“Girls, meet our newest member,” Hyojung says as she introduces you to the group. The girls assess you with an inquisitive raising of the eyebrow, and the one with the frilly yellow bow in her hair speaks first.

“We heard you came from the orphanage.”

“Soeun,” Hyojung scolds. “Where have your manners gone?”

“It’s fine,” you say, resting a hand over hers as you watch her scowl at Soeun. “Yes, I was orphaned when I was an infant after my parents passed. But now I live at Green Gables with the Seo’s, and I would much rather focus on the present than the past, don’t you think?”

Soeun narrows her eyes but doesn’t utter another remark about your upbringing. “Anyways, we were just talking about how Mark plans on asking Sookyung if he can walk her home.”

The girls in the circle squeal while one of them blushes beet red. She hits Soeun’s arm playfully and whines in embarrassment.

“And what about you, Soeun? When is Jaemin finally going to ask you out?” Another girl asks.

Soeun waves her off. “We still have time. Don’t you girls worry about me.”

The teacher starts the lesson and you scramble into your seats. Hyojung smiles at you when you occupy the seat next to her, and you offer her a grateful grin in return.

“Today, we will be discussing the history of the late war,” your teacher drawls, his eyes sunken in and bored by the sound of his voice. He begins reciting whatever’s written in the text in his manual while you take notes on your blackboard slate. You hang onto his every word, intending to fulfill your promise to Ilkyung to bring home the best grades in the class.

The local community of mothers was the one who decided whether or not to bring you into the schoolhouse. There were doubts due to you being an orphan and slowing the rest of the students down. Ilkyung attended many meetings to vouch for you, and it relieved some of the members to know you already learned how to read and write. You were set on not only proving them wrong about their initial presumptions, but also showing up at the top of the list compared to your fellow classmates.

When you’re dismissed for lunch, the girls are a giggling mess, curling in on themselves over the stray crumbs dusting the teacher’s mustache. You join in on their fun as you gather around outside, opening your lunch boxes and conversing together. Soeun and Sookyung dance around in a circle, recreating what they believe your teacher gets up to in his after hours.

You chortle as you sit at the end of the line, watching them with gleeful eyes. You’re about to jump up and join them when an apple suddenly rolls in front of you.

“Sorry,” a tender voice apologizes, leaning down to pick up the lonely fruit. Your eyes raise to meet ones that sparkle just like the Lake of Shining Waters. His smile stretches from ear to ear, radiating the most gorgeous features you’ve ever seen in your life. “The boys never watch where they’re throwing-”

“Jaemin,” Soeun murmurs, abruptly ceasing her hopping.

He snaps his head up to look at her as the reality of his name crashes down around you. You scurry away from his figure as if he’s burned you, and he glances back down at you in confusion.

Hyojung senses your cry for help. “Um, girls, perhaps we should head back inside.” She gives them an aggressive nod of her head before they all get her message, following you inside the schoolhouse while leaving Jaemin and Soeun to their own devices.

You fail to recognize Jaemin’s eyes trailing you the entire way, only focused on the fact that you dodged a bullet out there with Soeun. The other girls are whispering to themselves about the possibility of Jaemin and Soeun getting together. When Soeun comes back in with flushed cheeks, she refuses to tell the rest of you what occurred outside. Jaemin floats in shortly after, eyes locked on you. You rapidly dart your gaze away, sitting ramrod straight in your seat.

The day passes by successfully, and you nearly believe you’re in the clear until the last lesson of the day. You’re so excited to recant to Ilkyung about your new friends and your ability to hold in your tongue like you promised. It’s all thwarted when a singular piece of chalk gets thrown at your head.

“Psst,” a voice hisses, and despite only hearing him talk once, you can already guess who it is. The teacher’s back is turned, writing a few arithmetic equations on the board. A couple of the boys chuckle at Jaemin. “Hey, psst.”

Another piece of chalk is flung from across the room. Hyojung gives you a concerned look. You ignore it, drilled in on solving the equation in front of you.

“Hey, princess.”

You’re instantly swept in a flurry of bad memories of Ara taunting you.

“Aw, girls, look at this! The poor princess has her nose in a book again. You can keep reading but no prince is going to jump out and save you.”

“Do you see that, girls? The princess here is dreaming of a big white castle with a family at the end of the rainbow.”

“What’s the matter, princess? Did the big scary monster come to assign you chores?”

Before you can fully register your actions, you find yourself striding to him, bringing your slate down over his head and cracking it in pieces.

“How dare you!”

The entire classroom falls into a deadly silence. The girls are covering their mouths to prevent a gasp from escaping while the boys are snickering to themselves. Your teacher spins around, eyes blazing with fury. He growls out your name.

Before he can reign fire down on you, Jaemin stands up with dust littered in his hair as he says, “It was my fault, sir. I was picking on her.”

“To witness such a temper stem from a pupil of my own astounds me beyond belief. Go stand on the platform in front of the blackboard for the rest of the day.”

“But sir-”

“And I’ve heard enough from you, Na Jaemin. I expect more from our top student.”

You shamefully spend the rest of the day standing in front of the blackboard. You keep your eyes planted on your feet, curling your fingers into your palm until your nails dig into the skin. When class is eventually released, Hyojung rushes over to you, handing you your book bag. You keep your head held high while you walk away, disregarding Jaemin’s attempts to apologize.

“I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. Let’s not hold grudges.”

You huff and tug on Hyojung’s arm, declining to look in his general direction. Hyojung mumbles your name. “Come on. You can’t be mad at him forever. Jaemin makes fun of all the girls! Soeun’s not even upset with you over it.”

“I shall never forgive Na Jaemin,” you tell her with certainty. “Until the day I die, the iron has entered into my soul where it shall remain forever.”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic.”

—

The school days with Na Jaemin don’t grow any easier.

By the third week, due to you running late from Green Gables, your teacher forced you away from Hyojung and sat you directly next to Jaemin. The boy was kind enough not to pester you, keeping his attention on the lessons at hand. However, every now and then, you often find a tiny heart-shaped candy underneath your arm that only he could leave behind for you. You usually throw them on the ground in front of him and dig your heel into it until it crumbles into powder.

He even manages to hold his top spot in the class with you right below him.

You complain to Ilkyung about it constantly, who does nothing but stare at you fondly. “He is the most aggravating boy I have ever met in my life! Everyone thinks he’s a saint, Ilkyung, but I know better! That Na Jaemin is nothing but a troublemaker out for my blood. He plans to use my sorrow to dangle my failure in front of everyone, I just know it. He’s at home planning my demise as we speak!”

“You’ll do better in your studies if you focus more on your books than the likes of Na Jaemin,” Ilkyung advises with a knowing look in her eye. Ilnam walks in, brushing off the snow starting to come in on his jacket. “Ilnam, tell her how she should be emphasizing her attention in school rather than boys.”

Your jaw drops open. “I do not enjoy your implication! Na Jaemin is not just a boy, he’s… he’s…”

“Mr. Na is a good man,” Ilnam comments, not fully registering Ilkyung’s ask paired with your frustration. “His boy is alright as well from what I’ve heard. Decent head on his shoulders, top of his class, and it would do the town some good to have a well-bred doctor in such close proximity.”

You throw him the most menacing look you can conjure. Ilnam clears his throat.

“B-But of course, he’s nothing compared to you, sweetheart. Smartest girl I’ve ever seen, isn’t that right, Ilkyung?”

Before you can unleash another set of choice words against Na Jaemin, Ilkyung instructs you to help Ilnam sort through the hay in the barn. You pout as you work, imagining all the ways you’re going to study hard enough to beat your enemy.

Ilnam tries again while you’re raking through stacks of hay. “As much as I love you bringing home good grades for us, I hope you’re not losing any sleep for the Na boy.”

You sneer. “He wishes I was.”

Ilnam smiles. “You know, when I was younger, there was a girl my age who didn’t like me very much. She always thought I was too quiet and hiding behind Ilkyung’s coattails. I never understood why she despised me until she got engaged. She told me she wished I was the one who proposed.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you squeal, clutching your fingers together. “That is so romantic. Did you sweep her off her feet and pick a fresh bouquet of daisies for her? Tell her to leave the other man and run off with you in the sunset?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I told her it was a good idea to marry him. I had to take care of matters at Green Gables after our parents passed, and I had no time to entertain her fantasies. But the point is that she treated me poorly because she didn’t know another way to convey her feelings.”

You furrow your eyebrows, about to question what he could possibly mean by that statement before Hyojung rushes in the barn. She’s panting, holding her chest as she gasps, “Chaeyoung is sick! S-She keeps coughing and can’t breathe and I don’t know what to do! Father and mother have gone into town and there’s no one to call for the doctor.”

You drop your rake and bolt to Hyojung’s side, holding her shaking form. Ilnam is immediately throwing on his coat before mounting one of the horses in the stables.

“He’s going to fetch a doctor,” you say to Hyojung as Ilnam rides off. “We’ve become such kindred spirits that I can read his thoughts. It sounds like Chaeyoung has the croup. What have you tried to cure her?”

Hyojung hiccups between sobs. “I-I don’t know. Our aunt, Nayoung, is in town and she’s opened all the windows to help with C-Chaeyoung’s breathing.”

“You mustn’t forget I used to care for multiple pairs of baby twins. They got croup all the time. Let me find a bottle of ipecac in the house and we’ll head to Chaeyoung straight away.”

Ilkyung yelps when you burst through the door and rifle through the medicine cabinet. “Chaeyoung’s sick with the croup,” you explain to her while Hyojung continues to cry in the doorway. “I’m going over to help and Ilnam’s gone into town to get the doctor. Hyojung’s parents are out having dinner.”

Ilkyung inhales, dusting her hands over her apron as she turns off the stove. “Well, someone needs to inform her parents. I’ll take the buggy.”

As soon as you locate the clear brown bottle, you grab Hyojung’s hand and throw a scarf around your neck. You race towards her house, your boots crunching against the snow as you sprint. You find Chaeyoung releasing weak coughs as she lays on the Noh’s living room sofa. Hyojung’s aunt, Nayoung, hovers over her with a worried expression.

You swiftly get to work as Hyojung clarifies the situation to Nayoung, divulging about your past with caring for small children.

“Hyojung, go boil some more hot water for Chaeyoung. Miss Nayoung, please add more wood to the fire, she’s grown too cold,” you instruct as you twist the cap of the bottle in your hands. You elevate Chaeyoung’s head and pour a few drops of ipecac down her throat. She groans at the taste but you force her to swallow.

The rest of the night is filled with much uncertainty. Hyojung and Nayoung kept to their tasks, with Hyojung serving her sister and Nayoung filling the fireplace with new logs of wood at every given chance. By the time Ilnam returns with the doctor two hours later, the worst of Chaeyoung’s sickness has passed.

You jump up when they enter, rapidly explaining the story to the doctor. He kneels down to check on Chaeyoung’s temperature as you say, “Her cough was getting worse and worse and I had great fear due to the bottle of ipecac running out. I didn’t want to worry the others but I was not certain of her state when I gave the last dose. Luckily, she started to cough up the phlegm immediately afterwards and has been recovering since then.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Noh return with Ilkyung in tow, the doctor swears that if it wasn’t for you, Chaeyoung would have been in a state he’s not sure he could’ve saved her from. Mrs. Noh envelopes you into her arms with a sharp cry, thanking you over and over again for saving her child.

Exhausted beyond belief, you smile and tell her, “It was nothing. I would do anything to help your family.”

Before Ilkyung and Ilnam escort you back home, Nayoung gives you a firm pat on the shoulder. “You’ve done great work here, girl. Please come visit me in the city any time you wish.”

And when you sit at your desk the next day, Jaemin murmurs to you, “I heard what you did for the Noh family. How did you ever think of using the ipecac first?”

Thinking he’s making a show just to point out your flaws, you raise your chin high in the air as you reply, “I’ve had experience with the croup before. Many children in the orphanage caught it during this time of year.”

He grins. “Well, I think you’re brilliant. I certainly would’ve never thought of it first.”

Your shoulders deflate as you let your walls down slightly. “Really? But you’re going to be a doctor.”

He winks. “I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

You clear your throat and return your attention to your blackboard, ignoring the way your stomach erupts in butterflies.

—

Your first Christmas morning with the Seo’s is perhaps the most delightful holiday you’ve ever had.

Ilkyung and you have been cooking for what feels like a week, preparing to host the Noh’s. The morning, however, is just for you, Ilkyung, and Ilnam.

Although Ilkyung warned you that they may not have the funds for gifts this year, Ilnam hands you a beautifully wrapped box. You blink at him with wide eyes from your spot on the floor in the living room as they sit on the couch.

He smiles and nods sheepishly. “A C-Christmas present for you. I know you’ve never had one before.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you wheeze, feeling as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest. “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”

You unbox the gift, slowly peeling back the wrapping paper before gasping when you see what lays inside. The dress is the same shade of brown Ilkyung uses to sew your current wardrobe, but it has the gorgeous silk lining you see in Hyojung’s dresses with a fanned out skirt and a lacy ruffle neckline. The sleeves are the best part, puffy and pleasing to the eye.

You burst out in tears, alarming Ilnam. “Do you not like it?”

“Like it? I can never thank you enough for this. I’ve never owned something so exquisite in my life. I really do believe I could never be happier than I am right now.”

“It’s a wonderful gift, even if it did cost more than expected,” Ilkyung says, raising an eyebrow at Ilnam. “Dry up your tears, child. The Noh’s will be here soon.”

The Noh’s arrive in the middle of you hugging Ilnam to death, thanking him over and over for his gift. Ilkyung chides you as she pries you off of him, lecturing for you to say your proper greetings. Once the adults are off setting the breakfast table, you squeal to Hyojung about your new dress.

“That is perfect,” she replies with sparkling eyes. “Because Aunt Nayoung was here a week ago and she left you a gift of her own.”

“What? For me?”

Hyojung passes you a ravishing pair of silk-covered heels, pointed at the toes and embroidered with a soft lace. You’ve never seen a singular piece of footwear look so fine.

“Hyojung, my gosh…”

“I know, aren’t they so elegant? She wanted to thank you for all your help with Chaeyoung. She said she felt quite useless until you arrived, and she’s never seen someone so brave,” she giggles. “They’ll couple so nicely with your new dress.”

“I’ve never been given so many cherished items at once. I’ll remember this day forever, I swear it to you.”

The rest of your Christmas afternoon goes off without a hitch. Chaeyoung is teetering with excitement, a contrast from her fragile form weeks ago. Ilnam shows Mr. Noh the horses in the stables while Ilkyung teaches Mrs. Noh her pie recipe. You and Hyojung converse gleefully in your room, discussing your plans after schooling.

“My mother wants to marry me off so I can run my own household,” Hyojung remarks, balancing her chin in her palm as she stares out your bedroom window. “I only hope I marry a man as good as my father. He doesn’t have to be handsome. I just want him to be kind.”

“I would never allow an evil man to wed my kindred spirit,” you declare while you sit criss crossed on your bed. You chew on your lower lip. “Will you really not pursue your studies any further?”

“Not all of our parents are as open-minded as Ilkyung and Ilnam. My mother’s raised me a certain way since I was a baby, I hardly think she’ll relent on her ideals now.”

“I’m not one to sit idly by and let you become engrossed in embroidery,” you huff. “You know what? We’ll start a book club. It’s about time the women in this town got their fair share of education.”

“That’s a splendid idea! Mother barely lets me rifle through our history books and- Is that Na Jaemin?”

Your head snaps up. She looks out the window, squinting slightly. “My word, that really is him.”

You dash down the stairs, and something deep in your chest flutters when you see Jaemin standing in the doorway, handing Ilkyung a fresh plate of cookies. “They’re my mother’s recipe,” he says with a grin. “I’m not as good of a baker as she was, but I didn’t want to come over empty handed for the holidays.”

“These are just lovely, Jaemin. Thank you,” Ilkyung says before gesturing for him to come inside. “It must have been a long walk for you, I’ll make you a cup of hot cocoa.”

You and Hyojung stand at the bottom of the staircase facing the door, wide eyed at the sight of him. He’s wearing a turtleneck green jumper, paired with black slacks and a long heavy coat. You didn’t even know that he knew where you lived, but you suppose in a town as small as this one, it isn’t that difficult to figure out. He discards his boots by the door and unwraps the scarf from his neck, beaming when he sees you.

“Merry Christmas, ladies,” he greets. “Have you been staying warm?”

At your sudden bout of silence, Hyojung pipes up, “Merry Christmas, Jaemin. What brings you all the way to Green Gables?”

“My father and I always bake cookies and hand them out to our neighbors. It’s a Christmas tradition,” he shares.

Hyojung nudges you in the back, ripping you from your daydreams as you state, “But your house is miles from here. Farther than the Lake of Shining Waters and the school.”

“The Lake of Shining Waters?”

You purse your lips. “It’s a nickname.”

He nods as a faint blush colors his cheeks. “W-Well, the walk was good for me. Cleared my mind and everything.”

Hyojung’s eyebrow quirks up. “You’ve never come by my house to give my family cookies.”

“That’s because- That’s, um-”

“Girls,” Ilkyung interrupts, laying a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder and handing him a cup of hot cocoa. “Don’t pester our guest. We’re very grateful for his decision to trek over here.”

You help her prepare the table settings for supper. Mrs. Noh happily displays her roasted chicken in the center while Ilkyung fills the empty space with her side dishes. Ilnam and Mr. Noh sit at the heads of the table and you take your seat next to Hyojung, startled when Jaemin immediately slides into the spot next to you.

“What are you doing?” You hiss lowly at him.

He blinks twice. “Sitting?”

Mrs. Noh claps her hands to gather everyone’s attention, freeing Jaemin from your inevitable wrath. “I want to say a huge thank you to Ilkyung and Ilnam for allowing us into their home this Christmas. And of course, I’m indebted forever to their dear one, who saved our Chaeyoung from her terrible illness,” she says with her hands clasped together, glancing at you with shining eyes. You smile softly at her. “We would have been in such a wretched heap of despair if it wasn’t for your brilliance.”

Jaemin begins to clap and the rest of the table follows in pursuit. You laugh shyly, shaking your head at their gratitude. You look up to see Jaemin smirking proudly at you and you swallow nervously, wondering what you could have possibly done in your previous life to deserve such acclaim from him.

“Please, it was honestly a return of affection for everything Hyojung’s given me since I arrived at Green Gables. I could have never believed I would arrive in this town and make a home. It’s been a dream come true.”

The table smiles at your statement, and you catch Ilnam wiping his tears away out of the corner of your eye. Ilkyung jokes for everyone to start eating before the food is covered in tears.

While you’re dining, Jaemin quietly asks you, “What type of field are you striving for after school? I think you would be a great addition to the local college here.”

You put away your supposed hatred of him for this one exchange. “I don’t think it’s in our budget right now,” you say, recalling Ilkyung’s earlier remark about your dress. “But I did want to pursue teaching, and try to write if I have the time.”

“They’re always giving scholarships away. With your grades and talent, I’d be shocked if they didn’t give it to you on a silver platter.”

You cough awkwardly at his blatant praise. You try to divert the subject away from you. “D-Did your father not want to join us for supper?”

The question has his expression falling slightly. He pokes at the chicken on his plate. “He’s under the weather. Didn’t want to bring the mood down, that’s all.”

Hyojung pokes at your side. “If you’re done flirting with Na Jaemin, can you please pass me the potatoes?”

You glare at her, ignoring her teasing giggle.

After supper, you say your goodbyes and escort the Noh’s to the door. Hyojung kisses your cheek, making you swear to start the book club as soon as the holidays are finished. Jaemin trails behind them, wrapping his scarf back around his neck.

“It really was a tasty dinner, thank you for having me,” he says to Ilkyung and shakes Ilnam’s hand. He swivels around to you. “And I hope you like the cookies. I can make more if you ever need it.”

“O-Okay.”

When Ilkyung shuts the door, she throws you a suggestive look. You scoff and occupy yourself with cleaning the table.

“Come join us in the living room. We have something to share with you.”

When you gather together, they stand you in front of a large book perched on a stand in the corner of the room. It’s flipped open to a page full of names, with Ilkyung and Ilnam’s being the last ones.

“We’ve been speaking with the orphanage these past few weeks,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face. You inhale at the revelation. “And finally got your adoption paperwork settled. This book has been passed down in the Seo generation for centuries. Every new child signs their name when they come of age. We saved a spot for you right here.”

She points at the blank area below Ilkyung’s name. Your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed by the thought of being accepted into their family. Ilnam chuckles, patting your head affectionately.

“Go on, sweetheart. Seal the deal.”

As you shakily pick up the quill pen and inscribe your name, Ilkyung and Ilnam wrap you in a warm hug. It’s then that you officially decide you’ll never have a better Christmas.

—

“You have to be the one. There’s no way I’m getting in that boat!”

“You’re such a coward, Soeun.”

“Then why don’t you try it, Sookyung?”

“You’re all ruining the vision,” you scold, gripping a handful of daisies. “We’re supposed to be girls who have been widowed by our one true love. We’ve succumbed to our tragedy, accepting our fate by floating out into the river, where the Earth will decide how to dispose of our bodies.”

Ever since Soeun’s uncle passed away shortly after the new year and the poem you’re reading for your book club discusses the fate of a widowed bride, you’ve all become obsessed with glamorizing death. In the poem, the girl sealed her devastating fate by climbing into a boat, holding a bouquet of flowers, and drifting away into the night. She was never heard from or seen again.

The girls insisted on recreating the moment, leading you to the lake. Hyojung borrowed a small canoe from her father and Sookyung picked the flowers from her mother’s yard. However, once you got to the final step, all of them chickened out of actually playing the role of the widow.

“I’ll be her,” you proclaim, and they exhale in relief. “But you must say the lines, and with fervor. It’s only right that we recreate the scene exactly. Wait for me at the other side of the river.”

With help from Hyojung, you step into the canoe, laying down as you rest your hands over your chest. You close your eyes when Soeun begins the rehearsed dialogue.

“Sister, farewell forever,” she murmurs, throwing dried flower petals over your form.

“Farewell, sweet sister.”

“And she lay as though she smiled,” Hyojung finishes, giving a small push to the canoe.

You start floating down the river, exactly like the poem describes. You marvel at the solitude, listening to the birds chirping in your ear. It’s all straight out of a novel if you’ve ever read it, but it’s abruptly disrupted by a stream of water soaking your dress.

You shriek, eyes popping wide open as you sit up. Water continues to fill the boat, progressing fast enough where you understand you won’t possibly make it to the other side. As you come up to the nearby bridge, you quickly grasp the foothold, holding onto it tightly as the canoe sinks.

You hear the girls begin to scream loudly when they don’t see you return. You ponder on if they’ll get help and save you from this uncomfortable experience, but another boat slowly comes up beside you.

Na Jaemin says your name with amusement. “I must say, I did not expect to find you here on my Sunday afternoon.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to just sit there or help me like a gentleman?”

He laughs before extending his hand. You take it gratefully, stepping into his boat. You sit across from him, drenched from head to toe. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t utter a single word to him.

“So you’re not going to explain-”

“No,” you gruffly reply. “But I am very much obliged to you.”

He sighs. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to me. Can’t we be friends already? You know I was only joking with you on your first day. I didn’t mean to mock you by calling you a princess, even if I think you look exactly like one. Let’s forgive and forget, please.”

You stare at his hopeful countenance, remembering how kind he was to you over the holidays. You also craved his cookies for weeks after, resisting the urge to walk over to his house and ask for another batch.

“Fine. Friends. And friends only.”

He beams at you, grinning widely. He begins to row the boat back to shore, and you avoid his inquisitive gaze. The girls are in hysterics when you arrive, pulling you out and hugging you tightly.

“We thought you had drowned and died,” Hyojung sobs into your shoulder. “It wasn’t romantic at all! Nothing like the poem.”

You assure them with gentle pats, and Jaemin anchors the boat to the dock. Soeun perks up when she sees him.

“Oh Jaemin, were you the one who saved her? A true knight in shining armor, indeed!”

He nods. “I’m happy to help.” The girls move to take you away and leave Jaemin and Soeun on their own, but he clears his throat to stop you. He addresses you by calling your name before questioning, “B-Before you go, I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s Day.”

Hyojung and Sookyung’s jaws drop while Soeun acts as if someone just stabbed her in the back.

You stutter. “I- That’s- I’m not-”

“She’s going to my Aunt Nayoung’s annual Valentine’s party. You should come too, Jaemin. It’s at her big mansion in the city,” Hyojung invites.

You shoot her a bewildered look while he replies, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Of course not. She would be happy to have you.”

He smirks. “Perfect. I’ll be there. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I have to get back to fishing.”

When he drifts away in his boat, Soeun stomps away from you, grumbling to herself. Sookyung throws you an apologetic look before following after her. You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“What was that?” You bark at your best friend. “How dare he ask me that in front of everyone like- like-”

“Like he likes you?” Hyojung finishes.

You glare at her, still soaked from the lake. “No. And how could you invite him to your aunt’s party? You know I haven’t even asked Ilkyung if I can go yet.”

“She’ll let you, come on,” Hyojung insists as she helps you trudge back to Green Gables. “If not, I’ll have my mother convince her. Plus, how can you not see how head over heels Jaemin is for you? That boy looks at you constantly and Christmas? Don’t even get me started. His house is miles from here, there was no other reason for him to stop by than to see you.”

“I won’t let you go on any longer. I have never harbored any affection for Na Jaemin and I never will. Have you forgotten about my dreams, Hyojung? I don’t want to be the wife and mother. I want to write and teach and earn enough income so that Ilkyung and Ilnam can retire comfortably.”

“Silly girl,” she murmurs as she nudges you playfully. “You can have all of that and Na Jaemin too.”

When you arrive back to Green Gables, Ilkyung gasps in shock as Hyojung escorts you in. “What in heavens have you done to yourself, child?”

You narrow your eyes as she grabs a towel to dry you off. “Hyojung got me into a giant mess.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ilkyung,” Hyojung says. “What she meant to say is that my Aunt Nayoung invited us to her Valentine’s party next weekend. Could we please go together? My parents will be tagging along, and Aunt Nayoung already approved of her staying for the weekend.”

A worried expression falls over Ilkyung’s face as she swaddles you in one of Ilnam’s jackets. “I’m not too sure. Your parents will be there the whole time?”

“Yes,” Hyojung confirms. “I won’t take my eyes off her, I promise.”

Ilkyung exhales. “I suppose you are old enough…”

“I really don’t have to go, Ilkyung, if you think I shouldn’t-”

Hyojung pinches your forearm and you squeal. She smiles at Ilkyung.

“I’ll come pick her up next weekend!”

—

Ilnam starts to cry when you walk down the steps of Green Gables, wearing the ensemble gifted to you on Christmas.

“Oh, please don’t cry,” you say, watching as he blows his nose into his handkerchief.

“He’s a big teddy bear for his daughter,” Ilkyung remarks with an affectionate head shake. She swipes a light pink powder over your cheeks. “Be on your best behavior for Hyojung’s aunt. And I want to hear all about your adventures when you return.”

You ride with the Noh family in their huge buggy to Nayoung’s estate. It’s as lavish as Hyojung described, with massive gardens and towering columns. Hyojung told you on the way that her aunt never married, settling by herself in her big house. She was also very fickle and quick to anger, which is why Hyojung guesses she’s chosen to be alone for the rest of her life.

“There you are,” Nayoung mumbles as she walks down her long hallway to greet you at the door. Her cane taps loudly against the wood flooring. “Kept me waiting long enough.”

“Sorry, sister,” Mr. Noh says, offering her a kiss on the cheek.

She waves him off. “Nothing to do about it now. Suyeon will show you to your rooms. The party begins in an hour.”

You and Hyojung yelp joyously when you’re placed in the same room. You jump on top of the bed in a massive giggling fit.

You look at her mischievously. “What if tonight’s the night you find your dashing suitor? I can picture it now — the clock will strike midnight while you two are dancing in your own little world. Nayoung will tell you the party’s over but he won’t be as willing to part from you. He’ll drop down on one knee right there and demand for your hand in marriage.”

“You’ve been driven to lunacy,” she says, tickling your sides as you erupt in laughter. “Pure lunacy. Nayoung would never invite that many men close to our age. Her friends are more of the decrepit type, standing on their last good leg. I believe the only viable suitor attending this party will be Na Jaemin.”

You scoff, pushing her away. “I still cannot fathom the reason why you invited him.”

“You have to dance with him if he asks.”

“I will do nothing of the sort, Noh Hyojung!” You heave, appalled by her pronouncement. “Just because I agreed to be friends with him does not mean I will follow him down the aisle. He’ll probably get wed to a sensible, well-bred girl with a massive fortune to her name. It seems rightfully in character for him.”

She catches the forlorn look in your eye. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous of a girl who might not even exist.”

“Not true!”

“So true!”

“And what might you ladies be discussing here?”

At the sound of Nayoung’s voice, you both spring up from the bed, smoothing out the fabric of your dresses. She analyzes you with an uptick of her eyebrow.

Hyojung stammers, “O-Oh, nothing of importance, Aunt Nayoung.”

“You better run downstairs. The guests will be arriving soon,” she says. Hyojung scuttles off and you shadow behind her, but Nayoung stops you with the tapping of her cane. “I was delighted to hear your mother allowed you to come today.”

You graciously smile. “I was thankful to be invited, Miss Nayoung, and I must express my appreciation for the gorgeous pair of shoes you sent me for Christmas. I’ve never owned something more divine.”

“You have a brilliant mind in here,” she says, knocking lightly on your temple. “I hope Ilnam isn’t treating you like my son is with his daughters. A girl with your brains should be more than a housewife.”

“I plan on a higher education, ma’am, if the fates will allow. A scholarship would be the only way I could afford to go,” you reveal. “Ilkyung and Ilnam pour every ounce of themselves into maintaining Green Gables and selling off necessities to the market in town. They didn’t exactly plan to adopt an orphan girl and pay for her schooling.”

“Easy solution then. I’ll pay for your schooling.”

“W-What?”

Her expression shifts into something more stern. “I have a large fortune and no nieces to spend it on. Hyojung and Chaeyoung will be betrothed to good families and I want to make sure you are taken care of. I’ve never seen someone so young step up to such a big challenge like you did that night. It should be rewarded.”

“Oh, Miss Nayoung, I really can’t-”

“Protest all you want, dear. It won’t change my mind. Now get downstairs and dance with that boy you’re so keen about.”

The party is already in full swing downstairs. Most of the guests have arrived, chatting avidly to one another over their glasses of champagne. You spot Hyojung in the corner, attempting to keep Chaeyoung under control. Then, as soon as you reach the end of the staircase, Jaemin walks in.

He’s wearing a black suit and tie, handing off his coat to the worker nearby. You inhale, slowly making your way across the room. The bottom of your dress drags over the floor and you scan your puffy sleeves out of the corner of your eye, verifying that they are indeed still there.

When you land in front of him, his jaw drops open. “W-Wow. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, trying not to show how much his statement affects you. “You don’t look half as bad yourself.”

He glances down at his ensemble before chuckling. “Thanks. W-Will you save me a dance later?”

You swallow. “Sure. That’s what friends do, right?”

He smiles. “Yeah. That’s what friends do.”

When you try to catch your breath at the refreshment table, Hyojung eyes you in a superior manner. “I thought you said you wouldn’t accept a dance with Na Jaemin if he asked?”

“I recommend keeping your smug comments to yourself, Noh Hyojung.”

A few of Nayoung’s friends request a dance with you, only being able to sway slightly back and forth due to their arthritis. The older women inquire about your studies, and some of them question you regarding your previous life at the orphanage. You even observe Hyojung speaking to a young gentleman out of the corner of your eye. A blush spreads across her cheeks the longer they converse, and the red hue only deepens when he takes her out on the dance floor.

“Ready for our dance?”

You nearly spit out the contents of your punch when Jaemin appears in front of you. He’s holding a singular rose, half-shy as he extends it to you. You’re about to accept it when he breaks off the stem, tucking the flower behind your ear and admiring you. Your face grows warm underneath his touch.

You take his hand and rest your palm on his shoulder, ignoring the way your heart pounds in your chest when he wraps an arm around your waist. The string of the violin fills your ears as you twirl around the ballroom with him.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me down by the lake,” you say to him, lost in his unrelenting stare. “I wasn’t as appreciative as I should have been that day, and I acknowledge that. I probably would have been left hanging on that bridge until one of the girls had the sense to call someone for help. Then I really would’ve gotten in trouble with Ilkyung.”

He laughs, giddy as he spins you around. “It was my pleasure, really. There haven’t been many days since your arrival that you’ve asked me for help. I cherish those moments more than anything.”

“Why are you so nice to me? I’ve given you nothing but grief since I arrived at Green Gables, yet your enthusiasm has never wavered.”

“I like you, is that so hard to believe?”

His eyes pierce through yours and you start to feel that pull you’ve read in your romance novels. A string of fate ties your heart to his, urging you closer to the man you once vowed to hate. The looming thought of grades and graduation slip from your mind as the jabbering of the crowd fades away. His gaze flickers down to your mouth, and you find yourself leaning in-

A body abruptly slams into yours and you gasp, clinging onto the lapels of Jaemin’s suit to ground yourself. An elderly man apologizes to you for his clumsiness, but the moment between you and Jaemin has already passed. You scurry away from him, trying to calm the adrenaline spiking through your veins.

“I-I should go check on Hyojung,” you murmur, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Yes, o-of course,” he stutters, quite pink in the cheeks himself. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Na Jaemin.”

—

“I can’t look! Please, just seal my monstrous fate and allow the Earth to swallow me whole. It’s my destiny, and I should very well accept it at this point.”

“I’ve never met another soul as dramatic as you,” Hyojung says with a roll of her eyes. She holds your letter between her fingers, and you shut your eyes in fear of its contents. “We all know you’re a shoe in for the girls’ college. I don’t know why you insist on giving yourself such a fright.”

“Just open it, Hyojung. Tell me if my fortune ties me to a state of devastation.”

She breaks open the seal, fanning out the paper in front of her. She scrutinizes the first few lines before jumping up and down, her shrieks echoing throughout the schoolyard.

“You did it! You got in!”

The rest of the girls circle around you, laughing and squealing at your victory. Tears fill your eyes, running down your cheeks in happiness. You had been waiting for the results for weeks after your entrance exam. You walked in with confidence after learning you secured first place in class, skimming by Jaemin with half a point higher.

“Congratulations,” Soeun says. She forgave you concerning the Jaemin incident once Lee Donghyuck began showing an interest in her. Since then, you’ve speculated that she’s even forgotten Jaemin’s name. “I think you’ll be one of the first girls to attend college from our town in years!”

Mark approaches your group with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Sookyung straightens her posture at the sight of him. “Hey guys,” he says with a timid smile. “Happy last day of classes.”

“Oh Mark, do tell us where Na Jaemin has gone. We must share the news of his so-called rival,” Hyojung teases, and you elbow her playfully.

“You didn’t hear?”

Your merry expressions falter at his somber tone. Sookyung speaks up, voicing the question you’re all dreading to ask.

“Hear what?”

“Jaemin’s father passed away last night. He was sick for a long time, but was trying to hold on until graduation.”

Your stomach drops at the news. Hyojung immediately glances at you in concern. Soeun and Sookyung gasp, and you realize no one actually knew how ill Jaemin’s father was.

You excuse yourself from the group, dashing to Jaemin’s house as fast as you can. He lives the furthest out of all your classmates, but you’re determined to reach his place before sundown. A nagging voice in the back of your head scolds you for not checking in on him. Another part of you grapples with the idea that he’s been harboring this grief with himself for years.

When you knock on his front door, you panic slightly. What if you were completely crossing a line and he didn’t want to see you? What if he was in the middle of his mourning period and you were disrupting his reflection time?

As soon as he opens the door, you blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

He’s startled when he sees you, but a kind smile spreads across his face. “So you heard,” he remarks, his eyes baggy and red.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jaemin. I had no idea he was that sick.”

He gestures for you to step inside. His home smells like him, as odd as that sounds coming from you. The scent of pine needles and embers from the fire waft through your nose. His dining room is small, having nothing but a long table and a kitchen with dirty dishes stacked high in the sink. Stacked boxes fill the hallway leading to what you assume used to be his father’s bedroom.

He rifles through the fridge while you take a seat at the table. “Apologies about the mess. I’ve been trying to sort through dad’s stuff over the past year but it hasn’t been easy.”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize to me,” you say as he pours you a cup of orange juice.

“So did you get your results yet? Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s not that important-”

“Not that important?” He scoffs, sliding into the seat across from you. “You’ve been working for this all year. Of course it’s important. And you finally accomplished your goal of getting to first place.”

All of those end objectives seem insignificant now compared to the problems Jaemin’s been dealing with. But he stares at you like he wants nothing more than to hear about your results, forcing you to reveal, “I got in.”

He slams his hand down on the wood table cheerfully, rejoicing loudly. “That’s wonderful! I knew you would get in, I never doubted it for a second.”

“Jaemin, I really am awfully remorseful over what happened to your father. To think that we are celebrating my achievements while you have been going through this all alone-”

He speaks your name firmly. “I have known for years that my father would one day pass. It is a tragedy, yes, but I know how hard you’ve been striving for this and I’m not going to let it overshadow your moment. Please, for today, can we focus on you? I can mourn my father all I want at his funeral tomorrow.”

You hesitantly agree to his terms and somehow find yourself roped into an ordeal of teaching him how to bake Ilkyung’s famous peach pie. You snigger when he continuously pours too much flour into the bowl and cuts his hand trying to slice the peaches.

“They say you’re brilliant in the classroom but I guess no one’s seen you outside of your studies,” you joke, pulling stray flecks of flour out of his hair.

He narrows his eyes at you before throwing a handful of flour at your face, causing you to squeal at his attack. You look at him with your jaw dropped open while he snickers at your predicament. You reach into his bowl of peaches, smushing them in your palm and launching the mess into his shirt.

You giggle. “Oops.”

He gapes at you before his kitchen becomes the site of a chaotic food fight. Eggs and butter splatter against the walls and flour coats the kitchen floor. You know Ilkyung’s going to give you a hard time when you return home about the stains in your dress, but you’re feeling so euphoric that you can’t be bothered to care.

You find a way to combine your leftover ingredients into a pie, and Jaemin takes it out of the brick oven when it’s nicely browned at the top. He hands you a fork to taste, and when you both dig your utensils in and scoop it into your mouth, your faces twist in horror.

“That’s awful!”

“What in God’s name did we put in there?”

You take one look at each other, with you seeing his hair covered in flour and specks of eggshells painted on his shirt. He finds you with dripping egg yolk in your hair and dried peaches clinging to the skirt of your dress. You burst out in laughter, clinging to your stomachs as you double over.

“Y-You look l-like we put you i-in the oven!” You pant, cheeks hurting from your hysterics.

“Me? You look like you rolled into a bakery on the wrong side of town!”

When your giggling fit dies down, he flings you a pensive expression. “Promise me we’ll hang out this summer before we leave. I-I don’t want to lose touch with you as soon as we go to college.”

You grin. “I don’t want that either. I promise to hang out with you all summer.”

His vision drifts down to your lips, and you’re thrown back to Valentine’s Day, when you almost kissed him. There’s nothing stopping you now, and the silence of the house surrounds you.

“Jaemin,” you murmur, and his hand snakes around your middle, pulling you to his body as his mouth envelops yours.

Kissing is much more sensual than you originally thought. The books you read describe it as a slow, languid action with enough time to breathe. You discover that’s not true at all as Jaemin backs you up against the table, lifting your hips onto the wood. He rests his palms on both sides of your legs as his tongue swipes over yours. You moan into his mouth, tangling your fingers through his hair as you let him devour you.

Your conscience screams at you that this is not a good idea, but the longer you feel Jaemin’s hands on you, the longer your common sense is muted.

His fingers hike up your dress, exposing your bare legs for him to view. He kisses down your jawline until his teeth graze your neck.

His hands grip the inside of your thighs as you release a breathy, “We shouldn’t.”

He shushes you gently. “Don’t think about anything else. No grades or college or parents. Just you and me.”

You empty your mind per his request, closing your eyes as you savor his hands freely roaming your body. He tugs down your undergarments before unbuckling his own set of trousers. A part of you is terrified by the act of sex, only having seen explicit diagrams in medical journals. But you also trust Jaemin and you understand the boy would never hurt you willingly.

You chew on your lower lip when he unsheathes himself. You’ve never encountered the opposite sex’s naked lower half before, but his cock stands proudly, longer than several inches and thicker than you imagined. His tip is red and leaking, desperately asking for attention. He wraps a hand around his base and lines himself up to your entrance.

“It’s going to hurt,” he warns, analyzing you carefully. “I’ve read it doesn’t always feel good for women, and I apologize about that.”

You smile shyly. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

Fire blazes underneath your skin as he pushes into you. The pain is excruciating but you clench your jaw and power through it, not wanting to ruin this moment with him. He distracts you with kisses, lips intertwining as he slides into you inch by inch.

When he bottoms out inside you, you swear you’ve never felt more full. It’s powerful — the way he towers over you in this moment yet subtly ensures you that you’re in complete control of the situation. His eyes search yours in assurance, finding nothing but a reflection of lust and hunger.

You hold him close as he thrusts into you, whimpers spilling from your mouth at the sharp spike of pain. “What can I do to make it better?” He questions, groaning lowly. “I wish you could feel how I do right now.”

“I-I don’t know.”

He tries different angles, scattering love bites across your neck, but it isn’t until his hands wander down to your core and circle around an area that has you gasping.

“Here?” He asks, pressing his thumb down harder over your clit. You squeak and nod, the pain shifting into blinding satisfaction.

It's the combined chaos of Jaemin rutting against you while you grind down on his hand, chasing your highs together. The unfamiliar sensation has your head spinning, and the pent up frustration in your stomach begins to unravel.

You whine his name. “I feel- I feel-”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, sensing your panic. “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

You dig your nails into his broad shoulders, yanking him close to you as you gush around his cock. The heightened pleasure leaves you a mewling mess, moaning and whimpering into his ear as you bury your head into his neck. He swiftly pulls out of you, jerking at his length until he spills white over your thighs.

Clarity strikes you. You blink away the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, registering the consequences of your actions. You push him away, startling him as you locate your undergarments.

“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

You shake your head, redressing yourself as tears sting your eyes. “We shouldn’t have done that! We’re going off to college soon and we’re not even together-”

“Then let’s be together,” he states, frowning as you jump off the table. “I want to be with you, I thought I’ve made myself clear. You’re the only one for me.”

“Jaemin, don’t.”

His expression turns sour. “So what? You’re going to pretend that this hasn’t happened? I love you! What’s so wrong about us being together? I was ready to marry you yesterday!”

“Stop it,” you wheeze, combing down your hair in an attempt to regain your composure. “Jaemin, just stop it. You’re not supposed to marry me. You’re supposed to wed a beautiful girl from the city, a well-bred woman with a good head on her shoulders. I’m supposed to finish my schooling and help Ilkyung and Ilnam with Green Gables. I’m not destined to become a housewife.”

“No one’s asking you to! Do you really think that low of me to believe I would request for you to give up your future to stay at home?”

You rush to the door, wrenching it open and dashing down the steps of his home. He calls after you the entire way but you keep your feet moving, not stopping until you’ve run across the town and to Green Gables.

Later, when Ilkyung scolds you for the state of your dress and you rid yourself of the evidence of your passion between your legs, you vow to never accept a proposal from Na Jaemin.

—

“I can’t believe you’re married.”

Soeun smirks as she twirls in a circle, the train of her dress eagerly following behind her. “I know!” She remarks in a high-pitched giggle. “Oh truly, girls, I hope the rest of you experience this kind of happiness someday. You deserve it.”

Hyojung side eyes you with a look that says, Can you believe she just said that to us?

Donghyuck proposed to Soeun shortly after graduation, and due to his bride’s eagerness and her parents' insistence, they were wed only a month later in her backyard. Soeun was over the moon, corralling the three of you into wedding planning for most of the summer. You assisted with every detail, from the flowers down to the flavor of the cake.

The wedding party also acted as a pseudo farewell gathering for you, as you leave for the girls’ college in the city the following day. Hyojung was in shambles over it, pleading for you not to bring it up until reality finally strikes her.

“Oh look, there’s Jaemin,” Sookyung murmurs, and the statement has your blood running cold. You all raise your heads to see him across the garden, a cup of tea in his hand as he speaks to Soeun’s cousins. “Why, I haven’t seen him since his father’s funeral. He must have been secluding himself since graduation.”

“Can you blame him? You know his father didn’t leave him much in his will. Jaemin was probably working all summer to put himself through college,” Soeun says.

You look away in shame while Hyojung eyes you warily. You’ve kept a tight lip regarding the subject of Na Jaemin, leading her to believe something occurred after the end of term. You never confirmed her speculation, mortified by your actions.

Jaemin wrote you a letter everyday since your entanglement, prompting Ilkyung and Ilnam to raise their eyebrows every time they returned from town with a stack of letters. You never replied to him, afraid of encouraging his fantasies of you ending up together.

“I should go,” you state as Jaemin’s consistent presence makes you wary. “It really was a lovely ceremony, Soeun. I have to help Ilkyung with packing up the rest of my belongings.”

Hyojung begins to tear up at the mention of your departure, and you roll your eyes and pat her back teasingly.

“I will see you tomorrow before I leave,” you laugh, and she grumbles as she wipes away her tears.

You say your goodbyes to the rest of the party, exiting the gardens and locating the shed where they’ve kept the buggys. You find Ilnam’s old horse, giving him a soft pet to his snout and untangling his reins.

Before you can climb in, a voice hollers out, “You look beautiful.”

You purse your lips. “Thank you.”

His front presses against your back and you inhale at the close proximity. He swipes your hair away from your neck, nudging his nose against your skin. You tightly grip the reins in your hands, knowing you should get inside and steer far away from him.

“Jaemin,” you say in warning.

His hand draws around your waist, playing with the ribbons of your corset. “I’ve dreamt of you every night, thinking about you when my mind gets too greedy. Do you think about me too?”

“I leave for the girls’ college tomorrow,” you say through gritted teeth, trying hard to contain your desire. “And my thoughts haven’t changed. We can’t be together.”

“I heard Hyojung’s engaged to Lee Jeno. You don’t think less of her for wanting to marry, do you?”

“Of course I don’t,” you bite back. “But this is different. You know it’s different.”

“Tell me that you think about me too. I need to hear it,” he mumbles as he mouths kisses over your skin.

Your heart beats in your chest rapidly. “I never wanted to make you care for me so. I kept away so you wouldn’t.”

He sighs at your stubborn nature. “The medical school’s accepted me for their fall term.”

You spin around at his revelation. Pride flutters in your chest. “Oh, Jaemin, that’s wonderful!”

He rests his forehead against yours, clutching your hands. “I’m sorry for all the letters over the summer. I only wanted to show you how much I care,” he says, his eyes locked in on yours. “Maybe you don’t think I’m good enough for you now, but I will be someday.”

You shake your head. “That’s not it at all. You’re a great deal too good for me,” you say, stroking his hair back and relishing the way it runs through your fingers. “You need a girl who’d be happy just to hang off your arm, who will build a home for you and dote on you faithfully. I can’t be that girl for you.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for at all-”

“We wouldn’t be good together. We’d end up fighting all the time!” You say to convince him, but he doesn’t look moved by your spiel. “I’d end up regretting falling in love with you, and you’re not a person I would ever want to regret.”

He stands firmly. “I can’t go away knowing that if I had just tried a little harder-”

“I promise I’ll always be here for you,” you say. “Good friends are always together in spirit.”

“You also promised we’d hang out the entire summer before we went away,” he recalls, taking a step back from you.

“Don’t do this, Jaemin.”

He bites down on his tongue like he’s holding back the tears threatening to spill out. “I can’t just be your friend. I love you too much to torture myself like this.”

“Jaemin, please-”

You choke back your sobs when he strolls out of the shed, refusing to hear your pleas. You climb into your buggy, attempting to pull yourself together as you tug on the reins. You loathe your tearful ride back to Green Gables, and Ilnam watches you approach from his spot in the fields. His lips curl downwards when he helps you out, wiping your tears away.

“I’ve done it again and messed it all up,” you tell him, crying into his chest. “Oh Ilnam, when will I ever do something right?”

“Sweetheart,” he coos, stroking your back in comfort. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve never done a single thing wrong since I’ve known you.”

His blatant lie forces a chuckle out of you. Ilkyung steps out of the house, hands on her hips as she examines the situation. “What are you two doing?” She questions sternly. “We have less than twenty-four hours before we need to be on that train.”

Ilnam mutters, “Go inside before she has both of our heads.” Before you depart, he grips your hand passionately. “You’ll still write to us every week?”

You detect the hesitation in his voice and you kiss his cheek in affirmation. “Of course. I’ll write until you grow tired of my stories. My hands will ache from the repetition but it can’t stop me from keeping close to you.”

The sides of his mouth wrinkle when he grins at you. As you help Ilkyung in folding your clothes upstairs, you wonder if she’ll miss you as much as Ilnam will. She’s always been the tougher one to crack in terms of displaying her emotions, and for the past few days leading up to your departure, she’s barely said a word to you that hasn’t been laced with venom. You suppose it’s her way of coping with change.

“Have you ever been in love?”

She’s taken aback by your question. “I hope this isn’t regarding the Na boy. My arms still hurt from carrying his letters back home.”

You sit on the corner of your bed. “I used to think love was something you didn’t feel until you were older and more mature. In all the stories I read, loving someone so young ends in an unexplainable tragedy. It’s completely selfish of me, Ilkyung, but I couldn’t stand it if he found someone else. I think it would break me, yet at the same time, I know there’s someone better out there for him. A girl who won’t squabble with him over being called a princess.”

She exhales as she places your dress in your suitcase, walking over and taking a seat next to you. She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling softly.

“When I was your age, shortly after I also finished my education, I befriended a boy who became my closest confidant. His name was Na Juwon.”

Your head snaps up. “Jaemin’s father?”

She nods, her face twisting into a grimace. “Yes, that’s him. We got along very well, and most people even called him my beau,” she says with a nostalgic look in her eyes. “But we fought, and back then, I wasn’t so quick to forgive. Letting him walk away is one of my greatest regrets. I wish I had just pushed aside my headstrong personality for one second to see the bigger picture. We ended up losing touch and he fell in love with someone else.”

“You never told me that,” you say. “I-I didn’t know you were so close with Jaemin’s father.”

She takes your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “Some advice for you, child — a letter can go a long way when you’re separated for that long. He may be cross with you and you may be stuck on your ideals now, but you’ll both learn that a love like yours isn’t easy to find.”

“Thank you, Ilkyung.”

She kisses your forehead. “Now let’s finish your packing. I can’t believe my girl is heading to college tomorrow.”

—

September 12th

Jaemin,

Is it safe to assume the girls at this college dream of me making a complete fool out of myself? I hardly think they have to dream for long considering I’m doing such a great job of it on my own. For women so properly educated and professional, I never imagined most of them haven’t ever picked up a romance novel. I spent the first twenty minutes of my class babbling about the forlorn monologue of the reader and how it translates to her unrequited love before I realized no one agreed with me.

I know we left on bad terms, but I can only hope this letter arrives to you safely. A response is not required, yet I’m obliged to tell you I miss the sound of your voice.

October 22nd

Jaemin,

I’ve been writing again recently. A habit I disregarded briefly to focus on my studies, but as I’m certain you’re well aware, my imagination urges me to capture my visions on paper. It’s nothing fancy, simply romance tales I’ve been daydreaming about. I honestly don’t believe anyone could understand them except for you and Hyojung. Have you heard yet that she and Lee Jeno are to be wed next month? I never thought when they met on Valentine’s Day that their betrothal would come so quickly. She told me she sent you an invitation, but I know you’re probably too busy in medical school to attend.

Do write back to me if you get the chance. I would love to hear how you’ve been.

December 2nd

Jaemin,

Ilkyung told me you won the scholarship for your spring term. I offer my best congratulations to you. I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the award. My hats off to you since I already know you worked so hard for it. I plan on returning to Green Gables for the holidays. Ilnam has taken up a fever and Ilkyung’s growing worried about his health. I’m not sure if I’ll return for my spring term if he’s not well.

I tried submitting my writing to be published in the local town newspaper, but was swiftly rejected due to my stories containing too many embellishments and not enough relation to the character. I think it’s a sign that my writing is not destined beyond Green Gables.

Will you be coming home for the holidays too?

February 25th

I apologize for my late reply. Thank you for your continuous letters. My studies have kept me preoccupied as of late, but I know it’s a horrid excuse for my absence.

I was sorry to hear of Ilnam’s passing during the holidays. I tried to make it out to Green Gables to see you but the trains were blocked here due to the heavy snow. I’m wishing you and Ilkyung all the best.

As for your writing, I’ve always thought you were a spectacular writer. You’re correct in assuming I would most likely be one of the only ones who could understand your romance folly. I think you should write about Green Gables. Your story deserves to be heard by many around the world.

I’m also writing to inform you of my engagement. It’s sudden, I know, and I want to apologize for my foolish behavior last summer. You were right about us, and I see it now.

Regardless, I miss you always, princess.

—

“Don’t lift that, Ilkyung, it’s too heavy. Let me help you.”

You take the box of milk bottles from her hands, setting them on the dining room table. Ilkyung sighs, resting on a nearby chair and pinching the bridge of her nose. She wipes away the dust coating her eyelashes with the back of her hand.

“You have to take it easy, you heard what the doctor said,” you say sternly, narrowing your eyes at her. “It’s why we hired Jisung to help. You’re supposed to call for him if you need anything.”

She waves you off. “I’ll call him when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny, stop it,” you reply, holding back the onslaught of tears that spring up.

She hears the quiver in your voice and exhales, standing up and teetering over to you. She wraps her arms around you, and you lay your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve become very insensitive to your feelings. I know it’s been difficult for you without Ilnam here,” she murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “He would be very proud of you.”

The front door creaks open and Jisung’s head pops in, grimacing when he observes your fragile state.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss, wiping away your tears. “Come in please. Ilkyung needs help with taking the milk bottles to town.”

Jisung obediently follows your directions, grabbing the heavy boxes and loading them into the buggy outside. You hired him shortly after Ilnam’s passing when you registered that Ilkyung’s health was also deteriorating rapidly. She got constant migraines that impaired her vision, forcing her into bed for most of the day. With Ilnam gone and no one to care for Green Gables, she considered selling the house before you decided to move back. She protested, of course, and you fought for weeks until she relented.

She despised the fact that you dropped your studies but you were not going to allow your first home to be auctioned off like careless livestock. You took a teaching job in the city that provided you enough time to care for Ilkyung accordingly. It also offered you enough time to start writing again. During this go around, fueled by no longer having Ilnam’s presence around, you write about Green Gables like Jaemin suggested.

…And Na Jaemin. You don’t even want to begin to think about the headaches he’s caused you.

Once Jisung departs for town, you begin making supper and instruct Ilkyung to lie down. A knock on the door interrupts your cooking and you’re surprised to see your heavily pregnant best friend behind the door.

“Hyojung!” You scold, helping her inside. “You’re supposed to be resting. The baby’s due any second now.”

She scoffs at you. “He expects me to be a sitting duck at home and I can’t stand it! I need to get out and talk to another human that isn’t my husband.” You help her rest by the fire to keep warm, fetching her a cup of tea. She chews on her lower lip carefully before blurting out, “Soeun saw Na Jaemin walking around with his fiancée in town.”

You pause your slicing of vegetables, raising your head to look at her. She smiles sadly at you.

“That’s- um, that’s wonderful. I’m happy for him,” you say, swallowing your nerves.

“You never told me what occurred between you and him. Every time someone utters anything related to his engagement, you clam up and refuse to speak. From what I recall, the last time we spoke you were letting your petty grudge go and finally starting to be friends with him.”

You sigh, throwing the handful of vegetables into the pot on the stove and stirring carefully. “I have forgiven him, Hyojung. That childish banter is in the past.”

“Then what is it? What has you so on edge around him?”

A flash of breathy whines and heavy groans plays across your mind, along with the heat of Jaemin’s touch and his mouth on your skin.

“It’s nothing. Please, Hyojung, just drop it.”

She lets the subject go for the rest of the night, not owning the same willingness to fight you as she once had due to her pregnancy. She stays for dinner, and Ilkyung walks downstairs to greet her briefly before the lighted candles in the kitchen grow to be too much for her migraine. After eating, you escort Hyojung back home, where Jeno is pacing in worry over his wife.

“Christ, Hyojung. You can’t walk out like that and not inform anyone about your whereabouts,” he says, helping her walk up the steps of the staircase. He smiles politely back at you. “Forgive my crass language.”

You shake your head, waving him off. “No worries. I wanted to see that she made it home safely. I hope you two have a lovely night.”

“She’s going to have a lovely night dreaming about Jaemin!” Hyojung calls when she’s already up the stairs, and Jeno throws you another apologetic look.

You leave the couple to their own devices after rejecting Jeno’s suggestion to stay the night in their guest room. You trudge back to Green Gables, wrapping your arms around yourself as the wind nips at your cheeks. Your mind drifts to Jaemin the entire way, much like it’s been doing since you returned home.

When you received that letter from him in February, in the midst of still grieving over Ilnam, it felt as if he punched you in the gut. You weren’t so shocked to learn he was engaged to someone else, knowing he was making himself a fine catch in medical school and the girls nearby had to be swooning over him. Regardless, the revelation stung. It reminded you of Ilkyung’s story, where she lost Jaemin’s father due to her own stubborn nature.

You contemplated if you were repeating history. If perhaps you and Jaemin are destined to be together, yet the only thing preventing it from coming true is you.

A rough hand tugs on your shoulder and you gasp, spinning around to face the assailant.

Jaemin holds his hands up to profess his innocence. “Sorry. I was calling your name but wasn’t sure if you could hear me.”

“J-Jaemin?”

He chuckles at your astonishment. “Hi,” he says awkwardly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “We came into town yesterday and I wanted to come see you. Ilkyung said you were walking Hyojung home.”

You blink in rapid succession, still trying to register that he’s actually in front of you and not a figment of your imagination. You pinch your upper arm just to double check.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, unable to form coherent sentences. “She’s pregnant, you know? About to pop actually. Jeno’s been like a hawk watching her but you know how Hyojung can be. I mean, I guess you two aren’t really that close but-”

“Are you okay?” He asks, examining you with concern over your verbal incompetence.

You laugh clumsily. “Yes! I apologize, I must be tired. It’s been a gruesome day.”

“I won’t keep you long then. I heard that you stopped attending college to restore Green Gables?”

You nod in affirmation. “I felt it was only right to, especially after Ilnam left us. Jisung has been a great addition, he’s our new farmhand.”

“I want to help finance you.”

“W-What?”

“I’ve been earning my keep with a local doctor while pursuing my studies. He’s been paying for me to shadow him, provided if I assist him where needed. I want to give the money to you so you don’t give up on your dreams.”

You purse your lips, ramming against his shoulder as you begin walking away. “Absolutely not, Na Jaemin.”

He follows after you. “Don’t act this way, please. I want to help you! You can’t give up on college, you’ve worked too hard for it.”

“Nayoung has already offered and I have refused. Besides, what would your fiancée think? Using your hard earned money on a girl you barely know.”

“Yoojung would understand,” he reasons, and you visibly recoil at her name. “And how can you say that? Of course I know you.”

“Do you?” You scoff. “My unanswered letters say otherwise.”

“I apologized for that already. Please, let me take care of you.”

You spin around, digging your finger into his chest. Your eyes blaze with fury, and he flinches at the sight. “You have no right to take care of me. I have never needed your help, and I certainly won’t be requesting it now. So run back to your fiancée and spend your money on your wedding, like a true gentleman would.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you in place. “Have your feelings changed since the summer?”

He has that optimistic look in his eye, the same one from the night he took you on his dining table. You squash it immediately, enraged by his carelessness for a fiancée you’ve never met.

“No. And you’re a fool for thinking they have.”

You hike up your dress and stomp away from him, ignoring his cry of, “You can’t throw away your dreams! I won’t let you!”

—

“I could stare at his crying face for hours and he would still be the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen.”

Hyojung laughs at you. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to hear him wailing relentlessly.”

She lays on top of her shared bed with Jeno as he presses a cloth to her forehead to wipe off the remaining beads of sweat. Chaeyoung had dashed to Green Gables as soon as Hyojung’s water broke, startling both you and Ilkyung as she screamed at the top of her lungs that the baby was coming. The nearest midwife in town rushed at the news after Mrs. Noh pounded on her door furiously.

The newest baby Lee arrived safely into the world, surrounded by a love you could only dream of having. Half of the women in town gathered at the Noh doorstep to offer baked goods and words of comfort to the new mother. Overwhelmed by the influx of support, she only allowed you inside the room, and you held her hand the entire way of delivery.

You shush the sweet child in your arms, whispering softly to him about how you’re going to cherish him forever. Jeno leaves briefly to handle the incoming guests downstairs, and Hyojung stares at you.

“How come I’m the one who’s just given birth yet you look like the most disastrous one here?”

You sigh, knowing she can see the huge bags underneath your eyes, which are slightly red from the crying. You had been relaying your conversation with Jaemin in your head all night, scolding yourself for once again treating him so poorly. You still stand firm on your decision to not take any of his money, yet the heartbroken look on his face after you rejected him lingers.

“I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

“Mrs. Park, could you please give us a minute?” Hyojung asks, and the midwife in the room nods patiently, exiting and shutting the door behind her. Hyojung glares at you. “Give me my baby and start explaining.”

You stride over to her, handing her the small bundle of joy. You take a seat on the chair next to her bed, twiddling your thumbs nervously.

“I ran into Jaemin on my way home.”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening. “And?”

“…Something happened between us last summer.”

“I knew it!” She whisper-shouts, being mindful of the sensitive ears of her new son. “Gosh, I knew you had been keeping it a secret. You acted as if he brought on the plague whenever Soeun mentioned him. What happened?”

You chew on your lower lip. “Everything.”

Jeno strolls back in, giddy as he carries a basket of fresh bread. His smile falters when his wife scowls at him.

“Jen, I love you more than anything and I’m so thankful we brought this child into this world, but I need you to leave us for at least ten minutes. And guard the door so we aren’t disturbed by anyone else.”

Your best friend’s husband gapes at the instruction, but darts his eyes between a heartbroken you and his determined wife. He awkwardly leaves the room.

Hyojung surveys you with the quirk of her eyebrow. You disclose it all to her, from the night in his kitchen to his proclamations of love in the summer. She listens to you with an open jaw, in pure disbelief by your connection with him.

“I’m not going to take his money, Hyojung. I can’t. For heaven’s sake, can you imagine what his fiancée would think? It astounds me that he didn’t even consider her feelings regarding the matter. If I didn’t accept any type of financial compensation from Nayoung, he’s a dunce for believing I would take it from a struggling medical student.”

She grins at you. “You love him.”

You frown. “Is that truly all you heard from that story?”

“You love him and you’re hurting yourself by not confessing it to him. What’s preventing you from finally seeking your true love? You read about love, you write about love, and you dream about being loved. Yet, when it’s served in front of you on a silver platter, you run from it. How is that going to solve anything long term?”

You shake your head. “He has a fiancée. I’m not going to become the woman in the story that intrudes on the heroine’s happy ever after. Why, I’d be no better than the poem where the town watched as the beautiful woman succumbed to her sorrow for her unrequited love. How could I allow myself to become that person, Hyojung?”

“He wouldn’t have offered to pay for your schooling if he didn’t still care for you. Even if he has betrothed himself to another, his heart calls for you. And only you.”

The sharp cry of her newborn has her exhaling, and Jeno enters the room hesitantly. Hyojung nods at him and the man circles the bed, taking the babbling child from her arms. You decide to offer them a few minutes of privacy, brushing off the heated stare Hyojung throws at you that indicates this conversation is far from finished.

She spends the rest of her evening thanking her guests for stopping by. It provides you enough time to slip out unnoticed, even by Ilkyung, who chats with a few other women in the kitchen. You pass the Lake of Shining Waters as you find your way back to Green Gables. You settle into bed but sleep doesn’t find you so easily.

You toss and turn as memories of Jaemin swirl in your head, refusing to quiet its intensity. The sudden flash of a dining table has you squeezing your thighs from arousal, leaving you ashamed of fantasizing about a taken man. You swallow down the feeling as your hand snakes down your lower half, slowly brushing over your throbbing core.

You shut your eyes and dig your teeth into your pillowcase, grinding your hips downwards as you think about the ridge of Jaemin’s cock stretching you out. You gasp silently as you replay his grunts in your ear, breathless from the way he takes you so roughly, like you belong to him. You feel him peppering kisses down your neck, cooing softly in your ear and encouraging you to welcome the pleasure.

You clench down around nothing as you heave, whimpering to yourself in the empty room. You blink heavily as you maneuver through your lust-filled haze, empowering the mortification to seep through.

You shove aside the guilt to provide space for your drowsiness, your mind abruptly settled after entertaining the delusions of Jaemin’s love.

Over the following months, Hyojung doesn’t get another chance to interrogate you. She’s caught in a whirlwind of caring for her child, who hasn’t adjusted to a normal sleeping schedule. Jeno and her are constantly invited to new events held by other mothers in town, desperate to make connections and expand their club to the new generation.

You’re thankful for the reprieve, slightly regretting informing Hyojung of the whole ordeal in the first place. You spend your time caring for Ilkyung and assisting Jisung out in the fields. You fret over her declining health, begging the heavens above to grant your family a break from the stress. You often find yourself sitting in the living room late at night, speaking gently to pictures of Ilnam and hoping he can somehow hear you.

“Ilkyung tells me she’s fine but her migraines are getting worse,” you murmur to the framed photo in front of you, stroking its ends and staring at the solemn gaze of your father. “I don’t know how to discipline her. She won’t relent, you know how she is. I can’t lose her too. I wish you were here to yell at her. She would have called you ridiculous but I know she would’ve listened to you.”

You pause, checking the kitchen to ensure Ilkyung’s not lurking nearby. “You were right about Na Jaemin. I care for him more than anyone else, and he’s a good man. I deluded myself into thinking my feelings could easily vanish, but I know now that isn’t the case. It’s far too late to admit my wrongdoings, for he’s engaged and last I heard, thriving in school. He’ll graduate in the spring and it’s definite he’ll be a married man by then. I’ve accepted my fate to resign as a single woman. It’ll do me some good to look after Green Gables, and I’m almost finished writing my book about the town. I’m not sure it’ll get published, but I must say I believe it to be the best piece I’ve written to date. I wish you here to read it.”

You sniffle, wiping away the stray tears that have fallen. You set the frame back on the table, picking up the candle lighting the room and heading towards the staircase to go to bed.

A knock on the door interrupts you. You’re surprised to see Jisung standing on the other side, smiling awkwardly.

“Jisung? What are you doing here? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a blush painted on his cheeks. You learned over time that the boy tends to grow embarrassed quickly. “I was in town and the postmaster said you’ve been receiving urgent letters. He didn’t know who else to give them to.”

You take the pile from his hands before reprimanding him for staying out so late. He runs home with flushed cheeks while you fan out the letters across the dining table, the candlelight illuminating the ink splattered across the front.

You furrow your eyebrows when you realize most of them are addressed from the girls’ college. Multiple envelopes spanning over different dates. With Ilkyung’s illness boarding in full force, you haven’t had enough time to swing by town and grab the mail.

You open the latest one first, sent only a week ago.

This is the third notice to the Seo household regarding the spring term. Payment has been received and a spot has been reserved. Please reply at your earliest convenience with confirmation of attendance.

Your blood runs cold. You rip open the other letters, each detailing a similar notice for you to arrive at the girls’ college for the spring term, which begins in less than three weeks.

The last envelope, however, is smaller than the others and you recognize the familiar handwriting. You shakily pry the seal off, already guessing what lies underneath.

Don’t be upset. A nurse is set to arrive to care for Ilkyung the week before you leave. I’m not letting you give up.

You crinkle the paper in your palm, laying your hands on your forehead as you take a deep breath.

Why, oh why, did Na Jaemin have to fall in love with you?

—

“Alright, ladies, please pair off and discuss the latest chapter. We’ll regroup before the end of the hour.”

Doyeon turns to you, a grin stretching across her lips. You already know what she plans to ask, letting her wrap an arm around your wrist and race to the back of the room.

As you set your books down and sit far away from the teacher, she continues where she left off before class began. “And then he asked if he could court me officially. I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no.”

“We’re supposed to be discussing the latest chapter,” you remind her. “I, for one, think the hero was far too arrogant to be flaunting his wealth in front of the local commoners.”

She glares at you. “The fact that you still do the reading astounds me.”

“I have people counting on me.”

The three weeks after discovering Jaemin’s secret plot were filled with heated arguments with everyone involved in your life. Ilkyung and Hyojung were pleading for you to take the opportunity and go, insisting the only way you could fulfill your dream of writing was to finish your education. You refused to spend Jaemin’s hard earned money, but the fare for the train ride you needed to get to his medical school to confront him cost too much. You wrote him many strongly worded letters that never received a reply.

It wasn’t until the live-in nurse arrived to care for Ilkyung that you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. Jaemin had already paid her wages for the entire year.

Nayoung even traveled down to knock some sense into you, lecturing you about the need for more female academics. She threatened to write a check that tripled the amount of Jaemin’s if you were really so bothered by him being the sender.

You returned to the girls’ college and resumed your studies at the start of the spring term. You devoted twice as much time as you did in your first term, worrying that Jaemin’s efforts would turn out to be futile. You received the top marks in every class, and a part of you yearned to have a smiley boy sitting next to you, fueling your need for competition.

You finished writing your book about Green Gables after spring had come and gone. You spent weeks speaking to multiple publishers in town, shocked by the popularity of your work and their eagerness to disperse it. By the time classes resumed, you were nearly done finalizing the contract to officially publish your book.

On the other hand, your roommate, Doyeon, had only been sent to college because her parents believed it would market her as a better match for potential suitors. She cared very little about her work, but she became a great friend to you when you needed someone to loosen you up.

“The girls are heading to this parlor after class,” she giggles. “You have to come.”

“I have to finish my essay after class.”

“Come on,” she whines, tugging on your arm. “Just this once. Indulge me!”

She drags you into town that afternoon, pulling you into a circle of girls chatting in the middle of a tea parlor. All of them are dressed in colorful gowns with puffy sleeves, wearing hats with obnoxious feathers decorated on the top. You awkwardly attempt to cover your brown ensemble, with sleeves not as puffy as theirs and no hat in sight. You recognize a few of their faces from your classes but some are unfamiliar to you.

Doyeon sits you down and forces you to make conversation with those around you.

“It was simply tragic,” a girl murmurs from beside you, her hand delicately balancing the saucer under her teacup. “I mean, I felt bad for him but I was not about to become a widowed girl before I turned twenty years of age. Can you imagine the pressure I was under?”

“You’re so brave,” another girl replies, the feather in her hat blocking the view of her right eye. “He was perfect on paper for you.”

“Girls,” Doyeon interrupts cheerfully. The circle turns their attention to her. “I finally convinced my roommate to join us.”

One of them gasps. “So this is her! The esteemed author!”

You stare at your roommate, dismayed by her lack of filter. She smiles sheepishly at you.

“That was meant to be a secret,” you say, laughing shyly. “The book hasn’t exactly been published yet.”

“Oh, but it will be soon, won’t it?” Another person pipes up, eyes sparkling. “Can you believe this, girls? We’ll actually know someone famous.”

You shake your head nervously, bashful at the sudden attention. The girl next to you nudges your side.

“What was your name again?”

When you provide your answer, the group falls into a sudden hush. The girl next to you stiffens completely, her fingers nearly breaking her porcelain teacup. Doyeon is just as confused as you. “What’s happened?”

“You’re her,” the girl beside you whispers. “You’re the girl.”

Your bewilderment only grows tenfold when she stands and sneers down at you. “What’s it like to receive a free education?”

“W-What?” You stutter, taken aback. You haven’t told anybody about your ordeal with Jaemin or the real reason why you’re attending college. How is it possible that this stranger knows your circumstances?

She scoffs in disbelief at you. “Do you know how much pain you’ve caused me? How much heartache you’ve brought to my family?” At your continued hesitation, she snaps. “Does the name Choi Yoojung mean anything to you? Or how about Na Jaemin?”

The puzzle pieces click together. The woman in front of you is Jaemin’s fiancée — the beautiful girl who he fell in love with after you broke his heart. You had assumed they married months ago, but by the way venom drips from her voice when speaking his name, you guess it didn’t go as planned.

“Yoojung,” a girl speaks gently, trying to calm her down when she identifies the fear flash across your face.

She doesn’t relent. “Congratulations to you. He’s driven himself to death in his mission to take care of you. Now neither of us can have him.”

A chill rushes down your spine. You stand, staring at her as your demeanor switches into something more serious. “What are you talking about?”

She snorts. “You didn’t even bother to check on him, did you?”

“I write to him every week,” you retort, curling your lip. “He never responds.”

“Because he’s working! He’s always working. He never stopped because you needed the money,” she snarls. “He only quit when he contracted typhoid fever last month and returned home. I imagine he’s been dead for weeks already.”

You swear your heart stops beating. Doyeon grasps your hand in concern but you shrug her off. You struggle to control your breathing, panicking at the thought of Jaemin slaving himself away at the hospital just so you could go out for tea on a midday afternoon. Doyeon places her hands on your shoulders, troubled by your anxiety.

“Yoojung, back off,” she warns.

The girl listens, gathering her things and storming out of the parlor. The other women follow in pursuit, leaving only you and Doyeon.

“I have to go home,” you say, feeling as if your heart has plummeted three stories down. “I-I have to see him.”

She has no idea who you’re referring to, probably lost for most of your conversation with Yoojung. Regardless, she nods and helps you to the door, rubbing your back soothingly. You pack your belongings in record time, locating the money you have as an advance from the publishing company for a train ticket home. Doyeon calls for her buggy and gives you a ride to the station, and you kiss her cheek and thank her for her assistance.

You spend the entire journey exhausting yourself with images of a sickly Jaemin, but you force your thoughts not to stray to the notion of his death. Once you offboard, dread sinks in when you register that you have no ride back, not giving Hyojung an indication that you would need a buggy at the station.

The universe seems to save you when you spot Soeun and Donghyuck carrying their newborn through the train platform.

You call her name desperately, and she spins around to face you. Her expression lights up. “Oh! I didn’t know you were back in town-”

“Is it true? About Jaemin?”

Her face falls and she glances at her husband with apprehension. You repeat her name, glaring at her with one of the strongest looks you can muster.

She caves in. “Hyojung told me not to say anything, I swear! We didn’t know how bad it had gotten until a week ago.”

“Is he alive?” You ask, your heart thumping furiously in your chest in anticipation of the answer.

“…Yes. But I’m not supposed to tell you-”

“Take me to him.”

Soeun and Donghyuck allow you to squeeze into their buggy, making the expedition to Jaemin’s home and dropping you off. She gives you a pitiful look, kissing your cheeks gently in farewell.

You take a deep breath as you walk up the steps, knocking on the door. The house has perished quite a bit over the years, with grass growing out of the floorboards of the porch and the paint slowly peeling. When the door opens, however, it still smells exactly like Jaemin.

An older man stares back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “May I help you, madam?”

“Na Jaemin. I’m here to see Na Jaemin,” you say, breathless and choking back tears.

He smiles. “Ah, you’re her. I’ve been waiting for someone to inform you. He wouldn’t let me.” He ushers you inside, helping you place your luggage aside. He outstretches his arm to take the book in your hands but you clutch it tighter to your chest. “I’m Dr. Lee, I’ve been Jaemin’s mentor since he began his schooling. I put a pause on my practice to nurse him back to health.”

You sniffle, disregarding your manners out of impatience. “Is he here?”

He smiles softly in understanding, gesturing his head towards the back of the house. “He’s in his father’s room.”

You swallow as you walk down the hallway, the flickering candlelight illuminating the dusty room. You inhale sharply when you see Jaemin splayed out on the bed, face completely drained of color. He’s tucked completely in the blankets of his father’s tiny bed, barely big enough to fit him. You rush to his side, gripping his hand tightly in yours.

He blinks lethargically at you before mumbling, “Princess?”

You wipe your tears away. “You’re an idiot. The most reckless person I know.”

A smile spreads across his chapped lips. “I’ve missed you.”

You quell the urge inside you that begs to argue with him, to scold him for not taking care of himself and putting his life at risk. But you don’t want to waste your precious moments with him by fighting, so you show him the book in your arms instead.

“I finished writing about Green Gables, just as you said I should,” you mumble through blurry vision. “I’ll be a published author soon. I dedicated the inscription to Ilkyung and to Ilnam and… to you.” You open the first page of the book, unveiling his name. You choke out, “I was planning on sending it to you as a wedding gift.”

“There’s something you should know,” he croaks. “About me and Yoojung.”

You shake your head, swiping back the hair matted to his forehead. “I already know,” you say. “W-We had an unfortunate run in.”

“You understand now then. You understand that there’s never been anyone for me but you.”

You shut your eyes tightly, bending down and pressing your forehead against his cheek. You rest your hand over his chest and feel the way it rises and falls. “You have to get better,” you say sternly. “You have to get better so I can tell you how I really feel.”

You make a home out of Jaemin’s room for the next few weeks. Dr. Lee and you take turns watching over him, and he locates a spare cot in the storage closet for you to sleep on. You set it up right next to Jaemin’s bed, holding his hand as you doze off. You feed him and read him stories, although his number one request has been to hear your book.

Dr. Lee recounts his memories with Jaemin, and how he’s never met a student more hardworking. He reveals that Jaemin always spoke about you, referring to you as the smartest girl he’s ever known.

By week four, Jaemin regains the color in his cheeks and is able to sit up in bed on his own. You’re attempting to spoon a hearty soup into his mouth but he’s making it into an impossible task.

“You said you would tell me how you feel if I got better,” he whines. His hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you gasp, trying not to spill the piping hot bowl on him. “I kept up my end of the bargain.”

“Jaemin,” you huff, scooting back before you’re sitting on his lap. “You’re still not back to complete health. Can you please finish your dinner?”

A knock echoes on the door, and you turn to see Dr. Lee smiling at you both. He’s carrying a suitcase in his hand and has a coat draped over his frame. “Well, it’s been a joy to help my young prodigy, but I really must return to my practice.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re leaving?”

He chuckles at your reaction. “He hasn’t shown any symptoms for three days, which leads me to believe the worst of it is over. All he has to do now is get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. And luckily, he has a beautiful nurse here to help him.”

Jaemin beams, grinning while you look away in embarrassment. “Thank you, Mr. Lee. I owe you a great deal.”

“Nonsense,” the doctor brushes off. “Considering you fell ill on my watch, I would declare I owed this to you.” You walk him to the front door, thanking him for watching over Jaemin. He winks at you before he climbs into his buggy. “You’ll take even better care of him, I’m certain.”

You observe as he rides away, waving his hat in the air as a salute to you. You smile before returning inside, gasping when you see Jaemin leaning on the dining table.

“What are you doing out of bed? You can’t be strolling around the place just yet-”

You’re effectively silenced when he boxes you in, his lips descending over yours. You crumple up the fabric of his sweater in your palm, relishing the way he runs his tongue over your bottom lip.

Your nagging continues as he peppers kisses down your jaw. “You really should not be out of bed right now. You need to save your strength and energy for recovery.”

You whimper when his fingers sneak underneath your dress, stroking your clothed core. He props you up against the table, and you’re suddenly thrown back in time.

“J-Jaemin, we shouldn’t-”

“Unless you plan on confessing your feelings for me, I would rather not hear another peep out of you,” he says, swallowing you with his frame. “I’ll make exceptions, of course. Like this.”

His fingers press harder against your folds and you whine, arching into him. It’s not long before your undergarments are discarded on the floor. You haven’t been intimate with someone since Jaemin, causing goosebumps to rise over your skin when his digits brush over your entrance.

“Tell me,” he grunts lowly in your ear. “Tell me how you feel. I need to know.”

Two fingers slide in easily, and you immediately clench down on him, your mind swirling in exhilaration. He pulls back to watch your reaction, smirking when he sees your jaw dropped open. He leans forward to capture your lips in his again.

“Tell me,” he whispers in between his tongue exploring your mouth.

He curls his digits, rubbing against your walls perfectly. You’re ashamed to hear the sound of your slick filling the room. His other hand works at untying your corset, loosening your dress just enough to expose your breasts for his viewing.

“Jaemin,” you exhale when he takes the hardened bud of your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You grind down onto his hand as the pleasure begins to strike in full force. The combination of his fingers caressing you and his tongue flicking over your stiff peaks is enough to drive you to the edge, mewling loudly as you soak his digits in your arousal. You pant as you confess, “I love you.”

His head snaps up, grinning wider than ever. You squeak when he launches himself at you, spreading your back across the wood of the dining table. You giggle as he attacks you with an onslaught of kisses.

“Say it again,” he says, quickly pulling his length out of his trousers.

When he thrusts inside you, a moan falls freely from your lips, accompanied by another “I love you.”

It’s swift and desperate, the way he harshly ruts into you as you sing sweet noises for him, praising him while his cock abuses your pussy. You’ve never wanted anyone the way you crave him, keeping him as close as possible in fear of him leaving you. He assures you with the skin of his teeth, grazing your neck as he marks you as his.

When he spills inside you, you swear you’ve never been this happy before. He doesn’t retract from you, burying his head into your shoulder as he wraps himself in your scent.

“I’ll make you a promise,” he murmurs. You tangle your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp affectionately. “I’ll let Nayoung pay for your schooling and I promise not to work myself to death at the hospital. But after graduation, we take our vows and move back to Green Gables. We start a new life with each other.”

You laugh, giddy over the thought. Just last year, you were convinced you would retire as a lonely spinster, reminiscing over your lost love. Yet now he lays on top of you, fulfilling your dream of forever in a great big home.

You nod. “That sounds beautiful.”

—

A scream erupts throughout the house and you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Hyojung sits next to you in her rocking chair, chortling with glee at your misery.

Ilkyung strides by, carefully balancing herself with her cane. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” you call after her, watching as she corrals your two toddlers in the kitchen.

“Five children is just too much,” Hyojung remarks with the click of her tongue. “How could you let Jaemin talk you into another one?”

You stare down at your growing belly, resting your hand over your bump. “He’s very convincing.”

Your husband barrels through the front door with your six-year-old son attached to his back while your eight-year-old daughter curls around his leg. He’s laughing, pretending to make them fly as your two other toddlers rush over to him, eager to join the scene.

You married Jaemin shortly after graduation, sealing your vows next to the Lake of Shining Waters. Ilkyung was delighted when you chose to move into Green Gables as Jaemin landed a position as the town’s new doctor and your second book was about to be published. You finished the girls’ college with high marks, securing a teaching spot at the best college in the area.

You lived in pure bliss. You kept the nurse who looked after Ilkyung in your absence, and she eventually became a helping hand to your rowdy family. Jisung still assisted you and Jaemin with maintaining the farm, even stepping out of his comfort zone every now and then to chase your children around the yard.

You thank the universe everyday for granting you a second chance at happiness. Jaemin constantly dotes on you, fretting over your every need. He’s a perfect father, never losing his temper with the children and cooing at them in soft voices. It’s perhaps why you’re so inclined to keep giving him more.

He staggers over to you after he manages to pry your rambunctious children off his body, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

“Are you two enjoying yourselves?”

Hyojung smiles. “We would be if your wife’s feet weren’t swelling enormously, Dr. Na,” she says with a teasing tone. “You should rub her feet to make her feel better.”

He’s quick to follow orders, sitting on the carpet and getting to work.

“Anything for my princess.”

You throw Hyojung a look. “Now you’re just misusing our power.”

You glance over at your children, who are flocking towards their grandmother and asking her for a snack. Then you look at your beaming husband and your mischievous best friend, the true kindred spirits of your heart. And it’s all topped by the puffiest sleeves a girl’s ever owned, sitting proudly on your arms.

Your dream of having a home to call yours has finally come true.

this fic was posted for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

[incognit0slut]

Devil’s advocate

Softcore Spencer doesn't feel any remorse when it comes to this strange arrangement involving sex. Neither do you.

Category: Smut (18+) Word count: 3.6k Content: fem!reader, dom!spencer, bratty reader if you will, implied age gap, unprotected p in v, spit kink, overstimulation, squirting, and kinda fwb or (more precisely) not-exactly-friends with benefits a/n: it took me more than 3 months to post again and it will probably take me another for the next post (kidding) (maybe not). try to imagine this spencer for a better experience

-

Spencer isn’t a good man.

A quiet verdict, a fault line.

A truth etched into the grain of his being that is unmoved no matter how many times people say otherwise.

He’s made a habit of the dissection — words, meanings, intent. A lexical autopsy, combing through every definition in the dictionary if it meant finding just one that could give weight to the well intentioned affirmations spoken by those who’ve shared his life through fourteen years of cases. From friends to mentors. From people he considers family. Even his mother has taken part in the exercise in her own way, quietly revising the definition of goodness to fit the shape of her son.

His love for her isn’t enough to convince him.

And he loves her, deeply, enough to bear the fragmented reality she clings to without complaint. Still, her confidence sounds like a desperate attempt to defend a virtue that, as far as he can tell, simply doesn't exist. Her faith in him is stubbornly rooted in wishes rather than proof. Pretty, fragile things wilting from reality. She doesn’t see the cracks hidden behind the glassy surface of his supposedly endearing charm.

Like most people never do. The brilliance of his brain blinds them. They think his mastery of facts or ability to weave information into careful answers is a reflection of some deeper moral foundation. Assuming that the man who can recite obscure case law from memory and deconstruct a lie with nothing but tone and syntax must also be someone incapable of harm. That someone who thinks in algorithms surely knows the difference between right and wrong and essentially follows it. Articulate, therefore righteous.

What lazy math that they run.

The truth, however, is far less romantic.

If there’s anything genuinely good left in him, he likes to believe it’s the act of waiting. Patience still sounds noble enough. It casts him as a silent benefactor, gifting others the space to sketch their own truths while he quietly collects their misconceptions and spends them like counterfeit bills.

He’s getting good at it, too.

Exchange his intelligence for wisdom.

Detachment for strength.

Emptiness for depth.

Little trades, so small and constant they almost feel natural now. As long as he keeps showing them the version they’ve come to accept, no one pauses to wonder if those long months locked inside his own head have carved him down to something less than whole. Selfish, perhaps, letting them cling to these illusions. But it’s a comfortable deception. They get the man they want, he keeps the truth to himself, paying nothing but time and silence for whatever reward comes from that carefully preserved silence.

After all, waiting is nothing more than delayed gratification, isn't it?

And this right here is what he’s waited for, to have you like this — warm and wet and dangling precariously off his bed.

A decadent reward for every second of restraint.

Purely carnal. Blasphemous in its perfection.

Your body curves at an angle that looks uncomfortable, a leg hooked over his shoulder, another barely hanging onto the edge of the mattress with the cool air licking your calf. Common sense tells him a complaint is warranted, yet not a murmur of discomfort escapes your pretty lips. You seem perfectly content to let him mold you into whatever shape he wants. Harmless, he insists, just a mutual indulgence between two consenting adults.

But morality has a way of souring sweet things — and maybe he should be ashamed.

Should be embarrassed at the way he finds satisfaction in this.

Should feel something other than pride watching your brows pinch together in pleasure.

Should care that he’s reduced to fucking you with all the desperation of a man who likes being selfish. It’s statistically uncommon for someone with his level of empathy, yet he stitches hunger into the tender curve of your body, scoring endless sensation with needles that prick and sting but never draw enough blood to slow him. Only if he distanced himself from you could he see the cruelty he’s gouging into the very seams of your skin.

He does no such thing.

He can’t. Not when he’s buried inside you like this, when your breath splits apart into fragile little pieces with weak fingers clawing at his back. Not when his selfishness feels bottomless, a craving so raw and wide and insatiable he's never dared give it a name — but somehow you seem to understand.

Understand what, though?

That he can’t help himself? That despite all the logic, all the reasons why he shouldn’t let himself have you, he does?

That he doesn’t regret it, not even a little?

No.

Good men don’t do this.

But you’re no saint either.

Innocence wears your face, but never fit so poorly. You’re trouble in its finest form — beautifully packaged, masterfully delivered with a smokey laugh that glides over the fine shiver pebbling across his skin as you offer a sly, “You’re getting sloppy.”

The smug little curl of your lips has his heart leaping in his throat, and he would have joined in your laughter if it weren’t for the way your breathless tone slithered into his ears. His brows draw together, sweat dripping down nose as he shakes his head to free the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.

“Am I?”

“Mm.” You tip your head back against the bed, exposing the lovely curve of your neck. "Your age is starting to show.”

He finally huffs a laugh, lowers the leg hooked over his shoulder and trails up the inside of your thigh. “That’s not very nice.”

Your teeth briefly catch your lower lip.

“Neither is slowing down right when it’s getting good.”

“You think I’m slowing down?”

You faintly nod. “It’s actually cute how you’re pacing yourself. Should I be worried about your knees?”

That earns a sharp, almost affronted look before his palms grip both your inner thighs, followed by a sudden thrust that sends you back against the mattress. He thinks he’s regained some semblance of power over himself, until you let out a breathless little moan and continue to taunt him, arching your back with full insolence but only half the mockery. Docile in appearance alone when you’re flaunting your nipples in blatant invitation.

“That the best you can do?”

A hand flies to your breast, curling around the supple meat as he catches the stiff bud between his knuckles. “You’re acting brave tonight.”

“Sexually frustrated,” you admit with an exasperated sigh, rolling your hips. Urging him to move again. “Spent the whole day picturing you fucking me stupid and got exactly nothing.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

Nothing feels almost insulting considering how easily he coaxed you through his apartment.

He tries to bend lower, and sure enough, there’s something that feels suspiciously like age nipping at his lower back. A dull throb he quickly swallows as his mouth find your nipple. And toys with it, rolling the taut peak between wet tongue and wetter teeth, each slow suck a deliberate rebuttal that the way he’s been driving his cock into you for the past twenty minutes is anything but nothing.

Your fingers slip into the softest surface of hair.

“Fuck me harder.”

He turns his attention to your other nipple. “That still wasn’t enough for you?”

“If you have to ask, then clearly not.”

His mouth closes around you again, laps slow, teasing circles, all the while you grind your hips, shamelessly trying to fuck yourself with every delicious tug of his lips.

Instinctively, he starts rutting his hips in response. Little thrusts of his cock easing inside you inch by inch. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I have every intention of finding out,” you counter, pulling him by his curls. “I know you can do better.”

His gaze touches yours.

You smile lazily.

“Go on. Show me.”

His eyelids dip in a slow, dangerous blink, and lets his nose brush the soft swell of your breast. Lingers. Smells the powdery scent of jasmine and honey consuming his senses.

What part of himself can he exchange this time? What currency of half-truths still has any value left?

The answer, adamantly, is etched in the narrow space of his mouth and your skin, a hush too charged to disguise. He doesn't think he owes you anything in counterfeit tonight. No borrowed patience. No repurposed kindness polished thin by repetition. The second you ask for more when he’s been giving you nothing less is the moment every polished veneer he’s spent years perfecting shatters like chipped glass.

So he gives you the one thing he’s never bartered — himself, stripped of caution.

Because no matter how many labels others slap on his name, you’ve never bought into a single one.

Not entirely. You catch the edges that don’t quite align, the rougher layers hidden beneath his careful composure. You see past the softness everyone assumes is the entirety of him, the reputation they’ve stitched together from fragments pieced carefully since he was an innocent young boy with oversized glasses and a penchant for knowledge.

Rationally, he is soft. He’s spent a lifetime wrapped in the belief that his gentleness is his sole trait. That it’s all he can embody.

But not with you.

With you, he's whatever he needs to be.

He's whatever he wants to be.

He pulls back just enough to watch your body seize around him, and drags his tongue over his chapped lips, tastes the salt of effort and the musky smell of sex before channeling what’s left of his energy into his core. Then fucks you harder. Shoving every inch back with a strangled noise of his own, savoring the tight pull of your dripping cunt. Relishing the slight roll of your eyes as he pushes deeper, harder, with a savagery that rips breathless whimpers from the back of your throat with each jarring thrust. 

Your moans ride every groaning hinge of the mattress, too, then linger, fogging the dark walls of his room as the wet slap of skin bounces off every surface. Stepping three beats out of time with reason, maybe more, for the way his eyes chase that music down the slope of your belly, following the trail of his thumbs over your mound, over your stretched folds, and pulls the soft skin apart.

His throat rises and falls in time with the motion of his cock — in, out, in, out. For someone so famously averse to germs, the streaks of your slick smearing across his skin outweigh every compulsion, so much so he pries you open even wider and lets a hot ribbon of saliva pool in his mouth. Watches it dribble over your clit. He’s nowhere near coherent enough to care about cleanliness when he can tell how much the slow trickle of his spit sliding down your swollen flesh — a foamy mess now resting heavily on his cock — only seem to intensify your thirst.

You squirm when he moves closer, fingers clawing around his wrist like you’re on the verge of asking for more but can’t bring yourself to say.

Stubborn, he's not surprised.

But he knows you well enough to understand the subtle shifts in your expression. He takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a plea for him to give you what you need, so he smears the extra coat of lube over your clit and rubs frantically. Doesn’t bother to be gentle with it too, not when he’s seen how much you like it under rough hands. He’s proven right when he notices your muscles tensing up.

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

He rubs your clit with more pressure. “Good enough for you?”

You swallow thickly, blinking up at him through heavy lids. “Still—fuck—”

“What was that?”

“Still—think you can—do better,” you retort, hiccupping through your words. 

It’s beyond him that you’re still functioning. Your hair clings messily to your forehead, damp strands caught in a tangled halo around your face. Your cheeks are blotchy from where his stubble scraped across your skin, lips kiss-bruised and swollen and somehow still trying to get the last word.

You should be done by now. Boneless, reduced to little more than trembling limbs, yet you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. There’s a spark of energy left to bait him. Foolish, he decides, but if there’s even a sliver of you left untouched, he’ll gladly take every fragment that dares to surface.

He wrenches off your body just long enough to fist his cock, dragging his bulbous tip through the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath, then slaps himself through the mess. If it weren’t for your hips bucking shamelessly, he’d think he was wrong for indulging such filthy impulses he’s never dared to overstep. You can’t seem to discern whether the sharp throb is pain or pleasure, but your cunt flutters around emptiness and aches like it's grieving the loss of him.

One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s right back where you need him, hammering into that devastating spot that sends your pupils scattering upward, leaving nothing but the whites of your eyes. He pulls out and does it again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until he’s certain all your senses have braided into one indistinguishable pulse.

“Oh God,” you moan, trying to press your thighs together out of reflex, but his grip tightens as he pries them open once more.

You feel lightheaded. Your belly rolls, your cheeks burn, drool slips from the corner of your mouth. You’re so far gone you don’t even notice. Too wrapped up in the desperate drag of breath through your parted lips, too busy chasing the dizzy spark bursting behind your eyes. You’re nothing short of raw nerves, lost in the punishing rhythm that keeps tearing you open and stitching you together in the same brutal stroke.

It doesn’t take long for a high, agonizing squeal to wrench free from your throat as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Steals your breath away, leaving behind only a splintered string of gasps and trembling cries that fall recklessly from your lips as his pelvis hammers into the curve of your hip bone.

And he catches every fractured syllable and synchronizes his thrusts to the quiver of your voice, or maybe he’s simply addicted to the jagged rise and fall of your moans — like a direct stroke to his ego, trophies he hoards greedily.

He ponders how many more of those rewards he can coax from you tonight, how many more heights your body can scale before it finally gives way. He assumes it’s too much to ask, yet the greedy pulse in his veins insists there’s always more shiver to claim, another breathless note to add to his growing collection.

It turns out to be unnervingly easy.

Your second climax arrives in the span of a single heartbeat.

The third steals in like an electric stab, splintering along your spine as he pins you down and pounds hard into you.

By the fourth, your cunt swells and clenches around him in frantic pulses, yet he’s still fucking you relentlessly as if one more keepsake will finally satiate his greed.

Your hand shake when you lift one to trace his bicep, though it ends up as more of a twitchy pawing than anything resembling grace before you blindly scramble up his shoulder, finding his damp mess of curls again. Its wild, humid knot of heat tangles between your fingers as the most wrecked little whine trembles in your throat.

“P-Pee.”

He blinks, straining to pluck your voice over the rush in his ears. The words barely register at first, but when they do, his own pulse comes apart in a hot scatter mess.

“Need to pee,” you fluster again.

And if that doesn’t unravel him to his bones, he doesn’t know what will.

He tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs. “‘S not pee.”

“What?”

The confusion in your voice is almost cute for someone who usually acts like they know everything. Adorable how you’ve been nothing but provocative all night, only to falter gradually.

“You don’t need to pee,” he rasps. The grip behind your knees tightens, fingers digging into soft flesh as he drives deeper with all the focus he can muster. He’s holding back by sheer will alone now, even when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut creeps up, but that ache is a small price to pay when he’s painfully aware of what your body is capable of giving.

His cock strikes a deep, delicious spot inside you.

Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck,” you croak. “I’m gonna piss your bed.”

“It’s not pee.”

His words barely register when your whole body winds so tightly that your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. Eyes unfocused, spine bowing, throat bared. The muscles in your neck tighten like cords that it’s clear you’re still trying to fight whatever pressure you’re under.

“You need to relax,” he urges, finding your clit once again. Wide eyes flutter over intense brown orbs.

“Wait wait wait—gonna pee—”

“You’re gonna come again,” he corrects. He sees you puff out a long breath, which is nothing less strained than his own. “Female ejaculation, different glands. Less than—”

His words catch in a groan as your cunt flutters around his thickness.

“…less than ten percent of the fluid is even related to—to urine.”

Annoyed, you tug on his curls and whine, “This isn’t the time.”

“No better time than now.” His hips continue to buck into you with a sharp, hungry rhythm. “You’ll understand if you stop fighting it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can.” Thwack-thwack-thwack. “You will.”

The sound of his balls slapping against the wet cradle of your ass is making you delirious. Even more so when a warm, buzzing sensation sparks in your core and rushes outward, blooming into this intense prick that spreads across your lower belly with startling speed.

“Oh—shitshitshit—”

“That’s it, just breathe through your nose.”

His words falls on deaf ears. “I-I can’t hold it any longer.”

“You’re not supposed to hold it in.”

"I—wa—wait—Spencer!”

“Let it out,” he frets, and closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads nearly touching, brows pulling together in quiet frustration. “Need you to trust me for once.”

“I don’t—fuck! I am NOT pissing on you—”

“Do it.”

“I can’t—”

“C’mon,” he prods. “Give it to me.”

You sniff a strangled sob.

“Do it.”

You claw at his hair once more, and any semblance of control that you clung to shatters immensely.

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding. A passage of whines pitches upward as his thumb swipes side to side over your tight nub while he slams into you. Once, twice, over and over — until a concentrated surge of pressure around his cock urges him to pull out.

Warm bursts of liquid splashes onto him. Streaks down his damp thighs, the flushed skin of his skin. Seeps deep into the cotton fabric of his sheets with muffled sounds as your heart thunders wildly in your chest. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile that pulls at his mouth the second your eyes flicker with disbelief, or the lazy circle his thumb traces around your sensitive, overstimulated clit. He’s too focused on the way your release continues to mark the bed he intends to sleep in.

"There it is,” he hums proudly, "knew you could do it."

He did. He knew this would happen the moment your breath stuttered into helpless little gasps, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. His lust blooms unchecked, a fever behind molten eyes, something his vision can’t seem to outrun. Even as his gaze blurs over your dripping hole puckering around nothing, over the tiny bead of precum trickling down your cleft, he’s stunned into silence.

You’re a ravishing mess, and he’s never seen anything so pretty.

You’re on another level of divine that it makes something in his head tick just from the sight. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously inserts himself back through the warm puddle of your flesh, and swears he can still feel you fluttering. Feels the tremor in your sweet, sopping cunt. Hears the faint splatter of droplets beating the sheets with every deliberate stroke of his hips.

He’s long since fallen behind in being a good man, but you certainly deserve something in return for listening to him. So he reaches out, cradles your face between palms that have never claimed to be gentle, and drinks deeply. Tries to steal back the breath you robbed from him.

Kiss, taste, repeat.

Touch, grab, repeat.

But it’s not enough.

He doesn’t think it ever will be.

The dopamine surge won’t last, a notion as clear as the haze of your sweat gluing to his skin. He’s even sure he could rattle off half a dozen papers about reward circuits and compulsive behavior, recite the exact millisecond window in which the pleasure centers will spike and fall. None of it matters when your mouth parts for him and your breath warms his cheeks.

He tries to catalog the way your pulse thumps beneath his thumb, the microscopic tremor in your lashes, the sweetness of carbon dioxide exhaled against his tongue. It becomes another unsolved equation, a tangle of variables his doctorate never prepared him to parse. There’s only the thunderous beat of his own heart and the simple, staggering fact that you’re here, giving when he has taken so much.

But there is no safe dosage of you that will let him step back unscathed. One hit becomes two, two becomes habit, soon habit feels indistinguishable from necessity. An addiction he can’t refuse when it would only mean denying himself the only thing that makes him feel alive.

And if that makes him weak, he might as well be weak for you — again and again until there’s nothing left of him that doesn’t carry the imprint of your name. To ruin or to worship, it makes no difference to him.

He’ll fall to his knees just the same.

Your pulse begins to settle into a calmer rhythm in the hush that follows, and he scatters small kisses along the corner of your jaw, up the sweep of your cheekbone, pausing at the hinge of your lips. The gentle weight of his mouth has you shifting along wet sheets, every muscle tensing at the unexpected softness threaded through his touch.

Tenderness, in your world, feels foreign. Unfamiliar. Ill-fitting. And truthfully, he isn’t much better when it comes to you. Sharper tongues seem to be the better fit for two people who know how to fight more than they know how to surrender.

His lips skate beneath your chin instead, slides along the sweat slick column of your throat and hums, “Think you can do that again?”

Avoidance. It’s the language you both speak fluently.

The stiffness in your body bleeds out with your next exhale.

“…depends on your skill, old man.”

That's it. He can take another one of your barbed little comments. Another sly jab delivered with that pretty pout of your mouth. In fact, he finds himself almost craving it. Your taunts fuel the heat beneath his skin as much as they test his patience, and patience is something he's mastered after all. So he continues to grind his hips. Rubs the tip of your clit with the fine coarse of hair dusting his belly before you’re writhing again.

Peculiar, how easily his selfishness devours reason. Logic. Decorum. How quickly a man who’s built his life on discipline can find himself unraveling for something as simple and devastating as the way you gasp his name.

A good man would’ve stopped at the soft mist pooling in your eyes.

Spencer keeps going.

"If a God is a dog and a man is a fraud then I'm a lost cause." Devil’s Advocate—The Neighbourhood

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was in third grade I got Weird with writing. It makes sense in hindsight. Oppressed people find their own ways of carving out space for themselves.

The first bit I did landed me in trouble more immediately. I was given, god knows by who, one of those enormous giant pencils. I loved it. My tiny nine year old body was consumed with love of this pencil that was roughly 1/3 of my height. I insisted that I would only use this pencil in school.

It was an unlucky year to be stricken with whimsy. My third grade teacher was a tyrannical Japanese woman fueled by her dislike of children. I suspect the cultural divide between how she expected children to behave and the reality of American children broke her.

She was three foot nothing and getting berated by her was the first time I’d ever looked down at an adult. I also saw her once standing next to her white 6’ behemoth of a husband and tried to conceptualize how two such disparate people had sex. I never could.

If you think I’m exaggerating her wrath it’s worth noting that my best friend at the time developed a stress disorder from this woman and I fell into a bizarre stutter that cleared up the moment I was out of class. In her classroom breaking down crying was a weekly occurrence.

But despite the frigid conditions, I persevered. I stayed silly. I brought my enormous novelty pencil to class every day. It was an act of rebellion that I sank my teeth into and refused to let go. I could barely sharpen it because its girth defied standard sharpeners the way I defied my teacher. This was my pencil.

When she attempted to confiscate my giant pencil I rose an unholy ruckus. This would not turn into the confiscated holographic Charizard, my tamagotchi, or my little pop frogs that she never returned to me. No. This was my goddamn pencil. There was no rules against enormous novelty pencils and after a heated week of debate she finally conceded I could use the hated thing.

It was stolen by my kleptomaniac friend a week or so after that a fact I’d only discover at the end of the year. But my tiny mind was convinced the evil teacher had stolen it.

In retaliation, instead of resuming normal behavior I decided that I would do all my writing upside down and backwards. No one, least of all myself, could explain why I felt this was necessary. Maybe I felt I’d be cool like a spy, maybe I just needed to buck the teachers hateful authority, or maybe I was just a little autistic kid.

When taking notes or writing essays I’d arrange the paper to be upside down. It may surprise you to know that my penmanship was actually quite decent, albeit I wrote a little more slowly than my classmates. That’s why it took the teacher a while to realize what was going on. There wasn’t a drop in the quality of my writing.

Unsurprisingly she hated it when she found out. She lambasted me both privately and in front of the class to write normally. I asked if my writing was illegible. She had to admit that no, it was not. I shrugged. I did not see a problem.

Like the pencil my new writing fixation was cited as being a distraction to the other children. But similarly she didn’t have an easy way to make me stop. She marked me down, gave me several talking tos, and generally bullied me into writing like everyone else.

All attempts at correcting me simply ran off my back. I had found a way to cope with how miserable she made all of us, by inflicting misery back upon her. I was unswayed for the rest of the year.

When I graduated up into fourth grade and had a teacher I adored it suddenly stopped. I looked at the paper and thought, Well that’s silly, and flipped it the right way round.

I can still write upside down, though, a testament to my worst year in public school.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Dani/Ellie as a member of YJ or Teen Titans.

The team is helping the JL with an all hands on deck apocalypse on earth. They are losing badly. She looks around herself, at the destruction all around her, squares her shoulders and says 'looks like it's time for the nuclear option... DADDY!!!!'

I didn't know if you've seen the post where a scary Danny got summoned instead of Klarion and everyone (heroes and villains) was getting ready to team up because of how scared/intimidated they were. That's the Danny I'm picturing answering his daughter's call for help. Maybe with an equally scary Fright Knight sword already drawn at his back.

The team was struggling with keeping the villains at bay. This was supposed to be a coordinated attack with the Justice Leauge, moving simultaneously on the other world.

Earlier yesterday, the Light had organized for reality to split apart, forming two worlds. One contains children, and the other includes adults, causing the opposite age groups to vanish before the eyes of horrified humans.

To the adults, their kids were taken in a flash worldwide. To children, their parents went missing in the same flash. It was chaotic, and if it had not been for Captain Marvel, they would have never figured out what was happening.

Dani was a little peeved that she was on the child's side, but despite being a princess of the Infinite Realms, her body technically did not form until four years ago. For all intentions and purposes, she is sixteen. So she stayed with Young Justice, following the kid's command and feeling alive.

She may request to be placed on the Team when this is all over. She sends an energy blast towards Klarion, watching the little Lord dodge with a laugh. He sends back a wave of magic that would nearly knock her out of the air if not for her gritting her teeth and digging in her heels within her ectoplasm.

She always hated dealing with the stupid Lord of Choas. They gave her Dad nothing but trouble whenever he called a court. Everything Danny suggested was a challenge on the grounds of attempting to "control" their disorder.

Honestly, Dani preferred dealing with them than the Lord of Order. They were a bunch of self-righteous uprights who didn't care about who was hurt in the process of their justice. At least the Lord of Choas admitted they were monsters.

Oddly enough, she was grateful Klarion wasn't treating her like the princess she was. It made work so much easier when he allowed her to attack him and vice versa.

"Echo!" Robin runs towards her, waving a hand. "Maneuver seven!"

She nods, abandoning her stance to shift her flight path into a large arch. Her hands clasp into a tight cup as she speeds back up into the air. Robin doesn't miss a beat, launching himself at her just in time to press his foot on her clasp hands, using them and her upward rise to launch himself clear across the field to land a mighty kick on Teekl.

It lets out a howl that quickly gathers the attention of the angered Lord of Choas. Seeing her chance, Dani fires more energy blasts, quickly forcing the witch boy into a defensive position.

She pinned him for a few seconds while Kid Flash raced toward the marking on the ground. Dani grunts to shift the ectoplasm in the air into a long beam, firing it straight at Klarion's shield.

A few cracks are forming around the dark red dome, and she is just about to break through when Teekl comes out of nowhere. A roar is the only warning she had before the blasted cat slams into her, claws digging into Dani's side, and she can only scream as the pair fall.

"No!" Kid screams somewhere behind her, but Dani can't turn since she is holding the claws of the large cat away from her and pressing into the ground to stop it from tearing her face off with its fangs. Its sneering face looms over her, snapping at the air, while her arms tremble with the force of holding the large beast at bare.

Getting her wits about her, Dani uses a ghostly wail to get the cat off her. Teekl is flung through the ai,r landing in a heap by Klarion's side.

The witch boy gasps, "Teekl!"

Dani heaves herself to her side, legs turn, and oozes a mix of red and green blood. Teekl had managed to claw at them during the fall, which meant she couldn't stand, let alone fight, for a good while.

Panting through the pain, Dani presses her hands to leg, attempting to put pressure on it. Her vision goes in and out as white-hot fire races up her legs and body. The Team struggles with an outraged Klarion just a few feet away from her.

Dani wishes, not for the first time, that she was a perfect clone of Dani. If she was, she would have all of his powers, including super healing and duplication. Instead, she sits like a heap, an utter liability to the team, as Klarion dances circles around them.

It pains her to do it, but Dani starts to drag herself away from the battle, realizing she needs to put space between herself and the danger. If the Witch Boy or his stupid cat realizes they can use her as a hostage, Dani will never live it down.

She is just about to drag herself to the tree line when she notices Zatanna raise her hand and speak in rapid-fire magic. A nearby bush drops its illusion to show a very familiar helmet. Dani's eyes widened in alarm, and she took it into her hands and slid it right on.

"Zatanna! Wait!"" She hears herself scream, but it's too late. The girl's body has become a vessel for Nabu, the champion of the Lord of Orders. She really hates those guys.

Zatanna rises into the sky, now dressed as Dr. Fate, flickering in and out of sight as the split realities mess with Nabu's anchor.

Klarion taunts him for it, seeing this as a chance to take down the ancient Dr.Fate, but Dani has other plans. Raising her hand, with every last ounce of strength she has, Dani aims one last good ecto-beam towards the crystal in the center of the spell runes.

It shatters the crystal in a thousand pieces, sending a shock wave of magic across the field. Klarion throws a fit, like the immature brat he is, before he calls back his stupid cat, and the two vanish into a portal. If Dani was feeling better, she would have chased after him.

Captain Marvel beams back into their reality, informing them the adult magic casters were all defeated by the Justice League. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when Dr. Fate and Zatara med the two worlds back together

Superboy rushes over and leaves Dani in his arms, mindful of her wounds. She offers him a soft thank you, which earns her a grunt in acknowledgment. Not one for words, that Conner Kent.

She thinks about the Conner Kent of another universe, this one younger and more arrogant, running around in leather jackets and piercings but a Young Justice member all the same. One day, she should introduce the two. If the fabric of realities didn't fall apart upon their meeting.

Dani is snapped out of her thoughts when the pair get close enough for her to make out what Zatara is begging the Order Champion. Her mouth falls open as Dr. Fate refuses to leave Zatanna's body.

"Kent would never allow-"

"I have sent Kent Nelson's soul to the afterlife." Dr. Fate cuts off Kid Flash with what sounds like a coldhearted taunt to Dani. The way he uses Zatanna's voice makes her skin crawl.

"Take me," Zatara offers desperation in his voice. "My body is at its peak, my magic stronger than my daughters. Use my-"

"No!" Dani shouts, flailing in Conner's arms. Her ectoplasm boils in her veins when she points an accusing finger at the flowing Dr. Fate. "Nah-uh. This is against the law, and you know that, Nabu!"

"You know not what you speak of,child-" The ass tries, but Dani won't hear any of it.

"Long-term overshadowing of any living being is against Infinite Realms law." She sneers, facial features slightly less round and more uncanny with her anger. Around her, the Team is staring wide eyes.

Oh, right, this version of the Team has never seen her proper Phantom form. They only know Echo- named after being the copy of the great hero Phantom- who looked awful like her human form, just color flipped.

Her Halfa form was much more appealing than her entire ghostly appearance.

Dr.Fate crosses their arms. "Against a mortal will. This child willingly gave her body to me in exchange for aid in combat. I broke no law."

"Oh yeah! We'll see what the King has to say about that!" She screams, and finally, Nabu seems slightly worried, but it vanishes quickly as he jolts Zatanna's chin at him. Using her friend like some sort of meat suit.

The nerve.

"The King has better things to do than heed the call of an unimportant child." Nabu hisses, and yeah, she's going to make him pay for that.

"It looks like it's time for the nuclear option, just remember Nabu, the Lord of Order's Champion, you brought this upon yourself." Reaching out with a hand shaped entirely of ectoplasm, Dani launches a blast at Nabu.

The Team screams, Kid Flash's voice rising about the others. "No! Zatanna feels ever hit you land!"

"Echo, stand down!" Batman commands, but Dani doesn't pay them any mind as her attack lands against Dr. Fate's cross shield. She smirked, willing her glowing hand to rip a piece of the shield and fling it back towards her.

Conner nearly drops her as Dani slams the pieces into her leg, allowing them to cover up Teekl's magic. Wobbling her lips and letting the water fill her eyes, Dani lets out a whine and then a scream.

"Daddy, help!"

At once, the field is overflowing with death magic. Every living being in the area- including the animals in the forest- is brought to their knees as a fear unlike anything they have ever experienced digs its way into their very souls.

Conner falls to his knees dropping Dani in the process but she doesn't mind. She is too busy enjoying the way Dr. Fate's entire body has gone rigid as one glowing green eye snaps behind him. Zatanna small figure is no bigger then the pupil of the glowing eye, her body bath in the glow of it's green light and even the moon pales in comparison to the might of it's shine.

The eye quickly gainst a smile, stretched across a row of sharp teeth, then a second eye, a nose, and slowly Danny, King of the Infinite Rleams, forms in front of everyone's eyes.

The sweet smell of terror fills the air as Dani breathes it in.

Danny stares at the overshawed girl, eyes locked on Nabu who is resting just behind the layer of her skin, and glares. "You have brought harm upon my heir."

Nabu is too terrified to move, so Dani puts on a bigger show, letting tears roll down her face as she calls up, "He stole my friend too! He overshadowed her and won't give her back!"

Danny's face clouds with rage. "You have taken my heir's love. Release her."

Woah, hey now, no need to out Dani like that. Blushing, Dani ducks her head as Nabu quickly allows Zatanna to take off the helmet. Danny's large hand reaches towards the helmet, ripping out the spirit of Nabu, who wails in horror as the King drags him towards a portal. "You shall face trial for these actions."

"No! Mercy, your majestic, it was for the purpose of order!" The ghost cries, but his pleas fall on deaf ears as skeleton ghosts burst out of the portal, dragging the kicking and screaming ghost through. The portal slams closed with a loud crack, Nabu's screams echoing across the field.

Danny turns his large head towards the cowering group of mortals before the pointy-dark features of death melt away into a warm human face. It's a whiplash of change as the air shifts to comfort and personified sunshine when the King smiles. "Dani, I just wanted to let you know how proud I am you joined a hero team. Visit home a little more often and bring your friends."

"I will, Dad. Thanks." She beams back as Danny's large finger presses into her side, and his healing magic overflows her body. He does the same to all of her teammates and Justice League co-workers.

They are too petrified to move or thank him for the healing, but neither is Phantom Mind.

Danny nods, winks, and then vanishes like he was never there. Slowly, sound returns to the world- the leaves rustle in the wind, and animals begin to chirp.

"Well," Dani starts, climbing out of Conners's arms and dusting her outfit. "Who wants victory fudge?"

She gains a lot of round-eye looks, and when no one answers, she sighs, "I guess we can do victory pizza instead. But I demand one kind of sweet, or I'm going home to my father to complain."

[pucksandpower]

Free Fucking Country

Max Verstappen x First Daughter of the US!Reader

Summary: the FIA needs a reality check — you’ve known this since they decided to punish your grown ass boyfriend for daring to say “fucked” in a press conference — and what better way to do this than by taking full advantage of your First Amendment rights … live on camera?

The Texas sun beats down on the circuit. You’re standing off to the side, watching the race from a monitor, arms crossed. There’s an edge to your stance, a tightness in your jaw that no one’s missed, least of all Nico Rosberg.

“You look like you’re going to murder someone,” Nico says, chuckling under his breath. “Who’s the unlucky victim?”

You shoot him a sideways glance, not quite smiling. “Not someone. More like the entire FIA.”

Jenson Button raises a brow from his spot beside Nico. He’s been fiddling with a microphone, but now his full attention is on you. “Ah. Still upset about Singapore, then?”

You roll your eyes. “Still upset? I’m livid, Jenson. They punished Max for swearing. Swearing. Like, are we adults or are we running a kindergarten here?”

Nico and Jenson exchange a look, trying and failing to suppress a laugh.

“They’ve done worse to other drivers, to be fair,” Nico says, playing the diplomat despite the thirst for drama you know is itching to escape.

“I don’t care!” Your voice rises a little, and you realize you’re pacing now, hands flying around in frustration. “They target Max like he’s public enemy number one, and I swear it’s just because he’s honest. They can’t handle it when someone actually tells the truth!”

Nico nods, clearly amused by your rant but trying to stay neutral. “True. Max does have a ... blunt way of putting things.”

“He shouldn’t have to censor himself. It’s not like he was even that bad. They act like he threatened to burn down the paddock.” You huff, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “It’s just so stupid.”

Nico leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what are you going to do? You’re not exactly on the FIA’s Christmas card list either.”

A slow grin spreads across your face, and Nico’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh no. I don’t like that look. That’s trouble.”

Jenson smirks. “What’s she planning?”

“I need a favor,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief. You glance over at the camera setup behind them. “Can I borrow your camera for a minute?”

Both men stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You want to go live? On Sky Sports?” Jenson asks, blinking in disbelief.

You shrug. “Why not?”

Nico shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re something else.”

But he steps aside, making way for you to take his place. “Alright, have at it. Just … maybe don’t get us all banned from the paddock, yeah?”

You wink. “No promises.”

Without missing a beat, you step in front of the camera, and within seconds, you’re live. Your pulse quickens, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. The weight of the moment hits you, but it only fuels your determination.

You clear your throat. “Hi, everyone! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood First Daughter, coming to you live from the US Grand Prix. Now, before we get back to the race, I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Nico and Jenson are barely holding back their laughter behind you, but you ignore them, fixing your gaze on the lens.

“Max Verstappen got punished for swearing during a press conference last week. Punished. For swearing. And you know what? That’s bullshit.”

The words fly out of your mouth, sharp and unfiltered. There’s a moment of stunned silence around you as people start to realize what’s happening.

You keep going, voice rising with every sentence. “The FIA is out of control. They’re so focused on micromanaging everything that they’ve forgotten what this sport is supposed to be about. Racing. Competition. Passion.”

Nico’s eyes widen as he leans toward Jenson. “Oh my God, she’s really doing it.”

Jenson just grins, watching in awe. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

You don’t let up. “You want to punish someone for being honest? For being real? Then punish me too, because I’m about to say a hell of a lot more.”

You can see people gathering around, eyes glued to the monitors. You’ve got their attention now, and you’re not backing down.

“The FIA is so far up their own asses, they can’t see what’s really going on. Drivers are out there risking their lives, pushing the limits, and all they care about is how polite they are in a press conference? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You wave your hands around, the frustration boiling over. “I’m sick of this shitty double standard. Max gets penalized for cursing, but the countless times that the FIA has done something much worse? Silence. It’s ridiculous.”

By now, there’s a crowd forming around you. You see a few FIA officials watching from the corner, looking like they’re trying to figure out what to do. You don’t stop.

“If the FIA wants to keep policing language, they should start by looking at themselves. They’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites who don’t know the first thing about what it takes to be a real racer. They’re killing the spirit of the sport.”

Just then, you spot one of the stewards marching toward you, followed by two security guards. You flash a grin at the camera. “Oh look, here they come. The fun police.”

The steward, a stern-looking man with a clipboard, stops right in front of you. “Ma’am, you need to leave immediately.”

You laugh, leaning into the camera, making sure everyone’s still watching. “Really? You’re gonna kick me out for talking? Last time I checked, this is a free fucking country. First Amendment, bitches! Try to shut me up, I dare you.”

The steward’s face reddens. “You need to leave, now.

But before the security guards can even move, your Secret Service detail materializes out of nowhere, surrounding you. They stand tall, arms crossed, ready to intervene.

You laugh again, this time louder. “Oh, you didn’t think about that, did you? You can’t kick me out. What are you gonna do, arrest the President’s daughter on live TV?”

The steward looks like he’s about to explode, but there’s nothing he can do. He steps back, clearly out of his depth, while the camera continues rolling.

You take a deep breath, calming down just enough to finish your rant with a flourish. “So, FIA, if you’re watching — and I know you are — get your act together. Start treating the drivers like adults, and stop with the petty bullshit. Or I swear, I’ll make it my mission to drag you on the broadcast every single fucking race.”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a presence beside you. You turn just in time to see Max walking up, eyes wide, clearly catching on to what’s happening. He looks from you to the cameras, then back to you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Without a word, he steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s sudden, unexpected, but it’s the kind of kiss that makes time stop, the kind that speaks louder than words.

When he pulls away, there’s a smirk playing on his lips. “You always know how to make a scene.”

You shrug, a mischievous grin on your face. “Someone’s gotta stand up for you.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “Well, you sure did.”

Nico and Jenson are clapping from behind, both of them thoroughly entertained. Jenson leans into the camera, grinning from ear to ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N Y/L/N, everybody.”

You step back, still grinning, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The steward looks like he’s given up entirely, and the crowd is buzzing with energy.

Max leans in close, his voice low. “You know you’re going to get a lot of hate for this, right?”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Let them try. I’m not scared of a little backlash.”

He shakes his head, eyes shining with admiration. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’m just getting started.”

[flixpii]

“Why you here?”

| fem!reader x remmick

word count : 10.9k

Synopsis :

It’s been five years since Remmick disappeared—right after he kissed reader for the first time. No goodbye, no explanation. Then one night, out of nowhere, he shows up at their door like he never left.

A/n : Y’all, please bear with me. I don’t know how to write synopses.

This is inspired by Smoke & Annie’s reunion 🫶🏾

Also, reader was an adult when she met remmick. There’s mentions of reader living in her family’s home during the time she was with Remmick, so I need to clarify that she was and still is an adult.

Warning : There is a sex scene, but it isn’t explicit.

————————————————————————

The kettle had just begun to whistle when you heard the knock.

It wasn’t loud. Barely a tap, really—like the wind brushing a loose shutter. But in the quiet hush of your cottage, nestled on the edge of a pine-wrapped clearing miles from town, it sounded louder than thunder. You stared at the door as the kettle screamed on behind you. For a moment, you wondered if you imagined it.

No one visited this late. Not in Winter. Not out here.

You slid the kettle from the stove’s flame and crossed the wooden floor with steady feet and a heart that betrayed you, thudding harder with every step. The lantern light cast long shadows behind you.

Who in their right mind would be so far out of town on a Winter night?

Your mind raced with millions of thoughts as to who could be outside of your door. A part of you said to keep from the door—whoever it was had to be out of their mind, and you wanted nothing to do with it.

But another part of you, the part deep inside, felt as if you already knew who was waiting outside that damned door. That part of you wanted so badly for reality to fall apart and rebuild itself so that he could be here.

You almost didn’t open it.

There was something in the knock—too soft, too patient—that stirred the back of your mind like a wind through old ash. The fire crackled low in the hearth, but it was your blood that warmed too quickly.

But when you did open the door, the cold evening air swept in—sharp and pine-scented. But what caught your mind wasn’t the intensity of the bite of the winter air, or the scent of the pine trees, it was the figure who stood just outside

He hadn’t changed. Not truly. Not in the way humans do. His coat was worn at the shoulders, his boots dusted with soil, his hair longer than it once was, curling slightly at the ends—but it was still him. Pale, proud, and silent as ever, standing beneath your porch light as if no time had passed.

You told yourself it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. He was gone. Long gone. Kissed you beneath the stars and left nothing behind but silence and memory and the aching ghost of his hands at your waist. You buried him with the rest of the dreams you no longer allowed yourself to feel.

The night curled behind him, but he made the darkness look softer. His figure was cut in shadow, lit only by the warm lantern glow behind you. And still—still, somehow—he stole your breath. Not because he was beautiful, though he was, achingly so, in that still, mournful way only he could be. But because it was him.

The him you used to imagine at your doorstep, soaked in guilt and rain, whispering your name.

The him you hated for leaving.

The him you loved anyway.

Your hands didn’t tremble, but they should’ve. You held the door like it might anchor you to this moment—because your heart was already slipping, pitching between fury and longing, sorrow and disbelief. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to cry into his coat. You wanted to ask him if he’d thought of you even once during the silence, if he’d known what it cost you to wake up alone each morning and not hate the sunrise.

He looked at you like he hadn’t breathed since he last saw you.

And you? You couldn’t even speak.

Because five years ago, you gave your first kiss to a man who didn’t age, didn’t die, and didn’t sttay. And now, standing in the doorway of your little cottage, heart caged in your throat, you were staring at the same man—unchanged, as if time itself bowed to him—while every inch of you trembled with the weight of the years he stole.

“Hey, baby.”

A breath escapes you before words can.

Your heart stops in your chest, and your eyes widen just slightly.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Remmick.”

But it didn’t sound the way you wanted it to. It cracked. Like your heart, that night you realized he wasn’t coming back.

Remmick didn’t answer. Not right away.

And you hated that he still looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Even after five years.

——

It was late when he took your hand and led you past the willow tree at the edge of the field.

The church bells had long stopped ringing. Most folks had gone home. The lanterns in town flickered low, their oil nearly spent, and the air had turned thick with the smell of dew and wildflowers—like the earth had just exhaled after a long, hot day. Crickets hummed somewhere in the tall grass. Your feet were bare. You’d slipped off your shoes hours ago, and now the cool, damp ground kissed your soles as Remmick walked just ahead, his grip gentle but certain.

You knew, somehow, that this would be the last night.

You knew it in the way he looked at you when he stepped onto your porch—like he was memorizing your laugh. You felt it when he lingered a little too long, standing there in the golden hush of your candlelight like a ghost waiting to be invited in. And now, under the blanket of stars, with only moonlight outlining the slope of his cheek and the quiet between you pulsing like a held breath—you knew.

You’d never see him like this again.

He stopped beside the fence. The old one by the churchyard, half-swallowed by ivy and time. You leaned against the post while he turned to face you, his features caught in fractured silver light.

“You don’t belong here,” you said quietly. Not because you wanted him gone. But because it was true.

He gave a slow nod. “I know.”

“Then why do you keep coming back?”

His jaw clenched slightly. Then softened. “Because you make me forget.”

Your heart ached. Not from hurt. From something deeper. Like he was saying goodbye in a thousand tiny ways before the words even left his lips.

“Remmick…”

He stepped forward. You didn’t move.

“I shouldn’t.” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “But I want to.”

The space between you vanished.

His hand came to your cheek, the backs of his fingers cold, but they trembled. You’d never seen him falter before—not like this. Not Remmick, who never flinched when threatened by your father, who swore Remmick was the devil. Who never stepped back when others crossed the dark streets to avoid him. Who always stood like he’d already faced the end and survived it.

Now, he looked like a boy again. A boy on the edge of something vast and fragile.

He leaned in.

You didn’t close your eyes right away. You watched his—the way they darkened, the way they flickered down to your mouth and then back to your eyes like he was asking permission with every breath. Your lips parted, and just before he kissed you, he exhaled your name.

It felt like falling.

The kiss was soft at first. Barely a press. A question in the shape of a touch. And when you kissed him back—when your fingers curled into the front of his shirt and you rose on your toes to feel more—it deepened. Became real. Became everything.

His other hand found the small of your back, pulling you gently against him. His lips were cool but slow, reverent, as if he feared you might vanish if he held you too tightly. And you kissed him like you were afraid you’d never be allowed to again.

Because somewhere in the warmth, somewhere in the sweetness—you knew.

This was not a beginning.

This was a memory being made for the ache.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. His breath shuddered against your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

And you barely had time to ask why before he was gone.

No footsteps. No goodbye.

Just the wind in the trees, and the taste of him still on your mouth, and the echo of a kiss that felt like a promise he was always meant to break.

——

The memory clung to you like fog.

Even as you stared at him, standing just inside your doorway, your body still remembered the shape of that kiss. The way his lips moved like he was trying not to break something. The way he whispered I’m sorry like he knew he already had.

You wondered if he remembered it the same way.

You wondered if he’d kissed anyone else since then.

Your eyes drifted to his mouth before you could stop them, and your chest ached with something old and unfair. Five years had passed. Seasons had bloomed and withered and bloomed again. And you had learned to live without him—or, at the very least, learned how to quiet the part of yourself that still waited on the porch of your family’s home.

Time passed, and you changed.

Remmick stepped forward, just slightly, enough to graze the threshold of the door.

“I thought about you every night,” he said.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with a hundred things you hadn’t said.

“I told myself I’d forget. That it was just a kiss. That I didn’t feel what I felt.”

“And did you?” you managed to say. “Forget?”

He shook his head. Slow. Tormented. “No.”

You turned away, because his eyes were too much—too open, too full of the man who once held you like you were fragile and holy and forbidden all at once.

“I waited for you,” you said, your eyes not meeting his. “Not forever. But long enough to hate myself for it.”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t.” Your eyes flitted back to his face, hard, steam from the kettle curling behind you like breath as it began to scream. “You kissed me like I was something to hold onto. Then you vanished. Not a word. Not a sign. I used to lie in bed and wonder if you’d died. If someone had got you. If I’d made it all up. Because how could anyone love me like that ‘n leave?”

Remmick closed his eyes. Exhaustion flickered across his face like lightning behind clouds.

“I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you,” he said. “I left because I did.”

The air collapsed between you.

He stepped forward again, hands at his sides, like he could force himself through the threshold with enough pushing.

“Just let me in, darlin’. I promise to make this right—I-I’ll make it right.”

You looked at him. Really looked. He was older in the eyes now. Not physically, but in the weight of what he carried. The edges of him were more worn. Like he’d been running, but never from anything fast enough.

And still, your heart tugged toward him. Because he was Remmick. Because he was your first kiss. Your last kiss. Your undoing.

“No.”

Remmick’s eyebrows furrow slightly, and he lets out a soft sigh—his head shakes slightly as if he knew you’d say that.

“I can’t come in,” he finally said, his voice low, taut with restraint. “You know that.”

You did. Of course you did. You’d read the stories. Heard the whispered rules by the elderly women in your hometown. A vampire could never cross the threshold of a home uninvited. It was one of the last laws Remmick obeyed. Maybe the only one that mattered anymore.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorway, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“I never told you to leave,” you murmured. “But you did anyway.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, like he’d expected this—but had hoped it would go differently. “I came back.”

“You left me in the dark.”

“I know.”

His tone sharpened, just barely, like a blade catching the edge of a stone. He stepped closer—still outside—close enough for the porch light to catch the hollow curve beneath his cheekbone, the flicker of something fierce in his eyes.

“I stood at that door for hours that night. I thought about knocking. About running. About throwing myself to the sun if it meant I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Your heart thudded, heavy and slow. But your lips stayed still.

“And now?” you asked, voice quiet.

“Now…” He clenched his fists briefly, then forced them to loosen. “Now I’m asking you to let me in. Not because i want something from you. Not because I think I deserve it. But because I can’t keep standing on the edge of your life hoping you’ll crack the door.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t move. Part of you hated him—truly, wholly, with every piece he’d carved out of you when he vanished. But another part, deeper and crueler, still ached to pull him into your arms and ask if he ever held someone the way he once held you.

Remmick’s jaw tightened again. His voice dipped low—quieter, but not gentler.

“This is gettin’ cruel,” he muttered. “You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to talk to me again. But either invite me in or shut the door.”

The words hit like ice.

You blinked, slowly.

It wasn’t that he was angry. Not truly. You could tell he was tired. Frustrated. Worn thin by guilt and hope and years of imagining this moment and how he would earn it—or fail. But something in you twisted at the audacity of it. That he could give ultimatums now.

“You don’t get to call me cruel,” you said softly. “You don’t get to stand there, after five years of nothing, and act like I owe you warmth.”

“I’m not asking for warmth,” he said. “I’m asking for a chance to explain. To exist in the same room. That’s it.”

You watched him, heart hammering, lips dry.

He took one more step toward the door—and stopped just shy of the threshold. The space between you felt sacred. A breath away. A chasm. His voice dropped again, hoarse this time.

“Please,” he said. “Let me in.”

The word please hung between you like incense.

You swore you could feel it on your skin. Heavy. Sorrowful. Like a prayer whispered too late.

But still, you didn’t speak.

You stared at him. At the man who had once kissed you like you were the last light he’d ever see. At the man who left without a goodbye. You hated how part of you still felt drawn to him—as if your soul remembered something your mind tried so hard to bury. But there he stood, outside your door, and every second you waited felt like a match burning low between your fingers.

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight, breath unsteady.

“Christ,” he muttered under it, almost to himself. “You really won’t make this easy, will ya?”

You didn’t flinch. “Did you expect I would?”

He let out a bitter sound—part laugh, part exhale. His eyes searched yours, dark and full of something wild, something breaking.

Then his mouth twisted, his voice low and guttural, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Fuck. Let me in.”

Your name followed, low and wrecked. His tongue curled around it like it hurt to say it. As if you were Christ, and sharing such profanity in the same breath as your name was blasphemous. And it was—the way he said it, like it bled reverence and fury all at once. Like your name tasted like guilt and godhood.

You stared at him, heart a drumbeat in your ears.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whispered.

He stepped closer—still outside, still bound by the law he’d never dared break—and his voice dropped like a stone into water.

“I don’t need you to trust me. Not yet. I just need you to understand me.”

“I understand you,” you said, and you meant it. “But you’re not the same man I knew.”

Remmick’s lips parted, then closed again. He looked down—at his boots, at the floorboards, at the edge of the world he couldn’t step into.

When he looked back up, there was something raw in his eyes. Not the vampire. Not the centuries he carried like chains. Just the man from that autumn night. The one who kissed you like a confession and vanished before sunrise.

“I know I’m not him,” he said. “And I probably never will be. I just want you to understand why I did what I did.”

You didn’t speak.

The wind shifted behind him. Leaves scattered along the steps. Somewhere in the trees, an owl cried out.

And Remmick… he stood still. As if his entire eternity had come down to this moment. A doorframe. A silence. A woman deciding whether to let a ghost step inside.

You should’ve just said it.

The words hovered at the back of your throat, aching for air. Two syllables. Come in. That was all it would take—a breath, a tremble, a simple gesture of mercy. But they wouldn’t come.

Not because you wanted him to suffer.

But because you were still suffering.

The past pressed itself into the hollows of your ribs. You could still feel the version of yourself he’d left behind—the girl who had stayed up for days listening for footsteps that never came, who flinched every time the wind knocked gently on the windows. Who had kissed him under moonlight and then had to carry the weight of it alone.

She wasn’t gone.

She was you.

And that version of yourself stood now, arms crossed and voice hollow, watching the man who had hollowed her out beg for an opening.

“I used to wait,” you said quietly, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, where the trees swayed in the cold. “Every night for weeks. I’d leave the window cracked open even when it rained. I thought maybe you’d come back like the stories said. Pale and sorry. With flowers, or a poem, or somethin’ stupid like that.”

Remmick flinched—barely. But you saw it. Felt the sting of it in the way his jaw shifted, how his hands curled slightly at his sides.

“I came back with nothing,” he said. “Just me. Nothing else made it through.”

A beat. The ache in your chest twisted crueler.

You looked at him again.

He wasn’t the same. He carried too much now. Too many sleepless years. Too many choices with no turning back. The man you kissed that night had disappeared—maybe the moment he stepped away from you. Maybe he’d died in the silence he left behind.

And yet… something of him remained. The way he looked at you now, like you were the only light he remembered. Like he was terrified of what you’d say next.

You shook your head. “You can’t just show up and expect to pick up where you left off.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly. “I don’t expect anything. I just—I just wanted to see you. I didn’t even know if you were still alive.”

That did something to you.

Made something shift.

“You think I’d die before you?” you said, voice softer now. Almost bitter. “No. That’d be too easy.”

He looked at the ground again. His lips parted. But this time, he said nothing. Just stood there. So close. Yet still outside.

Your hand tightened on the doorframe.

You felt powerful and powerless all at once. He couldn’t cross unless you allowed him—and he knew it. But with every heartbeat, you realized this wasn’t just about ancient rules or myths or blood-soaked pacts.

This was about trust.

About whether you could let him near you again and survive it.

Your voice came quiet. Trembling. Unsteady.

“What if I let you in and you leave again?”

Remmick’s eyes met yours.

“I won’t,” he said.

“Promise?”

The word came out like a dare.

And his voice cracked as he answered. “Yes.”

Still—you hesitated.

The silence went on too long.

It curled around your ribs, stretched across the porch, filled every crack in the air like smoke that wouldn’t lift. And he—Remmick—just stood there in it, waiting. He didn’t speak again. Didn’t beg. His shoulders stayed tense, and his eyes, though tired, never left your face.

But you saw it now—in the tight line of his mouth, the slight tremble in his fingers.

He was afraid you wouldn’t.

And somehow, knowing that gave you back a little of your breath.

It was strange. You thought when this moment came—if it ever came—you’d slam the door in his face. Or scream. Or cry. But instead, you just felt tired. Like your heart had been holding its breath for five years and was only now remembering how to exhale.

You stepped back.

Not far. Just enough.

The invitation was wordless at first—a shift in posture, the gentlest yielding of space. But that wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for what he was.

He still couldn’t move.

Your mouth was dry. Your tongue felt too big in your mouth. But your voice came anyway, low and almost uncertain.

“Come in.”

The wind hushed outside, as if it had been waiting too.

Remmick moved before you could second-guess yourself. One step—and then another—and then he was inside. He passed the threshold like it hurt. Like the warmth of your little home singed him where the cold of the world had frozen in. His shoulders relaxed, just barely. And for a heartbeat, he looked almost human.

He stood there in the middle of your living room, eyes wide, as if he were trying to memorize everything—the low flame in the hearth, the scent of rosemary drying on the windowsill, the chipped mug you’d left on the table.

Then his gaze returned to you.

You didn’t know what he saw. Maybe the same girl from five years ago. Maybe someone new. Maybe both. He didn’t speak. Neither did you.

But it was enough, for now, that he was in.

He closed the door gently behind him.

The sound echoed like the end of a chapter.

You stood across from him, arms still crossed, unsure what to do with the ache in your chest or the ghosts in the room. He didn’t reach for you. He didn’t ask for your hand. But his eyes—God, his eyes—still looked at you like he was waiting for the moment he could breathe again.

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse. “For letting me.”

You nodded once. “Don’t thank me yet.”

The kettle had gone quiet again.

You turned from him and went to the stove, reaching for it with hands steadier than they should’ve been. The heat kissed your knuckles as you moved the kettle, refilled the mug you’d left half full. You didn’t ask if he wanted tea. You weren’t ready for that.

Behind you, Remmick loitered—that was the only word for it—near the kitchen table. He didn’t sit. He hovered with his fingertips just barely grazing the back of one of the chairs, his shoulders rigid, his body angled like he still wasn’t sure if he belonged.

He didn’t know where to stand. Where to be.

You remembered that about him—even before he left. For all the quiet confidence he wore like armor, there was always something uneasy in him when he stepped too close to warmth. He didn’t know what to do with gentleness. Or with silence that wasn’t threatening.

You stirred honey into the tea. It gave you something to do with your hands. Something to focus on besides the way his presence filled the space like a second heartbeat.

“Are you going to sit?” you asked finally.

He blinked. “Should I?”

You turned, met his eyes. “You’re not just a shadow on the porch anymore.”

After a second, he pulled out the chair and sat—slowly, cautiously, like the wood might protest. His hands rested on the table, pale and long-fingered, one thumb absently rubbing over the knuckle of the other.

You set the mug down across from him. You didn’t sit. Just leaned against the counter, arms folded again, the ache in your chest blooming slow.

And then you asked it.

The question that had been pressing against your lips since the moment you opened the door.

“Why you here, Remmick?”

Remmick didn’t answer.

Not right away.

His eyes flicked down to the grain of the table, then back to you. You saw the war inside him—the way his mouth opened and closed, the way he leaned forward like he was going to speak, then pulled back like the words were teeth.

You thought he might lie. Or say something vague. Something that would spare both of you.

But he didn’t.

“I came back for you.”

The room stopped moving.

His voice wasn’t soft, not really. It was low and certain—like a verdict handed down after years in silence. You stared at him, every part of you taut with disbelief and heat. And maybe—maybe—some part of you had longed to hear it. But it wasn’t enough. Not after all this time.

“Why’d it take you so long?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He flinched.

A sharp fang found its way into his bottom lip. You saw it clearly—the slight glint of enamel just before it bit down, hard enough that blood might’ve bloomed if he still bled like you. Then, with enough force to give even the undead a headache, he wrenched his head away from you, eyes turned to the wall like it had something safer to offer than your face.

“I told you,” he snapped. The words came through gritted teeth, sharp, strained—not angry, but barely held together. “I had to leave.”

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t look at anything, really, except the knots in the old table where his palms pressed flat, white and firm. He leaned forward, using it to brace himself like the truth was too heavy to hold upright on his own.

And maybe it was.

But that didn’t soften anything in you.

Your feet moved before you realized it. Across the floor. Slow, quiet steps until you were close—close enough to feel the cold that came off his skin, close enough to see the fraying thread of guilt stretching between his shoulders.

“You ain’t utter those words to me,” you said, and the tightness in your voice surprised even you. “You didn’t say nothin’. Just… left.”

He didn’t move.

Your eyes traced the curve of his neck, the tension locked in his jaw. The scent of him rushed forward unbidden—dirt, pine, and that same death-like cold that always made you shiver, even before you knew what he was. It hit you like it always did—grounding, haunting, familiar.

You hated how much it still felt like home.

“You could’ve said something,” you whispered. “Anything.”

“I know,” he said.

But it didn’t sound like surrender. It sounded like a man swallowing a knife just to prove he deserved it.

You were so close now. His body tensed with your nearness, but he still didn’t look at you. As if facing you fully would make this all too real. As if your eyes were the final punishment.

“You kissed me like you were going to stay,” you said, and it came out too soft, too bitter.

His hands curled tighter on the table.

“I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

The question landed like a stone.

Remmick let out a breath — quiet, but jagged. For a moment, the silence thickened again. His head still bowed, his fangs still peeking out slightly from where his teeth clenched. Then, finally, he looked at you.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he turned and looked down at the table, eyes flickering as if weighing whether to say what he hadn’t told anyone—maybe ever. His jaw shifted, but no words came.

You could feel something building in the silence, hot and wrong and old—not just guilt. Not just regret.

He was hiding something. Something big.

“Why’d you leave?” you pressed, your voice harder now, the hurt finally boiling over. “What were you even looking for?”

He still didn’t speak.

So you stepped closer.

Your voice dropped, sharp and low. “You said you came back for me. But that don’t mean much if you left in the first place to chase ghosts.”

That did it.

Remmick stood.

Abrupt. Tense. His chair scraped against the floor, and the sudden movement made the candlelight flicker in the glass. He walked to the other end of the table without looking at you, putting space between your bodies like he needed air—or maybe protection.

His side was to you now. One hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles pale.

You didn’t let him off easy.

“Who did you need to find?” you asked. “What was more important than me?”

His shoulders tensed, his fingers curling tighter.

And then—suddenly, sharply—he turned.

“I had a mission long before I met you,” he snapped. “Don’t act like I was ever whole.”

You froze.

The words struck like thunder. They came from someplace deep—not just his chest, but his soul, what little of it was still tethered to this world.

“I’m not some romantic ghost story,” he said, voice thick with something between fury and despair. “I didn’t crawl out of the dark just to fall in love with a girl and settle down in some goddamn cottage. I’ve been alive for thirteen hundred years. Do you understand that? Thirteen. Hundred. Years.”

You stared at him.

His chest rose and fell—not from breath, not really. From emotion. From centuries unspoken.

“I was cut off,” he said, quieter now. “Spiritually. Whatever gave other people peace—prayer, bloodlines, death rites—it abandoned me. When I died, something severed. My people… they’re gone. And I can’t feel them. I can’t reach them.”

He looked down. His voice broke like something old inside him cracked loose.

“I had to go looking. I thought maybe, just maybe, there was someone—somewhere—who could help me reconnect. A seer, a walker-between-worlds, a blood priest who still remembered what it meant to be part of something older. I had to try.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Because for the first time, you saw it—really saw it—the full shape of his exile. Not from the world. But from his own legacy. His ancestors. His people. His place in the story of everything.

You watched him, chest burning.

And he said, softer now, “I needed to know if I could still belong to anything.”

The silence after was unbearable.

It wasn’t just pain in his voice now. It was loneliness so ancient it smelled of blood and salt and fire.

The room felt colder now.

Not from the night air—the door was shut tight, and the fire still flickered steady in the hearth, but from the quiet. From the way his words seemed to cling to the walls, to the wood grain beneath your bare feet. They filled the space like smoke.

You didn’t move. Not toward him. Not away.

Just stood there, arms limp at your sides, fingers twitching uselessly as if they were supposed to reach for something but didn’t remember how.

He didn’t turn back to look at you.

He stood by the table, spine drawn taut, as if afraid that facing you would undo what little dignity he had left. His hand pressed flat to the table like he needed something solid to keep from breaking.

You’d never seen him like this.

Not even back then—when he kissed you like you were the first thing he’d ever wanted just because he wanted it. Back then, he was quiet, yes. Sad, sometimes. But this—this was different. This was something hollow and hurting and ancient.

You swallowed hard. Your voice didn’t come.

All you could hear was the wind outside, the slow pop of a log in the fire, and the quiet thud of your heartbeat behind your ribs.

He was thirteen hundred years old.

And for thirteen hundred years, he had walked in the skin of the forgotten—untethered, unseen, unclaimed by the very people he once bled for. That kind of grief didn’t pass. It settled in the bones. It made a home there.

And you hated him for leaving. You did.

But now, watching the rigid line of his back, hearing the strain in his voice, you realized something.

You weren’t the only thing he’d abandoned.

He’d been running from himself long before he ever touched your mouth with his.

And that was almost worse.

Your throat ached. But you said nothing.

You let the silence stretch—not as punishment, but as a kind of mourning. For what he’d lost. For what you never had a chance to hold. For what neither of you knew how to name.

And he just stood there, in the quiet, like a statue of a man still waiting for the gods to speak.

You took a breath.

Slow. Unsteady.

And then you took a step.

Just one, toward him. Toward the man who now stood by your window like he’d forgotten how to be a person. The man who had finally cracked open the vault of his silence and spilled centuries across your floor. You didn’t know what you were going to do. Touch his arm, maybe. Say his name. Sit beside him and share the weight of what he carried.

But before you could take another step, he spoke again.

“…I shouldn’t’ve said all that.”

His voice was quieter now. Tighter. A sharp turn inward.

You froze mid-step.

He shook his head, one hand dragging roughly through his hair, fingers catching at the strands like he wanted to tear the words back out of the air. “Christ. You didn’t ask for any of that. I shouldn’t’ve—” he broke off, breath catching, jaw tightening again.

“You think I came back noble and bruised with purpose, but I’m not. I’m just—” he laughed once, but it was brittle. Empty. “I’m just tired. Tired of chasing ghosts. Tired of trying to outrun what I am.”

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see his face in profile. His lips parted, his brows drawn in, the gleam of his fang still barely visible where it caught the candlelight. There was something hollow in the way he held himself now—like all the certainty he had just minutes before had collapsed beneath the weight of your silence.

“I shouldn’t’ve come here,” he muttered. “Not like this. Not after what I left you with. I-I didn’t mean to drag you back into my ruins.”

Your chest tightened.

It wasn’t that he was angry. Not really. It was shame. Pure and bitter. The kind that turns into a blade when it sits too long. You saw it in the way he curled slightly inward, like he was bracing for rejection before you could even offer it.

He thought he’d said too much. Thought you’d turn away now, disgusted, or maybe worse—pitying.

You hadn’t even opened your mouth yet, and already he was retreating.

It hit you then—a sharp, sudden ache.

He expected to be unloved.

Even now.

You took another slow step forward.

“Remmick,” you said.

And his name in your voice—spoken softly, with nothing but weight and warmth—made his shoulders flinch like a wound had reopened.

He still didn’t turn.

You moved again.

Quieter this time.

No words followed his name—not yet. You didn’t have the right ones. You didn’t know if there were right ones. But your body moved on instinct. On ache. On the pull that had never left you, not even when the pain was freshest.

The floor creaked softly beneath your weight.

He didn’t react. Not to the sound. Not to your footsteps. He stayed still, staring out the window like maybe he could find his ancestors in the dark beyond the trees—like maybe if he didn’t look at you, this would hurt less.

You reached out.

Your hand trembled as it hovered for a breath above his arm—just above the worn leather of his coat. You hesitated. Not out of fear. But out of reverence.

Then you touched him.

Just a gentle press of your fingers to his forearm, near the bend of his elbow.

It was like touching stone that had once been warm. Cold, yes—always cold—but there was tension beneath the surface, something alive. Something trying not to fall apart. You felt him flinch, barely. A tightening of the muscle. A breath that never left his lungs.

“I don’t need perfect,” you said, quietly. “I never did.”

His head turned slightly, but still not all the way. His eyes shifted toward you, not quite meeting yours, as if afraid he’d see disappointment in them.

“You think you ruined me,” you whispered, thumb gently brushing the sleeve beneath your palm. “But the truth is, you didn’t break nothin’ that wasn’t already cracked.”

That made him go still.

You stepped closer—so close now, your chest nearly touched his arm. Your voice trembled, but you didn’t pull back.

“You came back to your ruins, you said. Well, you’re lookin’ at one. I ain’t been whole since the night you left. And I hate that. I hate that you still live in me like a ghost I can’t exorcise.”

A pause.

“But I still touched you.”

Remmick finally turned.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just a slow, tired movement of a man surrendering to gravity. His face tilted down toward yours, the candlelight catching his cheekbone, the sadness in his mouth, the storm in his eyes.

Your hand stayed on his arm.

He looked at it. Then at you.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t have to.

Because your touch was saying everything neither of you could voice just yet—that the wound was still there. That the pain was real. But so was the longing. So was the tether that no silence, no time, no centuries of grief could quite sever.

The silence held—but it shifted.

It thickened into something breathless. Something just barely tethered to the ground. Your hand still rested on his arm, but you weren’t sure when your fingers had curled slightly, holding him now, not just touching. And he wasn’t looking at the floor anymore.

He was looking at you.

Not just your eyes—but your mouth. Your breath. Your face like it was something he’d spent a century dreaming of and wasn’t sure was real even now. His gaze moved slowly, reverently, and your heart kicked in your chest so hard it hurt.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

And then, so gently it barely registered at first, Remmick leaned in.

His head tilted slightly, the space between your bodies trembling as he moved toward you with all the hesitation of a man who’d once had this—and lost it. His brow hovered near yours, and he didn’t touch you anywhere else. Not your cheek. Not your waist. Just that one arm beneath your hand, steady like a bridge between lifetimes.

His breath ghosted over your lips.

He stopped—not even an inch away. And when he looked at you, really looked at you, you saw it.

The question.

Not in words. But in his eyes. In the tremble of his mouth. In the way he waited.

It was everything you hadn’t been able to say since he walked back into your doorway. All of the pain, the longing, the ache you’d buried in your chest and tried to forget—it was in that look.

You didn’t speak.

You just nodded.

Slow. Barely.

But enough.

And then he kissed you.

There was no rush. No hunger. No sharp edges. Just a deep, aching softness that carried five years of silence and the heavy press of what might have been. His lips were cool, as they always had been, but they warmed quickly against yours, molding with a kind of reverence that made your throat tighten.

He kissed you like a man who hadn’t touched anything real in centuries.

And you kissed him back like someone who’d waited every night for a knock that never came.

The kiss deepened slowly—his hand finally, finally lifting to your waist, careful like you were made of glass and grief. You reached up without thinking, fingers brushing along the line of his jaw, and felt the shiver that ran through him at your touch.

It wasn’t just want.

It was remembrance.

And surrender.

And hope.

And the question that pulsed between both of your mouths as you breathed each other in:

Can this still be ours?

When the kiss broke, it was slow, like neither of you wanted to part—just enough to draw breath. His forehead rested lightly against yours. His hand stayed at your waist.

The silence after the kiss wasn’t empty.

It buzzed.

Low and hot, like a wire pulled tight between your bodies. You could feel the echo of his mouth on yours, the cold of his lips warming against you, the tremor in his breath where it touched your cheek. And you knew—without words, without doubt—that he felt it too.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t ask.

But his hand stayed at your waist, and when his forehead slipped gently against yours again, the smallest sigh escaped him—something between relief and admiration.

Then he kissed you again.

Softer this time. Slower. A question with a fuller answer.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the stillness beneath. No heartbeat. No rise or fall of breath the way a human’s would move. But he felt alive all the same—alive in the way he touched you now, in the way his other hand slipped up along your spine, fingers splaying wide at the middle of your back to draw you closer.

You let him.

You melted into the cold of him like it had never left you. Like it had always been yours to return to.

He pulled you tighter, and his kiss deepened—not urgent, not rushed. Just full. Like a long drink after drought. Like he was afraid of overwhelming you but hungrier than he’d ever admit.

You didn’t realize you were moving until your back touched the edge of the kitchen table.

His body had pressed yours backward, his steps slow, deliberate, until the wood met your spine. You gasped softly into his mouth at the contact—not from pain, but from the thrill of knowing he was still following you. Still wanting you. Still choosing this, after all the years lost.

Remmick’s hand slid down to your hip, firm but careful, like he still feared you might vanish if he held you too hard. His other hand brushed along your jaw, thumb stroking just beneath your ear as he pulled back just enough to look at you.

His eyes flicked between yours and your mouth, lips parted, fangs just barely visible now.

“You’re still warm,” he whispered, voice rough with ache.

You swallowed, heart thudding. “You’re still cold.”

A flicker of something passed through his expression—pain, longing, devotion all tangled together.

But then you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down again.

And this time, when your mouths met, it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was reclamation.

It was every unfinished second. Every breathless night. Every aching dream you’d forced yourself to forget.

His hands roamed now—not frantic, not wild— just slow, admiring. He touched your waist, your ribs, the dip of your spine as if relearning a place he thought he’d never feel again. You clutched at his coat, fingers curling into the fabric, anchoring him to you.

His hips pressed closer, and you felt it—the tension he carried, the restraint he held onto with every ounce of control he had. He could’ve taken more. But he didn’t. He waited.

Letting you decide how far this went.

His breath shuddered against your throat as he kissed along the edge of your jaw, your neck, pausing just above the pulse point, fangs hovering—not touching, not daring.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than breath. “Tell me now, an’ I will.”

But you didn’t.

You tilted your head back, eyes closed, hands tightening around his shoulders, and your body answered for you.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

And that silence—that permission—made something shift in him.

He kissed you deeper now, fuller, his hand sliding beneath the hem of your dress, fingers tracing the warmth of your waist like he was trying to map what had changed in five years… and what hadn’t. You weren’t sure when your breathing had quickened, only that it matched his now—uneven, shallow, as if the two of you were speaking in rhythm without words.

His coat rustled softly as your fingers pushed it from his shoulders, and he let it fall, never once breaking the kiss. The chill of his skin bled through his shirt, but you didn’t care. You wanted him closer. You pulled at him. Needed more of him, not just the memory, not just the ache.

His mouth left yours briefly, trailing along your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. He moved slow—as if he were reminding himself this wasn’t a dream. That this was now. You felt the press of his lips where your pulse beat hard, and though his fangs hovered, they never broke the skin.

“I missed this,” he whispered into your neck. “I missed you.”

The way he said it—strained and quiet, almost broken—made your fingers tighten at the nape of his neck. You guided his mouth back to yours, and this time the kiss was hungrier. Not rushed, but desperate in a way that only years of loneliness could explain.

Then he reached down.

His hands slid beneath your thighs.

Your breath caught.

And with a strength that made you feel small in the safest way, he lifted you.

You gasped softly into his mouth, hands clinging to his shoulders, and before you could say a word, your back met the cool wood of the kitchen table. His body stood between your legs, eyes hooded, breath shaking, the tension in him almost unbearable.

But he paused again.

Always waiting for you.

His hands pressed to your hips, thumbs brushing small circles there, grounding himself.

“Is this alright?” he asked, voice low, almost lost.

You looked at him and there was no monster before you. No ghost. No predator. Just Remmick. Cold and trembling and human in all the ways that mattered.

And you nodded.

“Yes,” you whispered. “It’s alright.”

He leaned forward again, and when his lips found yours this time, there was no more hesitation.

Only the steady unraveling of everything you’d both buried, finally rising to the surface—breath by breath, touch by touch.

His hands never rushed.

Even now, with your body perched on the edge of the kitchen table and your breath coming in soft, uneven bursts, Remmick touched you like you were still something holy. Like each part of you had to be reacquainted with his palms, his mouth, his memory. His fingers splayed wide along your hips, thumbs grazing bare skin, cool and steady as he stood between your legs.

You drew him closer with your thighs, wrapping around his waist without needing to ask. He came willingly—as if that was where he’d always belonged. His mouth found yours again, slower this time. No longer asking. Simply being.

The kiss was deeper now—mouths open, breath shared, the weight of his body pressing gently between your knees as he leaned in. You tilted your head to meet him, hands sliding beneath his shirt to find the skin of his back. Cold, yes—but firm, strong. Familiar. You mapped each line with your palms like a song you never forgot how to hum.

When he pressed forward, you arched to meet him.

Your bodies fit in a way that felt fated—not perfect, but true. Like two lives made jagged by time and grief finally finding alignment again.

Clothes slipped away slowly, piece by piece, not in a frenzy but with reverence. You felt his hesitation every step of the way—not from doubt, but from awe. As if he still couldn’t believe you were here. That you were letting him stay. Letting him have this.

And yet you were.

Because your fingers trembled as they undid the buttons of his shirt. Each one undone slowly, like he was afraid to rush the moment. Like he needed to memorize every inch of you he uncovered.

You watched him.

The way his eyes drank you in, like you were light after centuries in shadow. The way his lips parted with something like awe when your bare skin was revealed to him. And still, he moved carefully, never all at once. His hands slid up your ribs, along your waist, grounding himself in the warmth he could never possess fully, but still longed for.

And when he leaned down again, pressing kisses to your collarbone, to your sternum, to the top of your stomach, he sighed against your skin like he had finally found his way home.

You arched into him.

Not to provoke, but to be nearer. To give him more.

His hands curled beneath your thighs again, lifting you further onto the table, angling your hips with the slow precision of someone not rushing toward lust but toward remembrance. His forehead pressed to yours again, and his lips hovered over your mouth as your fingers pushed his shirt aside, revealing the cool, unchanging skin beneath.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his hands gathering up your dress so that it hiked up to your waist.

It wasn’t lust that cracked his voice.

It was the weight of everything he was, everything he carried, terrified that this was just one more dream he would wake from.

You nodded. Slow. Sure.

And then his body met yours—fully, completely—a slow, reverent joining. Not fast. Not rough. But steady and aching and real. His lips found your mouth again, and this time there was no space between you.

The table creaked gently beneath the shift of bodies. Your breath mingled with his. His hands moved beneath your thighs and along your waist with worshipful care, every touch a vow. Every press of skin a memory rewritten. His fangs, now elongated and aching, ghosted over your flushed skin.

The rhythm built gradually—not frantic, but inevitable. Like tides returning to shore. His eyes stayed on yours, even as pleasure pulled at his features, even as your hand tangled in his hair and your hips met his with slow, desperate need. You felt the tremble in him. The restraint. The sorrow and relief wrapped around every motion.

It wasn’t about hunger.

It was about returning.

It was about touching someone who was gone for too long, and finding they still lived in the same rhythm as your heart.

You gasped his name once—broken, breathless—and he kissed the sound from your mouth like it was sacred.

And when it ended, you didn’t move right away.

You stayed wrapped in him, arms around his shoulders, his forehead pressed to your temple, both of you breathing the same air like it would keep the world from spinning too fast.

The world was still spinning when you exhaled.

Your body felt heavy and soft all at once, your skin flushed with the afterglow of everything he gave you—and everything you gave him in return. Remmick’s weight rested against you, not crushing but grounding, his chest pressed to yours, his arms still curled tightly around your back like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You were still joined.

Still breathing him in.

And for a moment, everything felt… quiet.

Then you felt his mouth against your neck.

Not kissing. Not gentle.

Just resting there. Fangs pressing against your skin.

At first, you thought it was comfort. Some strange kind of closeness. But then his grip shifted—tighter. His breath warmed your throat. His jaw twitched.

And then he whispered.

“I’m not leaving without you again.”

The words made your breath catch.

“What…?” you murmured, dazed, unsure what he meant. Your fingers twitched against his shoulders , mind still hazy from the rush of it all.

Then you felt it.

A shift in his mouth.

A pressure.

His fangs, barely-there at first, began to press in.

Slow. Deliberate.

The pain didn’t come immediately. It was the realization first. The sickening clarity. The way your body tensed in warning before your mind could even process the threat.

“No,” you breathed.

You pushed at his chest.

He didn’t move.

“Remmick,” you said louder, urgency breaking through your haze. “No.”

But he growled.

Low. Deep. From somewhere far older than the man you knew. It vibrated through his chest, into your ribs. And his grip tightened.

Your spine arched slightly under the pressure as he pressed closer, mouth still hovering at your neck, fangs teasing the edge of skin. You felt the warm slide of drool—thick, inhuman—spill from his mouth onto the curve of your collarbone.

He wasn’t biting.

Not fully.

Not yet.

But he was on the edge.

You shoved harder against him, eyes wide. “Remmick—!”

You felt the tremor in his body—not weakness, but restraint beginning to fray.

He wasn’t speaking now. Just breathing—shallow, irregular, mouth still pressed to your neck like he could already feel your blood humming beneath the skin.

“Remmick,” you whispered again, this time not just with fear, but with sorrow.

And still, he didn’t move.

His arms locked tighter around your waist, not crushing, but binding. His chest rose and fell against yours, colder than it should be, but shaking like a man on the edge of breaking.

You tried again, pressing harder at his chest. “Let go.”

But his growl deepened.

It wasn’t rage.

It was need.

Low and guttural and mournful—like something ancient had cracked open in him and was spilling out.

His breath dragged heavily along your neck, lips trembling now as his fangs hovered just above your skin. Not plunging in. Just pressing. Threatening. Tasting what could be his.

And then—a whisper.

Hoarse. Barely spoken.

“I can’t lose you again.”

You froze.

He wasn’t talking to you like a lover now. He was talking to you like a man speaking to a god. Or a ghost. Or the last fragment of a life he never got to keep.

His grip trembled, but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “You’ll die. You’ll leave me. You’ll vanish like the rest. And I-I can’t—”

His words broke apart.

And you realized then: he didn’t just want to taste you.

He wanted to turn you.

His desperation wasn’t about blood.

It was about keeping you. Binding you to him. Forever.

As one of his own.

As something that could never slip away in the passage of time.

His fangs pressed in again, slower this time. As if this act would save him. As if you could be his answer, his redemption, his final tether to something real.

You pushed harder, panic flaring, voice trembling. “Remmick—no. Not like this.”

But he didn’t pull away.

His jaw twitched.

His breath stuttered against your skin.

He was close.

So close.

And still, somewhere in his silence—you felt the war inside him.

Because he didn’t want to hurt you.

He wanted to keep you.

But keeping you meant crossing a line he had vowed never to cross. A line soaked in blood. A line he had watched destroy love before.

You were right there—body against his, heartbeat beneath his lips—and still, he hesitated.

Your heart was pounding loud enough for him to feel it. You knew he could—the way his body stayed pressed to yours, the way his mouth hovered at the pulse in your neck like it called to him. Your blood wasn’t just scent anymore—it was music, and he was being dragged into it note by note.

You felt it.

In his breath.

In the tremble of his lips.

In the restraint that was fracturing.

You were losing him.

Not Remmick the man. The lover. The ghost that came back through your door.

But Remmick the thing beneath.

And still—even through your fear—you knew this wasn’t cruelty.

It was longing. It was need. It was the desperate, cloying ache to keep you forever, wrapped in the only kind of permanence he understood. You weren’t dying—not yet—but you could, and that was unbearable to him.

So you did the only thing you could.

You reached up—slowly, deliberately—and you cupped his face.

Your hand shook.

But your touch was sure.

Your fingers pressed into his jaw, your thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, right where the fang pressed against his lip. “Look at me,” you whispered, voice thick. “Remmick, look at me.”

He stiffened.

Your voice cracked.

“Don’t do this. Please. Not like this.”

And for a moment—for a terrifying, suspended second, nothing happened.

Then, with a sound halfway between a growl and a gasp, Remmick ripped his head back.

A jagged sound tore from his throat—part growl, part cry, as if he hated himself for what he almost did. His chest heaved even though he didn’t need the air. His fangs glinted in the low firelight. His eyes glowed red—sharp and unnatural, too ancient for the face that had once looked at you like you were soft and holy.

But he didn’t run.

He stood there, trembling.

And then… slowly… he stepped forward again.

Not to take. Not to finish what he started.

But to ground himself.

he pressed his forehead to yours.

Your breath hitched, hands gripping the fabrics of your dress that you pushed back down over your knees.

You could still feel the heat where he had nearly sunk into you. Still feel the weight of his body, the tremble in his arms. And yet here he was now—no longer devouring, no longer pressing. Just holding. Just… there.

And for a moment, you were both still.

Two bodies suspended in silence.

Your hand found his jaw again, gently, thumb brushing across the cool skin beneath the gleam of his eye. The red began to fade. Slowly. Dimly. Like the storm had passed, but not far enough to forget.

“I can’t stay,” he whispered.

The words cracked open something in your chest.

They weren’t harsh. They weren’t cold.

They were broken.

He was broken.

You closed your eyes. Tears burned at the edges, rising fast—not just from fear, or heartbreak, but from the awful understanding of what he meant. Why he meant it.

He was still dangerous.

Still not safe.

Not for you. Not for anyone. Especially when he wanted so much to love you the right way—but didn’t always know how to stop himself when the old hunger rose.

Your breath shook as you nodded.

Slow. Barely.

But enough.

Remmick pulled back just enough to look at you. Your eyes were glassy now, tears slipping quietly down your cheeks. He reached up to wipe one with the back of his hand—his touch featherlight, reverent.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice hoarse.

You gave a tiny shake of your head. “I know.”

And though nothing else passed between you in that moment—not words, not promises—the ache that filled the space said everything.

He couldn’t stay.

But he didn’t want to go.

And you?

You would’ve let him in again, even knowing it would hurt like this.

Because it was Remmick.

Because he’d always been the wound you never wanted to heal.

The silence hadn’t left.

It stayed between you, softer now, but heavier somehow—like dust settling after a storm. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows against the kitchen walls. The kettle had gone cold.

You moved slowly, almost without thought, fingers trembling slightly as you tugged your dress down further and smoothed the wrinkles at your waist. Your legs still felt unsteady beneath you. You could feel where his hands had held you, where your bodies had fit together like they’d never stopped.

But all you could hear was the echo of his voice.

I can’t stay.

Remmick sat on the edge of a kitchen chair now, elbows on his knees, head bowed as he wiped his mouth and jaw with a clean rag you’d handed him. His shirt lay discarded beside him, crumpled and forgotten, its buttons undone, its sleeves twisted from where you’d pushed them aside in the heat of need.

Now, you lifted it with careful hands.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

You moved in front of him, the fabric trembling in your grip. He didn’t stop you when you stepped between his knees. He didn’t protest when you helped him slip his arms back through the sleeves, didn’t flinch as you began to rebutton the front of his shirt one small piece at a time.

Your fingers brushed his chest. Light. Steady.

Button by button.

And all the while, your mind wouldn’t stop echoing the same thing:

I can’t stay.

The words looped behind your ribs, behind your eyes, over the rhythm of your breath. You tried to swallow them down, to focus on the simple motion of fastening each button. But they came back, over and over again, louder in your bones than in the air.

I can’t stay.

He hadn’t said it like a man who wanted to go.

He’d said it like a man damning himself for having to.

Your fingers slowed near the middle of his chest. You lingered on the fourth button. Not because it was hard to fasten—but because your hands didn’t want to finish.

Didn’t want to reach the end of this moment.

Didn’t want to let it become past tense.

He looked up then.

His eyes weren’t glowing anymore. But the red still lingered at the edges, like the ghost of a fire that refused to die. He didn’t say anything. Just watched you.

And still, the words repeated in your head, cruel and unyielding.

I can’t stay.

You finished the last button.

And let your hand rest against his chest, just over where a heart would beat if it could.

You didn’t follow him to the door right away.

You stood in the kitchen, fingers still curled around the front of his shirt. He hadn’t moved since you’d finished dressing him—like he was waiting for the moment to change, for time to bend backward and offer something kinder.

But it didn’t.

So eventually, he stood.

His movements were slow, precise—like he feared if he moved too fast, something inside him might splinter. His coat was draped over the chair. He lifted it in silence, shaking the folds loose, slipping it back over his shoulders like armor.

You followed.

Each step toward the door felt heavier than the last.

Outside, the wind had died down. The moon was low. The trees stood like sentinels, dark and unmoved, watching the threshold where you stood with him one final time.

He opened the door slowly.

The air outside was cold, but not cruel. It whispered through the open frame, brushing against your face like breath. And still, neither of you spoke.

He stepped out onto the porch, boots creaking on the worn wood.

Then he paused.

He turned—just slightly—his profile bathed in moonlight, casting his cheekbone and jaw in pale silver.

And he looked at you.

There was something sharp in his eyes, even now. Not hunger. Not danger.

Just grief.

You saw the way he hesitated—the way his body leaned slightly toward you, the way his mouth parted, and his gaze dropped once, just once, to your lips. You saw the way he almost stepped forward.

But then his shoulders pulled back.

And his eyes closed.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Gods, I want to.”

You didn’t speak. Your breath hitched.

“But if I do…” he opened his eyes again, gaze full of something raw, unnameable, “I won’t leave.”

A pause.

“And I have to.”

Your throat burned.

Your chest ached.

But you nodded.

Slow. Hollow.

Because you understood.

If he kissed you again, it would unmake him.

So instead, he just looked at you—like he was memorizing your face. Like he was taking your breath with him. Like he’d already begun to turn into a ghost again.

Then he stepped back into the night.

The wind pulled at the hem of his coat.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

And you didn’t move.

You stayed in the doorway long after he disappeared into the dark, eyes burning, breath held—listening for the sound of his footsteps in the leaves, already knowing you wouldn’t hear them.

He was gone.

Again.

And this time, he didn’t even take your kiss.

Only your heart.

[lambcultist]

in bloom. 𝐸.𝒲.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ ellie is struggling to come to terms with the reality of her immunity, and you are struggling with heeding everyone's warnings about her.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ MINORS DNI ( 18+ ) mean!jackson!ellie x shy!sweetheart!reader. ellie is the local bitch in town, reader the sweetheart. canon divergence. ellie is struggling a lot with depression, insecurity, worthlessness, panic attack. mentions of reckless behaviour due to said mental health issues. heavy mention of ellie's difficulty regarding her and joel's relationship. reader is extremely shy. awkward x awkward tbh. probably lots of secondhand embarrassment. lots of pining, slow burn. hurt / comfort. some angst. explicit death, infection, killing, etc. tooth-rotting fluff and some cliche. lots of canon elements skewed and played with to fit the mean trope, though she's barely even 'mean', she's just misunderstood. follows ellie's pov more. protective + jealous ellie... cat mentioned. dina and jesse are dating. ellie has pollen allergies. pet names (baby girl, kitten, darling). sex — dom!ellie, sub!reader. virginity loss. oral + fingering (r), tribbing. reader cums prematurely and is insecure/embarrassed. lots of praise.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ omg !! i've been working on this for so long. i'm so happy with how she's turned out. it's a long one, so, strap in. there's a bit of a bigger focus on exploring ellie's point of view as i wanted to focus on her emotional state. all in all, i feel so sad for my girl, like, she feels worthless and that's not okay. so i wanted to write about her realising she means something to someone. you can also read on ao3.

　　　　m.list　wc — 18.4k　mdni, please ♡

　　　　　　　　　WINTER.

"aww, grumpy decided to show face."

with a soft rolling of her eyes, ellie purses her lips and lets out a sigh. she could recognise the voice anywhere, jesse's remarks so typical and yet never any less annoying.

"yeah, well i'm regretting it," ellie replies, glancing up at her friend. "i hate these things."

"that would be because you're a lonely sack of shit," jesse points out.

to that, ellie just scoffs and looks into her half-empty glass, the amber liquid swirling as her thoughts often do. the string lights above twinkle like stars, and the room is alive, so alive, with laughter and love. it's all what ellie wishes she had, along with the ability to forget about life's burdens for even a few hours. she fucking wishes it were possible for her.

from the children outside pretending to be the most gruesome and unsightly monsters in games of tag, to the elders and adults with a buzz warming their aching bones, everyone in jackson seems comfortable enough to make some light of the world outside the walls. it seems that easy for them to leave behind the troubles faced.

"come on," jesse relents, firmly patting her shoulder. ellie's silence speaks more than her voice, and if there's anyone who knows it, it's him. "i'm glad you showed up for once. i worry. so does dina. and joel."

"yep." for a moment she allows her face to soften, though her eyes narrow at the last addition: joel. "he's talking to you about me? again?"

"just the usual," jesse admits. "patrol. he suddenly gets a lot more involved in the planning process when it comes to your patrols."

"well he's going to stop it soon, i promise you that."

jesse chuckles quietly and shakes his head. "no need. i understand."

"no, he'll stop bothering you about it," ellie assures. "i'll talk to him."

it's deeper than bothering jesse. it boils down to ellie wishing for some more control. joel is more than just a thief to her life's purpose. his protection is unwarranted, his attempts at repairing what's lost simply a waste of time in ellie's eyes. there is no fix.

"so, dina's talking to your little friend over there," jesse says gruffly, nodding his head across the room to where you and dina rest at a table. you look meek, and dina acting of her usual high enthusiasm—if a little more intense than usual, thanks to the alcohol. she's ranting and raving, and you're nodding along. a change of subject was needed.

"she's not my friend," ellie mutters, doing her best to avoid looking, or at the very least, making it obvious that she is looking. her eyes steal fleeting glances every so often.

"i'm not sure how you managed this, but she is your friend," jesse says. "whether you like it or not, she sees you as a friend. that would be because you don't act like a dick around her. almost as though you might be... trying to impress her?"

"you're unbelievable." ellie shakes her head and her fingers tighten around her glass for a moment. "she's just.. not... she doesn't deserve me being a dick. she's the only person around here who's nice to me.. it doesn't mean anything."

"hey guys, are we having fun being antisocial wallflowers over here?"

dina suddenly appears in front of jesse and ellie, you attached to her arm like a kitten held by the scruff. immediately, ellie straightens her posture, downing the last of her whiskey. as it burns her throat, she fixes her collar, fumbling with the blue flannel before finally looking at you.

all the laziness leaves her body when you're around. maybe jesse is right. jesus, she actually wants to impress you.

the band strikes up another song and lightning fast, dina takes jesse by the arm. "it's our song! come on stupid."

that goddamn wink and smirk as she guides him away, leaving her alone with you, makes ellie feel a pit in her stomach. fuck, those idiots planned this. was dina giving you a goddamn pep talk before?

"hi."

"hey," ellie murmurs, eyes shifting from your face, to your dress, and to the stack of small papers in your hands. odd, but you're full of odd behaviours and quirks that make her smile. almost. "how's your night?"

"i— huh? oh— that's not—" you stare at your cards, your own handwriting seemingly illegible at this moment. it's worse with your hands trembling, and you sift through the cards, only to come up with nothing. you didn't plan a response for that. "you went off script. don't do that."

"off script?" a beat passes before ellie laughs a little bit, abruptly stopping when she realises it's upsetting you. you're actually stressed, clearly with something to say and not the guts to speak up. "sorry, i'm not laughing at you. sorry, sorry. i'll... stay on script this time."

oh shit. is this what i think it is?

ellie's heart is pounding. she knows what's coming. the inevitable confession she never wants to hear, especially not from you. don't. i'll only get you hurt.

"okay," you reply. you heave a breath before beginning to read your cards. "um, i hope you're doing good and that i'm not bothering you too much right now—"

"why would you bother me?"

"don't interrupt me, that's not in the script."

"sorry." she clears her throat, nods solemnly and stares over you.

internally, she's begging for this not to happen—because what is she to do? hurt your feelings and say no? or give in to selfish desires, only to hurt you deeply somewhere down the line? it's a lose-lose.

you resume; "i hope i'm not bothering you by saying this, but— oh fuck, no, wait."

you drop your script, papers falling to the floor like a house of cards. you crouch down to try and retrieve every piece but everything is out of order. your hands dig frantically around ellie's shoes for your cards, your senses only brought back once her hand takes your wrist.

reassurance is on the tip of her tongue and yet fails to make a sound. ellie just crouches in front of you and picks a card up from the floor, skimming the words on it.

thank god, it's not at all what she thought. such a simple, sweet request.

"you want to dance?"

"i, uh.." your eyes open wide and panicked. but looking at ellie's warm, flushed cheeks and what seems to be openness on her features, you'll happily go along with it. "yeah."

"we can do that," ellie replies. it feels wrong, unfamiliar, to smile in a public place, but she cracks the corners of her lips up and pulls you to stand. she is relieved that perhaps she was wrong, this wasn't a confession. she can indulge in this one moment and dance with you, but you'll be safe from her in the future. "you won't be needing these anymore."

you can't protest before ellie snatches your cards and pockets them. she pulls you up alongside her. the world spins around you, a dreamlike feeling casting over you. warmth in your cheeks and a tingle in your toes as she guides you further from the bar and into the crowd of dancing couples. teens leaving room for jesus, elders grateful to spend yet another night with their beloved after decades of survival without hope, and now, you and ellie, fill the space.

maybe it's the whiskey, but ellie's muscles are lax and she's content with your arms encircling her shoulders. she considers pulling you closer, but people are already staring. so, her hands settle for your waist and she glares at the floor, the tips of her ears a blazing red.

ellie should not be anywhere near you. the resident sweetheart of jackson hole, wrapped up in delicate fabrics and scuffed mary janes, should not be concerned with ellie williams. your big eyes and timid smile, the kind that both comforts and petrifies her, it's magnetic in a sense.

she doesn't even pick up on your worried look, she doesn't realise that her own expression has turned grim. her eyes widen, your fingers tuck a strand of her behind her ear. that puppy-like head tilt and the slow sway of your hips...

she's a goner.

and everyone in this fucking room is staring at you—probably wondering what the hell has gotten into you. even ellie wonders.

the fear of looking like a threat is getting to her; maybe her attempts not to look like a threat are making her look all the more suspicious right now.

the entire night plays back like a movie in her head.

ellie's garage is cold. even with the heater on and her mountainous piles of blankets, she cannot shake the blues away. she felt a girl's love for a few minutes—of course, these minutes felt like a century in her mind—and once the ballad had come to a close, she forced herself to step away. one three minute song is all she will allow.

her journal learns all about it. the memory is fixed in messy handwriting and scribbles of your face. she cannot capture the look the way that she wishes to. every time that she tries, ellie is reminded of the fact that you were the only person in that space to look at her so fondly.

she jots down the lyrics to the song that played. she attempts to write exactly what your little 'script' had said, and that's when it hits—she pocketed them. ellie has a physical keepsake.

she fishes through her pockets and pulls out the pile of cards. she shuffles through for your invitation to dance. the important part, that is. your handwriting is rather pleasant, she thinks, a smile on her face. it's not like her own.

a card drops onto the journal spread and ellie sighs, lithe fingers reaching for it—her heart stops.

'i really like you, and i wanted to ask if you would be interested in spending some more time together. and not really in a friendly way.'

"oh fuck." ellie's throat feels so tight, as though choking on air. fuck, this can't be. her eyes scan the cards for any other possible intention. she reorders them, rereads it until she has the entire speech locked in her mind.

there is no other possible meaning to this.

you were shy, you were nervous, and giggling, and trembling, and stuttering, all because of her.

"not happening," ellie mutters, abruptly leaving her desk. "stay away from me."

the cards lay sprawled across her journal, lamp light cast over it.

the sun rarely shines as bright as this in jackson's colder months, and although today the sky is muted, the snow-covered ground is glistening beneath the early morning sun, pristine white.

you are not invincible against the cold biting at your skin, nor the way your eyes wish to rest a few more minutes. but if there is anyone in this town who will happily ignore it, it is you. up bright and early day in and day out to assist in the daycare, greeting others with smiles or compliments to ease the burden of the morning on them.

only today it is intolerable. your night continued into rather late hours at home, teardrops falling into your hands over the mere fact that your plan to confess was foiled. the world keeps spinning and after all, there are positives to the situation. you held yourself as you slept, hand on your hip in just the same way that ellie's had been there hours prior—you swore you could still feel her warmth.

your embarrassment could be easier to deal with if it weren't for the public opinion. quite shocking that ellie has such a reputation. her name circles town daily, and now, you are being told about her in quite egregious detail by whoever you stumble upon; you're being warned about her.

she looks like she's hiding. streaks of auburn darting down the street, jesse in tow. she takes the long way to the stables, you guess, and makes a wide birth around the daycare. it stings. what the hell happened? did you mess up this bad?

clammy little hands wrap around your legs and your attention is taken to chubby red cheeks, young oscar all smiles to see his favourite daycare attendant this morning.

"hey buddy," you murmur. the sudden feeling that you are being watched makes you look up, and it's then that you meet a flash of thyme green eyes; ellie. unfortunately she disappears quicker than she had appeared.

"are you okay?" oscar's mother is a short woman, often as flushed in the face as her boy. she looks over you pointedly, your confusion evident. "i suggest you don't get involved with that girl. she's trouble. that's all. we all make mistakes at your age."

"oh, i..." your brows crease at the notion of ellie being troublesome, when you've known her to be anything but. you have heard their reasoning and nothing quite stood out to you. "i think i'll be all right, thank you dawn."

she parrots just about every other person you've seen today.

"don't thank me, just listen. stay away from her."

bizarre.

"so, last night... you were getting pretty cozy with—"

"no, i was not."

jesse and dina's efforts to find out what happened last night are all but successful. ellie has shut down any mention of it as soon as the words leave their mouths. jesse accepted that ellie was too cranky and sleepy this morning to kindly explain why she's the talk of the town again. dina isn't having much luck either.

"listen, it's just— it's no big deal," ellie says, resigning herself to the topic. "town's just making something outta nothing. like they always do."

"yuh-huh, seems people are pretty crazy over their darling," dina comments. she falls back so that her horse can trot in pace with ellie and shimmer, looking over curiously. "but tell me about... last night. what happened?"

"nothing." ellie's blunt response makes even shimmer huff, the horse shuffling through piles of wet snow. "she asked me to dance."

"with or without the palm cards?"

ellie snorts, shaking her head slowly. "you helped her."

there's a beat of silence, maybe hesitance, before dina nods. "i did. she's a sweet girl, y'know, i think she's good for you."

"are we going the right way?" ellie interrupts. the creek ends just nigh of where the two ride, no lookout in sight. she feels a challenge in leadership when taking an unfamiliar route on patrol, and this conversation is bound to give her a headache.

"yes, we are. the lookout's just over that hill." dina pauses again. "did she say anything else last night?"

ah. great. "no. she dropped the cards and gave up on whatever they said." ellie clears her throat, looking away. "i kept them, and i read them when i got home."

"right." dina lets out a sigh, now trying to gauge ellie's opinion. she doesn't sound too positive or too negative. "so you're avoiding her now? because that's what i've gathered. what's the deal surrounding—"

"i'm not.. avoiding her, i'm just playing it safe. not going to say anything about it, not gonna embarrass her. there. is that what you're interested in hearing?"

"ellie," dina scolds, "what's your goal here? eternal loneliness? is this about cat?"

ellie comes to a screeching halt at that, shimmer whinnying. "what? fuck no. i was over her before it ended."

"yeah, figured. i never really thought she was your style... too abrasive, you guys kinda clashed a little, you know, she's not like—"

"dina."

and there she goes; dina lists off your many qualities, every one oh so perfect. a list of every reason ellie wants you, and they are all reasons why she should not dare touch you.

"can't you see it? i see the potential for something great," dina boasts. "she's real into you. you're so nice to her."

"that's, like, the bare minimum."

"for you, though, it means a lot."

finally the lookout comes into view. ellie braces herself to make an abrupt end to this conversation, she's ready for this to stop.

"lookout's just ahead, we can tie the girls up here and head inside," dina confirms, sliding off her horse and watching as ellie does the same. "i'm serious, though. jesse and i worry about you and, i mean, what is it that's stopping you from asking her out?"

"dina, listen." ellie makes a serious effort to avert eye contact, to hide her expression, and even the ache in her voice. "you seen her? she's like those little fuzzy flowers that even the wind can blow away. she'd wither away if she spoke to me for more than a second. i kinda have to be nice to her."

"damn," dina says, humming softly. "that's a lot of words that sound like nothing to me. you're lying to me and you're lying to yourself. you tell little kids to fuck off, but you can't resist smiling at this girl?"

ellie's biting the inside of her cheek, following dina into the lookout. she is being sincere. it's just that dina doesn't quite know the depth of ellie's misery. she is a mystery.

ellie does not believe for a second that she will not hurt you. she is the strike of fire, an unstoppable force that can only destroy. too easily, her rage is a blaze that burns all in its path. she's sickening. she'll poison you, you'll spit her out and leave like all the others do.

"i don't know what she sees in me," ellie admits after a moment of ponder. "i'm just some asshole."

"that you are, but i think she sees what me, jesse, and even joel, see in you. you don't let anyone else in, ellie. don't you dare ice her out too."

you're like her shadow. you are just unavoidable, either by thoughts of you creeping into the corners of her mind, or just by coincidence. on days where nobody has uttered even a word to her, you never fail to wish her a good afternoon or ask how she's doing. she keeps it brief, despite her yearning to know you better.

it takes a great deal of self discipline. ellie must control herself around you. your stupid palm cards weigh on her mind all the time, those feelings you've been resigned to keeping to yourself without knowing that she knows. if ellie weren't such a goddamn coward, she could pounce. you'd be hers.

"good morning, ellie," you call, and it's early enough for ellie to internally groan but your voice is like that of a bird's aubade. "do you have a minute?"

"hm? suppose," ellie murmurs, shoes shuffling against the floor of the tipsy bison awkwardly. she's regretting her choice of converse this morning—hopefully you'll make this quick and she can run back to grab some boots before patrol. screw breakfast. "what's up?"

part of her hopes that you take as long as you like. she'd like to lose herself in your kindness before she heads out into the mountains on this brutally cold day. actually, she would like to lose herself in your kindness forever; you make ellie want to be kind, but it feels as though she lost that part of herself many years ago. she doesn't know how to be like that anymore.

she should be staying away from you. none of this hopeless searching for a piece of her old self in you.

"well, i have some questions and figured you'd be the right one to ask."

"oh? me? i'm... i mean, yeah, sure," ellie says, looking down at her fidgeting fingers. "what's it about?"

"well, you're into dinosaurs and stuff, right? what's the word again? paleon..."

"paleontology," ellie corrects, nodding her head. "who told you i'm into that?"

"uh... dina."

of course. ellie refrains from shaking her head in annoyance and lets you continue, although she is a little in her head at the moment.

"there's a couple kids showing interest in all that stuff at the moment," you say, "i was wondering if you could give me a lesson? or some reading material, if you've got any? i want to plan some activities for them."

"oh, uh, yes, uh, sure, i guess. yeah." ellie responds with a lame shrugging of her shoulders and picks at some skin around her fingernails, holding her breath as to not completely fucking freak out. this is such a dumb thing to get worked up over. your hopeful smile is everything right now. "i mean, not to brag but i've got a pretty neat collection of stuff."

seriously? way to go. ellie's aware she sounds nothing short of embarrassing right now, she's unable to resist the pull towards dumping all of her knowledge onto you. i sound sooo tough right now.

"oh, really? well i'm interested in seeing it then," you reply, giggling. "when's a good time for you to show me?"

and, just like at the dance, it feels as though everyone in this diner is staring at ellie. she knows she shouldn't be talking to you. she forgot for a moment. she forgot that she's a danger to you.

the cutting, unforgiving stare of frail mrs. brown has ellie lower her gaze, shifting on her feet again. "mm, maybe tomorrow," she mutters. "i've got patrol. i.. should probably get going. i'm gonna be late again."

"oh." you pause, somewhat puzzled by ellie's sudden nerves, how eager she is to get going. was that your fault? maybe she doesn't want to spend time together after all.

"see you later." it's offhanded and with little caution. ellie tries her damndest not to look back at you, and also to avoid eye contact with the others in the diner.

a sudden outburst directs your attention to ellie again, with her way out blocked by a self righteous mrs. brown.

"you leave that poor thing alone."

ah?

"mrs. brown, please, ellie means no harm," you say assuringly, although there is a twinge of something in your voice. something mrs. brown cannot grasp. you're not sure where this bite to your voice came from.

but it has something to do with the way ellie doesn't even look twice at you. she just slips out the door and hurries away.

"watch yourself around her, sweetpea," the older woman says to you. "she's not the kind of person to be hanging around the likes of you. not sure whether she was raised in a barn or if she's just born wrong."

"nobody is born wrong," you say. "that's horrible. you've misjudged her."

"you're naïve," mrs. brown replies sincerely. it seems like she is trying to be sincere at least—it only makes you feel small.

nobody is born wrong. nobody is bad. ellie is not bad. and nobody shall ever be able to tell you otherwise. it simply isn't true.

"we got reports of infected out west of jackson. there's a few places out there we haven't searched in a long time, maria wants it done."

jesse is already addressing the group by the time ellie rocks up, attempting to sneak in undetected with shimmer in tow, but unfortunately for her, she's served a disappointed look and handed a bolt action. he doesn't pause his speech, and honestly, it's more humiliating that way. ellie partly wishes there was some sort of remark made.

"stay with your groups, don't be an idiot, if there's anything you can't handle you come back to base. these places could be rife with infected, so be careful. are we clear?"

ellie's still rubbing sleep out of her eyes and blinking at the ground, her mind is somewhere else. you stood up for her. you did that, and she still feels so warm. you should not be wasting your time with her. she will never understand why you do.

"ellie—"

"huh?" she looks up, gaze flicking between jesse and the others around her. you've gotta be shitting me. half of these people are new to patrols. if she's got to babysit newbies this morning, she's—

"you and i are taking max, amelia, and jacob out to that great big music store by the lodge. might dig into the motel if we've got time."

"seriously? that motel's fucked. joel and i went like, what, two years ago? can't see the music store being any better," ellie protests. "why are we taking new recruits out to these shitty areas? you think they're not gonna shit their pants if they encounter a bloater?"

"ellie, calm, will you? maria wants this done, we've held off on clearing these places for a little too long. we drag our feet and eventually it will have consequences. so, we're getting it done," jesse says. he notices the others share bristling looks amongst each other and grunts. "there will not be a bloater out there. ellie's overreacting."

"oh yeah, not like joel and i killed one last time we visited the motel."

"oh good. so like i said, there won't be any bloaters out there, thanks to ellie and her old man's efforts." jesse shoots ellie one final glance of warning before readdressing the group. "are we ready to leave?"

"i'll hang back, make sure nobody's gettin' lost," ellie says. she's a lot more reserved now, the telltale sign to jesse something is truly off about his friend this morning. because ellie typically rejects any and all authority, even jesse. even joel, nowadays.

shortly after, jesse kicks off and the group follows. ellie rides behind them. shimmer gallops over yards of snow, the wind blowing back wayward strands of ellie's hair and chilling the hot blush on her cheeks. today is turning out to be a pretty shit one, but at least she has this. riding on the back of her horse will never not be soothing to her tortured soul.

as the motel comes into view, ellie lets out a sigh. as picturesque a view it is, shrouded by thick pines and sitting in solace, it leaves ellie so conflicted. it looks worse in the cold, the dilapidated building left for dead and covered in a blanket of white. whatever horrors have crept into it since her last visit, she doesn't want to know.

ellie doesn't want to visit the music store. she never got to see what was in there with joel. even thinking about it makes her stomach lurch, and if it weren't for her skipping breakfast earlier, she would be struggling to keep it in. fucking joel.

this place is a myriad of discomforting memories.

"ellie, is it really true that you and joel found a bloater in that motel?"

jacob has slowed his pace to match her, looking on with a glimmer of what looks like excitement in his eyes—ellie hopes it's not excitement. else this kid's looking to get killed.

"yes," she mutters, brows knit and eyes narrowed into slits. "we dealt with it. these things are rare, y'know, and there's nothing to be excited about. unless you want your head ripped off."

"holy shit." he giggles through the curse, his enthusiasm unmatched by amelia and max's unbridled terror. "sounds gnarly."

"sure." ellie scoffs, looking away. can't stand to watch this kid act so stupidly, can't even stand to bitch at him for it.

if only she weren't so privy to the grim sights of this world. must be nice.

jesse comes to an abrupt stop, looking back at the group. "you hear that?"

from a small cluster of retail stores, a nefarious rattling echoes the courtyard. ellie meets jesse's eyes and nods. "clicker."

"how many? we should probably clear this place out, right?" jacob cuts in, his boisterous voice startling the whole group.

"will you shut the fuck up?" ellie glares at jacob.

"there might be some supplies inside," amelia suggests, and she does not want to run the risk of pissing ellie off either, so she keeps her voice down.

"sounds like it's not too hectic. we'll take a look," jesse decides, steering the group towards the stores, where they all get down and begin to scope out the area.

ellie is eternally thankful to have a slow start to patrol today. two clickers, one runner, and a group of four on patrol with her—that's nothing special to start with. the threat is eliminated in no time, and now's only a matter of looking for supplies or interesting items to take back.

nothing is of much interest to ellie. it's an odd combination of stores; some kind of boutique, an overgrown flower shop, and a pet store.

ellie cannot help but think of you when her eyes first take in the flower shop. sage vines covering the walls, inside and out, the flowers rotted. it's all dead, which gives her a little jolt and she makes a quiet but self deprecating remark about how much of an idiot she is—such a romantic, huh?

but that's it, isn't it? she can't resist any longer. this place would be utterly bewitching in the springtime. she knows without a doubt in her mind you would love to see it. she remembers that you once said you've not left jackson's walls since you arrived some years ago.

now she feels this devastating pull towards taking you here one day. perhaps when the weather's warmer, she'll ask. you would like that. she might need some liquid courage to do so, if the dance last week says anything about how suave ellie can be.

"i'm such a fucking loser." ellie does her best to shake the thoughts of you away. but one step inside the boutique and new thoughts flood in. many of the pieces in here are barely intact, barely any of it to her personal tastes. but she knows someone who would love it.

a shade of baby pink catches her eye and she reaches out to look at the sundress, fingers travelling down the side seam. it's in the clearance section, a ripped up sign reading, 'end of summer sale' above the hanger. she snorts, yet pulls away from it like it's stung her, or as though she fears she's tarnished the dress somehow.

"what an ugly piece of fashion," she murmurs, laughing shakily as if her face is not blooming the same colour as the dress; leaving it behind as if she didn't just picture you wearing it.

when she walks out of the boutique ellie hears amelia ask jesse if they're ready to head to the music store finally. she sighs heavily and climbs onto shimmer's back, staring ahead blankly as they set off once more.

this is when things become troublesome, she already knows it. the music store creaks and rickets by just the breeze hitting it, and she can already hear the strangled cries of runners and clickers hanging out inside.

"there's a mighty old checkpoint in that cabin to the right," jesse comments, sliding off his horse and looking to the group. "ellie, can you take someone to sign us in?"

"yeah. sure. whoever's coming, i don't care, just follow me."

jesse scowls as she simply starts riding to the cabin. he calls after her quickly, "join back as soon as possible. amelia's coming."

that was, at least, the best option out of the three. amelia isn't insufferable. she seems to handle patrol with the level of sensibility it requires.

"so did you and joel clear the music store too, or just the motel?" amelia asks, watching ellie dust off the logbook.

"nah, just the motel. we were trying to get here, didn't make it. found some bodies, went straight home."

ellie cringes, quite visibly at that, remembering the day in such detail. her heart ached as though she was burning alive. she knew he was lying.

"oh, right, i remember that," amelia says. "that was tragic."

ellie doesn't say anything. the room falls silent as she signs the logbook, once again tripping over the never ending trails of thought that appear in her mind. if only they were immune, right?

it's significantly more troubling to cope with these thoughts in her head because nobody else even knows. nobody gets it. there's no other person on earth with the same questions as ellie, and the only person who could answer some of her questions dismisses them within an instant.

she can't help but feel hate for joel for what he did. he took away her birthright; he ruined the sole meaning of her life, and she'll never quite understand why.

ellie wanted to save people. she is beyond just worthless now that joel has taken this from her—she's a ticking time bomb. she hurts people, she hurts herself. with less than ten percent of jackson's population actually willing to befriend her, ellie does the most that she can to protect them now.

it's why she throws herself into the most unsavoury, unsafe situations on patrol.

she can't help but wonder what the lives of everyone she knows would be like if she had been given her choice.

"hey you." jesse's waiting by the door of the music store when ellie and amelia arrive back.

"what's the situation?" ellie asks immediately upon catching her friend's worried look, the way that he stands with his back straight and shoulders tense.

"runners and stalkers around every goddamn corner. we were waiting for you two to come back so we can take care of it. we're debating whether or not to call for backup. i heard some clickers, it just might be too intense for these guys alone."

"ah." she takes note of max and jacob, conspiring something quietly together (rather, jacob elbowing max, and max replying in anxious whispers). "hey, the fuck's your deal?"

"someone's scared," jacob teases, giving max an aggressive noogie on the head. "i think we should just go deal with it. it's not a big deal. max is too much of a pussy."

"jacob, stop it man," jesse mutters, his eyes reading of warning.

"it'll be much quicker if we just handle it now," he replies errantly. "let's go."

"no, let's—"

without waiting, jacob drags a thrashing max past the doorway and into the shop. instantly the screams of infected sound like an alarm and the group is forced into action, ellie throwing herself in first.

violence consumes the area in sound, in sights, in the adrenaline that courses through ellie's veins. not only is it a handful of rogue runners and stalkers, but the familiar, uncouth screeching of a clicker grows closer. her ears ring, gunshots bouncing off the walls, her heart pounds, each step forward thudding against bloodstained hardwood.

"over here! help!"

ellie's eyes dart across the room and max is struggling against a runner, too busy fighting the crazed monster to reach for his gun.

when ellie reaches the boy, she yanks the runner and the barrel of her pistol meets his head. everything in the room is eerily silent now, nothing but panting breaths, and max falling on the floor in front of ellie.

"all quiet," jesse says with a sigh. he's wiping blood off his face and checking with amelia and jacob before they hear a gun cocking, a sudden commotion.

"no, no, please!"

it's max, scrambling away from ellie, whose gun is pointed at his face. the reason why she is doing this is bleeding. jesse can see it too, on max's hand; bright red puncture wounds, dripping onto the floor.

he's bit.

and he's begging.

"woah, woah, woah, let's handle this appropriately—"

the boy begins to cry. max is cowering. if only he were immune, right?

if only.

it's too much for her. ellie looks away, and she pulls the trigger. she grimaces as the cries silence on instant, nothing but a vile gurgling echoing. she doesn't dare to look down at him, she doesn't want to see his brain matter against the drum set behind him, nor the way his blood oozes out and seeps into the floorboards.

she's not even brave enough to look at the rest of the group—the living ones—she's done this in front of them. this boy didn't get to go out with dignity, she took out her own fury on him. he doesn't deserve that.

"fuck, i—"

"it's okay, ellie, look at me," jesse coaches, slowly stepping closer. he takes the pistol from her. it's not okay.

"what the fuck is wrong with you man?" jacob storms over, a mask of anger in his narrowed eyes, but he's shaking too. everyone's fucking scared of her. she fucked up. "you don't get to—"

instead of succumbing to letting this teenager scream at her, ellie defies him, jabbing a finger in his direction immediately. "don't you take that tone with me. if you never pushed him in here, he'd still be here."

"hey, hey! calm. everyone. let's just go back. we'll take max home."

ellie wonders if jesse likes her a little less now. he's never seen her do something so cruel. she barely listens to him speak. she feels such a failure.

amelia won't look at her. jacob looks as though the scene has aged him years.

god, ellie thinks, i fucked up.

ellie gets home. she stands in front of the medicine cabinet, swiping a damp cloth over her cheek. she watches the blood spray disappear from her skin, and she can't look herself in the eye.

she may be immune, but she's still infected. where is her humanity? why was it her? at this rate, what is she here for? what makes her any different from the infection that would have claimed max? ellie was supposed to save people. she was supposed to be different. but she feels the same as them—everywhere she turns, someone is hurt or killed, it often tends to be at her own hand.

she is a monster.

she doesn't hear the door creak open, so the call of her name surprises her quite suddenly. it's a voice she has no interest in hearing from right now—it's southern, gravelly, and low.

"so i heard about what happened, and uh... had to come check on ya."

"i'm fine, joel." he gives her that look she is, unfortunately, used to seeing from him. the honest disbelief. so ellie opens her mouth again and this time it's with a little more sternness. "seriously."

god, she's sick of the pity. joel suffocates her. however well he means, ellie can't trust him anymore. she can't just forget, and this is the first time he has ever disrespected the space she's put between them. "well, i just... carryin' out an execution... it's hard. i know. and however the town may try to spin it, it don't mean—"

"joel, i need you to stop," ellie warns. she turns away but she still sees him in the mirror. she still sees herself in the mirror. her brows carve a nasty, cold look into her gaze, her lips almost snarling.

that boy was going to die whether or not ellie had interfered. but what messes with her mind the most is how indecently she did it. he was crying. she didn't let him say goodbye, nor write sentiments to his family. she shot him like a dog. she killed him as though he had already turned.

"you are awfully quiet these days ellie, i'm just worried about you and—"

"i'm supposed to be dead, joel," ellie growls. her hands grip either side of the sink and she leans against it, looking at the discarded face towel. "this would've never happened if you never— if you never—"

"but you're not dead, now don't you talk like that." joel's voice is getting harder and he's leaning against the doorway now, suddenly closer than ellie thought. "none of this is on you. it was never on you. this is just life. and you keep findin' purpose. these things, they happen to everyone. it is not on you."

"no," ellie whispers. "it's on you now. you fucking— you did this. he would be cured if you left me in that stupid hospital."

joel stares at the side of ellie's face. he catches the way her lips quiver and she's shut her eyes now. he sighs very softly, almost as if he doesn't want to upset her any further, and then looks at his shoes.

"i'm not gonna go over this again," ellie says, standing straight again. "i never wanna talk to you. we're done."

joel pauses, opening and closing his mouth. there is so much to say. when you have spent two years like him, thinking, wondering what he could even say to make her feel better, there is a lot on the tip of your tongue. but she doesn't want to hear it, and joel knows that. so he nods.

"all right."

the snow around ellie's garage is tracked with large footprints. your gaze follows them to mr. miller's porch across the yard and your brows raise as you realise he's sat there with his legs kicked up and a warm drink in hand, a misty cloud of steam billowing out of the mug. he nods in acknowledgement of your presence, and you respond with a friendly smile, before taking a small breath and knocking on ellie's door.

"ellie?" you call hesitantly. finally you hear some noise from inside, as if she'd been holding breath and trying to pretend she wasn't there in the first place.

the door pulls back and ellie looks at you unsurely. she looks tired. sheepish.

"hi, are you doing okay?" truth be told, the news of what happened on ellie's patrol today has shaken you. it's spread around town like fire, and the story seems to be getting more and more hyperbolic along the way. so, you've come to the source. "i heard about what happened, and—"

the frigid wind creeps into ellie's place and a shiver runs down her spine. she crosses her arms to preserve her own warmth, observing you and your persistent trembling, along with joel on his porch. she grunts, taking you by the arm and pulling you inside.

"it's, y'know, cold out there," she mutters, closing the door behind you and sighing. "just, uh, sit down."

your eyes follow ellie's hand, gesturing to the tattered grey loveseat, close to her heater and looking pretty cozy. you sit, and ellie stares at your poor choice of attire—it looks like you did nothing but layer a pink parka over your pyjamas. she's running on fumes but still makes quick work of grabbing a blanket. she doesn't want to startle you with it, and instead keeps her hands as light as possible when covering your legs with it.

"it's pretty cold, huh?" she murmurs.

it's nice. you want to put your hand on her wrist and bring her closer, to offer something sweet, but she looks so discontented. uncomfortable.

"are you doing okay?" you ask again. no matter how hard you try to catch her earthy eyes with yours, she dodges. she's shifty. "um, about what happened on your patrol... i don't really know the full story, or if what everyone says is even true... but i don't like to let what other people say impact my judgement of someone's character."

"it's not— i mean, i— you know, everyone's right. i'm an asshole," ellie mumbles, crossing her arms again, but this time it's a more desperate grabbing of her hoodie, as though comforting herself. or attempting to.

because you're so close, but she feels like you are just out of reach. she can't seek comfort in you. she wants to. but her mind tells her that is not a good idea.

"oh, ellie... no," you whisper. "you're not."

"you don't know me," she replies. perhaps if she is earnest about who she is to you, it will scare you away. it might save you. no more pretending to be nice just to keep you.

"i know more than any of those people who spread rumours about you." you stand up and the blanket falls forgotten on the ground. her eyes widen as you come closer, and she takes a step back. "but you hide yourself, that's why nobody sees how great you are. even me, i.. wish i could know you better."

what ellie wants to say, is no, you don't want to know me better. you shouldn't. there is no greatness, only fragmented pieces of what once was someone bright and empathic, someone who still had hope. maybe she didn't turn in the physical sense when she was infected. but her life went through a turning of its own, her mind suffering the worst of it.

maybe the only difference between her and those things outside is that she doesn't sprout colourful tendrils. she's as dangerous and as deadly as they are. she bites, too; her words hurt, and she has become apathetic.

and the reason she can't let you in—well, she won't be able to let go of you once she gets her hands on you. she'll eat you up and what she fears the most is that you'll run away hurting. you'll leave her, and she'll have maimed you.

and to be the one to have maimed you will be the worst of it all. ellie is still feeling every ache from her past, and she finds you so refreshing. you're a clean slate, like fresh soil in early spring, untainted and full of potential. she doesn't want to turn you into her.

she might not be contagious, but the chaos that surrounds her is. at the softest, your reputation will be destroyed by her mere presence, and at the strongest, you will be wilted.

"i take it that maybe you've been hurting before," you say, filling the silence she had contemplated through. "i don't want to overstep. i just wanna be there for you. like— y'know, like, you don't have to talk about it. but you have me."

after a beat, ellie quickly responds, nodding, but staring at the floor. "thanks."

"and about today; it doesn't change my opinion of you. these things happen. it's sad. i knew him... but i know he would've rathered you do what you did, than turn into one of those things." you nod back, very affirmatively, and try a small smile, even if she won't see. "going on patrol is a great service to our community. it's really great that you do. it's one of the hardest jobs and it puts you in situations that require quick decision-making. people focus on the negatives all the time, like what happened today—but they don't focus on the fact that you're protecting us all the time."

when ellie glances up, mainly out of some surprise, she finds that your smile matches the sweetness of your words exactly. it's... puzzling. it challenges the chill in the garage, because ellie can feel her cheeks getting warm. and she absolutely fucking hates that.

blushing in front of you. blushing because of you. the more she thinks about it, the more she's probably reddening. like a rose.

"thanks, again, i, uh..." she trails off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. she sniffles awkwardly and then coughs to attempt at covering it up. she feels juvenile like this. "anyway... so, how about... i give you a crash course on dinosaurs?"

caught off-guard, only to remember early in the morning when you had asked ellie to indulge in a tutorial on paleontology so you could better interact with the little ones in the daycare. "yes! yeah, of course."

she chuckles lowly, rubbing her eye quickly as if trying to regain her stoicism. "cool, let's—"

you couldn't help it. you know when someone needs a hug, and you feel ellie needs one more than anyone else. especially in this moment. so you rushed forward, and now your arms are around her shoulders, and your head on her shoulder. she's like a statue, her hands raised with hesitance. they twitch. it's with the need to grab your waist, but the fear of letting herself get too addicted.

she gives in. maybe it would hurt you more if she didn't, than if she did. is she a monster for it if you were the one to initiate it?

her nose rests in your hair, her arms squeeze you tight. she doesn't let it go on for too long, patting the curve of your lower back gently and pulling back to grab some of her dinosaur books.

the hour that follows is the easiest and fastest of her entire life. you look at ellie like she hung the stars in the sky. she likes that you listen, and that you ask clarifying questions, and that your thighs are touching hers. she makes you laugh, and she can't stop, because she likes it.

when ellie climbs into her bed after walking you back home, she finds herself surprised, and maybe a little hot on the temper. joel's voice plays like a tape on repeat. irritating. and starting to make sense.

"this is just life. and you keep findin' purpose."

　　　　　　　　　SPRING.

birds chatter in the sky. it's warm out. the kind of warm that is just right, where the sun highlights the shapes of the trees and shines through the leaves. it's only early in the season, still breezy most days, but the snow has melted, and the flora is beginning to maintain itself again, colour crawling back into jackson.

this is so fucking stupid.

"ellie! hi!" the familiar chirp of your voice brings heat to ellie's face, even in the dying chill. you have such a pleasant, polite lilt, it's no wonder you are beloved around here. "...you're loitering."

"what? oh. uh— yeah. sorta." she needs to be more careful, too much staring and not enough vigilance. ellie realises she looks odd standing outside the kindergarten house. "i just.. do you have a minute?"

"me? of course."

and ellie doesn't hear you, but she gets the point anyway. she is really too busy eyeing your lips and the small smile on them as you lead her to a blind spot.

"how's your day?"

is she really doing this right now? like, really? does she need to? the town notice board suddenly feels a lot more interesting now that you're in front of her. that, or the fresh leaves hanging by threads on the trees nearby. ellie has a deep appreciation for the new colours that bloom during springtime and—

"ellie? i asked how you're doing. are you okay?"

she's stalling this conversation.

"oh. oh! yeah, it's uh, it's alright." she scoffs awkwardly and rubs the back of her neck. "i just... well, i made something for you, thought you'd like it. i hope you like it."

"wait, really?" your eyes light up like a sky full of stars, but ellie thinks they're even prettier than that. "that's so sweet of you. can i see?"

sweet. you think she's sweet. shit. "yeah, yea, here."

without wasting more time fumbling over words (in reality, ellie forgot the speech she made up for this occasion—maybe she could've used your scripting idea right now) she hands over the gift, free hand rubbing the back of her neck as she pretends to nonchalantly stare elsewhere, yet her eyes flick towards you obsessively. please like it.

it's a watercolour piece. the colours are subtle, muted greens and browns, the rest varying shades of white, grey, and black, plus a pop of pink. depicted is a lush garden, pink flowers dotted between weaves of grass, and in the centre, two rabbits.

it isn't her usual style. ellie's appreciated landscapes before, but something so simple, so clean and contained, she's never been into. but she wanted to give you something she knew you'd love.

your brows raise and you cover your mouth, letting out a gasp. your eyes don't leave the paper, staring at every detail. you couldn't find an imperfection even if you tried.

"this is beautiful."

"yeah..?"

"i love it." your lips curl upwards and you're pretty much bouncing up and down on your heels. "it's so cute! i love the colours, and the flowers too! i love flowers. did you know there's a whole flower language?"

"uh, no," ellie murmurs, "what's that about? how does one talk through flowers?"

the word cute runs through her mind. of course you'd know about a 'flower language'.

"well, each flower has symbolism tied to it. even the different colours—a pink rose means something different to a white rose, for example," you explain. "my grandma taught me when i was younger. she gave me a book about it."

all this talk about flowers reminds ellie of the overgrown shop she saw on patrol a few months back. the day was dark, but you made it better. even the few moments she had thought about you were memorable.

like that sundress. in fact, she still thinks of it often.

"huh. sounds interesting," ellie replies.

"most red or pink flowers symbolise some kind of love. roses are the most romantic of all."

oh. ellie glances down to the paper in your hand, at the pink flowers she had so carefully dabbled into the picture. she hopes you won't read into that too much.

"thank you for this," you say, interrupting her mini-panic. "this painting is so pretty. you're a talented artist."

"ah, it's nothing," ellie says softly back.

"hey, i remembered your birthday's coming up soon. you don't have any plans, or..? any presents you'd like to receive?" you ask. "i love that you're a spring baby. that's so cute."

what? ellie chokes a little, for no reason other than lame shock, and shrugs her shoulders. "ah, i dunno, not really. i never do anything. don't care about gifts."

"reaaaally?" you ask, huffing in disappointment. although, an idea is beginning to thread itself together.

"yeah, i'm not really big on that stuff anymore," ellie says, waving off your concern. "anyway, ah, i should let you get back to the kiddies."

"yeah, of course."

you look like you're going to come close, and ellie's started to recognise when you're wanting to hug her now. she lets it happen. she actively ensures that you know it's okay to do that. as long as there's nobody around to see.

and right now, just as you pull her close, the moment coincides with the children being let out to the playground for recess. fucking goddamnit. she flushes instantly and almost pushes you away.

when she dares to open her eyes, the attendant on the duty of watching the kids is watching you more than them. it's disconcerting. but it has an adverse effect on her. she squeezes you tighter, and closes her eyes.

she's becoming what she feared. she wants you, and she's letting herself indulge. she's gluttonous. or is she? for no longer denying herself the pleasure in holding you for a few moments longer than usual?

"you made her so happy yesterday."

"huh?"

"dina and i heard all about it."

"what the fuck are you talking about?"

"you know exactly what i'm talking about," jesse answers, a smug grin on his face. ellie's only filled with dread.

her hackles are raised, she's rushing to defend herself. such a strong reaction, and it leaves jesse with more questions than answers, but answers are rare with ellie in the first place. "yeah, so what, i drew something, and i gave it to my friend. you can't give me shit about that."

he nods his head to ellie's place at her desk, where she has an art book open and a few discarded sketches strewn about that clearly she deemed unworthy of your viewing.

jesse snorts. "i'm not giving you shit about it. i'm just saying"—he elbows ellie lightly—"that it made her really happy. and it looks like... you're making her another one."

she rubs her side, frowning, and tilting her head. "it wasn't too intense? didn't freak her out?"

"giving a girl you like a painting is the least intense move you could possibly make."

"i do not like her like that," ellie mutters, scowling. "don't you have something better to do than to harass me?"

looks can betray words sometimes. that is exactly what is happening here; ellie's freckles are dusted pink, the colour blooming all the way towards the tips of her ears.

"you like her," jesse insists. "you know, when you're so deadpan about everything it makes it all the more obvious you've got a crush. you didn't even act this way around cat."

"because i barely liked her," ellie mutters bluntly, "we dated out of convenience."

"and now..." jesse continues, leaving room for ellie to fill in the blank, but she rolls her eyes and he chuckles before finishing the sentence himself. "you've got a crush on the little ol' sweetheart of jackson."

"okay, and what am i supposed to do when everyone tells me to stay back? i'm not right for her," ellie replies. her voice is subdued in such a way jesse's never heard before. it's so honest. ellie realises it too. she's being open, for once.

"you care too much what others think," jesse says. he leans against the desk, arms crossed. "if their opinions mattered, she would've taken their advice and avoided you like the plague."

"i think the girl's fucking insane, personally." ellie clicks her tongue, dropping her pencil reluctantly. she knows why you don't listen to anyone else. you've told her many times, yet she still thinks you're a little crazy for that. stubborn, at the very least.

"what's this?" jesse asks, picking up a forgotten sketch by ellie's arm. "this is... not your style."

ellie glances up, and grunts softly. "no, you remember the dress store out by the motel? i saw this dress there. i think it would look real nice on her."

"oh... yeah? yeah i can see that," he comments, looking at the sketch. "what do you say we go back there and get it?"

"i don't want to go back there."

"not even for something you know she'd really love? come on... we won't take a group this time, it'll be you and me. we'll grab the dress and come back," jesse says. "i'll rearrange the roster tonight and have us take that route in the morning."

"you are shit at persuasion," ellie grumbles, "you're just forcing me."

"it's for a good cause," he replies, patting her on the shoulder quite firmly. "head to bed now, we're up early tomorrow mornin' so get some rest."

ellie sighs deeply, not bothering to look back as the door closes. "dick," she murmurs, yet her eyes fall back to the paper jesse had left on the desk.

she imagines it again; the pink sundress, flattering your body, how your eyes would twinkle and face would glow in it, and how the skirt would flow if you twirled. unfortunately, it's not a want anymore; it's a need.

she's admitting things now. ellie likes that you are open. she'd like to let herself be vulnerable like you.

"are you sure she's going to like it?"

dina scoffs at the question, an incredulous look in her eyes as they meet yours. "are you serious? of course she will. you've overanalysed this so much that there is no room for improvement."

your shoulders drop and you remind yourself to unclench your jaw, take a deep breath. "i know, but i just want to be sure. what if she doesn't want to be taken by surprise?"

"she likes surprises. used to, anyway. i doubt that has changed," dina says coolly. "last time she ever had a birthday she really enjoyed was her sixteenth. joel took her to this sick museum outside of town."

you nod along. "yeah, i know. she told me about it. a few times, actually. i don't want anything too big and crazy because it might overwhelm her, but i— i can't just let her do nothing on her birthday."

"and you've achieving that perfectly," dina reminds you. "it's low-key. it's at her place. you're making her a cake. you've invited... who? me, jesse, and yourself?"

"well, i was thinking about inviting joel." you bite your lip, wringing your hands together. "is that a bad idea?"

dina doesn't seem to hear you. she's messing with her beat up record player, groaning and muttering curses over the fact that it won't work.

so much of your attention since yesterday has been held by this idea. you quickly asked dina and jesse their thoughts, assuming they know the girl better than you do at this point. every aspect of your plan was approved of. because the plan is derived from every little thing you have learned and internalised about ellie.

she's quiet, she's private, and not interested in doing much. therefore, something small at her garage will do. she's into action movies, so a movie marathon is perfect. you're going to craft some paper crowns with dina as she mentioned that was a win on one of ellie's previous birthdays, although you initially wanted to make her a flower crown.

when you aren't spending exhausting hours with small children at the daycare, all you really have left to do in your life is think. it's so quiet.

ellie gives you a lot to think about. when you bake a new recipe, you wonder if she'll like it. when you ever feel a little lonely, you wonder if ellie would let you hug her for as long as you needed.

they say a friend to all is a friend to none, and you feel it's true. are you interesting enough? are you too soft, too tame for anyone to befriend? what started a simple crush—thinking she's pretty, wanting to learn everything about her—snowballed. ellie's the closest thing you have to what you need. she fills a hole that was dug years ago. you feel it has potential. it's like a rich soil, seedlings sown, and desperate to be watered. you know the finest rose garden could grow from it in the colour of blush.

wanting to give her a good birthday is a no-brainer.

on your way back home, a bag full of crafting materials and some flour and butter you picked up from the twin sisters grocer to bake the cake with, you take in a breath of spring air. it's fresh. excitement buzzes in your bones. you want to see her smile.

you stumble upon joel as you make your way down your street, lugging a backpack with him, and you think that perhaps he just got back from patrol. that means ellie might be back, too. it's late afternoon, but the sun hasn't set yet—days are starting to grow longer again.

"mr. miller! how are you?" you ask, stopping before him.

"not too bad," joel replies. "feelin' my age after patrol, you know how it is... and how are you?"

"i'm good," you say, nodding.

"and ellie? you two are friends and i ain't seen her much lately, so i, ah... had to ask."

a more reserved smile falls on your lips and you nod again. of the many mysteries you still haven't been able to sleuth out about ellie, the one that puzzles you most is joel. is it overstepping to tell joel how she's doing right now? is it an even bigger mistake to invite him to her birthday..?

he cares so deeply about her.

"she's doing alright," you say. "about that, i'm planning a little surprise get-together for her birthday, only a few of us are going, and you could come too, if you'd like?"

"ah, no, no, that's okay." joel shakes his head and looks down at you. he couldn't be more satisfied with anyone storming their way into ellie's life than you. "you kids have fun, i'm not sure it's my place to go."

you blink, but nod. "of course. it would still be fun if you came along! but it's up to you."

"yeah, i'll think about it. uh... you take care of her for me, okay?"

this time, you nod firmly. "i will."

going back to the boutique felt like closure.

ellie had tossed and turned all night, memories of death and infection filing in with unstoppable force. she worried something could go wrong again. she worried her mind wouldn't be in the right place to be on patrol. but numbers of infected always seem to dwindle in warmer months, and these buildings were cleared months ago now. all she and jesse had to handle today were two runners.

it was relaxing, actually. it was slow. ellie packed the dress carefully into her bag, made sure nothing could soil it or tear it, not even her own fingerprints, as she had made sure to clean them before touching it.

and she was right, the flower shop in spring was blossoming with colour. it solidified a goal in her mind—she will make sure that you see it before the season ends.

this is the difficult part. the hardest part of the entire day, to be honest; giving you the dress.

"i hope that this isn't too weird," ellie mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. her sheepish face tints red, and she chuckles awkwardly. "i found this on patrol and i thought you would really like it. i thought you'd look.. pretty.. in it."

the second she hands it to you, you gasp. it's just like with the painting—good signs immediately. and ellie almost doesn't want to let go of the dress, but she lets you take it from her.

"ellie! this is gorgeous! thank you, thank you, thank you—" you're hugging the goddamn dress, and she laughs a little, only to be hugged with such force it feels like more of a tackle. "i've never seen anything like it!"

she knows you. that's the real gift. she knew you'd love it. she gave you a painting she knew you would like. she looks for things you'll like. you hope that she'll understand the thought behind her party tomorrow the same way you understand the thought behind her small gifts, too.

ellie buries her smile into your hair, holding you close. "i'm glad you like it."

"you're acting so weird today," ellie says, narrowing her eyes at jesse. "by the way, have you seen—"

"no idea where she's at," jesse mumbles, yet the dumb smile in his voice reveals more than intended.

"you're up to something weird," ellie says with a scoff.

"i am not, how dare you suggest that?" jesse gasps melodramatically, pushing ellie along the sidewalk. "come on stupid."

ellie doesn't look forward to her birthday so much anymore. it's the same every year now. but she can't lie and say she wasn't looking forward to seeing you today, knowing you'd sweeten it.

but she hasn't seen you all day, that's the thing—ellie hasn't made it this long without talking to you for a long time. even in the mornings before her longer, more strenuous patrols, she passes by the kindergarten house to see you.

she's almost feeling a withdrawal right now.

"we're watching every curtis and viper movie in chronological order," ellie declares as they reach joel's backyard, mere feet away from the garage. "hey, is dina coming too? i haven't seen her either. everyone's... quiet."

"i don't know."

"you're— she's your fucking girlfriend, buster, how do you not know where she is?" ellie pokes jesse's shoulder and he snorts.

"i don't know."

"you won't know anything anymore once i punch you in the face," she mutters. "you're not slick. you're up to something."

jesse chuckles again and shoves ellie up to her door. "hurry up. maybe you're about to find all the answers to your questions."

ellie pushes jesse back—because she needs the last laugh in every encounter—and then finally grasps her doorknob. she all but charges in, then stops in her tracks.

forget dina, forget the cake, forget the awkwardly cheered 'happy birthday', her eyes are on you immediately.

in the dress she gifted you.

the fabric cascades down to your ankles, the milkmaid bodice laced tight. ellie's never seen this style of dress around jackson before. it's something unique, something rare.

you look even more delicious than that cake. she's hot under the collar, rolling up the sleeves of her flannel and smiling shyly.

"hey, guys... what the fuck?"

"surprise?" you say, giggling a bit. and never does ellie want to act like this in front of jesse and dina, but it's her damn birthday, so she'll let herself have this—she rushes forward to hold you close. it makes you giggle even more. she giggles too.

dina approaches with two of the paper crowns, already wearing one herself, and places one atop your head, and hands you the other when ellie finally lets you go. you're quick to crown ellie, pushing some hair out of her face.

she can't remember a time she grinned or laughed as much in a long time. it feels like her heart is swelling in her chest, and it's a little sickening. the heavy ebb almost distracts her, but she doesn't get too lost before you're handing her a knife and leading her to the cake.

"cake and a movie marathon sound good?"

even looking at the cake makes ellie feel full. it's a simple spongecake with a jam and cream filling, some white icing over the top with a heart painted on top out of jam.

"you made this?" she clarifies. when you nod, she does the same. "fuck yeah. you're the best baker i know."

"thank you," you mumble. "hurry; make a wish. i'm gonna light a candle."

ellie watches you dig a little candle into the centre. you can feel her, those leafy eyes boring into your figure as you take a lighter to the wick. you hope she makes a wish as she closes her eyes and blows softly.

ellie, jesse, and dina sit on the bed with a plate of cake each. you haven't got yourself a slice yet or even sat down, busy doting on them and putting on the first movie.

you take jesse and dina's empty plates back to the sink, washing them hastily before coming back to see if ellie's finished yet. instead, she pats the spot on the bed beside her. her slice is half-finished.

"come here and relax," she murmurs. "off your feet."

you shrug your shoulders and sit on the edge of the bed. there's this sudden shyness, and ellie realises you've been on your feet tending to everyone's needs because you physically can't help yourself from it.

she's right on the money. there's some anxiety in not being able to satisfy everyone.

"you've done enough." ellie takes your arm and pulls you closer, then takes her spoon and scoops up a bit of cake for you. "here."

you snort softly, parting your lips. she feeds it to you with gentleness, a focus more on you than the movie. and she can't help shivering at your frosting-covered lips or the way you look in that dress. like a rose, radiant and well cared for.

ellie sets the empty plate on her nightstand when she's done feeding you, and she strategically wraps her arm around you so that you won't get up again. it's quite funny how the action makes you sink into her chest. she hopes that you can't hear how fast her heart is beating.

ellie hopes for a lot of things lately, and it's all to do with you.

"you're cuddly," she whispers. "like a little kitten."

you let out a quiet chuckle in response to that, nuzzling closer. ellie's so warm. her hands are warm, thankfully not clammy, though. her breath on the top of your head is warm. her damn face is hot again. flushed.

she hasn't thought about her immunity at all since the party started. you make her feel normal.

the sun bleeds through the trees that line the park, a slight warmth cutting into the crisp air that you wish you could bathe in until the end of time. ellie stands a hairsbreadth away from you, walking side by side in slowness and silence.

after five lame eighties action movies, dina and jesse decided to head off on their own late into the night. they had left you with ellie, who couldn't keep the smile off her face when you said you wouldn't mind watching one more for her.

life in jackson is busier than it looks and you as well as ellie are accustomed to waking quite early. she needed to clear her head, and you invited her along on a morning walk. ellie said yes, and now realises that she severely underestimated how hard it would be to stop herself from holding your hand.

you spent time on her. effort. it was small, but more than she anticipated, and she can't help but think, why? why would you waste your time like this? on her?

"are you okay?" you ask, breaking the quiet with a light voice, but a heavy question. "did you like the party thing? i wasn't sure..."

"oh, you're kidding? i loved it, kitten. i promise." kitten. it's a thing now, ellie announced it when you woke. she smiles your way, stopping so you can catch up to her.

you let out the breath you're holding, nodding. your expression feels flatter than usual, noticeable enough for ellie to pick up on, and she moves closer. she's never seen you down. maybe down isn't the right word—what ellie grasps is some kind of insecurity.

"hey, what's wrong?"

her arm passes over your shoulder and she tugs you into her side. it's so gentle, like you're being wrapped up in a blanket. that's how she makes you feel sometimes. ellie's like a fire, the comforting crackling and passionate heat that makes you feel safe in the winter. she's like a bed, cozy and protecting—maybe a fort is a better analogy. she's built these unbreakable walls around her that block others out, and confuse you, but she's opened the stronghold to you.

"it's okay," you say, leaning closer into her arms. your hand squeezes her bicep, and in turn she holds you tighter. she cups the back of your head in her palm. "you're really quiet all the time, you know..."

"oh," ellie murmurs. as much as she loves this—listening to you, holding you, thinking of you—she's on the lookout for prying eyes. it isn't because she hates to be seen this way, not anymore. it's because she can't. she can't bear to let another person see her with you anymore. they think she's hurting you, and she'd like to believe she isn't, but she's not sure anymore. "uh... i- i just... don't know what to say."

"i like it when you tell me what's on your mind," you say. it's just quietly whispered against her ear, it tickles her neck. your nose rubs against the bristling skin, and she feels how you inhale her scent. "can you do that for me?"

ellie feels her heart stutter. you feel it too, and feel the most minuscule pang of regret for asking something like that of her. of course you know it's hard for ellie to do. but that doesn't put your mind at ease.

"do you.. wanna sit down? there's a bench... just over there, let's go sit down." ellie rushes you to the park bench, sitting beside you. she runs a hand through her hair, opening and closing her mouth a few times. she knows you're waiting for something. anything. "you know, maybe i'm just not used to people wasting their time for me the way you do... and you keep ignoring every warning. maybe i shouldn't have let you get close."

you were going to let her speak. you honestly did want to hear whatever she has to say—but this?

"that's dumb," you mutter. "those people don't know you. i mean— they don't know me either."

"but they know that i'm an asshole," she counters. "and you're not. i'm... i'm sorry, okay?"

"for what, ellie?" you ask softly. you tilt your head to catch her gaze when she lowers her head to the ground. "there is nothing to be sorry for. those people don't know anything about either of us. it's not their place to decide if you're allowed to touch me. god, they act like you're— you're sick, or something. infected."

"yeah," she sighs. she glances up at you again, shrugging her shoulders. "i guess i'm worried that i'm hurting you somehow. that i might, in the future, hurt you."

"i don't think you're capable."

ellie sighs again. she looks at you, the stubborn knit of your brows close together, the small frown on your lips. "i don't want to hurt you."

"that's all i care about," you reply. "i know you don't want to. i know you. and i want to know more. but i can only know as much as you'll let me. i want you to tell me what's on your mind. to just— try. please?"

she nods. "okay."

there's so much that ellie wishes she could tell you.

she clears her throat again, vision focusing on your fidgeting hand. she thoughtlessly covers your hand with her own to stop you, her thumb rubbing over your cool skin. "i don't mean to make you confused. it's just that i'm, you know, confused? my head doesn't make a lot of sense. i write it down, sometimes that helps."

you nod. "yeah... you do a lot more than just confuse me. you make me feel all the feelings."

"all of them?"

"all of them." the corners of your mouth tilt up and you look across the park. there's nobody around at dawn. it's you and ellie, alone, with the birds, the trees, the grass, the feelings. "but i never feel hurt. i feel very safe. i've never had someone like you before. it feels like you understand that there's more to me than what other people see."

ellie exhales, a long and deep breath. she turns to you, brows upturned and a blush painting over her face. "yeah, well... i do my best to keep you comfortable."

"that makes me happy," you say. "and you..? do you feel..?"

"oh," ellie lets out a breathy laugh. "me... i feel good."

the word's on the tip of her tongue. but she doesn't say it. she doesn't even want to accept it; ellie feels purposeful around you. she's a protector. she's... not a lover, but surely something like that. she makes you feel happy. comfortable. safe. like watering a garden of roses.

ellie's voice gets raspy as she continues. "i feel seen."

"i'm really, really glad," you reply. she looks at you and smiles a bit, biting the inside of her cheek. there's a heat flowing through your body. you guess ellie feels the same, because her face is reddening more and more.

"so, kitty... should we get back soon?" ellie asks, looking around again—as if to play off the nickname. the shape of it in her mouth still feels a little weird, but she can't think of anything better. when you asked why, all she said was that sometimes, she swears you might start purring when she hugs you.

"yeah," you murmur distractedly. she looks back at you with concern, and your eyes are on her lips.

oh.

she doesn't feel scared. not exactly the way that she thought. she's not contagious. her burdens are not something she can share to you. you told her so, be it indirectly of course, but you still told ellie she couldn't hurt you by existing. you're comfortable; comfortable enough to want to kiss her.

so when you lean in, ellie does too.

your lips, plush, sweet, shy, meet hers. she is as shy, but quickly succumbs to the feeling. it's pleasant. she rubs her hand over your arm in a light motion, a full grin softening her face.

she'd like to do it again. ellie would love that, actually. sometimes when she thinks about you for too long, she starts to think about all those things you can do to a girlfriend. fuck. she's being selfish again. she's being crude.

"hey, so..." ellie sighs, leaning against the back of the bench and rubbing the back of her neck. "i know a spot just outside of jackson. it's real pretty out there. i can ask maria to let us out for a day? i'll take you there."

you hold fistfuls of the sides of ellie's shirt, holding on tight as she steers shimmer up a hill. she wants to, but she's barely paying attention to your murmured comments of amazement at how beautiful the woods are at this time of year. she's nervous. really.

"we're almost there," ellie announces. "you okay back there baby girl?"

"mm-hmm." you hum, leaning your head against the back of her shoulder, hiding your burning hot face. these little nicknames knock you pretty hard, and the moment ellie discovered so, she wouldn't let up.

"good," she whispers, biting back a smile at your bashfulness. "we're almost there. close your eyes, maybe. don't look until i tell you to. it'll be worth it! i promise."

"i trust you," you reply, laughing quietly and letting your eyes flutter closed.

it smells fresh outside of jackson. a light rainfall had occurred overnight, not only is there an earthy scent left behind—you can smell wet bark and leafy grass—but shimmer's hooves crunch mud and twigs, the sound crisp. the sky is clear of clouds, it's bright and balmy.

shimmer comes to a halt and ellie slides to the ground, catching your hands. she discretely checks the area for any infected as she talks. "alright darlin'. down we get. and no peeking."

"i'm not gonna peek," you giggle, stepping down with some help from ellie.

she slowly guides you forward, one hand over your eyes to really make sure you won't cheat, and the other on your waist.

"okay... are you ready?" ellie asks, removing her hand from your face finally. "you can look."

you blink, readjusting to the light around you, and once your vision clears you are met with what you could only describe as some kind of fairytale hideout—a charming little building, overgrown and yet it's aglow with colour. lush, emerald ivy crawls up the walls, wild and untamed. the flowering plant covers the faded awning, the walls, the broken window. a rusted gold bell hangs over the door, glinting in the sunlight. the dilapidated sign on the wall reads 'marybeth's flowers, est. 2006'.

"oh.. my..." you take a shallow breath before running up to the shop, mary janes squelching wet grass under them. ellie chuckles before chasing you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

"careful, baby. i'm ninety percent sure a patrol came through this morning so there should be no danger but we don't know for sure. don't run from me, okay?"

she's not surprised when her warning gets aired.

"this is beautiful," you say, looking around awe-struck. "you know, sometimes life feels so bleak because of the infected. but things like this make you realise... it's not so bad."

"yeah," ellie murmurs. she follows your gaze to the streaks of light glaring into the flower shop. another small victory for ellie—she knew you'd love this. while she was never one to appreciate the silence of abandoned buildings, succumbed to nature, she knows you fall the opposite way. likely because you seldom see sights like this after settling in jackson. all she ever wanted was to restore society. but your fresh eyes make the gears in her brain turn a different direction every now and then.

but she can't celebrate her success yet. she got you excitedly wandering the shop, a smile on your face. she still has another goal to complete today. and she shall stall it for as long as she can.

"these flowers! they're so happy, look at them," you chirp, dragging ellie through the shop. her nose tickles at the scent of strong pollen, but she tries to ignore it. and the watering of her eyes. what a dumb idea, bringing you here when she has allergies? somehow it hadn't even crossed her mind in the months she'd dreamed of this day. maybe it was a subconscious thing. she's willing to bear it just for you.

"happy flowers..?" she mutters. "i like you."

you stop by a pocket of pristine daisies and tilt your head, taking a soft inhale of the flowers. almost comically, ellie sneezes into her elbow, shaking her head.

"fuck, these things mess with my nose."

"aren't they pretty, though?" you ask, looking back at she who looks away in embarrassment. "they're said to represent new beginnings and love."

"yep. yeah, that's— cute." ellie nods, covering her nose. hopefully later on, she can get more than a word out without sneezing. she has something very important to ask. "i'm fucking dying."

"the hydrangeas! look at these," you gasp, rushing over to the bursts of coloured flowers. "they smell divine."

"what do these ones mean?" ellie asks, rubbing her nose with her free hand. the hydrangeas don't irritate her as much. thank god.

"well, the blue ones symbolise forgiveness and regret, or an apology to someone. the pink are about love. and white is purity," you explain. you don't see ellie nodding along behind you. "i've never seen so many of them. it's so tame in the greenhouses at home—these different species look like they're just.. fighting for space."

ellie's eyes land on a rose bush crawling up the wall. she lets out a puff of air before attempting to pluck one off the vine. a thorn pricks her thumb and she utters a curse before taking her knife to the stem. she feels weird holding it.

she catches your attention by clearing her throat, and holds it out to you on a whim. "these mean love too, don't they?"

you turn your head and, as your eyes lay upon the delicate pink hue of the rose in her hand, you draw your lip between your teeth and take it from her. "yeah. they do. i might take this home with us and press it."

"oh, yeah? that'll be nice," she replies.

"yeah, i think so," you say. it's almost a question. ellie just looks like she has something to say. but she won't say it. in turn, it makes you nervous as well.

ellie looks down and laughs breathlessly, her hand reaching towards her back pocket to pull out a few small cards. you recognise it, it's similar to your method at the winter dance.

"so... we both know i'm not the best at talking about my feelings," she starts. "so i stole your idea about the palm cards. y'know. hopefully i don't drop my shit on the floor like you did."

"hey—"

her voice is shaking. an undeniable waver, that makes your stomach flip with worry. "i appreciate you a lot. i've struggled with, um— i mean, fuck. this is stupid, i'm sorry, i'm just gonna freestyle this."

you giggle, tenderly touching ellie's forearm with the hope of relaxing her. "take your time, els."

"i've felt stranded since getting to jackson." ellie rubs her nose again with her sleeve, and then looks at the rose hanging candidly in your hand. "i really appreciate you for seeing me, and... believing me. nobody else really does. i just— can i... call you my girlfriend?"

you face splits into a wide smile, though she doesn't see. she's holding her breath, staring at the rose, when your pillow-soft palm cups her cheek.

"i would love that," you whisper, finally leaning in. you kiss her slowly, and ellie reciprocates immediately, hands grabbing at your body to pull you closer. sometimes she feels she can't get you close enough.

there's that selfishness again. but if you're her girlfriend, she can be as selfish as she likes.

she doesn't regret it. it's not regret. it's something cold. this pit in her stomach.

she's keeping you warm, got you tucked under the comforter and your face buried against her chest. ellie's fingers scratch softly at your scalp, and she watches your closed eyes flutter with dream, a calm look on your face.

maybe she shouldn't have asked.

you're hers now. she's over the moon, no doubt about that. maybe right now it's your quiet breathing as you sleep in her arms, the trees outside the garage that whisper in the wind, and, of course, her restless thoughts, that allow for ellie to question herself.

she hasn't had thoughts like this in a few days, though. she was running on the high of your affections, and now she's got this downtime to think about the week she's had.

you sleep so prettily. ellie maintains a steady, slow breathing pattern as if afraid she'd startle you otherwise. she watches you stir. you roll even closer to her and she bites her lip, wrapping you up as tight as can be. all this fear of harming you—this is what it stems from. ellie looks at you and she thinks about what a perfect girl this is. something about you stops her dead in her tracks, makes her change her tune.

and she tries not to care about what others think of her. ellie accepted that she is, inherently, the cause of catastrophe for many people. she even played into it.

ellie's lost so many loved ones. she swore she wouldn't lose you, because if she never had you to begin with, there was nothing to lose.

she fucked up.

she's at war with what she wants and what she fears most. how can that be? where has her self control gone? because the side of her that is wanting is starting to win.

she awkwardly swallows back a cough, burying your face into your hair, salt soaking into the strands. she slides her hand to the small of your back and pushes you closer, as though your warmth will ease the strain on her heart. she squeezes tight, starting to tremble. illness ravages her body.

you whimper out into the silence, tugging on the fabric of her hoodie.

"i know kitten," she whispers, "go back to sleep, i'm here."

"there. are you comfy?" ellie asks, rubbing circles into your skin beneath your shirt. she's got you sat on her lap beneath a tree in the park, having fussed about how you were getting your clothes all dirty by sitting on your own.

"yes. very." you nod firmly and lean against her, closing your eyes. the sun weaves between the leaves of the trees and hits your face just right, warmth coating your features.

ellie, on the other hand, is busy fixing you up. she wipes the grass off your knees and pulls your socks over your calves after sensing they'd fallen. she's got into this habit of silently tending to your appearance, be it tightening the ribbon in your hair or pulling your skirt down if it rides up too high. it's just an excuse to touch. to keep you in good condition.

these are the things nobody else sees or notices. ellie tends to you like you're a garden of rich flowers, the minute she sees any sign of wilting she must fix it. she also, recently, has taken it upon herself to protect you from parasitic public opinion. gossiping swirling around town in storms, which had been a fear of hers by touching you—she does everything possible to shield you.

"some privacy, how 'bout that?" she mutters, petting your arm. "nobody around to judge."

"yeah," you say. you pull ellie's other arm over your waist to anchor yourself against her body. "you didn't have to make such a big deal earlier, though."

"i absolutely did," she says, laughing. the noise vibrates in her chest. it's a soothing feeling. "look, i don't care what people think of me, but you? they're not allowed to talk shit about you because you're with me. and if anyone says shit like that to you, you tell them to fuck off, or you tell me, and i'll tell them to fuck off for you."

"well... i dunno," you reply, nudging ellie. "i can handle it. because i know that what they say isn't true. why would i value the opinions of people who change their tune depending on who i spend my time with?"

ellie scoffs softly and rests her face atop your head, lips against your crown. "i don't deserve you."

she's not sure what led her to saying that. it is how she feels inside, but she's been hellbent on keeping that from you. she's found that she talks a lot more freely these days.  it's partly to compensate for the guilt she feels in what she can't say—like telling you she's immune, or that she wished she was dead for a very long time—lately, she hasn't thought about those things as much. she can see herself, one day, telling you about her immunity. she'd like for you to feel a sense of comfort in it.

"don't say that stuff," you scold gently, squishing ellie's wrist in your hand. your fingers slide down the pale skin to her knuckles, red-raw and bruised from an altercation. "maybe those people shouldn't try to provoke you, and they'd be a lot happier minding their own."

"i lost my temper and punched someone," ellie says, "it's embarrassing."

"well... i agree that you didn't really need to do that," you say sheepishly. "but you were defending yourself. you fuck around and you find out, you know? jacob was being nasty on purpose."

she snorts, shrugging her shoulders and squeezing your waist. "yeah, i guess. it was only when he brought you into it that i got mad, okay? i'm trying to handle my emotions better. and he just gets on my nerves because he's such a little dick."

"well, i'm glad you stood up for me, either way," you say. "thank you, els. i'm not good at that stuff. people hurt my feelings all the time without realising it and i don't do anything about it."

"yeah. i promise he was just talking out of his ass, baby, please, don't take what he said seriously."

ellie knows you; she knows you're capable of handling yourself, but you are also a highly sensitive person, who has only ever known how it feels to be on people's good sides. being compared to a doormat, a lamb to the slaughter, or as jacob called it today, you being 'walked like a dog' by ellie, it must hurt. there must be doubt somewhere in your mind.

"it's okay," you say hesitantly. "i'm not."

"he doesn't know us," she murmurs against your ear. she moves her lips to your temple, rubbing down your side with her hand. "and he was so wrong, anyway. you're my kitten."

"were you still wanting to hang out with jesse and dina later? we can get ready and go soon," you say quietly, glancing over your shoulder at ellie as you reach for your shoes. she's still sitting on her bed, leaning against the headboard casually. that's a no.

"i just... after today, wanna be with my girl, okay?" ellie murmurs. she shifts her eyes away immediately after telling you this, like she's embarrassed—and you laughing doesn't make it better. "i doubt those two feel like doing shit right now anyway. and you look exhausted, so..."

"okay miss suave," you tease, raising your eyebrows at her tough act. "what are you doing?"

"trying to be a good girlfriend," ellie says back. she opens her hands in an encouraging fashion, as if to beckon you to her lap.

lips parted in bewilderment and words escaping you for a moment, your body still seems to move with its own mind and you're soon perched on ellie's thigh, facing her. her hand finds home on your waist, the other on your knee. "you already are a good girlfriend, silly."

"yeah, well— i just think i wanna appreciate you a little more, kitten. some proper alone time, you know? just us. and our feelings. and..." ellie can't even look at you. it's strange, because for the first time, she isn't afraid of making a move. she's just unfamiliar with it. "i— maybe, you know... i can just show you what i mean. if you trust me."

you take a pause at that. you tilt your head and catch her gaze, stammering slightly. "hm?"

"do you trust me?"

"yeah," you reply, the breathless word pleasing ellie more than you could imagine. "can you be a little more direct, please?"

ellie swallows thickly, looking you in the eyes with a fiery certainty. "i want to touch you. are you ready for something like that?"

you weren't sure at first if you had read the situation wrong, but you're right. and whilst nervous, you're so, so ready.

"yeah, please." your insistence causes ellie to grow in confidence, a hand slowly snaking from thigh to your cheek.

"okay," ellie says. "it's your first time, yeah?"

"yes."

you avoid her gaze this time. ellie's not used to this anymore. you haven't been so shy since the first few times you roped your way into speaking to her. she was always so endeared by your shyness. right now, it's just what she needed. ellie wants you to be the nervous one more often. she likes it. feeling like a protector.

"don't be scared, kitten." ellie gives you a reassuring smile, her thumb rubbing over your lower lip. "it's only me, you know? i'll take care of you."

your stomach feels tight suddenly, a rush of warmth between your legs. it is just the thought of what she'll do, how you know ellie will take care of you. it has you worked up. already.

ellie's free hand roams up and down your back, the one cupping your cheek now bringing you closer and closer. you brace yourself by basing your hands on her shoulders, certainty in both of your nearing smiles—her lips are on yours in seconds, and as fast as they had met, the passion increases. 

silence and heavy breath. your lower lip between her teeth. ellie's hand pushing you closer by the ass. she touches you with far less of the hesitance you find yourself with, letting out a quiet and pleased hum against her mouth as you find the courage to palm her chest.

your hips rolling into her is what pulls her away for a soft laugh, fingers languidly messing with the hem of your top. "you're okay? you cool if I take this off'a you now?"

you lean forward to give her another kiss, over-eager and making her chuckle again. she takes that as a yes and begins to pull your top up, focused on you as the fabric is discarded somewhere on the floor. 

the goosebumps beginning to prick up along your tummy and arms sweeten the sight even more, her hands sliding up your sides and holding you firmly. she almost doesn't know how to proceed, heat building in her boxers and gaze frantic—where to look, where to look? your stomach, or your bra, and the way it hugs your tits?

nimble fingers graze the cups of your bra, a slight touch just to test the waters. 

"shit, you are so perfect." ellie whispers it like she can't even believe the beauty sitting in her lap right now, her already pink cheeks turning darker. crimson billowing up her neck, settling beneath smatterings of freckles.

while she moves toward the clasp of your bra, she leans forward to kiss you again, tongue pressing into yours. ellie snaps your bra open and you let it slither down your arms, baring your chest. the air has a bite to it, but ellie takes hearty, warm handfuls of your tits, watching you shiver.

she now trails her lips down, down, down. neck, collarbone, tits. she has half a mind to tease you, avoid where you want her most, but she can't bring herself to. 

too happily, ellie swallows up your stiff peak, and you arch your back into her. She fondles you with gentleness, lips switching between both sides and wrapping around your nipples. her free hand strokes up your spine, every action unscripted but full of intention.

hearing your tiny coos and panting gets ellie pent up. the upturning of your brows and how you draw your lip between your teeth to muffle the pleasure in your voice, your hips rolling and squirming, hands fidgeting, it's a masterpiece. ellie has got to draw you like this—she will, if she can even remember it later.

finally, ellie's fingers nudge at the fly of your shorts, her forehead resting against yours. "lay down baby girl, i got you."

"mhm."

you shimmy out of your shorts quickly, crawling onto ellie's bed. it feels unfamiliar and yet comforting to gather pillows and place them against the headboard, resting back on them.

ellie helps you shortly, then starts to throw off her own clothes; shirt and jeans off, and only her boxers and bra on. you want to stop and stare but she's throwing instructions at you before you get the chance to.

"lift your hips up babe, let me put this down."

you feel soft.

ellie had, of course, taken note of your smooth skin, pillowy lips. in the physical sense, you are so soft. but on the inside, you're melting over her. softening and shying away over the reassurances slipping into conversation, the fact that her callouses feel so much fainter thanks to her light grip.

it makes you feel somewhat lightheaded. head in the clouds.

ellie quickly crawls over you, pressing a firm, steady line of kisses all the way from your jaw to your tummy, occasionally nipping flesh between her teeth.

"and are you gonna let me take these off?" ellie asks, rubbing circles over your hips where pink cotton covers you.

"yeah," you murmur, laughing quietly, looking down and matching ellie's small smile with one of your own. "please.."

she takes her time as she slides the fabric down your legs. she can feel your nervousness, and attempts to drown out the silence in the room by cooing at the sight between your legs.

"wow, look at you… all wet for me, hm?" 

ellie parts your legs with her hands and lies on her stomach, eyes closing as she leans down and tenderly kisses your clit; your jolt makes her stop and grin upwards, hand splaying over your pelvis. her thumb rubs slow, languid circles on the thumping bundle of nerves, the other hand demanding your legs to remain open.

tremors run through your thighs. ellie feels them against her, and she likens them to adorable electric shocks. your chest heaves. she's barely touched you yet. 

"so beautiful," ellie whispers. she's looking more at the folds of your cunt than she is at you just now, struggling to believe she is the only person to see you like this, let alone touch you like this. what'd she even do to deserve this? gorgeous skin glistening, musky scent hitting her nose…

it's all hers. how did she get so goddamn lucky?

your hips buck into her hand. frankly, ellie cannot hold back anymore, itching for a taste, and of course in a kinder sense—she doesn't want to keep you waiting too long.

it starts in long, deliberate strokes of her tongue. up and down, from hole to clit. a whiny sound falls from her lips as she finally learns your flavour.

but you sound perfect. your voice strained, noises slipping out of your lips free of intention. ellie listens to it all. she smiles when the sounds change, when her tongue focuses precisely on your swollen clit. it's slow, sensual, but fervent. it's almost torturous for your sensitivity, the newness of it all leaving you with difficulty focusing on anything at all.

you hold yourself together so well, and ellie's never seen you truly fall apart like this.

your body is fighting itself. leaning into ellie's mouth, then trying to move away—which she doesn't let happen—and you tense up, squeezing a pillow tightly over your chest.

"mmh— ellie! it's too much."

"shh, i got you baby girl. look at me," ellie whispers, plump lips shining with your essence over them.

you open your eyes a smidge and look down, almost mortified by the lewdness of her between your legs. as she distracts you with a gentle flick of her tongue, you feel a slow but pleasant burning sensation, the insertion of her finger—that's when too much becomes too much.

your entire body is startled by a wave of shock, breathy whines falling out of you without control. ellie has to fight to keep your squirming body still, though she squeezes her own thighs together at the scene. the feeling of you clenching so tight on her finger, and your clit twitching under her tongue...

"aw, baby girl, what happened?" she teases, looking up through half-lidded eyes. "do i have a magic touch or something, huh?"

"you are so mean," you whine.

"mean? i can get meaner if you want me to," she whispers, finger starting to pump in and out at a slow pace. "don't be embarrassed. i did the same thing my first time."

when her finger begins to move, you bite back a light whimper and squeeze the pillow harder in your hands. "no you didn't. and don't be meaner."

"i didn't," ellie concedes, laughing softly. "i'm just trying to make you feel better. there's nothing to be embarrassed for. that was the prettiest thing."

ellie slides her finger out of you and leans over to give you a soft peck on the lips, not before sucking her finger clean of course.

"you're so lucky i can't be mean to you, because you taste so good i wanna stay down there forever."

you huff softly, pushing frizzy hairs out of ellie's face. "did i ruin it?"

"no." ellie scoffs at this, leaning lower to bite at your neck like it's some kind of reprimand. "that was beautiful, and i'm not done, anyway. just letting you recover a little right now."

she doesn't feel bad this time around for being greedy. she licks the spot she bit, only to make another attack on your neck, sucking the skin between her teeth. ellie's being so selfish, she's eating you up and putting her hands all over you and it's disgusting, and you like it. it's making you feel good. she's not afraid that she might hurt you. she feels so much control over herself right now, so comfortable in your presence.

ellie pulls her boxers down quickly and tosses them to the floor. this time it's your turn to not know where to look—the trail of dark red hairs that lead from her navel to her mound, or the small, perky tits that she uncovers finally.

"don't," she whispers, grabbing your wrists and pinning them by your sides the moment you try to reach out. "just spread your legs for me."

you give a sort of choked moan in response, opening your legs. ellie bites her lip and moves slowly without wanting to overwhelm you, but sits so that your legs are interlocked, her cunt right on top of yours. you both moan, ellie a little quieter than you, as she starts to move.

and it's not slow. her clit kisses yours over, and over, and over, her clammy knuckles whiting as she holds your hands into the bed. she uses it as leverage to move herself over you, panting heavily over your face. everything's slippery, sweaty, hot, as though you're running a fever.

"you take it so, so well, kitten," ellie says lowly, forcing her eyes open to watch your wrecked expression. "so good for me, my one and only."

"mmh, els, i love you," you whimper. you recognise the buildup to your orgasm this time, it's still quick but it doesn't take you by surprise so much like earlier. between shrieks of delight and your hips bucking into hers, you chant a mantra. "i love you, i love you."

"i love you too— i really do," ellie rushes out. she's overwhelmed with it, and never has she come so quickly before, but your needy cries satisfy her more than anything. she could honestly get off to just that sound.

"shh, shh, you're okay," she whispers after collapsing over you. she's shaking hard, blistering skin burning yours, but in a sensitive way; it's almost addictive. she cups your cheek to lift your face, almost like she has to check that you're still functioning. it's the slightest worry she might have broken you—not that that would be a bad thing anymore. not like this. "look at me, pretty girl. there she is. hi."

"hi," you reply, still breathing heavily, but managing a light smile. ellie grins back, leaving a kiss on those soft lips before rolling over to hold you in her arms.

"did you get what i was wanting to show you? i think you did," she says.

you nod, pressing your mouth against her collarbone, the skin hot and moist. "i love you, and you love me."

"clever kitten," ellie murmurs, rubbing the back of your head. "you get me like nobody else."

she has succeeded. she makes you feel safe. she's good for that—protecting. she was used to treating her immunity as a superpower of sorts, to throw herself recklessly into patrols to guard jackson. things are simpler now; ellie is more responsible now, she wants to return home safely for your sake. if she were gone, you'd be hurting.

it's something ellie resigned herself to thinking she'd never have. you trust her. she knows you. she knows nearly everything there is to know. she never thought herself to be anything but destructive, but she's grown under your wing. her fire is contained to that which emits smoke into a chimney on a rainy day, keeping you warm.

she's attached herself to you; she's the thorns on your stem, the water that keeps you happy, and the sun that nourishes you all at once.

ellie has a new purpose.

🏷️ @abbysdollie @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @emmap3rkins @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace @marieeeluvsyou @losing-it-lately (if you aren't usually on my tag list but got tagged, it's because you showed some interest in the fic and it really motivated me to keep going ♡) thank you for reading ♡♡ btw i have headcanons + spin-off content planned for this au so be on the lookout !!

[avianyuh]

Small World | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: After being ditched by your friends, your coworker Taehyung invites you to a weekend hang out at his apartment where you end up running into someone unexpected.

word count: 3k

I had avoided checking my phone all day. I knew the minute I’d inevitably skim through Instagram, I would be bombarded by pictures of my past friend group’s summer trip that I was seemingly “left out” of the planning for. Six years of friendship went to waste and I was left all throughout the month of June with nothing to do but sit on my couch, green with envy over everything I was missing out on. 

All I could do was focus on work, which was actually surprisingly easy to do since I had a few really great coworkers. One of which, going by the name of Taehyung. We both waited tables at a restaurant, which upon my move to the city after college was the only place willing to hire me as a fresh graduate with no job experience past some part time retail work in High School and university. We both bonded over feeling out of place in our twenties, banding together to “fuck our timelines” we had expected to be halfway done by our midtwenties. In reality, I learned that being an adult is harder than it looked and I look back and laugh at how diluted my version of adulthood was back when I was a teenager. 

I lived with a roommate I barely knew. Most of the conversations revolved around when the rent would be due. I was working a job that wasn’t aligned with my major and I was still single. Now, on top of everything else, it seemed like my friendships were falling apart all because I couldn’t afford the Europe summer trip, hence my friends thought I should be punished and be made to feel more broke than I already was. That’s why my growing friendship with Taehyung started to become more important. 

“I can’t believe that they would post all the highlights knowing you’re sitting at home looking at the pictures. That’s fucked up.” Taehyung shook his head in disapproval as we chatted in the break room, quickly trying to eat our meals before the dinner rush came in. “Out of all the things you’ve mentioned over the past year I’ve worked with you, this one takes the cake.” I let out a sigh of relief, hearing him agree that my friends were being inconsiderate, I felt less crazy and more validated. 

“I get that they want to post about the trip, but they didn’t even try to compromise with me when I asked them if we could pick a more budget-friendly location. They told me it was my fault I wasn’ working somewhere better by now.” I ranted, watching as Taehyung’s eyes went wide. 

“Fuck them” Taehyung said with a mouth full of sandwich. “Which friend was the one who told you to not wear green again?” I laughed, thinking back to the time I told him about a passive aggressive conversation I had with a friend from university. 

“Riley, she told me green made me look wide.” I said, with an emphasis on the word wide. 

“You want my honest opinion.” Taehyung asked, leaning in across the table. “I think you’re better off without them…they seem fake.” My eyes softened as I reached for his hand across the tiny break room table, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“Thanks Tae, that means a lot.” I said, grateful to have someone who actually understood me. Then we both stood up and tied on our work aprons before starting our shifts. 

After a few hours of enduring some nice people out to eat with friends, family or alone, and of course the nasty, cranky crowd, I was officially exhausted and ready to clock out. “Heading home?” I asked Taehyung who was standing behind me as I finished punching out. 

“Yeah, I’m ready to just wash my face and go to bed. My feet are killing me.” He complained as he also punched out. We always walked out together if we were working the same shift. Most of the staff had already left, but we tried to wait for each other most nights. I threw my bag over my shoulder and pulled out my metrocard as we both headed down the sidewalk toward the subway. “Oh by the way, I’m having a little get together on Saturday night if you’re interested?” Taehyung piped up as we neared the corner, getting closer to the landmark we’d usually go our separate ways. 

“Really? That sounds fun, I don’t think I’m doing anything that night so maybe I’ll come.” I answered, trying to rake through my mind on any prior engagements I may have already signed up for on Saturday. 

“Well, I hope you can make it. It’ll just be a few of my friends, a lot of those artsy types I keep telling you about.” I smiled, Taehyung was very into anything artistic, frequently blowing money meant for his savings on paintings from artists around the city. He always backed up the purchase by saying he needed to support other struggling people. Taehyung’s ultimate goal was to sustain himself off of his own art one day, and eventually stop waiting tables. I really wished that he’d sucker some rich guy into buying one of his pieces one day so he’d never have to work another day in his life. An ex boyfriend I had dated back in High School was also pretty artsy, but he took the musical route. I spent many nights in his room watching him play guitar, or sing to me while we were driving somewhere. We broke up right before graduation after he told me he was moving to LA with a few of his friends, in search of getting signed. I hadn’t heard from him in years and remembered feeling pretty hurt that he dumped me two days before graduation. I thought about him sometimes, even looking him up on Instagram, but he had stopped posting two years ago, so I wasn’t sure about his whereabouts anymore. 

Taehyung and I hugged and said goodbye and by the time I made it home, he had already sent me his address. Everyone’s coming at 7, but come over a little earlier if you want, he had texted. 

By Saturday I was sitting on Taehyung’s couch, music playing softly in the background as we laughed and talked. Taehyung gave me a run down of the people coming over. There was Julie, who had blue and purple ombre hair, who was working at a boutique downtown. Cami, a friend of Taehyung’s who worked at another restaurant who I had actually met a few times. Then there was Jimin, who most people viewed as charming, who worked as a choreographer. Taehyung said that Jimin might’ve been bringing a friend of his, but Taehyung didn’t know who. I loved meeting new people, and especially now considering my last text to my group had gone unanswered, I chose to ignore the pit of disappointment in my stomach and try to have fun. We’d just be sitting and talking, with some food and alcohol spread out on the coffee table in front of the couch. Taehyung had put in a lot of effort. We continued to sip out of our glasses and talk until the buzzer went off, signaling the first person to arrive. 

Cami was the first to show up, greeting both Taehyung and I with a warm smile. She had long, wavy hair and had appeared to have dyed it a honey blonde since the last time I had seen her. She plopped down on the seat next to me as I handed her a glass, catching up on our lives. Soon after Julie arrived, bringing her uninvited boyfriend with her who sat silently next to her most of the night. Taehyung gave Cami and I the side eye as Julie’s boyfriend glanced down at his phone, not even bothering to say hello. 45 minutes later, the buzzer rang again, and Taehyung stood up from his seat, “I wonder who that could be…” he questioned sarcastically. According to Julie, Jimin was always late, even when he promised to be on time. 

I stood up to stretch my legs and grab some more ice for my glass from the kitchen while Taehyung answered the door. I could hear the sound of the door opening and closing, as everyone jokingly cheered and yelled “Jimin!” I crept back in and to my seat, glancing over at Jimin, who was dressed in ripped jeans and a dark t-shirt. He was definitely attractive, which was probably what Taehyung meant when he said Jimin was a charmer. But what really caught my eye was the shadowy figure still standing in the hallway. He was more built than Jimin, and he had hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. I couldn’t see his face, but could make out the outlines of some of the tattoos that adorned his arms. I squinted, leaning forward, waiting for him to fully come into the light. “Who’s that behind you?” Taehyung asked, playfully shoving Jimin out of the way. I gasped, feeling my heart stop as I got a full view of him. There he was, my ex-boyfriend. The boy he dumped me, told me he couldn’t be with me, said he needed to travel, get out of our small town and go somewhere he could be a serious musician. 

“Hey, I’m Jungkook.” He said shyly, extending his hand for Taehyung to shake. But as he turned his attention away from Taehyung and stepped further into the apartment, removing his shoes by the front door, he must’ve gone through the same shock as me when his eyes met mine. It looked as if he had seen a ghost. Stunned, standing maybe 15 feet away from me. It felt as if no one else was in the room as our eyes locked, almost as if we were in a staring contest. Jimin nudged him, gesturing for him to follow his lead and sit down. I fidgeted nervously in my seat as Jungkook sat on the other side of the sectional, directly facing me. I took a sip of my drink, wishing the alcohol would calm my growing nerves. I tried to not look at him, instead half heartedly focused on whatever Cami was talking about with the rest of the group, but it was no use. I couldn’t pay attention knowing the guy who broke my heart was sitting on the other side of me. I leaned over, whispering in Taehyung’s ear that I was going to go use the bathroom. He patted my knee in acknowledgement, smiling at me as I got up and left the room. I tried to catch my breath as I walked down the hallway. I shut the bathroom door behind me, turning on the light and leaning over the sink. Not long after, there was a knock on the door, to which I didn’t respond. I knew who was on the other side of that door. 

“I’m coming in.” Jungkook said in a low voice. He shut the door behind him as he leaned his back against it. He didn’t say anything and neither did I, again just staring at each other. I scanned his body, taking in everything that had changed about him in the past few years. The tattoos that were displayed all over his arms and hands. The way his black hair was perfectly tousled, and his arms had become more muscular. He had always been very competitive and athletic, so I wasn’t surprised to see how fit he still was after all these years. I also took in the new addition of a lip piercing, which made him even more attractive. His eyes still gave off the sense of innocence, but they seemed a bit duller. Back when we had dated, everytime he talked about music or sang, his eyes were filled with hope, if that makes sense. Now his eyes seemed somewhat tired. I shifted against the bathroom counter, biting my lip. All you could hear was our breathing. Finally, I broke the silence. 

“I, uh, can’t believe we ran into each other.” I said in disbelief. 

“Small world, I guess.” Jungkook joked, crossing his arms over his chest. I looked around the tiny bathroom, thinking about what he was going to say. “I didn’t know you moved to New York City? I guess that explains why I haven’t seen you around when I go to visit my parents back home.” He said, his gaze focusing back on me. 

“Yeah, I don’t really go back home that often, it’s hard to get time off, my manager gives me a hard time.” I explained, to which he nodded in understanding. 

“Where do you work?” Jungkook questioned curiously. 

“At a restaurant, that’s how I met Taehyung.” Jungkook swallowed hard, shifting his weight, and standing up straight.

“So, is he your boyfriend?” He asked, pointing his thumb behind him outside of the bathroom. I was surprised that he would ask, assuming he wouldn’t care if I was dating Taehyung or not. But I could sense a kind of desperation in his eyes as he anxiously awaited my answer. His breathing became more shallow and he nervously tapped his pointer finger against his chin, a nervous habit he had back when I had known him years ago. 

“No, just a friend.” I shook my head. I could hear him let out a deep breath, which for some reason made me feel good. Knowing after all this time, there was still something there. I inched toward him, trying to make it seem like I was just moving in place. Maybe I shouldn’t step closer to him? I wondered in my head. “I thought you were living in LA?” I asked, looking up at him. 

“LA fell through two years ago, and I got a job playing in a band up here. I had a record deal but it fell through back in LA so I just figured it was time to move.” He shrugged, moving his hands into his pockets. 

“I kept up with you online for a few years. I really wanted everything to work out for you…” I said quietly. 

“I’m sorry about the way I ended things.” Jungkook said, moving closer towards me. “I was a stupid kid and believe me, not even trying to make it work with you has been one of my biggest regrets.” He whispered, standing right in front of me. His eyes were filled with remorse and I subconsciously found myself reaching for the free hand he had taken out of his pocket. I ran my thumb over his as I pursed my lips together. 

“Jungkook…I’ve missed you.” I murmured, “I never thought I’d see you again.” Our bodies were now firmly pressed up against each other. He scooped me up and lifted me onto the edge of the bathroom counter. I could feel his muscles tense, his skin was soft. He cupped my face, his nose against my own. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, letting his thumb rub against my cheek. 

“Mhm”, I interjected before his lips crashed against mine. His lip piercing was cold upon contact. It felt as if we were 18 again, as his hands abandoned my face and crept under my shirt. His tongue entered my mouth, The only sound heard came from our kisses and the moans that left my throat. I’m sure he could taste the alcohol on my lips. My hands slip down his toned chest, resting on his belt buckle. He pulled away for a second, looking into my eyes, now with a new sort of intensity before begging to trail kisses down my neck. I tried to stifle the moans fighting to come out of me as I closed my eyes, focused on the air hitting the wet kisses he was leaving on my body. My fingers slipped through the belt, started to tug at it. 

“Y/n, I don’t think it’s appropriate to have sex in your friend’s bathroom.” He joked in between kisses. I opened my eyes and laughed as he lifted his head back up. I pressed my forehead against his own before pressing a soft kiss to his full lips. 

“You know everyone out there wondering why we’re in the bathroom together right?” I stated, trying to distract myself from the heat growing between my legs. I needed him, but I knew now wasn’t the right place. 

“Fuck em’. Let’s just leave and we can explain it tomorrow.” Jungkook said, a smile forming on his lips. 

“And what exactly am I supposed to tell Taehyung? That I left his apartment early to go have sex with my ex-boyfriend?” As I said it, I felt myself start to sober up as I started to think about my current predicament. If we had sex? What would happen after? Does that mean we’re back together? Will he want to keep in touch? I suddenly became angry at myself. How could I be so stupid, sleeping with a guy I hadn’t spoken to in years. It’s true that I frequently thought of him and I checked his accounts to see if he had posted or had moved on. But realistically, how easy would it be to pick up from where we left off years ago? Maybe I was drunk and in my feelings over my friends that I had unintentionally thrown away my better judgment. 

Jungkook kept his arms around my waist, but stepped back a bit so he could get a better view of my face. “Y/n, what do you want to tell him? What are we doing here?” He asked, which took me by surprise. I wanted to be honest with him. Being able to see him again and feeling that same chemistry after all that time apart, I knew what I wanted to say to him. 

“Jungkook, I want to try this again.” I answered, to which he moved closer again. His hand caressed my cheek as his lips molded against mine again. 

“I do too.” He said after pulling away. 

-

{A/N: OMG, guys I feel so bad, I disappeared again. Truthfully, I was suffering from a mix of writers block, finals and a shitty personal life. But this story idea popped into my mind and I knew I had to write this shit down right away and I absolutely love this story and I hope you do too! Jungkook is just one of those guys where I can see him fitting into so many different scenarios/tropes and reconnecting with a guy from your past is my favorite and something I'm manifesting for myself lol. But seriously, I hope you enjoyed this. JK is my favorite to write about besides Yuta, stories with him as a character seem to come pretty natural idk why. Also, this story will be posted on my AO3 page for those who like to read on there. As for a writing schedule, I DO plan on writing this summer, but I'm not sure if it was be posts every two weeks like I'm used to, I'm trying to not burn out, but just know I'm always trying to come up with new story ideas. As always, I love you all so so much, thank you for continuing to read my work while I've been inactive. I'm always here! Have a great day/night and mwahhhh💋💋💋💋💋💋}

[seokgyuu]

When fertility clinics fail to give you what you want, you decide it’s time to take the matter into your own hands. And who’d be better for the job than Choi Seungcheol?

Pairing: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Porn with a small bit of plot. 

Warnings: This work contains adult content! MDNI! This whole fic revolves around getting pregnant!! So if you’re uncomfortable, please do not read. Smut warnings under the cut!

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Omg look, she’s back with a work!! And it’s a standalone Cheol fic??? Damn. I wanna thank the lovely @idyllic-ghost for the beautiful banner!! Have fun reading and please be a bit more patient in case you are a reader of Challenge Me. I swear there is more to come!! also big thanks to @beomcoups for reading this over and telling me it doesn't suck, lol.

Tagging: @duhnova, @yoonguurt, @highvern, @smileysuh, @cheolism @the-boy-meets-evil @ourdawnishotterthanourday @gyuswhore

“I don’t really know how to start.” You finally break the silence, sitting on the couch across from Seungcheol, your legs crossed and your hands laying in your lap. He watches as you lick over your lips, nervous eyes roaming around the room and something like a chuckle wants to creep out of his throat. He suppresses it and instead smiles.

“Me neither, don’t worry. We can take it slow if you like. Or I can finish this water and we can go upstairs,” he pauses for a second, “or stay here, whatever you prefer.”

Smut Warnings: unprotected sex (duh), creampie, dirty talk, blowjobs, face fucking, usage of the word daddy, squirting, multiple orgasms (f&m)

Choi Seungcheol has never done this before. He has never sat in the living room of a woman he barely knew with a glass of medium sparkling water in his hand and a pounding heart in his chest. If anything, this had only ever happened in his dreams. Not the medium sparkling water (mainly because he didn’t even like his water sparkled, medium or not) and perhaps with less clothing - even though that specific part was probably about to become reality. 

“Do you want something small to eat, or something?” You ask now and Cheol flinches slightly, looking up at you with his big eyes and his mouth slightly dropped.

“Oh, no, thanks!” He smiles back and takes a sip from his glass. It tastes awful but he’s not about to say that. 

Your living room is huge; two big couches the color of creme surrounded by tasteful art on the walls. A fireplace and a huge flatscreen above it, pictures of friends and family on the shelves, books from authors Cheol has never heard of. He wonders for a quick second why you would choose this route when you obviously had the funds to do it the… more professional way, but then he remembers that he is getting paid for this. In fact, he already has the insane amount in his bank account waiting to be used to pay off his student loans. 

“I don’t really know how to start.” You finally break the silence, sitting on the couch across from Seungcheol, your legs crossed and your hands laying in your lap. He watches as you lick over your lips, nervous eyes roaming around the room and something like a chuckle wants to creep out of his throat. He suppresses it and instead smiles.

“Me neither, don’t worry. We can take it slow if you like. Or I can finish this water and we can go upstairs,” he pauses for a second, “or stay here, whatever you prefer.”

You think it’s cute, the way he blushes. In a situation like this one, definitely not surprising. You’ve been thinking about this for months now: fertility clinics in your town and even outside of it weren’t working. It wasn’t the money that was the problem, but your body apparently. Or anything else. At some point one of the doctors joked that it would probably be best if you tried getting pregnant in the old fashioned way. By sleeping with someone who had a penis with functioning sperm. And whilst he had meant it as a joke, very clearly trying to uplift an incredibly sad situation (kind of distasteful, you find) you had taken it to heart and here you are now. 

A friend of yours owned a few gyms in town and Cheol was a regular turned PT in one of them. He was handsome and strong, a gentleman, healthy and in desperate need of some easy made money. Your friend had overheard him talking to one of the other PTs and even though it might not have been the most professional thing to do - she had asked him if he wanted to help out in your specific situation. You have to admit - back when she told you it felt extremely humiliating. Asking some stranger to have sex with you to, maybe (hopefully?), get you pregnant. Not to mention her being his boss - if he hadn’t reacted the way he did, he could have more than likely sued her for this. 

But he said yes. And now he's here. Many dollars richer and with an embarrassed flush on his pretty face. 

“Upstairs is probably more comfortable,” you finally respond and he nods, emptying his glass. After, he looks at you expectantly and you feel your insides growing hot. He’s everything you wished for and more. Better than who you had picked first in the fertility clinic for sure. It’s crazy, all of this, you know it, and yet you can’t help but feel like this is also the only right thing. You want a baby. Seungcheol wants to help you get one. 

Finally, you get up and he joins you, a nervous smile on his lips as you lead him to the stairs in the foyer, your legs shaking as you walk up, the sounds of his footsteps behind you echoing in your head. You’re about to lead a stranger into your bedroom. A sexy stranger that will (hopefully) father the child you’ve been wanting for over a year. Your stomach turns in excitement as well as arousal and you clear your throat as you reach the top of the stairs.

“It’s right over here,” you say, pointing at the door to your left and Seungcheol nods, eyes only temporarily leaving your frame. 

A part of him feels like he should come clean about how much he’s been looking forward to this. To sleep with you, to breed you. Ever since his boss had asked him about this, he’s been excited. It was almost as if she had known. Showing him pictures of you, telling him how much you want to have a baby. She obviously didn’t say the obvious, didn’t say that you were desperate for cum in your pussy to get you pregnant. Mainly because that would have been even more inappropriate. But Cheol knew. He still does. Knows that you’re probably dripping into your designer panties wanting nothing but his cum and his only. Fuck, he is growing harder by the second. He has to calm down, remain professional. This is supposed to be nothing but a business transaction, he is well aware. But it’s not like he chose to have an extreme breeding kink, right? 

The door to your bedroom opens and Cheol takes in the furniture and decorations only for a second before his eyes land on you again. You stand in front of your bed, your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“I- uh, I think it’s probably best if we, uhm, get ready by ourselves?” 

Cheol nods. He kind of figured there wouldn’t be much foreplay. Still, just the thought of you behind him, touching yourself… he comes to the conclusion he won’t need much handy work to be hard for you. 

“Should we take our clothes off, or…?” He asks carefully and you swallow, your eyes trying to be subtle as you check him out but he can clearly see what you’re doing. You want him to take off his clothes. You just aren’t sure if you should. It would probably make the situation easier, yes, but it would also expose you to this man that is built like a god. You bite down on your lip and swallow the lump in your throat. Then, you nod. 

With a sense of pride, Cheol moves his hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head without any trouble. Your eyes are immediately glued to his toned torso - the abs, the strong shoulders, his chest. 

“Maybe we should turn off the lights.” The words escape your mouth before they reach your brain. A small smirk tugs on Cheol’s lips - you’re flustered because of him. Without a word, Cheol nods and turns off the light, sitting down onto the bed with his back turned to you. This is nerve wracking. Your face is hot and your heart is beating fast as you sit down as well. You hear him behind you. Hear the sound of his pants opening, of his hands moving to shove it down. There is no stopping the wish to see him, his beautiful body. When you hear the small sigh he lets out a few seconds later, you decide to just follow your instincts. It was you who had called him here. Backing out now would be foolish. So, you bite down on your lip and lean back slightly, your hand wandering down to your clothed core, pressing against it for just a quick moment, before you move to open your jeans as well, making quick work to get them down your legs. 

You begin to circle your clit over your panties, eyes closed and the image of Cheol right there in front of you. The smug smile, the lean muscles on his torso… you wonder what they’d feel like under your fingertips. Now, it is you who sighs softly and Seungcheol behind you groans quietly. The sound shoots through you, makes you crave to hear it even closer, right by your ear. You want him to hold you, want him to say your name as he slides into you. 

The sounds you make drive Seungcheol crazy. His big hand is wrapped around his cock, moving up and down, precum helping to make the glide easier. His whole head is filled with you and nothing but you and he has to stop himself from shooting his load right away just thinking about feeling you tightly around him. Yes, Seungcheol seriously doesn’t know how long he can go on like this without cumming. So, he slightly turns around, tongue slipping over his lips.

“I’m ready…,” his deep voice reaches your ears just when two of your fingers slide into your pussy, already longing for more. You moan, feeling another wave of heat running through your body. Nodding, you let your fingers slip out and turn around, moving fully onto the bed. You hadn’t discussed positions earlier, but you decide to get on all fours, Seungcheol slowly getting up.

He can’t see you, only your silhouette that looks ever so perfect, ass up in the air and, fuck, he thinks he won’t last long. Swallowing hard, he moves and places his hands on your hips.

“Is that alright?” He asks and you nod.

“Y-yes.”

That’s all he needs. Moving forward, his right hand grabs his erect cock, leading it to your core. God, you’re wet. No problem at all to slide into you, into your seemingly perfect pussy that begins to squeeze him right away. Seungcheol is sure there are stars dancing in front of his head already. 

His size almost takes you out. The stretch hurts deliciously and the second he is buried fully inside of you, your head drops and a moan you couldn’t suppress even if you wanted to makes Seungcheol thrust for the first time. He starts out slow but deep, trying to hold on longer by not speeding up. While the goal is obvious, he doesn’t just want to cum inside of you and leave. No, he wants to make this a good experience for both of you. So, he listens to the sounds you make to the way your pussy clenches, the way your body shoves back against him. You seem to like it deep, seem to want it harder and, fuck, if Seungcheol wasn’t so keen on still kind of keeping it professional he would push your head into your pillows and fuck you til you begged him to never stop. 

All that fills the air is the moans both of you let out as well as the sound of skin on skin, of his cock sinking into your wetness over and over again. You want to scream, want to tell him to go harder, faster. All sense of professionalism is slowly but surely leaving your body and when his big hands squeeze your hips, you finally falter. 

“H-harder, please!” You cry out and Seungcheol twitches inside of you, nodding to himself before doing as he’s asked. He leans forward, his hips hitting yours harder and faster than before, fingers digging into your skin as he groans in pleasure. 

“Fuck!” Your hands grab the sheets, knuckles white just when your first orgasm hits. Throwing your head back, crying out in nothing but pure bliss, leaving Seungcheol speechless. He can feel your climax around him, can feel you clenching, vibrating almost. He can feel just how good you squeeze him and there is no stopping his own release following right away, spurts of hot cum painting your warm walls white. He fucks both of you through your orgasms, sweat running down his face and finally pulls out, wishing the light was on so he could see his seed spilling out of you. 

You turn around, falling onto your back, your eyes closed. 

“That… wow.” You can’t find words. Mainly because you can’t even remember the last time someone fucked you this good. Seungcheol licks over his lips.

“Can I turn the light on?” He asks then and something in his voice makes chills run down your back. Your eyes fly open and you bite back down onto your lip before telling him yes. Once the light is back on, you feel another wave of lust rush over you. He’s fully naked. He’s sweaty. He’s perfect. Blonde hair sticking to his forehead, brown eyes taking in every bit of your body that’s free for him to see. Different from what you had believed you don’t feel uncomfortable. More so the opposite. His gaze on your body seems to light you on fire, making you crave more. 

“You’re beautiful.” He lets his hands fall down onto your bare thighs, slowly pushing them apart. His cock hardens again at the sight of your pussy, his cum slowly dripping out of you.. You allow yourself to check him out, seeing how his blood rushes down, how much he enjoys the view. 

“I think… I think maybe another round… would make the probability higher that it works.” Another thing you say before it registers. 

The smug smile appearing on his face now almost makes you gasp. It’s so different from the person he was downstairs, from the shy and slightly awkward man who didn’t know where to look. Now, he looks like a wild animal with its eyes set on its prey. Oh, god.

He leans forward, hands still on your thighs and your throat goes dry. His tongue licks over his bottom lip and his eyes seem to already fuck you a second time. 

“We should get this back inside, don’t you think?” It takes you by surprise when you feel his fingers on your core, when you feel him gathering his release and shove it back inside you, his thick fingers splitting you open deliciously. This time you can’t stop the gasp, your hands moving to hold onto his forearms, eyes wide and mouth dropped.

“That’s right, take all of Daddy’s cum,” his lips are right by your ear and your body is hit by an enormous wave of lust, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he keeps fucking them into you. Moans escape you and your head falls back - at least you think it does until you feel his other hand on the back of your neck holding it steady.

“Look at me,” he breathes, “look at me when I fuck my first load back into you before giving you another one.” 

You whimper as you nod, eyes watering from the desperation of wanting to cum again. Seungcheol is sure to give you as many orgasms as you can take. As many rounds as you let him have you.

His plump lips are opened as he watches you, your sweaty face, your blown pupils, your obvious need for more. Fuck, he’s a goner. Before knowing what he’s doing, he’s leaning in even more, crashing your lips together. Your eyes flutter shut immediately and you kiss him back, opening your lips to invite him inside. He groans against your mouth, his tongue sliding into your warmth, feeling yours a few seconds later. 

The kiss is heated and desperate and every vein in your body seems to be on fire. Your heart is pounding at triple speed in your chest and when Seungcheol parts for air, you’re already craving him again. You want to touch him, want him to hold you close when he’s back inside of you, when he gives you what you need, what you want. There seem to be no coherent thoughts left in your brain as he continues to kiss you with his fingers buried inside your sweet cunt. 

“Do you even know how hot you are, fuck,” he breathes against your lips now, pulling his fingers out of you to have both his hands on you the next second. He kisses you again, hungry for your touch. Hands all over you, gliding from your hips to your breasts, getting rid of the shirt you were still wearing. He wants to see all of you, lose himself in your body, wants to get high on what it feels like to know you want him just as bad as he wants you. This isn’t just about making you a mum anymore. Seungcheol wants to give you pleasure, wants to treat you the way you deserve. He saw it in your eyes earlier - saw how you want it hard and rough, heard it in your pleads for him. 

“On your knees, face me.” It’s an order you’re more than happy to follow. You bite down onto your lip and get on your knees, looking up at him. God, he looks ethereal. 

“Good girl, so, so good for me.” You shiver when he lets his fingers slide over your face, down to your mouth, sliding them in. You suck them in without having to be asked. They taste like you and him and your eyes roll back when he begins to fuck them down your throat, his free hand cradling your tits again. 

“That’s right. Fuck.” 

It’s like he is in a trance, hypnotized by the way you look with his fingers in your mouth, knowing full well his seed is still inside and will soon be joined by more. He feels like he is addicted to you already, like he just can’t get enough of you. He wants to taste you, wants to have you come on his cock over and over again.

His eyes are glued to you. You, who is sucking on his fingers so prettily, your tongue swirling around the digits and Seungcheol grows impatient. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and instead grabs his half hard cock with his slicked up fingers, jerking himself off a few times, eyes never leaving yours. 

“Open up wide for me, baby girl.” 

His cock slides through your lips and into your mouth and your eyes roll back, tongue already pressing against his thick length. The groan he lets out makes slick run down your thighs. You want him so bad, your pussy is throbbing and clenching and you feel like your head has never been this dizzy before. Nothing but arousal is in the air, the smell of you and him and what you’ve done just as hypnotizing as your eyes. 

Working forward slowly, Cheol watches as you take more and more of him down your perfect throat, his own mouth hanging low. No one has ever looked as good with his cock in their mouth. He doubts anyone ever will. He’s big, he knows he is and while he wants to be careful with you - he also wants to ruin you. Wants to see drool dripping down your chin, wants to hear you choke on his huge cock. 

“Take it all, I know you can.” He pushes further, his tip gliding down your throat and you choke, your eyes filling with tears, but there is no part of you that isn’t fully enjoying this. You want him to fuck your mouth, to be rough, harsh. Want to be used by him all while having him breed you later on. He watches you, watches the first tear and the first small pool of drool, his cock growing heavier on your tongue by the second.

“Look at you. So, so pretty. Getting Daddy’s cock hard so he can breed you again, isn’t that so nice of you?”

He does his first thrust down your throat and you choke once more, followed by a moan around his cock that makes him groan. Everything around him is a blur. There is only you and your mouth, the warmth of it, the feeling of how your throat restricts around his length, how you seem to vibrate around him. 

Getting your throat fucked certainly wasn’t on your list of probable things happening tonight. But you lose yourself in the feeling of him using you to get off. Feeling him grow harder in your mouth, spit dripping from your mouth onto your bed, his taste ever so present. God, you wanna devour him until he explodes inside of you. 

As much as he enjoys this, though, there is a reason he is here. With a last hard thrust down your excellent throat, he pulls out, watching you gain back your breath, your eyes fluttering open and looking at him with such desperate want it makes shivers run down his back. 

There is no need for words - he leans forward, pushing you over so you’re on your back, his lips catching yours in another heated kiss. His hand is around his cock, leading it to your entrance. The tip breaches you and you moan into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him even closer. Your legs almost automatically set around his waist, his cock sinking as deep into you as possible.

“Fuck,” he breathes, settling inside of you, giving him and you a second to adjust. God, he could already shoot his load. You feel perfect around him. Like you were made for him and only him. It suddenly bothers him - the fact he’s gonna get you pregnant and never see you again. The thought is scary, and he might have spiraled into something - but you have a different idea. 

Wiggling your hips, you are whining into his mouth, trying to finally get him to move. Your pussy squeezes him, begs him and Cheol is just a man after all. He does his first thrust that is quickly followed by more. Soon, both of your moans are filling the room, his lips kissing every inch of you he can reach, your heartbeat rapidly increasing. You feel like you’re in a different dimension, a dimension that only exists for you and Seungcheol and your pleasure. You arch your back, his mouth on your tits, sucking and biting them, your moans getting louder every second. 

While you don’t want it to end, you also want nothing more than for him to fill you up again. Feel him twitch and lose control because of you. Your nails dig into his muscular back just as he leans back, his dark eyes staring into yours as he fucks you harder, his hands shoving your thighs back, his movements becoming more fluid. Your eyes roll back and you sure you can feel him in your stomach, or no, you can feel him everywhere.

“Look at you, so fucking beautiful, could look at you forever.” 

You wonder if he knows what those words do to you. If he knows how hot he is, how ethereal he looks. Probably. With your mouth and eyes wide, your body in his hands and your pussy crying, begging, yearning for release, you let yourself fall. Fall down into the greatest pleasure of your life, waves and waves of it hitting you, liquid shooting out of you and onto Cheol’s cock and thighs, loud and lewd moans leaving your throat as you reach the highest height you’ve ever been.

Seungcheol’s response is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard, his own eyes not able to stay open as he fucks into you faster and harder, so close to bursting. And when he does, when he lets go as well, when all he has to give is ready to be given - there is no stopping the wave of yet another orgasm hitting you. Spurts of white are met by your pussy squeezing him, by you crying out his name over and over while his hips crash against yours at rapid speed over and over again. 

Then, he collapses on top of you. Your legs fall into their natural position and your hands find the back of his head, stroking through his wet strands of hair. You are both panting, his chest glued to yours. Sweat and drool and other bodily fluids give the air the smell of sex and you wonder how long it’ll linger in your bedroom. You’re not sure you ever want it to leave. Or him, for that matter.

It takes a good couple of minutes before Seungcheol is able to lift his head to look at you. His eyes sparkle and you smile, one hand wandering to cup his cheek and caress it softly.

“Hi,” you whisper. He can’t help but smile back.

“Hi,” he replies quitely. 

He kisses you after. Soft and sweet. He is still buried inside of you, keeping his cum inside you, making sure it’s all right where it belongs. The thought makes him wonder. Makes him ask himself why it feels like it’s not just his seed that belongs to you. He doesn’t dare to speak what’s on his mind. Instead, he just continues to kiss you.

Unknowingly that you were just thinking the exact same thought as him. 

[acidinduceddaydreams]

Skz ot8 corrupting reader౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

Synopsis: ot8 corrupting innocent crybaby reader slowly but surely.

Warnings: corruption kink; innocent reader being bullied in some parts by the members, dacryphilia but not really , deep throating of ice cream. Mean skz. Reader is not a child. She is an adult!!!

Part 2

Innocent reader who doesn’t like horror movies but watches it anyway because Hannie told her to.

The movie is not even halfway and your screams are already prevalent. You try to muffle your cries against Jeongin’s arm but he isn’t having it. “Stop crying you’re ruining my shirt.”

Seungmin making fun of you for crying and how you made Chan change the movie because you’re too scared. “Can you shut up now. Your whimpers are so fucking annoying.”

Minho who bullies you once you’re settled again into crying more because it secretly or not so secretly turns them on. “Wow! The crybaby finally shut up.” “Oh don’t get upset, you can’t help it if you’re a loser and a crybaby it’s just who you are.”

Felix who acts as if he’s calming you down from the taunting of your other friends when in reality he’s just trying to make it worse. His voice is low and condescending. “Leave the poor thing alone you guys.” “She’s just a baby trying to act like an adult, but don’t worry baby you don’t have to pretend with us.”

Hyunjin who buys ice cream for everyone on a hot summer day. Everyone else’s is in a cup or arch-shaped but yours just happens to be long and phallic shaped. Not that you even notice or would know what that means.

Changbin who ‘accidentally’ nudges your arm just a little as he goes to sit next to Hyunjin causing you to choke on the ice cream and let out a gagging sound along with coughing and glassy eyes having never had something go that deep before. “Sorry, pretty my arm slipped.”

Han who ‘helps’ you pick out clothing to wear when you go out with them. You’re standing in your closet picking out things you think he’d like. He tells you that he doesn’t mind you changing in front of him and that all friends do it. Not that you need much convincing you’re just too busy trying to look pretty. “Wow honey. You look wonderful in that sundress. Though I think it’s too long.”

Chan who has a hand on you wherever you go. Walking in a crowd? He’s holding your hand. Talking to someone? His hand on your waistline should give them the hint. You’re in your head about something? It’s ‘normal’ for friends to wrap their hands around each other’s throat to ground them.

Minho who heard from Hannie that you wear hello kitty, my melody and other childish underwear. Laughing as he mocks you. “Wow Y/n how old are you, huh?” “Do you want a pacifier while you’re at it.” He can’t help himself. Your voice trying to defend yourself is barely audible only coming out in whimpers. “Wow, kitten you do you know you have to grow up someday, right?”

Seungmin tugging on your two plaits whenever he wants. “Ow Minnie why’d you do that?” “Sorry puppy it’s a force of habit.”

Jeongin who puts a finger in your mouth to soothe you after all the tears. You’ve never needed to have something to stop you from crying but now it’s automatic. As soon as the tears fall you’re begging for his fingers or thumb. “you want my fingers in your mouth. Wow sweetheart you’re so silly. Do you know they have pacifiers for this exact situation? Maybe I should get you one to really shut you up hmm.” “No, you don’t want one? Well then that means you’ll just have to learn to stop talking back or you won’t even get my fingers.”

All of the boys who make fun of you for closing your eyes when a somewhat steamy scene comes on in the movie they purposefully picked but you don’t have to know that. Sitting on Minho’s lap covering your eyes does something to them. The scenes usually aren’t even that sexual. It’s usually just the two main characters kissing. Seungmin is obviously the first one to pipe up saying between laughs “Wow Y/n they’re just kissing.” “Yeah” Felix’s adds. “Would you like us to show you how so you’re not shy next time.”

[queen-of-nightmare-16]

OUR LOVE | Alt Vander X Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS - Fluff • Brief mention on near death • Season 2 Spoilers! •

PAIRING: Alt Universe Vander X Fem Reader

SUMMARY: ever since a certain day in your lives, life in Zaun has never been better. And although your adopted children might’ve grown and flown the nest, there’s still laughter at the bar

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

——————————————————————————

Dawn had finally started to spill into Zaun, the sun glimmering off a soft morning dew of mist. Ever since Piltover and Zaun came together, life had become euphoric for all. Everyone united, the sons and daughters of Zaun no longer cut off from opportunities and fortune. Sure there was the odd spat between the two but nothing seemed to sever the bond between cities.

All seemingly possible because your kids stupidly nearly got themselves killed in Piltover. After receiving a tip from Ekko, your and Vander’s kids decided to sneak into a lavish Piltover apartment and attempt to burgle it for riches. Until for some unknown reason, an explosion nearly took the life of your oldest daughter Vi. It all but broke you and Vander to see her broken body. She had been so close to death that finally the Council decided their obliviousness to the Undercity’s problems had to come to an end.

And so it did. As Vi healed, so did Zaun. The air was cleaned. Health care provided. Chem-barons operations dismantled. Until finally the Zaun you grew up in became a thing of the past and the dream of a free Zaun became a reality.

Eventually the kids grew into adults, like baby birds leaving the nest and writing their own stories. Choosing their own fates. Powder and Ekko had been accepted into the academy furthering their brilliance for gadgets. Claggor turned his eye to further clearing the air in the fissures, using plants natural ability to produce oxygen. Mylo was still Mylo, happily jumping from one opportunity to the next but always there to help his brother with his projects. And Vi had followed in Vander’s footsteps, becoming a professional boxer. Along with starting a relationship with a councillors daughter. The bar that was once full of laughter became quiet. Though you and your husband were content. Just you and him. To do as you pleased.

At least for a year it was.

The two of you were sleeping together in bed; your bodies lying on your sides and intertwined with each other. Vander’s arms held you tightly to his body, one of his hands buried in your hair. Your own wrapped around his waist whilst you buried your face into his bare chest, feeling his soft snores tussle your hair at each exhale. Nothing could interrupt the peaceful bliss of sleep between you two. Until the door to your bedroom suddenly swung open.

“Dad! Come on, dad! You gotta get up!” A voice suddenly called, the two of you huffing out quietly when you felt the bed dip behind Vander. “Dad? Dad!”.

A slight snicker escaped your lips when you felt you husband shoulder being shoved by a tiny force, the child repeatedly calling for his fathers attention. “I think your son is awake,” you whispered into his chest. Vander’s arms tightened around your waist, burying his head further into the crown of your head.

“Before sunrise he’s your son,” he grumbled, voice still ripe with sleep.

“Dad! DAD!” The young lad yelped. Vander suddenly grunted out in shock and a small mixture of pain when your son hopped up and landed on his thigh, causing him to crack an eye open. “Come on, dad! You promised we’d decorate the bar!”. The boys brows furrowed in a very familia glare. One he had no doubted inherited from his father.

“Alright, alright. I’m up ya lil tike,” Vander groaned, yawning tiredly as the boy leaped off the bed and ran out the room in excitement. Of course, it was suddenly coming back to him. The academy that Ekko and Powder were studying at was hosting an inventions fair. Both teens excited beyond belief so you and Vander promised to host a party at the Last Drop. Win or lose, you were more than proud of the two teens. But at the same time, Vander also promised your now 7 year old son that he could help decorate the bar in the morning. Seems he took it a little too literally.

Your husband huffed out in exhaustion and rolled onto his back, running a hand down his face. “So much for sleeping in till 9”.

“Ha! Good luck with that,” you grinned, rolling with him to rest your chin on his chest. “He has the same amount of energy you had when you were that age”.

“Gods help us,” he huffed with a sleepy chuckle as his knuckles trailed down between your shoulder blades. “Why did I get you pregnant when all the kids had finally moved out?”.

“You were a little too excited that we finally had the house to ourselves … and because you couldn’t resist me in that dress,” you smirked cheekily, your finger drawing shapes over his peck; Vander going on to grunt out in annoyance at you reminder. “Now, come on! What was it you said that night? ‘Gods, love, you look gorgeous in that dress’ even though I was sweaty from running round like a headless chicken for Sevika’s birthday”.

He cocked a brow up at your impression, his hand gliding down to your waist to tug your closer. “Well, you did look gorgeous,” he replied.

“And we got a beautiful boy from it,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut in content as you rested your cheek back on his chest. “Just think, 11 more years until he hits 18 and then maybe moves out and we’ll have the bar back to ourselves again”.

“Hoorah,” Vander sarcastically cheered, finally raising himself to a sitting position and letting you slide off of him. After attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes he glanced back over to you to see you had snuggled back down into your pillow. “You’re not getting up?” He asked.

“He only asked for you, Papa bear,” you playfully said, a honeyed smile gracing your lips as your eyes remained shut and tugged the quilt back over your shoulder. “I’m not working till later”.

Vander rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you,” he impishly teased, leaning over you.

Your eye creeped open, gazing at him lovingly. “You better,” you hushed. Vander smiled, placing a gentle kiss to your lips which you happily accepted, your hand creeping out from under the covers to caress his cheek.

“Dad! Come on!” You suddenly heard your son call from the front room, causing the two of your to pull away with a sigh.

Vander huffed to himself and climbed out of bed. “11 more years,” he prayed for jokingly, feeling his joints click as he walked over to the wardrobe.

“And counting,” you giggled back.

Vander swiftly dressed himself for the day and left you with a kiss on the head. You could feel the pull of sleep lulling you back as you heard your sons joyous laughter along with your husbands. Their footsteps fading away when they walked up the stairs into the bar.

Things were certainly different now. Your children had futures brighter than you could’ve hoped for. Your husband and Silco’s relationship healed. And now the two of your were raising a new life together all over again. Seemed like a dream. One you certainly wouldn’t change for the world.

——————————————————————————

I wrote again. How bizarre. Eh, I can’t get this man out my head so I might as well do something productive with it. This was originally gonna be more angsty at the end but I’m not allergic to happiness unlike the Arcane writers so I decided to keep it fluffy instead. Hope y’all enjoyed.

[lockefanfic]

Alarming

The following is 3.2k words of pure unedited filth that could be a part of the Business Trip storyline but could just be the product of an hour of BFH-inspired viewings of Momo’s most recent Strategy fancam but anyway here we go I put some words together I am writer I can write I swear -

---

You had a bit of a love-hate relationship with the iPhone’s alarm jingle. More often than not it was a source of frustration or anger, given its tendency to rip you unwillingly from the warm, comfortable embrace of sleep. It was too often a herald of reality, a reminder of adult responsibilities like spending the next eight hours exchanging your time for the money necessary to afford a cell phone alarm in the first place.

But these days you weren’t so upset at the familiar jingle and the way it interrupted your gaming session. How could you be, knowing what this particular alarm was for?

You quit your game mid-session, not even bothering to leave the match, leaving your virtual special operative frozen on its digital battlefield, an easy kill for some sweaty thirteen year old. Even before the console has fully powered down, you’re already on your way up the stairs to the bedroom.

Hirai Momo is waiting for you on your bed, wearing a silk robe that reached the top of her thighs and no further, leaving those long, toned legs of hers bare. She is on her phone, no doubt having just silence the same alarm notification as the one that brought you to her presence. With a wry smile she makes a few taps on her screen, likely placing her phone on Do Not Disturb. 

“Come here, then,” she says, casually, as though she weren’t inviting you into your bed dressed the way she was.

“I plan to,” you answer, earning a giggle from your wife as you rid yourself of your t-shirt and join her on the bed, crawling atop her.

She smiles into your kiss.  It is soft and intimate. Her lips are sweet and sticky and taste vaguely of the strawberry lip balm she loved so much. When the kiss finally ends the two of you stay there for a moment, faces inches apart. She smiles, and you do, and there is nothing there but love.

You kiss her again, this time more passionately. This time your tongues find each other, duelling between lips and teeth. Your arms wrap around your neck and she spreads her legs to allow you between them, your body pressing against hers and it all feels so soft and comfortable and safe. It feels like home.

You’re the one to break the kiss this time, and this time there’s no intimate, romantic eye contact. You dive instead into her neck, your lips and mouth finding all the soft, warm spots there that you knew she loved. She sighs softly, her cheek pressed against the side of your ear so the sound that leaves her lips heads straight into your ear. Wordless, breathless, hopefully the first of many.

You kiss a path down her neck, to those collarbones of hers, to the little dip between them that she’s told you the anatomical name of multiple times because you keep forgetting. Because honestly you didn’t care what some 14th century physicist decided to call it. You knew only that it was a part of Hirai Momo, love of your life, and that was it, that was enough. 

The silk of her robe stops you from going any further - a flimsy barrier but one nonetheless. You feel her hands lift your head from her upper chest until you are hovering above her, eyes finding and locking with their counterparts. There it is again, that perfect, intense intimacy; an intimacy you’d built over years of dating and a couple of years of marriage, the kind that allows you both the ability to communicate without words. She cradles your head in her hands and she smiles warmly and as corny as it might be there just aren’t any other words to describe it - your heart melts.

Her hands leave your cheeks, and without breaking your gaze she undoes the flimsy knot that keeps her robe together, pulling the folds apart to reveal her body to you.

You remember the first time you saw Hirai Momo naked, all those years ago. You hold that memory pretty close, honestly, because it was one of those moments in your life that you weren’t sure could ever be topped. She was a one night stand, then, the result of one too many glasses of old, expensive grape juice at a bar. That night you seared the sight of her in your mind because that was all she was, all you thought she would be.

Little did you know that she would be who she was, all these years later. You see her practically naked now beneath you and your reaction now is the same as it was back then - sheer, utter, awe.

She is perfect, as she was back then - all curves and valleys and muscle. She’s round breasts with tight nipples and she’s a flat, toned stomach and she’s long, perfect legs that go on forever and feel perfect wrapped around your head or your waist.

She’s as beautiful now as she was then. Even more so, honestly, because of what she is. Not some half-drunk, ill-advised one night stand with a co-worker, no, she is so much more than that. She is your wife, yes, but she is your soulmate, something you weren’t entirely convinced existed outside of fairy tales and silly romance stories written by amateur authors on the internet.

The smile on her lips turns into a giggle. “Stop staring,” she says, “and start fucking.”

It was just like her, just like Momo to turn an intimate moment into something a little less serious and a little more lewd. It was a defense mechanism of hers, you’d come to learn. She wasn’t the most open person with her feelings sometimes, not because she didn’t possess said feelings, but because she wasn’t quite sure how to articulate them. And so she often diffused those situations with humor.

You share a smile, but it softens quickly and becomes something else altogether. The humor becomes passion again. 

You dive into her body, first into those wonderful breasts of hers, so round and full and perfect. You take a rosy nipple into your mouth and Momo gasps in response, her back arching off the mattress, taken aback by the feel of your lips and tongue on her when she was expecting you to take the more circuitous route around her chest. Your other hand finds her other breast, not wanting to leave it idle, and soon her gasps turn into soft moans that fill the bedroom.

You take your time on her chest, knowing how good it made her feel, to say nothing of your own desires and needs. She had a body to die for but her chest was something special, and you had no trouble at all lavishing her round mounds and taut nipples with all the attention you both needed.

She’s a squirming, writhing thing now, her legs grinding against your crotch, searching for friction, for relief. Her thighs press against your hips and even while your mouth is latched firmly around a stiff nipple she grabs one of your hands by the wrist and brings it between her legs.

She’s wet and ready and dripping and you never, ever tired of the feel of her on your fingertips, so slick, so hot. You drag a fingertip from her base to her clit and she shudders at the feel of you.

“Fuck,” she gasps, the first full word she’s able to manage in a very long time. 

It turns into a longer, drawn out version of the same word moments later when your fingers slide inside her, only a single knuckle deep, two fingers wide. Stretching her, opening her, feeling her wet readiness on your digits. Your fingers continue the same languid pattern, starting at her base and sliding up her slit to her clit, circling the tender bud with your fingertips.

She moans, the sound soft and musical and causing your lips to curl into a smile around her breast. You release the tender bud from between your lips and look up at her, that same smile smug on your face.

“You like that, baby?” you ask - the most rhetorical of questions.

Her eyes, half-lidded in pleasure, tell you what her answer is. She backs up said answer by grasping your head again and crushing your lips with hers. If the first kiss was intimate and the second passionate the third is needy. She tells you with her lips what she cannot articulate with words. 

She breaks the kiss, and your heads hover inches apart, eyes locked on each other as your fingers play with the increasingly drenched flesh between her legs. She whimpers and sighs and moans and you watch all of it, watch every quiver of pleasure as it courses through her cheeks and lips. Her eyes shut and flutter open and remain half-lidded and sometimes her brow furrows as though she’s in pain or deep concentration but you know it’s neither, it’s pleasure, it’s wonderful and it’s taking over her body.

Her hand finds your forearm, her nails dig into your arm and it’s almost painful. 

“Gonna cum,” she gasps, eyes shut. “Gonna cum.”

“Do it, Momo. Cum for me,” you urge. You find her lips, give her a soft kiss, inhale the moans leaving her lips. Her hips buck, her thighs quiver around your hand. Your fingertips, incessant and merciless, continue to circle her clit, their pace neither increasing or decreasing but staying steady, just the way she liked.

When she cums it is a sight. Her back arches and her mouth opens in a scream that never comes, frozen open. Her nails dig into the skin of your forearm and the sharp pricks of pain are nothing compared to the pleasure you find in helping Momo find her own. You watch, enraptured, as her orgasm courses through her body. She’s quivering and sweaty and dishevelled. You never tired of it. Never would.

When she comes down from it her cheeks are flushed and her hair, her newly cut, blonde waves, cling to the side of her face by matted sweat at her temples.

“Fuck,” she gasps between her teeth. “Fuck.”

You smile. Her hand releases the deathgrip it had on your wrist and your fingers leave her aching clit. She brings your glistening fingertips to the space between your faces and she licks her slick juices from them.

“Fuck me,” she says, inbetween darts of her pink tongue that gather up the wetness on your fingers. “Cum inside me.”

“I will, Momo.”

She gives your fingers one last lick, releases your hand. The intensity in her eyes is clear.

“Breed me.”

What you would have given to see the reaction of your younger self if you’d told that poor schmuck that one day his one night stand would become his wife, would perhaps become the mother of his children. But here you are, and here she is, and you’re married and about to start a family.

You press yourself between her warm, spread thighs and bring your tip to her entrance. You slide your head up and down her slick lips and the contact rips wordless sighs from you both, sighs that turn into deep, primal moans when you finally slide inside her.

She’s wet and hot and tight and every possible adjective in the English language could not fully describe how it felt to be inside Hirai Momo. It felt amazing, better than any other physical sensation you’d ever known. Her legs close around your hips and her arms wrap themselves around your neck and you’re one being. You kiss her, deeply. Your lips leave hers and your faces hover inches apart as you begin to slide and out of her slick, hot cunt.

It’s soft and slow and passionate this time. You both loved the hard, rough sex - Momo herself had been ever keen on adding a hand wrapped tightly around her throat or handcuffs binding her wrists to the headboard - but now was not one of those times. Tonight was about more than that, and the conversation your bodies were having with each other made it clear what this night was really about.

She sighs and moans, wordless, breathless sounds directly into your ear. She loved her dirty talk, but much of it was absent tonight. Often sex in your bedroom was punctuated with filth or demands or name calling.

Tonight there are asks. Requests. Pleas.

“Fuck me, please,” she gasps. “Fuck me, give it to me.”

“I will, Momo. I will.”

“I’ve… I’ve been a good girl, right? I have. I want it. I want your cum. I need it.”

“What do you need, Momo?” you ask, another question that needed no answer. “Tell me what you need.”

“I want, I need,” she says, which were full, adequate sentences in and of themselves - but you knew what you wanted to hear. What you needed to hear.

“What do you need, Momo," you repeat, insistent. "Tell me. I need to hear it, need to hear you say it.”

“I need you to breed me,” she spits, breathless, desperate now, needy. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up with cum-”

“Fuck, Momo-”

“-breed me, make me a mommy, leave a baby in my tummy baby, baby please-”

“Fuck,” you gasp, tearing your ear from her lips, as though you were afraid if she went on, babbling in your ear, that you’d cum too soon. But you wanted this to last, wanted to draw it out even longer than your usual sessions. You plant your palms on either side of her head and raise your upper body from hers. Throughout it all you are pumping between her spread legs, the silken, slick embrace of her cunt tight around your cock.

Detached somewhat from her, you watch with lewd fascination as her body is rocked by each thrust into her cunt. Her breasts - perfect, round mounds - bounce hypnotically, flesh soft and creamy, taut nipples still glistening with your saliva. Her abs clench and tighten, her thighs flex and work. Your gaze wanders further down, to the spread lips of her pussy, tight and wet and slick. Your cock glistens in the split seconds it spends outside of her body, catching the low light of the bedroom before it is inside her again.

When your eyes return to hers there is an intensity in them that takes you aback. Those were eyes you’d seen often twisten in pleasure, slave to her body’s whims, but now they are serious, intentional, even as they are occasionally shut or half-lidded by a sudden spike of pleasure. But they always open again, always find your gaze and hold it.

“Harder,” she says, the word half-moan and half-gasp. “Please. Fuck me harder.”

Your body moves of its own accord. Your hands, planted on either side of her head, leave the mattress. Sitting on your heels for a moment, you pull her body back towards you, embedding yourself inside her to the hilt and drawing a gasp from her lips. Then your hands find her knees, snaking beneath them and pushing her legs back against her body, folding her almost in half atop the bed.

You lean over her. She is bent in half and with her legs against her arms, knees almost touching her shoulders, she is helpless, unable to do much more than simply take your cock.

You fuck her. hard and merciless, your cock drilling into her body to the deepest parts of her. 

“Oh god,” she swears, “oh god, you’re so fucking deep, oh fuck, oh god!”

“Fucking take it, Momo,” you spit between gritted teeth. “Fucking take my cock, take my cum.”

“Yes!” she exclaims, the word leaving her mouth like some natural reaction, some primal response from somewhere in the deepest, darkest parts of her. “Fucking cum inside me, please, cum inside me and give me a baby, breed me, get me pregnant-”

“Jesus,” you hiss, your turn to swear. “God, Momo, you’re so-”

“Fuck, please, breed me, breed me, cum inside me-”

You groan then, something dark and guttural leaving your throat in reaction to the pleas of the needy young woman beneath you. Her cunt flutters and pulsates and every movement either of you make drives you crazy, chases sanity from your mind and replaces it with something altogether scary, something that makes you slave to its whims and desires - the desire to leave a part of you inside this woman, to make her yours in the most primal way possible.

“Momo, I-”

“Inside me, please, please, breed me please-”

“Gonna cum-”

“Give me a baby, breed me please-”

The sight, the feel, the sound - the connection - it’s all too much, and you bury yourself as deep as you can inside Hirai Momo’s quivering, trembling body and let go. Your cock pulsates and spills warm, hot cum inside her, filling her up, leaving her cunt slick and messy, making her yours.

You stay there, frozen, her body still folded in half, feet helpless in the air. Your foreheads touch, the contact somehow grounding the both of you, bringing you both back to Earth, back home. She is still a mess around you, the pleasure still coursing through her body. Your bodies work hard to feed starved lungs. Your sweat drips from your forehead onto hers, another mark of your bond.

You open eyes you hadn’t known you’d closed. And there she is, eyes already finding yours. The softest, most intimate of smiles finds its way onto her lips. You kiss her softly, your lips playing tenderly with each other as you slowly release her legs from her chest. She wraps them around your waist as you settle atop her, your half-hard cock still embedded inside her creamy, messy cunt.

When your kiss breaks you look at each other again, and when she smiles it’s a little softer now, a little less intense. 

“Wow,” she says, softly, thereby winning the award for the most understated reaction that night. It brings a smile to your face and it becomes a soft giggle that she returns. 

You slowly ease yourself from her body, both of you wincing at the loss of the most intimate of connections. You fall on the bed beside her and she cuddles up to your side, but not before finally ridding herself of her silk robe, now sweaty and messy and in need of a turn in the laundry machine.

You bring her close, and she nuzzles into your neck as your arms wrap around her. You feel her lips curl into a contented, soft smile to mirror the one on your own.

“I hope they’re all like that,” you say, softly, earning a soft murmur of approval from Momo.

“Me too. Doc says we should try every day for the next couple of nights, so…”

“Well if it’s doctor’s orders, I suppose we don’t really have much of a choice.”

Momo raises her head from your neck. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are tired but there is love there. There is love everywhere.

“Mmhmm,” she agrees. “I think we can find a way to make it happen, I suppose. So same time tomorrow?”

“The alarm’s already set.”

You smile. You bring her close. You tell her you love her. She does the same.

----

Author’s Note: This is completely unedited filth that you shouldn’t use as a measure of my writing skill because it’s trash but BFH! BFH! BFH!

Momo too hot.

[neilissevered]

Hey! I’ll eat anything up with baku + hurt/comfort :) It can be inspired by one of the episodes where juntae gets beat up by the union. Don’t mind anything as long as it’s angst + fluff at the end!

જ⁀➴ COLLATERAL

He fought like hell to get you back. Now, in the quiet after the storm, he holds your hand and calls it home. Full fic, whc2 timeline, mutual pining and yearning, hurt and comfort Park Hu-min (Baku) x gn! reader wc: 6k+ tw: depictions of violence and torture, reader gets kidnapped by the Union masterlist

You couldn’t forget that day, not even if you tried. It was scorched into your memory like a brand. Everything felt like it was on the verge of collapse—like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to explode.

Every step you and your friends took felt watched, weighed, and judged. The town that once wrapped around you like a warm blanket now pressed in like iron bars. Even the familiar hallways of your school, once loud with laughter and life, had turned cold, hollow—like the echo of something that had already died.

The Union was relentless. You, Hu-min Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun knew that. The gang wasn’t going to stop until Eunjang High School became a part of it. And they didn’t care how violent it would get.

It was that day that all of you realized that not even the police—or any adults could help.

“Shit, what the hell happened to you three?!” you cried out, barely able to breathe.

Your chest heaved like it was collapsing under the weight of fear. You had sprinted across town the second you heard the Union had taken Jun-tae. Your legs had moved on instinct, faster than thought, fueled by panic. Because Jun-tae… he wasn’t a fighter. Not really. But he was loyal. The kind of loyal that doesn’t run even when he should. The kind that stays, 

even if it means getting torn apart.

But you only heard about Jun-tae.

You’re in the hospital now, still shaking, your palms still clammy. You’re staring at your friends, trying to make sense of it all.

“Hu-min, what the hell happe–” The you see it.

The words die in your throat.

You follow their gazes and feel your stomach twist, as if gravity itself turned on you.

There he is.

Si-eun, lying unconscious on a hospital bed, motionless. His skin is pale, lips are cracked. And next to him, his mother. Her hands tremble as she clutches his, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks. Her sobs aren’t loud. They’re quiet, broken things, as if even her grief is afraid to speak in a world this cruel.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. You feel your knees weaken. Rage, guilt, and fear all surge at once. You want to undo everything.

But all you and the other three boys can do is stare.

And wonder if anything will ever feel safe again.

“----!!!!” 

Your name blasts into your ear like someone just hit you with a megaphone.

You flinch, snapping back to reality like you’d just surfaced from underwater. The cold metal table. The cafeteria noise. The cheap plastic tray in front of you. You're back. No hospital. No unconscious Si-eun because that was all a week ago. You and your friends were okay, but you couldn’t help but still reel from the past events.

“Hey, dumbass,” Hu-min says, way too close to your ear. “You deaf or something? You just missed the best part of my story!”

You jerk your head away with a grimace, clutching your ear. “What the hell, Hu-min?! You trying to shatter my eardrum?!” You hissed, face slightly red from the embarrassment, because once again, your table is becoming a public attraction in the cafeteria because of how loud Hu-min is.

“You were zoned out for five whole minutes,” Jun-tae chimes in, mouth half-full. “Thought maybe you had a stroke.”

“Or died sitting up,” Go-tak adds while snickering, not even looking up from his food. “I was just about to take a picture of your face. Our new group chat photo.” 

You shoot them a glare. “Thanks for the concern. Reallyyy feeling the love right now.”

Hu-min rolls his eyes. “We were concerned. Until you just kept staring at your rice like it insulted your whole family.” he then ruffled your hair, giving back your chopsticks that you dropped, and motioned to your food as if urging you to continue eating.

Si-eun gives the smallest snort from across the table. You glance at him. He's eating slowly, quiet as ever, but there's a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“What? You too, Si-eun??” you groaned.

You roll your eyes, shaking off the last of the memory’s grip. “Great friends I have. Real supportive.”

“You’re welcome!” Hu-min chuckles, flicking a grain of rice at your tray. “Maybe don’t zone out like you’re about to transcend to another plane of existence.”

You shoot him a glare. “Maybe don’t scream directly into my brain next time??”

He smirks, and there’s something a little smug in it. “Hey, where’s the fun in that? You can still hear, right?” he reached out, snapping his fingers next to your ear as if to prove a point, then suddenly patted your cheek. You swatted his hand away, unimpressed but flustered nonetheless. You hate that your face warms a little. 

You look away quickly and shove some food into your mouth—something bland and mushy. Comfort in mediocrity, you guess.

Jun-tae then nudges you with his elbow. “Jokes aside, you good, though? You looked… far away.”

You pause. Then nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Hu-min casts a sidelong glance your way, his grin wavering for just a moment. He quickly shifts the conversation to another story, successfully bringing back the earlier joyful atmosphere of your group.

However, beneath the table, his knee gently nudges yours, a silent message that he isn't convinced by your excuse, not even for a heartbeat. Yet, despite his doubts, he chooses to let it slide. For now.

“Alright, move aside and I’ll show everyone the true, Hanamichi Sakuragi!” 

Hu-min whooped, beating his chest a few times as he proudly held the basketball in one hand while parading around the court like he was ready to win the national championship 

Across from him stood Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun—each one wearing the same deadpan expression that screamed not impressed.

It was a spontaneous after-school plan. The five of you had decided to kill time on the court before heading home. The sun was dipping low, casting the sky in swirls of burnt orange and violet. Students slowly trickled out through the gates on their way to cram school—Si-eun almost included, until Hu-min cornered him and dragged him into the game.

You’d opted out of playing today. Something about your mood just wouldn’t let up. Your mind was still stuck on a memory you couldn’t quite shake. Nothing traumatic, nothing new—just something lingering, like smoke after a fire. Everyone was fine now. Or at least, they seemed to be.

But Hu-min…he has been different lately.

You noticed how he’d glance around corners before letting his friends pass. How he’d always walk a step ahead, shoulders tense, scanning. He acted like no one noticed—but you did and you were sure the others did too. He was watching the world a little too closely now. And everyone else? They let him.

No one’s complaining, though. You all appreciated the company, and there’s not a single moment when it turns dull as long as Hu-min is there.

So instead of playing, you sat back and let your eyes wander. Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun had decided to team up in a 3v1—some dumb challenge just to “prove” Hu-min really was the best at basketball (his idea, obviously).

And he wasn’t even half bad at it, which only fed the fire.

There was something about Hu-min’s energy—loud, electric, overwhelming. But there was warmth there, too. The kind that reached deeper than you expected. He made you feel safe without trying to. Like someone who could carry the weight of the world if it meant his friends didn’t have to.

But sometimes, you wish he didn’t feel like he had to.

Still, watching him now—sweat on his brow, laughter in his throat, arms wide like he was daring the world to challenge him—you felt it again. That warmth.

The kind you never knew you needed until he was already in your life.

And you weren’t ready to let it go.

Hu-min spun the basketball in his hand with a cocky grin, chest puffed out like a cartoon character about to deliver his winning line.

“Alright! If I make this last shot—” he pointed dramatically toward the hoop, then to you with a wink—“I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow!”  

You blinked, a wave of surprise washing over you. “Me?” Your thoughts were so suddenly interrupted that it took a second (or maybe two) to process what Hu-min had just flung into the air like his basketball. When it finally hit you, your cheeks flared. A date?  

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The word date echoed again in your mind, not in his teasing voice but softer, like a whisper folded between your uncertain thoughts. You’d never really stopped to consider the idea. Between dodging the Union, healing bruised knuckles, and watching over the others, there just wasn’t time. Romance always felt like a luxury too fragile for the kind of life you unfortunately led.

But now...

Your heart did this strange flutter, like it had just realized it was in a body that could feel. And not just feel—but want. Want soft glances across a rooftop, laughter shared in quiet corners of the gym, the press of a hand that stayed a moment longer than it needed to. You and Hu-min have been friends for a long time. You weren’t going to deny that there was something more in your friendship. Something that has maybe been long overdue. 

He leaned in, his smirk widening like a crescent moon. “Yeah, you. What? Afraid to be seen with someone as stunning as me in public?”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the laughter bubbling up inside. “Stunning? You mean ‘delusional’?”  

“Touché,” he chuckled, casually spinning the ball on his finger, “but let’s be real, it’s hard not to notice someone who steals the spotlight.”  

You exchanged playful glances, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. 

Go-tak immediately gagged in the background from the suddenly sappy atmosphere. Jun-tae booed. Si-eun didn’t even look up while he tried to catch his breath.

“You miss this, and you’re buying us dinner,” Si-eun muttered.

Unbothered, Hu-min jogged to the three-point line, hyped himself up under his breath—“Alright, let’s go, this is my moment”—and shot.

It bounced off the rim.

Hard.

There was a beat of silence while everyone watched the ball roll off the court in the saddest way possible. Go-tak and Jun-tae exploded with laughter. It’s like the best comedy they have ever seen.

Jun-tae pointed. “This is why you’re single!”

Go-tak doubled over. “True love denied by poor aim! Holy shit I should’ve recorded that moment!”

Even Si-eun cracked the faintest smirk while he watched the other two mock Hu-min, trying to mimic his very sad attempt at shooting the ball by jumping around.

After a few back-and-forth curse words and hard teasing from the other three, Hu-min gave up the banter and tossed them the ball 

“Whatever! That was the wind pushing the ball out of the hoop!”

 He walked off the court and went to where you were seated on the steps, trying not to look amused.

He dropped down next to you, wiping sweat from his brow, still breathing heavily. “They’re so annoying,” he muttered. “Anyway, pretend that went in. The offer still stands.” He winked.

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The whole thing did take your mind off the Union for a bit, but there’s still a gnawing feeling inside of you.

Hu-min noticed. Of course he did.

He leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, his voice lower now. He gently nudged your arm. “You’ve been quiet today. More than usual.”

You glanced at him, then away. “It’s nothing. Just really tired today.”

“Hey, don't give me that.”

A beat passed before you spoke again. You let out a sigh, deciding to just come clean. “It’s just… after what happened to Jun-tae, I keep thinking—what if it happens again? What if we’re not ready next time? Hell–I don’t think you guys were ready at that time..”

Hu-min was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, voice soft but steady.

“It won’t. Because I’m here.”

You looked at him again. This time, he was serious. No teasing. No grin. Just Hu-min—warm, real, and right beside you. He smiled reassuringly, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you, not even to those idiots over there,” he said. “Not now. Not ever again.”

The fading light caught in his eyes, the orange glow softening his usually loud presence. 

He didn’t need you to thank him. He didn’t need anything in return.

Just everyone’s safety, and yours especially.

That was enough for him.

“Hey! Everyone, go straight home, alright?” Hu-min called out as the group started packing up. The sun was dipping below the rooftops, casting long shadows on the pavement. It was getting late, and they all had class the next day.

“What?! Hey, what about our dinner treat?” Go-tak whined, slinging his bag over his shoulder with exaggerated disappointment.

“Hm? Never heard of it,” he replied coolly, brushing off the comment with a shrug.

Go-tak squinted at him, unimpressed. “Whatever, man. I hope you trip on your way home.”

That earned a round of laughter from the group, loud and lighthearted. Plans for the weekend were already being tossed around, something about crashing at Si-eun’s apartment, stealing his snacks, and maybe raiding his room while they were at it.

Goodbyes came in waves—sloppy hugs, playful jabs, promises of seeing each other tomorrow. One by one, Jun-tae, Go-tak, and Si-eun disappeared into the night, leaving behind the fading echoes of their chatter.

And then it was just the two of you.

You hadn’t even realized until now that Hu-min was still holding your hand. He hadn’t let go the entire time.

The street felt quieter, the space between you closer.

You looked down at your intertwined fingers, rough calluses, and warmth pressed against your skin. It wasn’t like you to be flustered, but something about his grip—firm but gentle—made your pulse skip a beat.

You glanced down at your hand, still tangled in Hu-min’s. “You know… You don’t have to keep holding it.”

He looked at you, still grinning widely. “I know,” then didn’t let go.

You raised an eyebrow. A laugh bubbling at your chest, “So?”

“So what? My hands comfortable.”

You gave him a look. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah. Warm. Steady. I dunno. Just don’t make it weird.” By that, he already started walking with you, leading you to your own home while he swung your intertwined hands in the air.

“You’re the one making it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird! I’m making it—casual.”

You snorted. “Casual handholding?”

“Yes. Extremely casual. Like bros.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Wait—no, not like bros—don’t quote that—”

You burst out laughing, and Hu-min looked like he regretted everything immediately. But he can't help but smile at the way you look. How lighter you seem to be after he talked to you earlier.

He groaned. “Ugh, I was doing fine until I missed that shot..”

“You mean your terrible attempt at asking me out?”

“It wasn’t terrible! It was slightly… underwhelming. That’s different.”

You grinned. “Do you know what underwhelming means?”

Suddenly, Hu-min let go of your hand and, without warning, brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. Before you could react, he tugged at them gently, stretching your face with the kind of shameless mischief only he could pull off.

“Look at you,” he teased with a grin, “still trying to act cool! Go-tak taught you how to tease me, didn’t he?”

You squeaked out a protest, swatting at his wrists as you tried to escape his grip. But your laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, tangled with his own. The sound filled the quiet street. Loud, chaotic, unfiltered—just like him.

When the laughter finally ebbed, both of you were left catching your breath. His hands were still on your face, but the playfulness had faded into something gentler. His thumbs moved softly now, brushing lightly over your skin as though he was trying to smooth away the laughter—but really, he just didn’t want to let go.

Then, without a word, he swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth. Slowly, carefully. His gaze lingered, drinking you in like this was a moment he wanted to memorize. His chest rose and fell with a quiet breath, a softness settling in his eyes that you rarely got to see.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you leaned in—just barely, but enough for him to feel it. Your foreheads touched, the unusually close contact warming the space between you.

“I should go home soon, Hu-min”

He immediately pouted, pulling back just a little, arms falling to his sides. Your place was only a few minutes away—barely a walk—but that didn’t stop the small crease of disappointment forming between his brows.

“You sure you don’t need a hero to walk you home? I’m free of charge, y’know”

You laughed, shaking your head as you began walking away from him while waving goodbye.

“Relax, I can handle a sidewalk!” 

“You’ll miss me!” He shouted, waving his hands at you as you got farther and farther away

You rolled your eyes, shouting back, “I’ll see you tomorrow Hu-min!”

“Yeah, yeah—text me when you get home!”

You turned the corner, heart light, steps even lighter. The echo of your laughter still lingered in the air, like the night itself had softened just for you both.

The sidewalk was quiet, save for the rhythmic scuff of your shoes against the pavement. You were maybe three minutes from home, still replaying the evening in your head—his laughter, his touch, the way he looked at you like he was still holding back something bigger than words.

Maybe it’s the fact that Hu-min had made everything light and easy. He made you feel safe with his presence.

You didn’t notice the footsteps behind you.

Didn’t hear them speeding up.

Didn’t feel the tension creeping up your spine until—

CRACK.

A sharp, white-hot pain exploded across the side of your head. The world spun, and your knees buckled.

Your breath caught mid-gasp as your vision blurred—then dimmed.

You collapsed to the pavement with a dull thud.

The Union now knows where to hit Hu-min where it hurts.

“Bro,” Go-tak said, mouth half-full of kimbap, “you’ve been glued to them like a damn sticker.”

Hu-min didn’t even look up while chewing his food. “What’re you talking about?”

Jun-tae leaned back on his elbows, grinning. “Baku..you waited outside the bathroom for them. For, like, five minutes. That’s practically dating.”

Hu-min scoffed, tossing a rice ball at Jun-tae’s head, not caring when the sticky grains got everywhere. “I was standing there. Coincidence.”

“Sure,” Si-eun deadpanned, not even bothering to look up. “So you do that every lunch break?”

“Hey. I missed when you didn’t talk a lot.” his ears were already turning red. He shoved more food into his mouth just to avoid answering while the Go-tak and Jun-tae teased him.

“You’re obvious,” Go-tak said, gleefully piling on. “Like, puppy-eyed obvious. It’s kind of painful.”

“I don’t do puppy eyes!” Hu-min snapped.

“Yeah? Then what was that look when they gave you their leftover fries yesterday?” Jun-tae teased. “You looked like you got proposed to.”

Hu-min whipped around to glare at him, dramatically offended. “I was hungry! Fries are sacred!”

The group burst out laughing, and Hu-min shoved his tray toward the center in mock rage.

“Whatever, man,” he grumbled. “Can’t I just make sure they don’t trip over air or get kidnapped or something?”

Go-tak leaned in, smug. “So you admit it.”

Hu-min rolled his eyes. “Admit what?”

“That you’re down bad.”

“I’ll kick you off this roof.”

But even as he threatened violence while the group continued to mock him, Hu-min’s eyes wandered—just for a moment—toward the hallway beyond the stairwell door. You were leaning against a locker, laughing at something your friend said, completely unaware of the way he looked at you.

He didn’t even realize the corners of his mouth had twitched into a smile.

Your mind surfaced slowly, like dragging yourself out of deep water.

At first, there was only sound. Distant. Muffled. A low hum. Dripping, maybe. Footsteps? It was hard to tell. Everything blurred into one long, throbbing buzz that pulsed behind your eyes.

Then—pain.

A vivid pressure bloomed sharply at the side of your head, a sinister ache that seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. A small whimper escaped your lips, a sound of desperation as the awareness intensified the pain, making it feel unbearable. You instinctively tried to reach for your throbbing temple, but your arms remained unresponsive, trapped and helpless.

That’s when you noticed the cold biting into your wrists. Rough rope. Metal against your spine. You were sitting, but slumped awkwardly. Tied to something.

A chair?

You cracked your eyes open. It was dark, your vision swimming. Everything doubled, then tripled, before settling into a shaky blur.

You blinked hard, your vision unfocused. Finally, you could see your lap, the once pristine school uniform, now clearly streaked with dirt and grime. Your eyes shifted to your legs, bound tightly to the chair, rendering you utterly immobile. Your body felt heavy and fatigued, while the ropes dug painfully into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, a cruel reminder of your helplessness.

The side of your face throbbed with every heartbeat. Your lip stung, metallic and swollen. There was a coppery taste in your mouth. And god—it was cold. You were covered in sweat and probably your own dried blood from the head injury. 

Voices, low and distorted, floated somewhere nearby. Talking. Laughing? Arguing?

You couldn’t tell.

Your breathing picked up, chest rising faster now as reality snapped into place like shards of glass reforming, and finally, you can remember a few things. Hu-min. The sidewalk. The pipe. The voice saying, “They’re down.”

You weren’t home.

You weren’t safe.

And Hu-min wasn’t with you.

Panic stirred in your chest, but your limbs felt heavy. Your head dropped forward again, your body sluggish and uncooperative, still recovering from the hit. Still too slow. You could only cry out in pain. From the fear and helplessness 

But you were awake. And you were alone.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Suddenly, their laughter rang in your ears like a fork scraping against a plate. You winced in pain as you did your best to look up at the faces of the people who took you. You only recognized one. He was part of the union, you think. 

You remembered seeing him once, behind Si-eun during a fight. He wasn’t a frontliner…more like someone who watched from the shadows. Quiet. Calculating.

Now, he was smiling at you like you were a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

“There it is,” he said with an amused sigh. “Took you long enough. You’re tougher than you look.”

You didn’t respond. Your tongue felt too heavy. And besides, what was there to say?

He walked closer, crouching just in front of you. “You probably don’t remember me. But I know you. Or at least, I know what you are to him.”

That made your stomach twist and your heart drop

Hu-min. 

You could still feel the warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his laugh, the way he called after you—

“You’ll miss me!”

God. You wished you could hear his voice now.

“He’s loud, your little boyfriend,” the Union guy went on. “Always charging in, throwing punches. Never shuts up.” Everyone laughed behind him, some even mimicking Hu-min’s actions. They looked prideful, as if they had already won.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“But when he finds out we have you?”

“He’ll be real quiet then.”

You met his gaze, fury flaring despite the pain. Once he got close enough, You spat without hesitation.

It landed square on his cheek—a messy mix of blood and spit that made him recoil instantly.

“Fuck! You little—” He cursed, stumbling back as he wiped his face in disgust. He glared at you, the others looking in disbelief.

“Alright,” he muttered. “You want to be brave? You need a little reminder, then”

He motioned at the other boys lazily. And before you could react—

A fist drove into your gut, hard.

Air exploded from your lungs. The room spun. You couldn’t even scream. They all laughed as your chair tipped over from the sheer force. You came crashing down onto the floor, your body was hit hard, the edge of the metal frame biting into your side. Pain bloomed in waves, sharp and pulsing, as the men’s laughter echoed above you.

“Hey! Get this on video,” one of them barked, pulling out a phone with a grin. “Let’s send it to Baku.”

He crouched beside you, tapping the screen to start recording as you struggled to lift your head. Before you even did, though, a foot slammed into your rib. Four other guys started kicking you.

“Let him watch this on loop. He’ll come crawling on his knees.”

A cruel grin spread across his face.

“Maybe then he’ll finally get the message—Eunjang loses.”

Bakutastic🏀: “Heyyyyyy u home yet?” Bakutastic🏀: “Heyyy” Bakutastic🏀: “Helllooooooo” Bakutastic🏀: “nsajndweaksml” Bakutastic🏀: “Is ur phone dead?” Bakutastic🏀: “Message me asap or im eating all ur food tmrw.🙄🙄”

Hu-min scratched at the back of his neck, frowning. His phone screen lit his face in the dark room, your chat still open. You were only five minutes away when you left. Maybe your phone died. Maybe you knocked out the second you got home.

Still… something didn’t sit right.

Was he being clingy? Probably. Did he care? Not even a little. He just wanted to know you were safe. That’s it.

Another minute ticked by. Then another.

Ten minutes now.

He hadn’t moved—just sat there, staring at your contact name like the screen might light up if he waited long enough. His fingers hovered over his keyboard again, but he didn’t know what else to say without sounding panicked.

With a frustrated exhale, he sat up in bed, grabbing his hoodie. Screw it. He’d swing by. Just check. He wasn’t sleeping until he—

Buzz.

His phone lit up in his hand. Unknown number. No message. Just a video file.

“The hell?” he muttered, already swiping it open.

It only took two seconds. Two seconds before his heart plummeted.

The screen showed you. Tied to a chair, slumped and on the ground, Blood staining your mouth, bruises blooming across your face. The camera was shaky, laughter in the background.

Then—a kick. Straight to your stomach. You coughed hard. Violent. Your whole body jolted.

Hu-min’s breath caught. His hands started shaking.

Another blow. You flinched. He did too.

He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He was already on his feet, grabbing his jacket, his phone, keys—whatever. His body moved on instinct, pure adrenaline roaring through him.

He knew those faces and exactly where they took you.

The Union thought they were clever. Thought they could break him by using you.

His sneakers pounded against the pavement as he took off down the same street you walked earlier. He didn’t feel the wind. Didn’t hear the cars. All he could hear was your voice echoing in his head—

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hu-min!”

He didn’t care what he had to do.

He was going to find you.

And God help anyone who tried to stop him.

“Ahh.. The hell is taking him so long?”

Then suddenly—a loud slam of a door. 

Hu-min didn’t give them a chance to speak or even think. 

He charged.

The first man barely raised a hand before Hu-min’s fist connected with his jaw. A sickening crack split the air as the man crumpled to the ground. Another lunged from behind, but Hu-min twisted, catching his ribs with a brutal elbow that sent him gasping and tumbling to a table.

There was shouting now. The sound of boots thundering.

Hu-min didn’t stop.

Didn’t think.

He ducked under a crowbar swing, landed a kick that sent one into a pile of crates. Blood. Screaming. The taste of copper in the air. Three left.

His knuckles were raw, breathing ragged. But none of it mattered.

Because in the corner of the warehouse—

He saw you.

On the floor, still tied to the chair, face bruised and barely conscious. His chest squeezed so tight it hurt. He swore the world narrowed to just you. But he didn’t run to you…not yet. He couldn’t. Not until the last two were down.

One came at him with a pipe. Hu-min took a hit to the shoulder, but it barely registered. He caught the man by the collar and slammed him into the wall with a cry.

Then, finally, it was just silence.

He dropped to his knees beside you.

He breathed your name like a quiet prayer, voice cracking at the edges as he gently cupped your face. “Hey—hey, I’m here, I got you.”

Your head tilted weakly toward him, a small movement that took all your remaining strength. Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth, a harsh reminder of your current state. But then your eyes fluttered open, and as they focused on him, you attempted a smile, however shaky. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you sooner," you murmured, the words emerging scratchy and raw, a feeble attempt to inject humor into the tension of the moment.

Hu-min, however, could only let out a heavy sigh, a mix of disbelief and concern etched on his face as he knelt beside you, beginning the careful task of untying your binds, his hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. 

“Let’s get you to the hospital, okay?” He gently helped you up into a sitting position before carefully scooping you up in his arms. The ache in his body was also starting to set in, but he pushed through. Neither of you was out of the dark yet. Not until he got you to safety.

You knew it was best not to talk about what happened to the Union guys. You’ve already seen Hu-min enraged before, as long as it was a loved one he had to protect, so the little time he took to beat up everyone wasn’t surprising. You just hope he wouldn’t be stubborn about getting himself checked out to the hospital as well.

The world smelled like antiseptic and plastic curtains.

The beeping of a monitor pulsed steadily somewhere above your head, each sound tugging you further into wakefulness. Your body ached—your ribs, your face, even your eyes—but the warmth of the blanket and the rhythmic beeping grounded you. Slowly, you regained your strength as you recalled the events from earlier. The union guys…Hu-min…and lots of blood that definitely wasn’t just yours.

But you were safe now.

And alive. 

The door to your hospital room slammed open with a shout of your name.

“Holy crap, you’re alive!”

“Don’t sit up too fast! Wait—is that pudding? Can I have it?”

You blinked groggily as Jun-tae, Go-tak, and Si-eun spilled into the room like a whirlwind of mismatched chaos. Jun-tae was juggling a small mountain of snacks, Go-tak had flowers he definitely stole from the nurse’s station, and Si-eun... was holding a bag of gauze and band-aids like that was going to help.

“What the hell happened?” Go-tak said, mouth half-full of chocolate. “Baku just disappeared, and next thing we know, he’s dragging you into the ER like an action movie!”

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Jun-tae added helpfully, squinting at your face. “No offense. Still cute, though.”

You managed a weak laugh, wincing at the pain in your ribs. “None taken.”

Si-eun placed the bandage bag gently on the bedside table, as if that made up for everything. “You scared us.” There wasn’t much emotion behind his voice but his eyes told everything that he wanted you to know.

A soft knock came from the doorway.

You didn’t even need to look. You felt him before you saw him.

Hu-min stepped in quietly, hands shoved in his pockets, still wearing the same hoodie from earlier—creased, smudged with dirt, and faintly stained with blood at the sleeves. His eyes were on you. Only you.

Jun-tae caught the vibe immediately.

“Right,” he said, standing. “We’re gonna… leave you two alone now. Get well soon okay?”

Go-tak opened his mouth to protest, already halfway through your pudding, but Si-eun dragged him out by the collar.

The door shut with a soft click.

Silence.

Hu-min shuffled closer to your bed, awkward and quiet now that the others were gone. His hands fidgeted at his sides. “You good?” he asked, voice low. Rougher than usual.

You gave him the tiniest smile. “Been better.”

He exhaled—like he’d been holding that breath since the moment he brought you in. His eyes scanned your face, your arms, and the gauze along your temple. Even just looking at you seemed to hurt him more than his wounds.

“I should’ve walked you home,” he muttered. “I knew something felt off. I shouldn’t have let you—”

“Hu-min,” you interrupted softly, “I’m okay.”

He looked at you then. Really..looked. And whatever storm he was holding back cracked just slightly.

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

He was quiet again. 

Then, gently, he sat down beside your bed. His hand hovered near yours on the blanket for a moment before finally resting over it, warm and firm. No amount of words can describe the fear he felt when he saw your bloodied and half-unconscious. It was terrifying and his heart was torn in pieces at the sight of it all. 

“I thought I lost you,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes.

You squeezed his hand as best you could.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

He exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of relief. His grip loosened, not to let go, but to soften. Gentler now.

You expected him to joke, maybe crack something stupid like he always did. But instead…

He leaned forward a little, resting his forearm carefully on the side of the bed. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d say if I got here too late,” he said, voice quiet and uneven. “And it scared the hell out of me how much I hated that thought.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was that time you laughed so hard you snorted in front of the cafeteria, or when you always knew what snack I wanted before I asked.”

He glanced away for a second, then looked back at you. His jaw clenched like he was bracing for impact.

“…But I like you.”

The words weren’t smooth. They weren’t rehearsed. They were raw, honest, and heavier than he expected them to be.

You blinked. “Hu-min…”

“I know I’m a mess. Loud. Reckless. Not really the type you’d expect anyone to be into.” He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, cheeks starting to color. “But I’ve liked you for a while now. And I didn’t say anything because it was easier to pretend I didn’t.”

He looked up again.

“But I don’t wanna pretend anymore.”

Silence.

Then, your fingers curled around his. Despite the pain, despite the bruises, your smile was soft and warm, and so you it made his heart trip over itself.

“…You think I don’t like you back?” you murmured.

His mouth opened slightly. “Wait, you do?”

You rolled your eyes, the smallest laugh escaping your lips. “You’re so dense. I mean–I never said no to you asking me out earlier…”

“Oh..right..that”

“Hu-min..did you forge—” 

“Wh–No?!”

He hesitated, his face flushing a deep shade of crimson as he struggled to find the right words, eyes flickering with uncertainty and a hint of longing. You watched him with a gentle, amused smile, noting the way he fumbled for excuses, each more clumsy than the last. 

Softly, you leaned in closer, your presence intimate and warm, and pressed a tender, almost feather-light kiss to his cheek. The simple gesture silenced him, leaving him momentarily speechless, his cheeks still tinged with blush. A playful, knowing grin spread across your lips as you looked at him, creating a moment full of shy affection and unspoken desire.

You pulled away just a few inches, enough to see the expression frozen on his face—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, as if his entire personality had glitched from that single kiss.

His brain short-circuited.

You grinned. “You okay there, hero?”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then suddenly, he moved.

“Hey!—what was that?!” he burst, voice cracking halfway through, flailing a bit as if you’d just committed some heinous act of war while he held the cheek you just kissed. “You can’t just—just—ambush me like that!”

You tilted your head innocently. “What, didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that!” he blurted, ears turning bright red as he tried to laugh the embarrassment off.

You just laughed at him, and that was what did it. Something in him snapped—not in anger, but in reckless determination.

“Oh, that’s it,” he muttered, face still crimson, but eyes locked on you now with wild resolve. “You wanna play that game? Fine.”

Before you could react, he leaned in fast, closing the already small distance between you.

He kissed your forehead. Quick. Warm.

Then your nose.

Then your other cheek.

Then your temple.

Each press was messy and rushed and completely unsmooth, but so full of affection that it made your heart stutter.

“Payback,” he said, in between each kiss.

You were too stunned to speak, caught between laughter and something far deeper as he hovered close, hands braced carefully on the sides of the bed as each kiss was more ticklish than the last.

“Don’t think you can just surprise me and get away with it,” he mumbled against your skin. “I’m Baku! I don’t lose.”

You only nodded softly, raising both of your hands in front of you as a gentle gesture of surrender. Hu-min then pulled away, slightly panting from the burst of laughter that escaped him, his eyes sparkling with affection. He gazed down at you, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. Carefully, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your face, and tenderly tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

His voice was low and warm now as he whispered, “...You’re mine now. You understand that, don’t you?”

And from the way he said it—not possessive, not demanding, just utterly devoted—you knew it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise, and you didn’t need to answer with words.

The way your fingers laced with his said more than enough.

He stayed there with you, his forehead resting softly against yours, both of you breathing in sync. The hospital room was silent save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and the hum of the air conditioning, but it somehow felt peaceful now, like the world outside could wait.

There was no more fear, no more fighting. Just this—shared warmth in a sterile room, and a future quietly beginning between stolen kisses and promises unspoken.

His thumb traced light circles against the back of your hand, as if grounding himself in the fact that you were still here. With him.

And you were.

As your eyes slowly slipped shut, a tired but contented smile on your lips, Hu-min stayed right where he was—watching over you, steady and soft in a way only you ever got to see.

The beeping of the monitor faded into the background.

And the rest of the world faded with it.

an: 6k words again.. This is why I take ages to release a full fic. I hope everyone liked this!! Not too sure if I got Baku's character to a T. Comments and feedback are appreciated! <33 This was such a pain to edit in Tumblr both my laptop and phone was lagging so bad I think I need to make shorter fics now..