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roseghoul26 · 1 month

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Chapter 7: My House of Stone...

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Arthur Is Bad At Emotions, Confessions, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: sorry this took so long i got such bad writers block Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay Chapter List

When Arthur didn’t show up after a few days, you tried to not let it get to you. He was a busy man, no doubt even more busy because of the job involving your husband. You ignored the fact that he proved that he would fight everything to come and see you, consequences be damned. It was almost out of character that he hadn’t come to see you, or had reached out to you in some way.

When a few more days passed with no sign of the outlaw, you found yourself going back over your last encounter, when he had taken you out on Bear. You don’t recall any hesitancy or doubt in his eyes when he was with you, or maybe you were too blind with your own desire to see it. That thought made you reel, panicking that you made him uncomfortable and scared him off.

But you didn’t let that thought fester for too long. You spent your days doing menial tasks with no real passion, trying to just pass the time. It worked, mostly, but you were getting antsy. How you wished you had an easy way to leave the prison that had become the house.

Even more days passed, each day becoming more and more anxiety ridden. Instead of worrying that you’d scared him off now, you were worried that he was dead, or in shackles, about to be hung up in the town square. Your nights were becoming restless, images of his dead body haunting you when you closed your eyes. You’d wake with bloodshot eyes, even more tired than you were when you went to bed.

You eventually stopped counting the days, not wanting to know how long he’d been gone for. You tried to spend more and more time outside of the house, bringing blankets and books from Hans’ office to your garden, waiting to escape the confinement of the walls around you. It helped, for a bit, yet you still found your mind wandering, constantly worrying about Arthur.

But no matter how hard you tried, you found that you couldn’t hate the man. Upset, sure, angry, definitely, but not hateful. No, your heart wouldn’t allow it. You were still in love with him, and the lack of contact from him was hurting you, both physically and mentally. It was hard to eat, hard to sleep, hard to find it in yourself to take care of your body. You knew it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help it. He had wormed his way into your very being, and left a hole that couldn’t be fixed. You just hoped that he’d return soon and make you feel whole again.

It was during this time that you decided to draft a letter to your family, hoping that it would alleviate the loneliness that was once removed by Arthur. You sat in Hans’ office, pen shaking in your hand as you stared at the blank piece of paper in front of you, the task proving to be more difficult than you imagined. It had been two years since you’d last spoken to them, and you had no idea what to say. How much was too much? How honest was too honest?

You decided to keep it simple, and you began to write. It took a few tries, but you eventually produced a letter that you were satisfied with.

My dear family,

I have missed you all, incredibly so. Words don’t even begin to do it justice. I apologize for not reaching out earlier, but my circumstances wouldn’t allow it. I do so hope to hear back from you, and perhaps have the pleasure of seeing each other in the flesh soon.

Your daughter,

You finished it with your name, but just your first name. Tucking it into an envelope, you addressed it with the address Arthur had provided you, and you swallowed the lump in your throat when you saw Arthur’s handwriting, rereading the note he left you.

Making sure to leave the office as you found it, you made your way downstairs, setting the letter on the kitchen table, ready to grab for whenever you decided to go into town. You spent a few days at home after writing the letter, hoping that one night you’d hear the familiar hoofbeats of Bear, but were left disappointed each night.

Eventually, though, you needed to leave, if just for a short bit of time. It had been roughly three weeks since you’d last left the house, and if you had to look at the same things again you were going to snap, leaving the house as a pile of ash. So, with a small purse with some cash, you took the letter and yourself and left.

If it weren't for your current mindset, the walk to the main road would’ve been relaxing, enjoying the noises of animals and the cool breeze against your skin. But everything is annoying you now. The wind was causing your hair to blow in your face, and if you had to hear that birdsong one more time, you were going to lose it. Or maybe you’d already lost it.

The sun blinded you as you left the shade of the thick forest, stepping out onto the main road. You always hated doing this, but you were desperate. Slowly, you began to walk towards Rhodes, keeping a close ear for any riders.

It took a few minutes, but you eventually heard someone approaching from behind, and you perked up, putting on your friendliest face as you stopped and turned. It was a carriage, and you began to wave them down, but they ignored you, not even bothering to glance in your direction. Rude.

Still, you kept on, not letting one bad interaction deter you. A few more carriages and wagons passed, with similar responses. Everyone looked grim, you noticed, stone-faced and somber expressions. Now you were starting to feel dejected, and you debated just heading back to the house; you weren’t that far anyway.

Before you could come to a decision, a single rider passed you, glancing at you even though you didn’t wave him down. Something like recognition flashed across his face, even though you’d never seen this man in your life. He had longer, black-brown hair that was tied into a small ponytail, with a mustache and goatee, and a bowler hat protecting his tanned skin. He had a blue denim jacket on, with a red handkerchief around his neck, and you noted that he was surprisingly well dressed for being an alone traveler on the road.

“Mrs. Kerrigan?” He asked, almost in disbelief, like you were a creature from folklore, pulling his gray and white horse to a halt beside you.

You braced yourself, ready to bolt as you stared at the man. “Yes?” You asked, suspicious. It wasn’t uncommon for people to recognize who you were, but they’d never acted like they knew you personally. You dove into the deep recess of your brain trying to remember who he was, but drawing a blank; he was a stranger to you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned, which was a tad bit off putting from a complete stranger. Still, you couldn't detect any malicious intent in his words.

Sighing, you answered truthfully. “I’m tryin’ to get to Rhodes. You… you don’t happen to be goin’ there, do you?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he answered, truly sounding regretful, but then his face turned thoughtful.

“Ah. No worries then. Have a good day.”

You tried to continue moving, but his smooth voice made you halt again. “But it’s close enough. I can only bring you to the outskirts, though.”

“You’d do that?” You smiled when he nodded. “I can pay, too. Thank you, Mr…?”

“Escuella. But you can call me Javier.” He extended a hand to you, helping you on to the back of his horse. You sat sidesaddle, keeping an appropriate amount of distance between your bodies, your hands resting on his sides.

Javier. You remember Arthur telling you about someone with the same name, and although you highly doubted that this was the same Javier, you wished that he had a drawing of him. “Thank you, Javier.”

“Of course, Mrs. Kerrigan.” Javier gestured his horse forward, setting an easygoing pace; not too fast, not too slow. A small pang hit your heart as you remembered the last time you were on a horse, your body pressed up to Arthur’s, his rough voice in your ears, the playful glint in his eye. God, you missed him.

“I’ll pay you when we get to town,” you repeated after a few minutes of riding, and you felt Javier chuckle.

“I appreciate it, but I think Arthur would kill me.” Your blood ran cold, and your heart began to race just at the mention of him. So this was Javier, the one Arthur traveled with in the mountains to rescue John. It makes sense then, why he seemed to recognize you.

“Well, it’s nice to put a face to a name,” you commented.

“He’s talked about me, then?”

“All good things,” you reassured, and he just shook his head, not believing you. You desperately wanted to ask him about Arthur, if he was alive or not, but you weren’t sure if any answer he gave you would hurt less. “Does… does he talk about me?”

Javier snorted. “Yes and no. He’ll talk about you, sometimes so much that we want to kill him, but then refuses to answer any of our questions. Some of us even doubted your existence,” he laughed, “but I’m glad to see that we’re wrong. You’ve made him real happy. I haven’t seen him this… optimistic in a long time.”

You were glad he was facing forward, so he couldn’t see the way those words broke you. Biting back tears, you kept your voice steady. “How is Arthur?”

“He’s fine?” He responded, very clearly confused as to why you didn’t know. “He’s been, well, ‘helping’ your husband.”

Oh. “So the names he got led to somethin’?”

“Sure did. We were able to track down suppliers, and disrupt his business there. He’s yet to reach out for help, but Dutch doesn’t think it’ll be long now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” You weren’t lying. “But he’s well?” You couldn’t help but ask about him again.

“Yes. It’s been a crazy couple of days, but we’re pulling through.”

Only a couple of days. You refrained from asking what he’d gotten up to earlier, not wanting to appear desperate, even if you were. “I’m glad. And don’t make me regret saying this, but if anyone ever needs a place to lie low for a bit, point ‘em towards my house. At least when my husband isn’t there.” Even though you’d barely met any of the members, you couldn’t help but feel protective over the gang because of how deeply Arthur cared about them. If there was anything you could do to help them, you would.

“I’ll be sure to let them know. Thank you.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Arthur was right about you; you’re too kind for this world.”

You murmured a small thanks, and the two of you fell into an easy silence for the rest of the ride. When the familiar outskirts of Rhodes appeared, you felt Javier begin to grow nervous, his head moving back and forth, like he was on the lookout for something. “We can stop here,” you said once you reached a long abandoned house, the yellow paint chipping and peeling.

Red dust kicked up when your feet hit the ground, and you quickly took out a few bills, handing them to Javier. “Again, I can’t take this,” he held up a hand, a small smile on his face.

“I ain’t payin’ you for the ride, though. I payin’ you to deliver a message to Arthur,” you countered, but he didn’t relent. Sighing, you tucked them into the saddlebags before facing him with your hands on your hips. “Tell him to come see me. Please.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know. Do you have a ride back home?”

“I can arrange something’. Now go; you look uncomfortable just being here.”

He chuckled, not disagreeing with you. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

“You too, Javier. Stay safe.”

He nodded, smiling kindly at you before turning, taking off back down the road you’d just been on. Turning toward the town, you began to make your way to the center of town, right to the post office in the railroad station.

It was eerily quiet, more like a ghost town than anything. There wasn’t a single soul lingering on the porches or the street, and the shutters of most of the buildings were shut, which was extremely unusual for the middle of the day on a weekday. There weren’t even any animals out; it was just you and the dust.

After a few tense minutes of walking, you eventually climbed the stairs of the railroad station, the creak of the old wood almost making you jump. It was just as empty on the inside as it was outside, the other person in the building, the person behind the counter, who smiled tensely as you entered.

“Good afternoon, missus,” he exclaimed, the chip in his voice far too forced. “Say, can’t say I’ve seen you ‘round here before.”

“You’ve probably met my husband, Mr. Kerrigan,” you responded, making your way to the counter, pulling the letter from your bag.

“Ah yes. Well, how can I help you, Mrs. Kerrigan?”

You slid the letter across to him. “I’d like to send this, please.”

“Not a problem at all. That’ll be five cents.”

Sliding him a nickel from your bag, you looked around as he stamped the letter, putting it in the appropriate mailbox. “Is there anythin’ else I can help you with?”

“Why is it so… dead?” You glanced back at the man, who had visibly paled at your question.

“Interesting choice of words, ma’am. Let’s just say we had an… incident yesterday. Nothing befitting a proper lady like yourself.” He explained, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

Ominous. Realizing you weren’t going to get far with him, you wished him a good day before leaving. You made your way to the general store; Mr. Banks would let you know.

The bell chimed as you entered, and you called out for the older gentleman, and you heard the sound of crashing from the back room, clearly scaring the poor man. A disheveled Mr. Banks peeked around the corner, visibly relaxing when he saw it was just you. You opened your mouth to try and apologize, but he cut you off. “You didn't bring that ‘deputy’ with ya, did you?” He asked, growing tense again.

“Arthur? No, he’s not with me.”

“Good. I’ll kill him on sight if he even dares to step foot in Rhodes again. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Physically, no. “Mr. Banks, what in the world-”

“Him and his buddies shot up the town yesterday. Killed the good Leigh Gray, Lord bless his soul,” he shuddered, and you halted in your tracks, your somewhat amused smile at his ramblings falling.

“What?”

He pointed to a newspaper on the counter, and you cautiously stepped toward it. Bloodthirsty Gang Kills Dozens was the headline, a few paragraphs of text following below it. Your head spun at the new information, blocking out the words of Mr. Banks. You couldn’t gauge what you were feeling; you weren’t disgusted, or revolted, even though you knew you should be. You weren’t surprised; you knew that Arthur had done things, unspeakable things, and would continue to do so. You weren’t angry at what he did, but you were angry at him for putting himself in harm’s way like that.

“I’ll take the paper,” you cut Mr. Banks off, sliding him a few bills, and he slid the paper to you. You barely mumbled out a ‘good day’ before you left, nose deep in the paper as you headed back to the railroad station, sitting on the bench waiting for the carriage services, and you read as you waited.

You read all about the way the gang played both families, something you had no idea was happening. You weren’t hurt that he didn’t tell you; you knew that some things had to remain secrets. But you didn’t care much about the detail, eyes scanning for any telling of death or injury to the Van Der Linde gang. You knew that Javier probably didn’t lie to you, but you still needed to be sure.

Your heart dropped when you saw that there was indeed one confirmed killing of a member of the Van Der Linde gang, but you didn’t recognize the description they provided. The others, it seemed, were still at large, and unhurt. Knowing how deeply Arthur cared about each member of the gang, you knew that this death was probably weighing heavily on him. If only he would come and see you, just so you could help him.

The sound of a carriage approaching had you standing, tucking the paper under your arm. Getting in, you directed the driver to your house, and you quickie got lulled into the rocking rhythm of the vehicle. You ignored the paper under your arm, even though it felt like a million pounds.

The ride felt like forever, but eventually you pulled into the familiar forested area of Ringneck Creek. The driver helped you out, and after you paid him you headed inside, feeling like you were just going through the motions. Despite everything you’d learned, there was one thing that really bothered you. The shootout had only been yesterday; what had stopped him from seeing you during the previous three weeks?

Even though it wasn’t late, you found yourself getting ready for bed anyway, keeping the paper on the table downstairs and grabbing a book from Hans' office before curling beneath the sheets. Your eyes skimmed the words, not processing them, your brain too distracted by today’s events.

You weren’t quite sure how you “read” for, but you must’ve fallen asleep at some point. A loud noise, like a door being slammed, had you bolting upright, pulled out of your uneasy slumber, the book luckily not hitting the ground. When you didn’t hear anything for a few moments, you thought you had just imagined it, and you went to try and go back to bed.

That was until you heard the sound of heavy footfalls. Shit. Tearing off the covers, you padded lightly across the wooden floor, wishing that Hans wasn’t so opposed to keeping guns in the house. You had nothing to defend yourself with, so kept to the shadows as you left the room.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you flinched when you saw the shadow of a man making its way toward the stairs. You began to back away, back into the safety of your room, until you recognized the familiar silhouette of the man. Don’t tell me…

Cautiously, you made your way downstairs, barely making a noise. You had to stifle a gasp once you reached the bottom, your suspicions confirmed when you saw Arthur standing in your dining room, back to you, glancing over the newspaper you’d set on the table. His hair was longer, his clothing unkempt, but it was still the same man you had fallen for.

Too many emotions ran through you, from anger to longing to desire to sadness. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to kiss him or punch him in the face, and so you just stood at the bottom of the stairs, shocked.

Eventually, Arthur turned, the only sign of him being startled was his eyes widening. Those beautiful blue eyes that had haunted your thoughts, that you longed to see again. You let out a small gasp then, audible only to you. It was really hard to remain still, every fiber of your being craving to be in his arms again, to feel his lips on yours.

Neither of you knew what to say, just staring at each other. Even in the low light, you could see that Arthur looked exhausted, bags under his eyes and his shoulders sagging. Being on the run would do that to a man. “So Javier wasn’t kiddin’. You’re alive.” You didn’t care that your voice was scathing.

Javier must’ve said something to him, because Arthur didn’t seem surprised that you mentioned the other man. If you ever met him again, you’d have to thank him for sticking to his word about delivering a message. “I…” he rubbed at the back of his neck, “I’ll leave.” Oh, how you missed his rugged voice.

Arthur turned to head back out the front door. “Stay. Please.” You called out, making your voice softer, stopping him in his tracks. Don’t leave me again.

He took a deep breath before turning back around, somethin like guilt on his features. “It’s been three weeks, Arthur.” You sighed out.

“I know, darlin’.” You nearly broke then, his name for you crumbling your resolve. Yet you held, fingers gripping the railing with a death grip. “There was an… incident-”

“The shootout in town,” you cut him off. “Don’t sugarcoat things. I know what you get up to. I know the things you’ve done.”

Arthur didn’t bother to try to disagree, and you were thankful for that. “After the shootout in Rhodes, I couldn’t risk comin’ over to see ya’.”

“I understand, but that was only a few days ago. Arthur, it's been three weeks.” You didn’t bother to hide the pain in your voice. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.”

“Then where’ve you been?” He didn’t respond, and you laughed bitterly. “I thought you were dead, Arthur. Or you were about to be strung up in the gallows. Or you… I was worried sick, and the only reason I knew you weren’t dead was because Javier told me.”

“I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want your apology, I want an explanation.” You let go of the railing. “Why?” Arthur hung his head, and you began to step towards him.

“You deserve somethin’ better, darlin’.”

“And you thought the best thing for me was to leave me alone and heartbroken. And who is this ‘someone better’ I deserve? Hans? No, I don’t think so.”

“I ain’t much better! You said it yourself, you know the things I’ve done. I’ve killed people, so many I’ve lost track. Hell, I was the one who killed Sheriff Gray. My whole life I’ve tricked and duped and betrayed people; I ain’t a good man’. You’re too sweet, too kind. You deserve somethin’ better than that, than me.”

“You think I didn’t know that you’ve hurt people, Arthur? You didn’t think when you said you were an outlaw that I wouldn’t, I don’t know, realize you’ve done some unlawful things? I know what kind of man you are, and who you claim to be, yet when I think of you I think of a man that is also good, generous, sweet.” You continued to move towards him, even as he shook his head.

“A man that would come check up on a sad woman in the woods just ‘cause she asked, that would find her family’s address so she could write to them.” You were close enough to him that you could reach out and touch him.

“A man that’s made my miserable existence feel worthwhile, that has become the best goddamn part of my life.” His hands were shaking, you found when you took one of them in both of yours. Those familiar calloused fingers were oh so comforting, and you brought them close to your heart.

You took a deep breath. “A man that I’ve completely fallen in love with.”

His hands stopped shaking, or maybe yours were. You couldn’t tell.

Arthur was speechless, but you could tell that he didn’t oppose your confession, because he pulled you closer. His free hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “You shouldn’t…”

“Too late now, Arthur.” You breathed out. “I… I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He repeated again with more edge, but you could see how conflicted he was. “Nothin’ good is gonna come from it.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because every damn good thing in my life gets ruined. Every person I lo- care ‘bout, I make their lives worse, and they regret ever openin’ their hearts to me. Did ya know I almost married a girl, then I ruined that. I- I had a kid,” his voice grew thick with emotion, “and he’s no longer with us. All because of me, and the life I lead. All because wherever I go, someone’ll be huntin’ down the people I care about, no matter how innocent they are. I couldn’t live with myself if somethin’ happened to you ‘cause of me.”

Oh. You were speechless now, and your heart ached for the man in front of you. “Arthur… I can’t guarantee that somethin’ won’t happen to me, but do you really wanna live your life in fear, pushing away those who care about you?”

“I can’t lose you, darlin’. I can’t.”

“But you almost did, pushin’ me away like that. What then?”

“I…” he took a shaky breath, his hand sliding down to hold the side of your neck gently. “I don’t know.”

“So don’t push me away. Yes, it’s terrifying, caring about someone like this. You don’t think I worry ‘bout you every time you’re not here? That I don’t worry that we’ll be found out, and this whole thing will come burning down around us? But isn’t it worth it? ”

He sighed, before resting his head against yours, his hat sliding back a bit. “It is.”

“Then mean it. To yourself. To me.” His lips were so close now, and you wanted nothing more than to close the space between them. You let go of his hand, choosing to rest your hands on his chest instead. You could feel his heart beating rapidly under your fingers, just as fast as yours was. “I love you, Arthur, and there isn’t a damn thing you can say that’ll change that.”

Arthur exhaled shakily, and even in the dim light you could see a small smile on his lips. “And I’m grateful for your stubbornness.” You chuckled lightly at his words. “I’ve been a fool-”

“None of that. You ain’t a fool, Arthur.”

“Maybe not. But I’m a fool for you.” You rolled your eyes at his cheesy comment, knees growing weak at the now grin on his face. That dazzling, beautiful grin. But his expression sobered, and you temporarily feared the worst. “You should know that I do feel the same, darlin’. I really do. It’s just, I can’t…”

“You can’t say it back,” you refrained from sounding too crestfallen. You could be content with the fact that he agreed he felt the same. For now. He shook his head, looking ashamed, and you forced his gaze back up to yours when he tried to look away. “Then show me. Show me that you love me.”

“I could spend every last minute of my life showin’ you, and it still wouldn’t be enough time,” he chuckled, his thumb brushing just below your bottom lip. His eyes followed the movement, and something darkened in them. “But I can certainly try.”

He leaned in, finally closing the distance, and you felt like you could cry with relief. His lips felt even better than you remembered, more desperate than you’d ever felt them. You dropped his hand, arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to kiss you, his hat falling to the ground as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled away far too soon for your liking, the hand still holding your face brushing your cheek. “Darlin’, you’re cryin’,” he murmured, his brow creasing with concern.

“Good tears,” you laughed, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “I just missed you, so much.”

Another flash of guilt appeared on his face. “You promise?”

“Promise.” He regarded you for a few moments, and you nearly pulled him back down yourself, desperate to feel his lips again. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait too long, because he was kissing you again, weeks of pent up longing, fear, and love being poured into it. It made you dizzy, and your fingers tangled further into his hair, eliciting a groan from the man.

Arthur’s free hand gripped your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he kissed you. They gripped even harder when you ran your tongue against his lips, not expecting you to take control of the kiss. He willingly let his lips part, letting you explore him with ease.

You hadn’t even realized Arthur had moved until you felt your back hit a wall, the back of your head cradled by his hand. It made you groan, breaking away from the kiss, and Arthur wasted no time trialing his lips down your neck. Your head rolled back, letting out pleased sighs and light moans as he littered kisses across your neck, his facial hair ticking the sensitive skin.

“Arthur,” you groaned, hands still in his hair, and you felt him hum in response.

“My beautiful girl,” you heard him mutter, more to himself than anything, and you were grateful for the stability the wall provided. The hand on your waist moved down, securing under your thigh and lifting it so that your leg wrapped around him. You inadvertently began to rock your hips, eliciting another delicious groan from Arthur.

“God, Arthur, I need you.” You didn’t care if you were pleading. You’d been plenty patient; you were allowed to be greedy.

“I’m takin’ my time with ya. We’ve got all night.”

Another groan tore from your throat. All night. “You promise?” You asked, echoing his previous words. If he was promising all night, then you could be patient for a little while longer.

You felt him grin against your skin, nipping lightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Promise.”

Author's Note: surprise javier appearance bam!

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 9 days

Note

hello!!

can you write hurt/comfort of ted from ihnmaims x reader? (reader comforting ted please :)

Oh good god, let me give you my life.

Ted (IHNMAIMS) x Gender neutral! Reader hurt comfort headcanons

Summary: After running from the group because of the monster in the dark, your affection is possibly the only thing that will get him back to the group.

Warnings: Description of torture, blood, loser Ted, slight verbal degradation from Ted.

Word count: 1.5k

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

The monster was real. Ted saw it himself. The firelight did little to show the true horror of the being. He knew how able AM was to create such beings, but he knew only so much. Maybe he had forgotten about it and got hungry. The creature had lunged at him, he had run, and it had caught him. How stupid the group truly was, not running when he did. How pitiful! How idiotic! Ted knew they were stupid, but he didn’t think they were this stupid!

Ted had run for hours, the muscles in his legs had gone limp, and his throat and lungs burned. But he didn’t stop, a single stop meant the monster would get him. He learned that lesson once that run and didn’t stop until it had gone away. Now, he lay in the fetal position, his knees to his chest, anxious thoughts filled his mind. Every sound could have been that thing.

His screams haunted him, he could only imagine the horror that AM was so entertained by. Ted’s hands still shook, even now, even hours or possibly days after the attack. The scars left behind by the hairy creature filled Ted’s thigh with a burning sensation, the red slashes accompanied by maroon blood on his pants. Occasionally, he would groan in pain, the feeling so overwhelming he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a sound. The monster had gotten a hold of his thigh when he stopped once, pushing its claws deep into the flesh.

The time was spent getting lightheaded from blood loss and hunger pains, then passing out for who knows how long. Ted barely moved a muscle when he was awake, his joints hurt every time he moved, and more pain wasn’t preferred. His hair had grown to fit into the shape he lay with. His eyes would go dry and blank when he saw something shift from the crack in the crawlspace and look at it just in case.

He heard AM tell the time maybe three… or four times? Were the times the traditional hour or day announcements? He couldn’t remember the exact number of times.

“Ted!” A memorable voice called from down the abyss of metal plates. Ted stayed on the ground, curled up. He waited several seconds, waiting for another call or something more convincing. AM could have had that thing learn to mimic people.

“Ted?!” The voice called again. Ted stayed again. The darkness of the crawlspace is only illuminated by the cold lighting from outside. Shadows danced around the room, moving from side to side. The objects outside his hiding spot made loud screeches as they were moved harshly. The voices consistently called again, several of which were men.

Ted stared at the door, brought his hand up, wincing from the stretch of his muscles, and opened the crawlspace. The cold light annoyed his eyes and caused him to look away quickly. Gorrister’s voice called to you when he saw the bunched-up man.

The fast click of shoes filled the stuffy air of the crawlspace. Ted brought his hand up to his eyes and rubbed eagerly.

“We’ve been looking for you for a while now,” you say with a smile, delicately crouching to see inside the crawlspace. Ted stared attentively at you, watching as you sat close to him. The warmth from your thigh close to his gave it away that you were real. Your eyes wandered over the injuries left by the creature. “It got you, huh?”

You weren’t honest about finding him, he knew that! If you truly wanted him back, you would have so much earlier.

“Why didn’t you find me earlier? I bet you hate me too!” Ted mumbled suddenly, changing the subject quickly to feel something similar to pride about being right. You paused and sucked in a breath.

“You think that about all of us,” you state teasingly, knowing he would be quick to displeasure. Your hands were brought down to his thigh, carefully touching the wounded tissue. He flinched when you touched it particularly hard. He pulled away hastily. “We thought you would find your way back.”

Ted glared at you through his dark lashes. It was true but why would he admit that? It would hurt more than if he did such a thing! “Why didn’t you follow? I said there was something and I expected you to run with! You’re an idiot!” He exclaimed with extreme anger.

You hesitate at his sudden outburst; blinking was your only facial movement for several seconds. You laughed. Laughed? At him? Ted narrowed his eyes and almost naturally pointed at you and quickly went to accusations. “Why are you laughing? There’s nothing funny about this!” Ted spat and waited for your explanation.

“No! I’m not laughing at you! I didn’t see it! None of us saw it!” You said and held a hand to your chest to calm your breathing. “I couldn’t see it at all, the fire didn’t reach where you were pointing. None of us ran because none of us saw! But you did. That’s good, it means you have better eyesight than us.”

Better. Of course he was better. Maybe you weren’t stupid since you knew he was better than the entire group combined. Ted got quiet quickly and watched as you gently kissed his knuckle. “Of course, I am,” Ted mumbled, hoping he would come off as confident, which very obviously didn’t.

You suddenly engulfed him in your arms, squeezing slightly around his shoulders. Your hands slowly moved to his hair. Now Ted looked up at you as you engulfed him in your warm embrace. Your hands had gone to his hair and down his body, gently touching the wounds left by the demon that had found him. How he wanted to sob but he wouldn’t allow himself. It was almost instinctual how he wanted to cry each time you held him so kindly.

Ted didn’t dare push you away. Your lips continuously peppered his face in the sweet affection. Though he saw you as less than him, he felt there was a beauty to your kisses. No matter if you were buttering him up. Several minutes were spent in your arms, simply silent with your tender love, your hands in his hair, lips to his cheeks. The occasional kiss on the lips was the best part for him, his tense arms moving to hold you close. He wished he could put force into holding you, maybe your love would have lasted longer.

“We’re going to go for the peaches soon,” you state, staying close, taking his hand, and rubbing the dried blood from his fingertips. Ted glanced at the opening, watching the feet of the other group members, standing patiently or aimlessly walking around out of boredom. He shook his head quickly and pulled away again.

“It’s still out there!” Ted spat and pulled himself up to the best of his abilities. You narrowed your eyes and looked back at the others too. Gorrister had gone off with telling Benny about a story he liked, Nimdok in silent thought, and Ellen holding Benny with care.

“Whatever you saw isn’t out there. See?” You bring your hands to your body and pat yourself down. The feeling of your hands moving away from his body made the spots you touched feel cold. “I’m fine, and so are the others. It’s not here anymore.”

You try to pull him up again, but he doesn’t budge, very obviously too because of his annoyed look. You pause and look at his injuries again, truly assessing the damages. “It’s healed a bit,” you say, it was obvious. The blood around it had dried, including the puddle that had started a while back.

Ted braced himself as you caressed the affliction, covering it to the best of your ability with his torn pant leg. He pushes your hands away when you put a little too much pressure on one of the scabs, causing it to break open and let a small amount of the scarlet liquid out again. “Don’t touch me!” He hissed and slapped your arm out of anger.

You stare at the blood as it trailed and got sucked in by the fabric. Taking his hand into yours, you bring your head down to his injured thigh. Ted stiffened when he felt your lips gently kiss around the sensitive flesh.

A kiss. Ted looked down at you as you placed the kisses, a confused expression on his face. But he realized the gravity of the situation. He was getting comforting affection from you. Again! Each kiss left by your kind lips made him moan softly from the sting, even if it had partially healed.

You kept your head down for several minutes, you knew him so well that any affection for a long while would make him a lost dog for you. If you pulled away now and made him vulnerable enough, he’d beg you for another kiss. You could get him up and moving.

You were too kind to him, if only there was a way to repay you.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

My IHNMAIMS masterlist

My request list

#x reader #ted ihnmaims #ihnmaims x reader #ihnmaims #ihnmaims ted #ihnmaims fanfic #i have no mouth and i must scream x reader #ted x gn reader #ted x gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #romantic headcanons #hurt comfort #gender neutral y/n #tw blood #tw torture #tw violence #tw injury #tw mention of abuse

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thevoidscreamer · 1 year

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Word Count Update! And other things!

I have created a spreadsheet on google sheets to catalog and visualize my word count progress as I continue to strive toward 1,000,000 words.

I set out on this journey on 5 June 2022. Today is 20 April 2023, and I want to take some time to reflect back on the past almost-year’s worth of life that has happened while I’ve been cataloging my word count progress.

When I started this project, I was fresh out of a breakup, navigating polyamory and co-parenting with a broken heart. I had just bid my 7-year-long career farewell, and my future was uncertain. I was back in school after a year-long hiatus. I started this project on the heels of a lot of loss.

Since then, I’ve survived the despair-inducing end of a decade-long life partnership, read about four and a half dozen books, had the opportunity to practice forgiveness on my family and others who hurt me, celebrated finally publishing two more books, came out as nonbinary and aro-ace, navigated the unique experiences that come with being a parent to a Teenager (TM), and tied the knot. I also pushed through one of the most depressing cases of writer’s block I’ve ever experienced.

My writing, and indeed this project, was deeply entwined with that aforementioned now-ended decade-long queer-platonic life partnership. That person had become inextricably linked with my personal writing culture, and for the first time since they left town in 2020, I found myself having to write without them. Writing had been a bonding experience, a sacred and intimate act we did, together, for too long to remember. In this way, this person became synonymous with my first love (writing). To put words on paper without them in my life felt like sacrilege.

So I had to learn to write again. And as I did, writing became my constant. It began with a desire to commune with the muse who had one been so tied to my former partner. Hours, days, weeks, months spent unable to even stare at the blank page without weeping. You could say I spent my time in prayer, lingering in a sort of probationary period in a religious order with whom I had fallen out of practice, out of favor. I was a neophyte once more, confined to a vow of silence.

And so I listened. And so I read. And so I studied. And soon enough, as if from an impossible primal well, the forms of words began to come. Trickling, at first... nonfiction about mostly nothings... struggling descriptions of my aching day-to-day perpetuity... bits and pieces of verse that, alone, amounted to... maybe something... and hours, days, weeks, spent between, just trying to replenish the well, to pull something forward that wasn’t the haunting emptiness of wordlessness.

As I write this, I am about to enter a new phase of my life, moving away from my home of 14 years to an entirely different state. I’m about to graduate college, shortly after I graduate to a new stage of parenthood: my kid is entering high school. I am about to become a first-time homeowner and spend much of my free time rehabilitating a house that was abandoned for almost three years.

The world around me has gotten more dangerous. And yet, I find myself excited to step outside in ways I haven’t felt since childhood. I feel the muse, her ebbs and flows, dancing with me as I go. I see her everywhere, her touch in the wind, her smile in the rain, her gaze in the migrating sunbeam where my cat takes a nap, her voice in the beating of my heart.

I have written over 470,000 words since last April, but the most important thing I have learned since then is... to be silent. To listen. To read. To study. I know now that, in the moments where I feel the muse has abandoned me, what I need is... silence. Between the moments of feverish typing and contemplative crafting, there is a necessary peacefulness.

I will take it as the blessing it is.

#writer #writer life #muse #the muse #poetry #writing #author #author life #milwordy #nanowrimo #4thewords

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sebastianorion · 1 year

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Valentine's day approaches. Nothing special about these holidays besides the importance that people assign them. Maybe just stuck searching for some semblance of importance within a place I spend so much of my time in. Yeah, just feeling bitter and lonely today I guess. But not guessing because I know I am. Took this long to be able to confirm my feelings aren’t just between two drastic modes. Just upset, upset that the words are running out, upset that the words aren’t helping anymore. Scared they’ve turned to haunt or harm me. Upset that when I see my grandparents there isn’t anything new or exciting to tell them about. I’m just FUCKING WAITING.

Waiting for (fill in the blank) Still not sure really. Don’t feel like writing today, maybe tomorrow. Everyone makes plans, resolutions and reservations, dates and moments to be remembered. They’re just going to fucking Applebee's. Why must I fall in love with any woman who shows mild interest in me? Why can’t I get past a conversation. Maybe I’ll try tinder. Looking for enough intimacy for a several night stand. Ode to the conversation stuck in your throat, that one you've been wanting to get to. Can never really tell what’s up with me sometimes. Maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Still just thinking though. Missing parts of the person I used to be. All things change with time but I should’ve brought those pieces with me at least. At least have found someone to give them to maybe ? What an awful spot in this notebook, in this life, right now at least.

Just a bad day- not a bad life. Since stopping that romanization of being sad, I’ve been more sad, used to look for an excuse and now I can’t find it and still end up this way. This month will fall from my head like the dead hair I won’t notice. Guess I shouldn’t complain too much. Evolving. I’m he. Used to think there was more left than this and there is, I’m just nowhere near anyone who can tell me about it.

I’ve spent the past 6 months trying to forget the last 5 years of my life. It’s hard for me to stand adjacent to people now. Finding the real meaning of time, time isn’t wasted, it’s spent, you could’ve wasted money buying something broken but with time you can always make a decision to just stop spending. Redefining comfort. Comfort as a scary thing, like a position you know about and are familiar with.

I HATE YOU. I HATE THE WAY YOU MADE ME. I’VE BEEN REBUILDING MYSELF IN AN IMAGE YOU WOULDN’T RECOGNIZE IN THE OFF CHANCE I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN.

Only in dreams and you never pay attention to me. Always looking away, your back facing me or just avoiding eye contact. I think of the things we used to do. The person I was when I was with you. The things I can never get back. Losing that childlike innocence. Now tempered steel stares back at my reflection. Sorry for the short outburst.

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neowinestainedress · 3 years

Text

Treacherous ; kim doyoung

title: treacherous | part of the “loving him was red” series

pairing: kim doyoung x oc | side members: oc’s best friend jaehyun ; mentioned johnny, mark, jungwoo

genre: fbw to lovers!au, getting together!au, smut, fluff,

warnings: smut, fingering, minor nipple play, squirting, riding, soft sex, unprotected sex (this is fiction, wrap it up irl), public sex (it’s a bathroom of a club), jealous sex (kind of), rough sex, dirty talk (praise and a little little bit of humiliation)

summary: Loving Doyoung is treacherous, reckless, but she can’t help being pulled to him. She knows she should let him go, but she can’t stop thinking about him, his name haunting her every night. So she risks it all because it’s known that nothing safe is worth the drive.

words: 8.847

taglist: @meowniee @commentgirl @b1kon131 @blossom-rea | if you’d like to be added comment on the masterlist of the series

a/n: So, here’s the first story for the series! I’m really excited to finally share this, I had fun writing this and I hope you’ll enjoy reading it. I appreciate feedback of any kind so if you want to, don’t be shy to let me know what you think about it. As always, english isn’t my first language so there might be some mistakes, I’m trying my best. Enjoy!

Put your lips close to mine, as long as they don't touch. Out of focus, eye to eye, 'Til the gravity's too much. And I'll do anything you say, if you say it with your hands. And I'd be smart to walk away, but you're quicksand.

Sunhee always thought there was something intoxicating about Doyoung. Something that pulled her to him silently, without him doing or saying a thing. There was this attraction, pushing her to him, naturally, almost as if they were said to be together.

And now, that she stared at him, reading a book with his head low, and the warm light of the lamp hit his sharp features, she couldn’t help but wonder how she got there.

When she first got to know him, it was never supposed to turn this domestic. She wasn’t supposed to feel this warmth raise in her chest every time she stared at him, or hear her heartbeat ring in her ears every time his name crossed her mind.

It was supposed to be just sex, no strings attached, no love, nothing.

Sunhee had no idea when she started to crave him, not his body, not his touch, but him. Probably it was the fault of their nights spent up, talking about what he enjoyed the most. And she would just sit there, head on her knees, listening to him and his antics about the more and less. Right on that bed, while the city outside slept silently, and she was busy getting lost in his words about economy, and other things she couldn’t even get.

Doyoung was incredibly smart and well-spoken, and she felt dragged to him with every single word. There was nothing sexy about the GDP of the country or the precarious conditions of some country she couldn’t even remember where it was placed on the map, but his voice somehow made everything interesting.

“Are you okay?” Doyoung’s voice shook her out of her thoughts. He was still sitting on the armchair, the book was closed on his lap and his sharp brown eyes were staring at her.

She nodded mindlessly and got up from the bed, fixing the crumpled sheets where her body applied pressure.

“I was just... thinking,” she replied, putting her long brown hair in a loose ponytail, just to get them out of the way.

“Thinking of?” Doyoung asked, voice low and head reclined against the back of the beige armchair.

She stilled for a second, her eyes wandering around the room trying to search for an answer in her bookshelves and other belongings. But nothing can come from inanimate objects, especially when you are that deep into something, or worse, somebody. All the books she had read in her life couldn’t give her a way out of that situation, they were books, words inked down a blank page, this was real life. And she was screwed.

‘You,’ she wanted to answer. ‘I was thinking about you.’ But she didn’t, she just sighed and pulled his shirt down her thighs more.

“Just job,” she lied, “my boss assigned me something I never did because one of my co-workers has to leave for a week.”

The man hummed and placed the book on the bookshelf beside him before patting the space on his lap for her to sit.

She wanted to stay there, not move an inch, but once again, he was calling her, pulling her in without a choice.

She slowly walked toward him, her bare feet coming in contact with the cold pavement making shivers run down her spine.

“Sit here,” he gestured, opening his arm for her to have space to sit on his lap, “let me take care of you.”

Here they were again; her trapped in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, while his hands caressed the small of her back.

“Look at me, baby,” Doyoung commanded and she obeyed, raising her face to stare at his eyes.

Her breath got stuck in her throat just like the first time they were this close. She gulped, she really was screwed. Doyoung was so handsome, probably the most beautiful man she ever laid eyes on, and knowing that he was so close, yet so far, killed her.

She wanted him to be hers, and hers only. But could she risk losing even this? No, simply because this was better than nothing.

“I can hear your thoughts from here, Sunhee,” Doyoung whispered, his lips almost grazing hers, but never touching. Their eyes locked into each other, the room and the world disappearing around them.

“I – I, ” she mumbled, but the words were stuck in her lungs, his slender fingers caressing her naked skin made her brain short-circuit.

“Relax, love. Just breathe,” he instructed, his voice sounding sultry, and she closed her eyes, letting her head fall against his. “Just like this,” he whispered, humming under his breath.

A moan escaped her lips when his cold fingers made their way to her nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, hardening them in the blink of an eye.

“You like it, don’t you?” He asked, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers.

She nodded, suppressing a moan in her throat.

“Get up, sweetheart,” he commanded, abruptly stopping the movement on her boobs.

She whined but quickly got up standing in front of him, pressing her thighs together to get the bare minimum of friction.

Doyoung raised an eyebrow and moved his hand to tell her to get out of her clothes, but just when she was about to pull the shirt off of her body he stopped her.

“Just your panties,” he said, “I want to fuck you with my shirt on.”

A moan rolled out of her lips as she felt her folds getting even wetter at his words.

“Good girl,” he praised her, a smile on his serious face and then he patted his thighs again.

She simply gave him a small smile but her heart was beating then times faster in her chest. The soft, slow sex with him killed her once she would wake up in the morning by herself after a night like that, but at the moment it felt the best. It was all the romantic things she knew she could never get from him.

His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her down, back facing him, legs locked open by his, her wet pussy left bare in the air of the room.

“Look at yourself in the mirror, love,” Doyoung murmured in her ears, moving her ponytail to the other side, his hand cupping her chin forcing her to stare at the reflecting surface in front of them. “Look at how wet you are for me.” He moved his shirt up, just enough to expose her cunt better.

She rolled her head back but Doyoung was fast at forcing it up again.

“No, no, eyes at the mirror while I take care of you, Sun,” he ordered, but his voice was always calm.

Sunhee started grinding against him, in protest, or greed, she didn’t even know. It was hot, but a little bit embarrassing.

All the thoughts left her mind once his hand was against her pussy, spreading her lips making the cold air of the room hit her warmest part.

“Doyoung,” she moaned.

“Patience, love,” he warned, slapping her folds softly. “Let me take care of you.”

His hand left her pussy and trailed up on her torso reaching her boobs, but this time under the thin fabric, he cupped them and started to massage them, making curses spill out of her lips while she tried to close her legs in the – useless – attempt of suppressing the aching pain between her legs.

A mocking chuckle left Doyoung’s lips.

“Greedy much, aren’t you?”

“Please,” she simply whined, closing her eyes shut and lowering her head. But the tug of her ponytail reminded her to keep her eyes open and stare at the mirror.

“I want you to look at me while I make a mess out of you, angel,” Doyoung teased, his lips kissing her neck and biting it. “And the only way is the mirror, so please, don’t get on my nerves.”

The stern tone of his voice made her shiver and blush when she felt more cum drip out of her. She hated how much she loved it.

Doyoung smiled and let his hand run down her body again, one stilling at her side to keep her in place and the other between her legs.

“Dripping on the armchair,” he tsked, “you’re going to stain it.”

“I don’t care,” she whined, trying to buck her hips to meet his hand.

“Dirty girl,” Doyoung teased again and then slipped one finger into her without warming, her walls welcoming him easily.

“Fuck,” she cursed, finally feeling some sort of relief.

Doyoung started to pump into her slowly while his thumb circled her clit.

“Kiss me,” she asked, voice trembling and face turned around to look at him. Doyoung didn’t hesitate a moment to make their lips touch in a heated kiss. He inserted another finger in her and started moving faster, the lewd sounds of the wetness and their kiss filling the room alongside the muffled moans trapped in his mouth.

“Look at how pretty you are,” Doyoung praised against her lips looking at her through the mirror. Her hair was falling on her flushed face, her chest was moving erratically up and down with her hard nipples peeking through the white shirt and her pussy was leaking all over Doyoung’s hands down to the armchair and floor.

“So beautiful and vulnerable just for me.” Sunhee felt her stomach tighten, the orgasm was approaching and the words leaving his mouth weren’t helping it slow down or making her heart beat at a normal speed.

“Yes, just for you, Doyoung,” she moaned, her eyes forced to stay open looking at his through the surface in front of them.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head when the third finger entered her and stretched her walls, even more, a loud cry resonated in the room while she tried to ground herself anywhere. Her fingers wrapped around Doyoung’s hand to try and slow him down, she was so close and she didn’t want this to stop.

“Close?” He teased, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, God,” she cursed, closing her eyes when he started to pump even faster.

“Doyoung fuck, I’m –“ words got stuck in her throat when his lips locked hers into another messy kiss, his teeth pulling at her lower lip.

“Come, love. Drip all over my fingers.”

Sunhee nodded and looked back at the mirror, her eyes fixating down where his fingers were doing God’s work on her. And there was something so dirty and kind of humiliating in the view but yet so hot that she couldn’t help but feel even more turned on.

“Come for me, baby. I want to fill you up,” Doyoung urged her, his thumb moving faster on her clit and fingers curling into her.

And she couldn’t hold it anymore, with mumbles of curses and moans she squirted all over his fingers and down to the floor. She let her head rest against Doyoung’s shoulder, breathing in his intoxicating scent, as she tried to slow down her breath.

“Fuck, so good for me, aren’t you?” Doyoung praised, pulling his fingers out of her slowly just to put them in his mouth to taste her.

Sunhee nodded and then cupped his face to kiss him again. This time slower and more gently, but she could feel the boner peak against her ass, greedy for attention.

Doyoung let go of her legs and she closed them, relaxing after all that time.

“Let me take this off,” Doyoung said, dragging the hem of the shirt she was wearing to pull it over her head and threw it at the corner of the room.

“Didn’t you want to take me in your shirt?”

“Mh,” he nodded against her neck, “changed my mind, I prefer to look at your boobs bounce up and down.”

She whimpered when his hand gently smacked her ass cheek to make her stand up again.

“Let me get out of these,” he said, pushing his gym pants off of his legs, down to his ankle just to make them reach her discarded shirt. “Come here,” he instructed pushing his leg open, his cock out, touching his abdomen still covered with a black shirt, the flushed tip leaking pre-cum staining the fabric and glistening. Her mouth watered, she wanted to taste it, feel it heavy on her tongue while she wrapped her mouth around it, ready to suck every drop of cum out of him. But Doyoung had other plans.

“Sink down on my cock, love,” he ordered, his hands wrapping around her waist to help her line up with his dick and sink on it.

“Ah,” she moaned, feeling the tip at her opening. She was used to it given all the time they fucked, yet it stretched her every time like the first.

A high moan left Doyoung’s lips once she was finally seated on it.

“You take me so well,” he praised, his hands caressing her side in circular movements, his head laid back against the chair in pleasure.

“Can I move?” She asked, turning her head back to look at him. His black hair was falling on his forehead, his cheeks tinted red, his beautiful lips parted and his eyes slightly open, just enough to look at her. And there was something incredibly soothing in his gaze, something she never saw before, she couldn’t put a name on it, but she loved it. It felt like love, even if she knew it wasn’t.

“Yes, move, but slowly. Roll your hips,” he instructed, his voice slurred with pleasure, his hands squeezing her waist more, helping her with her movement.

She turned around, looking in front of them and started moving her hips, up and down in circular movement.

“Fuck,” Doyoung cursed, his eyes shut and lips trapped in his teeth. “Keep going.”

She kept rolling her hips bouncing up and down but then her hands moved to grab his and force him to cup her boobs, she squeezed them slightly, signalling him to do the same. Doyoung snapped out of his trance and straightened his position, his torso flat against her back, his head resting on her shoulder while they made eye contact through the mirror.

A smile crept on her face as soon as he started to play with her nipples without breaking eye contact with her.

Her movements were smooth and powerful, hitting the right spot into herself and at the same time giving him the friction he just needed to get off.

“You’re so good at this,” Doyoung murmured, leaving kisses on her neck and letting his left hand wander around her body while the right one was still focused on her boob.

“Mhh,” she moaned, closing her eyes in pleasure as she hit her sensitive spot again, clenching around him, getting tighter.

Doyoung groaned, squeezing her boob and letting his forehead fall against her shoulder.

Her movement started to get sloppier, as her legs were menacing of giving up, but she kept going and started to play with her clit to help them both get there quicker.

Doyoung picked it up and started moving his hips up to meet her moves, his hand wrapping at the base of her nape to pull her head back and kiss her jaw, before turning her face toward him and kiss her again. His other hand left her boob and slapped hers away from her clit, starting to replace it with swift movement on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Sunhee let her arms fall around her body and let Doyoung fuck up into her.

“I’m close, Do,” she moaned, pulling away from the kiss.

“Me too, let’s come together, mh?”

She nodded and started to move again, meeting him in the middle. With a few thrusts, they both came undone, their moans mixing together in the room, as he painted her insides with his cum and she dripped down on him.

Doyoung wrapped his arms around her body and kissed her softly, still buried inside of her.

“You good?” He asked, his fingers caressing her hair and scalp.

She simply nodded, too tired to even say a thing. She just wanted to stay there, tangled with him, wrapped in the warmth of their bodies. But she knew that the spell was going to break soon.

She should’ve gotten out of it, of what their relationship had become, but she was stuck. She was sinking down into quicksand.

I can't decide if it's a choice getting swept away. I hear the sound of my own voice asking you to stay. And all we are is skin and bone trained to get along. Forever going with the flow, but you're friction.

If Doyoung was intoxicating and enchanting, in his defence, she wasn’t smart at all.

She kept on wanting more and more, ignoring how much it would’ve hurt later.

How could she blame him when she was the one who begged him to stay? How could she take it on him when she was the one that couldn’t let go?

“Stay,” she whispered. The first rays of the sun coloured the room golden and hit Doyoung’s face enough to light it up.

It was the morning after, after they slept entangled with each other the whole night because it was too late for him to go home.

“It’s Sunday,” she added, trying to make it sound less desperate. “We could hang out,” she proposed, pulling the covers higher on her body, covering her chest.

Doyoung hesitated, his eyes looking around the room, almost as if he wanted to find a way out of there.

“We don’t have to, I was just proposing. Maybe you have to go out with somebody else,” she urged saying trying to show nonchalance, but the bitterness in her voice betrayed her. She was jealous, even if Doyoung never talked about somebody else. But the mere possibility of somebody else being out there waiting for him made her lose her mind, anyway.

“No, I’ve got nothing to do, really,” he replied, shaking his head lightly. His eyes were finally looking at her and a genuine – she would’ve dared to say – smile was painted on his face.

“I’ll prepare breakfast,” he said, pulling down the shirt on his body, “or you want to eat out?”

Sunhee shook her head, “No, no, let’s eat here.”

As soon as Doyoung closed the bedroom door behind she rolled on the mattress and pushed her face in the pillow to scream.

She lifted her tired body from the bed and forced herself to get dressed, fully aware that Doyoung was in the other room, making breakfast as if it was normal, just because she had asked him to stay.

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open once she was mentally prepared to face the day headed.

“Do you really need more books?” Doyoung asked, passing by her at the bookshelf. “Your house is full, they are everywhere.”

She scrunched her nose and pushed him jokingly. “I finished reading the last one,” she huffed, turning the book that caught her eye in her hands to study the design on the cover.

“I was just wondering where are you going to put it,” Doyoung said, looking at some books himself. But they were in the fantasy section and that wasn’t his cup of tea. He liked mystery, books that would make him lose his mind to find the culprit by himself before the end.

“I always find a place,” she said, eyebrow knitted together while she gagged at an ugly cover of a book. Sure, you should never judge a book by its cover but Jesus Christ... some designers really need to be fired.

“Are you doing something the next weekend?” Doyoung asked, placing his hand on her waist.

She almost choked on her saliva while she looked down at his hand putting the book she pulled out back at its place.

Sunhee cleared her throat, “Mh, no. Why?”

“Johnny’s throwing a party, I mean, it’s a thing at a club downtown to celebrate... something, don’t know, wasn’t paying attention,” Doyoung explained, shrugging, fixing his jacket as they made their way out of the book shop.

“And?” She asked when he stopped.

“I don’t want to go there alone, so wanna tag along?”

She would’ve stopped in her tracks if it wasn’t for the fact that his arm was still around her body and he was basically dragging her forward.

“Sure, why not,” she answered, trying to sound composed and not more excited than she was supposed to be. “When is it?”

“It should start at eight p.m, it’s more like a dinner but there’s also a club, something chill, though,” he explained, while they walked around the streets of Seoul.

It was a quiet warm day of October, the sun making the cold autumn weather more bearable. And Doyoung’s body also made it warmer for her.

She had no idea why his arm was still there, but she liked it and she didn’t want to question it, afraid he would pull away.

“Look!” He exclaimed suddenly, shaking her out of her thoughts, “A store that sells handmade things,” he clapped his hands enthusiastically before grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door.

“Calm down,” she laughed, holding the bag that was falling from her shoulder.

The place was nice, the wooden walls gave a cosy vibe to the place and the crafted things exposed were interesting.

“Sunhee,” Doyoung called, walking toward her with his big gummy smile plastered on his face. She smiled too before she realized and suppressed it as fast as she could. She nodded, showing indifference. “Look at this music box,” he sounded as excited as a baby as he showed her a wooden box with a small Christmas village crafted at the top.

“Everything in this was made by that lady at the counter, isn’t it amazing?” He exclaimed.

She nodded, letting a smile creep on her face, it wasn’t much for the carillon, even if it was impressive, but it was for the happiness behind his voice. She rarely got to see him like this, he was always so stressed after work or they were simply busy doing other things.

“Does it play music?” She asked, looking at the object in his hands.

“Yes, but I didn’t open it,” he replied.

“Let’s play it together,” she proposed, moving her hands on the music box to open it and play the tune. In the act, their hands brushed together and even it was normal it still felt so strange to her.

“It doesn’t open, but they move,” Doyoung noted as soon as the music started playing, his eyes glistening.

“Are you really so excited about this?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, but the only times I see you this happy is when you talk about statistics so this is unexpected,” she clarified, not to break his enthusiasm.

Doyoung nodded, “My mom used to collect them when I was little. We would buy one on every trip,” he explained, but then his smile faded. “Before the divorce,” he added, his eyes low.

Her first instinct was to say she was sorry but she didn’t, how could she be sorry for something she didn’t do?

“You should buy this,” she said, instead. “And maybe you should also buy one for your mom, I’m sure she’ll love it.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and caressed it gently.

Doyoung looked up at her and smiled again. “Yeah, I’ll buy it,” he agreed and then turned around to grab another one. “Love you,” he said, leaving a small peck on her cheek.

She smiled and then turned around, quickly running into another corridor of the shop to hide the redness of her cheeks. She rested against an empty wall of a column and pressed her hands against her face. Not only he messed up with her head in bed but now also like this.

She took a look behind her and sighed in relief when she saw him talk with the owner, he probably would’ve kept going for a while, just the right time she needed to cool off and go back to function like a normal human being.

Wondering around the store she ended in a section of wooden cards with books quotes carved on them, she looked around but her eyes were caught by one specific quote. “The problem with wanting, Alina, is that it makes us weak.”

And she had read that book before, probably also screamed when she first heard those words in that peculiar situation, but now, they hit differently. Wanting. Craving something she simply couldn’t have.

It was pathetic, it really made her weak. Because she had never been like this before, so vulnerable for somebody, so vulnerable for a man. Yet, here she was, with her palms still sweating for a kiss on the cheek that meant absolutely nothing.

Doyoung had made it clear more than once that he didn’t do relationships, not because he couldn’t love, but because he simply wasn’t good at it. He had terrible examples of love his whole life and getting into something serious terrified him. And she agreed, she was fine with keeping it just a sex thing. She had no time for a relationship anyway. But she fell into her own trap.

“Sunhee,” Doyoung called, making her turn around.

And when her heart skipped a beat hearing her name roll out of his lips, so tenderly, so softly, she realized she had to get out of there before getting more hurt.

He should’ve left, or she should’ve pushed him out of the door instead of resting on his chest after another round as soon as they got home. But she was there, head on his chest, hearing his heart beating against her ear and hands caressing his waist.

He was probably sleeping, given the calm rhythm his breathing had and the fact that he simply hugged her without applying any pressure against her body.

So she was left alone with her thoughts, thoughts haunted by him.

She huffed silently because she had become what she swore she would’ve never been.

For her, it was impossible to fall for somebody she knew she couldn’t have. Mostly because she had always been pretty good at controlling her feelings. After thousands of rejections and heartbreaks, she had to help herself since nobody out there seemed to light a candle for her.

She looked up, taking a glance at Doyoung’s sleeping face. He was breathtaking even while he was sleeping, unfair.

She wanted to protect him or at least be somebody in his life that had a saying and could help him if needed.

And she started wondering how was it possible to give a person so much importance. How can you let a bunch of bones and skin swipe you off of your feet? How can you let another person have that much hold on you? How can you think to be special for somebody when they probably already said the things they say to you to thousand of different people before you?

She closed her eyes and thought about before, when he was tangled with her, their bodies becoming one, and wondered how many times he did that before. How something so intimate can be so scripted and automatic, our brains not even thinking before acting. It comes natural, it comes like something we have already done before, just with different bodies.

How natural it flooded between them. Almost as if they were made for each other. But were they? Or was it just something people like to convince themselves of to think they are special when in reality they are not?

She sighed, and let sleep take over her. She couldn’t escape him, no matter how fast she would try to run from him, he was friction, pulling her in.

This slope is treacherous. This path is reckless. This slope is treacherous. I, I, I like it.

“Fuck, Doyoung,” Sunhee moaned, pushing back against his body in the attempt to meet him in the middle.

“Be quiet, you don’t want them to find us, right?” He ordered, shutting her up with a hand on her mouth.

The basses of the music were pumping through the walls but it still wasn’t enough to muffle her sounds. Anybody entering the bathroom could’ve heard them if they weren’t cautious.

She rolled her head back, arching her ass in the act, forcing Doyoung to suppress a growl as he looked at her ass bounce against his cock. Her short leather skirt crumpled over her waist, her lace panties pushed aside just enough for him to take her.

He gripped her ass cheek and pushed it open, to get better access at her pussy while his cock kept slamming into her and she only thanked her past self for going for knee-high socks and not tights or else they would’ve already been torn open.

“Are you going to keep flirting with Jungwoo and Mark, love?” He asked close to her ear.

“I wasn’t flirting,” she denied. And a smack on her butt followed. “Fuck,” she cursed, closing her eyes and letting her forehead crash against the door.

“No?” He asked. “Telling Jungwoo you would’ve taken him home wasn’t flirting?”

“He looks hot tonight, though,” she kept pushing his buttons. It was rare seeing him like this, especially because technically they were free to see whoever they wanted. But she liked to see this new side of him, a little bit more jealous, and possessive.

“Do you want me to call him, mh? Want him to fuck your mouth while I fuck you like this?”

She simply moaned, a teasing smirk on her face, while she clenched around him harder.

“Fucking pathetic,” he mumbled, smacking her ass again. “My cock is not enough for you, isn’t it? Still need more.”

“Mhh,” she moaned. “Depends what you can do,” she teased.

“Want me to show you what I can do?” He asked, but it wasn’t a question, she completely riled him up and he wanted to prove a point. Doyoung was like that, he didn’t let go easily.

“Fuck me so hard I can’t walk out of here and maybe I’ll stop flirting with Woo and Markie.” The use of nicknames for them got on his nerves and made him slip out of her to flip her around and push her body against the door. She never called him Doie, or Dodo, or Youngie.

He pushed into her again, wrapping her legs around his waist and started thrusting faster than before.

“Shut up,” he ordered, his hand wrapping around her throat, making her clench around him again. “They all think of you as a nice innocent girl, not as somebody that gets fucked in the bathroom stalls of a club.”

“Doyoung,” she moaned once his hand left her neck and his thumb started to caress her jawline. But he didn’t answer, too focused on his movement and proving her a point.

“Youngie,” she repeated again and this time his head snapped up. His heart beating in his chest too happily for his liking.

“Yes, love,” he asked, eyes locked into hers.

“I’m close,” she whispered, her head falling back again when the knot in her stomach became tight.

“So I am enough,” he noted, smirking happily.

“Yes,” she moaned, “Yes, you are enough,” she gripped his shoulders, trying to ground herself because the pleasure was becoming overwhelming.

“Better than Jungwoo and Mark?”

“Fuck, yes, better than them,” she cried.

“Then come, come for me,” he ordered and soon after she let go, her orgasm hitting her hard. Her walls got tight enough to milk every drop of cum out of him too, and their moans mixed together while they kissed each other to muffle them as they rode their orgasms.

Doyoung rested his forehead on hers and moved a strand of hair out of her face.

“You’ re b–”, Doyoung started saying but stopped midway shaking his head.

“What?” Sunhee asked, not really catching what he said.

“Just, let’s recompose and get out, we’ve been gone for a suspicious amount of time,” he replied, swiftly slipping out of her without caring if she could stand up on her wobbly legs and dressed up again.

“Fix yourself quickly,” he said, opening the bathroom door. “Your lipstick is ruined.” And then he left.

Sunhee stared at the door with her skirt still rolled up on her waist and aching pain in her chest. Why did he turn like this all of a sudden? Did she say something wrong? Or did something wrong? She had no idea, the only thing she knew was that she had a party to go back to, ruined make-up on her face, cum dripping out of her and the only thing she wanted to do was to fall on the floor and cry herself to sleep.

Two headlights shine through the sleepless night and I will get you, and get you alone. Your name has echoed through my mind and I just think you should, think you should know that nothing safe is worth the drive. And I would follow you, follow you home. I'll follow you, follow you home.

The streets of Seoul were busy even in the middle of the night and that made Sunhee curse under her breath as she took a turn left after surpassing a car that seemed to have no intention of going on.

She arrived under Doyoung’s complex faster than expected, with rage filling her body and fear lingering in the back of her head.

This night was going to be the end of everything.

She needed to talk to him. They couldn’t go on like this anymore. After all the softness between them all of a sudden he turned incredibly cold, with small talks, monosyllabic answers to her texts and run back home after their sex meetings. She couldn’t care less if that was what they first agreed on, they had thrown it away. And she simply couldn’t take it back anymore.

She made her way into the complex inserting the code she knew by heart and reached for the elevator.

On her way to the fifth floor she had made a speech, the same she had been repeating at home and in the car but it all dissolved once she found herself in front of his door.

She wanted to turn around and go back home, pretending it never even happened, but she couldn’t. She was there, and she had to face him, once for all.

She inserted the pin of his apartment and opened the door.

The living room was filled in darkness, the only light coming from the television that was passing one of those realities Doyoung loved to watch.

“Sunhee?” he asked, his voice coming from behind her. “So horny you don’t even give me a call?” He joked.

“No,” she answered seriously, “I have to talk to you. We have to talk and you know it too.”

As soon as he realized that it was serious his smile dropped and he walked toward the tv to turn it off. He lit up a light in the room to see where they were going and then signalled her to follow him in the kitchen.

“So?” Doyoung asked, running a hand through his hair to push them out of the way.

She took a deep breath and started talking, “I can’t do this anymore, Doyoung,” her eyes found his confused gaze and a sigh slipped out of her lips, “not like this, at least.”

“I thought that was what you wanted?”

She huffed, crossing her arms on her chest. “Yeah, I thought that, too.”

“So that means that –”

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t want this anymore,” she stopped him before he could go on, before he could break them up, “I don’t understand why you turned colder all of a sudden.”

Doyoung pressed his lips in a thin line and breathed deeply through his nose. Of course, she had noticed, how could she not? He knew that it was just a matter of time before this conversation was going to be brought up.

“Is it because of what I said about Jungwoo or Mark? Why did you leave that way that night? Do you have an idea of how... shitty, pathetic and dirty I felt?” She started ranting, her hands moving frenetically in the air while her eyes were locked into his. “God, that was so, so humiliating,” she cried, the words coming out with an unexpected high pitch of her voice.

Doyoung didn’t say a word. He knew that, or well, he could imagine. He felt shitty, too. He had spent the night up thinking about what he had done, just because he was afraid of his feelings.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “I wanted to text you,” he said, his eyes low on the floor, “no, I wanted to come back inside the bathroom as soon as I walked out... but I didn’t.”

Sunhee sniffed, trying to suppress the aching pain she was feeling in her lungs. “Yeah, you didn’t,” she repeated, barely higher than a whisper.

“You can hate me if you want to, I deserve it.”

“I can’t, Doyoung!” She snapped. “That’s the fucking problem, I can’t hate you. I crave you, fuck, every day a little bit more, in ways I shouldn’t. I try so fucking hard to despise you, every cold answer of yours is a broken promise I made to myself, swearing I would break this off.” Her face was red and her voice high. “And regularly I’m always there, pressed under your body letting you do whatever you want with me. God, and I wish it was only that,” she stopped, breathing heavily. “You are everywhere, you haunt my thoughts, you have so much power over me and I don’t know when I let this happen. How I let this happen.”

When no words came from him she went on, “I don’t want to hate you, I want to have you,” she admitted, her watery eyes looking at his while this heartbroken confession left her pink lips.

Doyoung felt the air getting knocked out of his lungs. She wanted him... like... wanted...

“But you do,” he dared to say, trying to keep his voice composed as if his heart wasn’t beating miles per hour.

She threw her head back and let out a growl, “God, no, not like I want you. You’re not mine,” she screamed, hands tangled in her hair to pull them back. “And you will never be, and I can’t take this on you because the rules were clear since the start, it’s my fault for not listening, for jumping in this without looking, without thinking that maybe I’m not that good at separating love and sex.”

She took a step back, her back meeting the wall behind her. She tried to steady her breath and wiped away the tears off of her face.

“I,” Doyoung started, his hands nervously playing with the pockets of his pants, “I don’t know what to say.”

Sunhee nodded and walked over to the table to grab the phone she had placed before.

“You don’t have to say a thing,” she smiled bittersweetly, “it’s not your fault I fell for you,” she reassured him. But she wanted to curse at him because it was his fault. It was his fault for being so beautiful, inside out, for being smart, caring, and funny. It was his fault because he let his past ruin his present. But she knew those were immature thoughts, and she was a grown woman, not a teenager. She had to be the bigger person.

“I know that...” she started, hesitating to find the right words. “I know that you’re afraid of love and relationship but...” she looked up at him, “Just remember that nothing safe is worth the drive, Doyoung.”

After that, she quickly hurried out of the door. It wasn’t even a way to make him go back to her, who could ever love her? But she still wanted him to don't let the past stop him from loving and being loved.

As for her? She would’ve found someone, eventually.

This hope is treacherous. This daydream is dangerous. This hope is treacherous.

Sunhee’s words lingered in Doyoung’s mind for days, then weeks and months.

It had been two months since that night and Doyoung couldn’t seem to move on. He blamed himself for simply standing there without saying a word. He cursed at himself for not running after her and tell her that he felt the same. Or that he thought. He really had no idea what love felt like, not the healthy type, at least. In his whole life, he only had terrible examples of relationships and he wasn’t sure he could get into one.

But her, Sunhee, she came into his life unexpectedly and swiped him off of his feet.

He wasn’t sure he could call it love, but he knew he was... happy with her. He was fine.

Seeing her smile after a long day at work lifted a heavy weight from his back and made his heart feel light. There were no worries, no thoughts pushing him down to the deep end. But he often wondered if that was given by what they had. Was it because there were no strings attached? He had nothing to think about, right? Everything just flowed naturally between them. There were just two simple rules, keeping things easy with no feelings and respecting each other. And that was fine, it really was. But, what if there was something more?

Doyoung huffed loudly shutting off the tv, not that he was listening to a single word anyway, and got up from his couch.

He knew nothing, but one thing for sure was that he couldn’t live without her any longer. She probably would’ve said no, but he had to at least try. He had enough guilt weighing on his shoulder, he couldn’t add the regret of not trying to get her back to it.

Sunhee was mindlessly stirring the tea in the cup in front of her while she swung her feet back and forth in the stool of the island in her kitchen. Her fists were pressing against her cheeks and loud huffs were coming out of her lips every now and then. The music of the club was still ringing in her ears at it was making her go crazy. The alcohol in her body didn’t help to make her feel any better.

“Are you going to spend the whole night like this?” Jaehyun asked, placing his hands on his hips, looking down at her.

Sunhee rolled her eyes and pushed the cup away from her, like a child when they don’t want to eat anymore. “I wanted green tea, you made blueberry, I hate them.”

“Strange words to say that you still think about him,” he retorted, eyebrow raised, while he grabbed the cup and threw the liquid down the sink, it was cold anyway.

“I don’t. I’m doing just fine,” she responded, playing with the angle of a magazine that was sticking out of the magazine holder.

Jaehyun scoffed, sitting at her side, “I've known you since you were ten, Sunhee. You’re not fooling me.” He picked out a make-up wipe and started to gently clear her face, she wasn’t that drunk but he knew that after nights like this she was so tired, and right now also pissed, that would go to bed with make-up on.

“Fine,” she gave up, slamming her palms on the surface, “I still think about him. Can you blame me?”

“Are you asking me if he’s cute?” He asked, stopping his movements on her face for a second.

“No, dumbass,” she pushed him, almost making him fall to the floor. “It’s just...” she muttered, looking down at her intertwined hands.

“It’s just?” He pushed her face up again so he could see if there were any traces of make-up he missed.

“I wasn’t expecting him to run after me, I mean, I was hoping, sure, but I couldn’t expect it from him. But the fact that he didn’t send one message, not a single like on Instagram, not a friend in common telling me that he sometimes still talks about me,” she sighed, letting her head fall against her best friend’s shoulder. “He forgot me so easily. And I’m still stuck here.”

Jaehyun wrapped an arm around her, patting her back. “Are you sure he’s not interested? Maybe he’s just respecting your decision.” Now, he didn’t want her to be stuck on him for eternity but he was sure Doyoung genuinely cared for her, maybe it wasn’t love, like she wanted, but he couldn’t forget her that fast.

“He didn’t say a word when I broke things up, I must’ve looked so pathetic in his eyes, Jae,” she said, pulling out of the hug to face him again. “He doesn’t care about me, he never did.”

“That’s not true,” Jaehyun contradicted, “He once told me –”

The sound of the intercom stopped him in his track.

“Were you waiting for something?” He asked, but the girl shook her head while they stared at the door with a confused expression.

Who knocks on a door at two in the night?

“It’s a killer,” she panicked, hiding behind his broad back.

Jaehyun rolled his eyes and inhaled deeply, “Killers don’t knock.”

“They got extra polite these days,” she retorted, hands clasping around his shoulder, pressing her face against it.

“They’d stuck a knife up your throat and you call them polite?”

Another ring resonated in the room and a cry left her lips.

“Oh come on, maybe it’s your neighbour,” he supposed.

“My neighbour it’s an eighty years old lady with cats, Jae, she’s not up at two am.”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes again and sighed heavily, “If I die I want Breaking Free to play at my funeral,” he said, standing up from the stool.

She scrunched her nose, “That breaking free?” She asked, head tilted to the side.

“Yes, the one and only.”

She nodded under shock, she wasn’t completely sober but he was worst than her for being completely clean.

“Oh, it’s you.” The voice that filled the walls of the house as soon as Jaehyun opened the door made the blood freeze in her veins.

She gulped, all of a sudden a serial killer at her front door didn’t sound like a terrible idea.

“I didn’t know you two –” Doyoung started saying.

“Oh, no, no,” Jaehyun interrupted him and Sunhee went pale. No, no? Jaehyun lie, please. “I was about to leave, actually.”

Christ, Jeong Jaehyun, you’re dead. She thought.

“What are you doing?” She whispered, looking at him with wide eyes when he walked into the kitchen to grab his jacket.

“Cupid, as I should for being born on valentine’s day,” he smirked, cocking his head to the side and clicking his tongue.

“This is a tragedy, not a love story,” she mouthed, clenching her fist at her sides.

Jaehyun shrugged and leaned in to leave a peck on her cheek, “Good luck angel, hope it’ll be a two am heart appointment and not a tragic last dick appointment.”

She slapped his arm and gestured to kill him but Jaehyun answered with a flying kiss before turning around and walking out the room, greeting Doyoung and leaving her alone, with Doyoung.

Sunhee took a deep breath and tried to fix her dress and tights. She didn’t even have the time to get changed into house clothes. She fixed her hair and then took another long breath, mentally preparing herself to face him.

“Hey,” she whispered, standing now in front of him in the living room. “What brings you here?” She asked beaming an awkward smile at him.

Doyoung took her in, somehow she looked even more beautiful now than she did before. Her off-the-shoulder knitted short dress wrapped her curves perfectly and her braided hair fell to the side of her neck with a few loose strands that framed her beautiful face. Then his attention was caught by the flush of her cheeks and her unsteady position that made him guess she was drunk.

“Are you drunk?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, no, just a little bit tipsy, but I swear I’m fine,” she answered, still smiling at him. She wished she had more alcohol running in her blood, to be honest. It would’ve helped with the situation.

“Are you sure?” Doyoung inquired, not really convinced as he tilted his head left.

“Yeah, I can tell you a tongue twister if you want more proofs.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” he waved her proposal off with a hand. She could speak, stand and Jaehyun had left her alone, so she wasn’t that drunk.

“I’d offer you some tea but Jae threw it away, he made it for me and I didn’t drink it,” she chuckled, scratching the back of her head. “We were talking about –” before the words could slip out she slapped her mouth shut.

Doyoung furrowed. “You were talking about?”

“The high rates of homicides in Korea, yes, they increased, we thought you were a killer. Jaehyun was telling me robbery increased too,” she mumbled, hands nervously playing together.

Doyoung raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure? I haven’t read anything. Wait, what?” He said shaking his head. “I came here for something serious, not to talk about serial killers and robbers.”

Her mouth formed a perfect O, so that didn’t work. He was still smart and talking shit couldn’t distract him.

“You didn’t leave anything here,” she started, thinking he wanted to take something he forgot back.

“I did, actually.”

“Oh, did you?”

“Yes,” Doyoung replied, looking at her.

“And what is that?”

“You.”

Sunhee felt her mouth go dry as she stared at him with wide eyes, then a bitter chuckle left her lips. “Listen, it’s not the right time and way to joke.”

“I’m not joking, Sunhee,” Doyoung said, taking a few steps forward, reaching her, grabbing her hands and pulling them into his. She looked around and then back at their hands and felt her heart skip a beat.

It had been months since she had felt his skin. Months since he touched her like this, softly, gently, almost scared of breaking her.

“Do-Doyoung I,” the words died in her mouth that was getting drier with every passing second.

“Shh, you don’t have to say a thing. You already said too much,” he reassured her, his deep eyes staring into hers. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have –”

“No, please, let me finish,” he stopped her. She nodded. “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you, for the way I treated you, so harshly when you only deserve the best. And it’s not an excuse but I was trying to push you away because I also stopped seeing you in the same light I was used to.”

Doyoung sighed, sniffing, “I’m terrified of relationships, Sunhee. And I am even more scared of what you might feel for me, what if I let you down because I don’t meet your expectations? I only dated seriously once and it ended in the worst way, I don’t want that to happen again.”

“You... you feel something for me?”

“Yes, Sunhee, I can’t call it love just yet but I know for sure that I feel something that goes beyond friendship.”

A sincere smile spread across her face after hearing those words, that surely wasn't what she was expecting. “I’m pretty bad with relationships myself,” she chuckled, caressing Doyoung’s hand with her thumb.

“Not as bad as me,” he joked.

“Not as bad at you,” she half-laughed, “but can it be that bad if two messes get together?”

“No, and even if it ends badly, you said it to me, nothing safe is worth the drive, right?”

Sunhee smiled and nodded, so he listened to her that night? She didn’t talk to herself the whole time.

“I don’t care if this hope is treacherous, Sun, I want to give us a try if you want to. If I have to get burnt, I want to get burnt with you.”

“Tell me I’m not daydreaming, please,” she begged, throwing her head back for a brief moment to push the tears back into her eyes.

“No, you’re not,” he reassured her, cupping her face with his hands, rubbing the tears that fell down her face.

“So,” he said, “Can we try to make this work?”

“Yes, yes, I want you, Doyoung, I never stopped wanting you.”

This slope is treacherous. I, I, I like it.

They spent the night tangled in her bedsheets, clothes discarded on the floor with no care, moans filling those four walls, hands marking skins that were intact after months nobody touched them in that way, fingers buried in hair to pull each other closer.

Sunhee couldn’t stop smiling, her eyes fixated on the ceiling while she caressed Doyoung’s hair, as he was sleeping with his head on her chest. Her heartbeat lulled him into the dream world.

Doyoung was hers, in the way she craved for, and it seemed surreal, like a daydream, a delusional one. But it was real, he was right there, legs wrapped around hers, arms hugging her torso. And he wanted her back.

It was going to be a treacherous slope ahead of them, but she didn’t mind, she liked it, and she would’ve done anything to keep him close, no matter how hard it was going to be.

#nct 127 fanfic #doyoung fanfic #doyoung smut #doyoung fluff #doyoung angst #kim doyoung smut #kim doyoung fluff #kim doyoung angst #doyoung scenarios #doyoung oneshot #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 doyoung #loving him was red

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yourtamaki · 3 years

Text

the broken melody of us

matsukawa x f!reader

word count: 4k

request: mattsun hurt/comfort + neglect?

warnings: hurt/comfort, neglect, body worship, praise kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

it was a song and dance at this point. a well rehearsed play with a blinding spotlight on the exhausted actors onstage. both of you go through the motions, no life behind the words you’ve spoken so many times they held no meaning anymore. you don’t know why you keep up the charade. you never expect a different result yet still you pick up the phone everyday and call your boyfriend.

“you think you’ll be home in time for dinner?”

sometimes you get a different, automated message. “maybe. might have to stay late,” or “can’t, i’ve gotta finish something up,” or your least favourite. a simple, clipped, “no.”

“don’t stay out too late.” you should cut this part from the script, he never listens.

“i’ll try.”

“i love you.” this line is always to be spoken quietly, followed by holding your breath while you wait for his response. it’s the only reason you make these calls. this is your only chance to hear him say it and pretend he means it as much as he once did.

“love you too.” the line goes dead, the lights dim and he’s gone. you’re alone on an empty stage staring out at a bored audience. bored of the foolish protagonist who keeps them locked in the theatre, playing the same ending over and over and expecting something to give, to change. they watch on, silent and judging while you barter away what little dignity you have left.

let them watch.

the rejection doesn’t sting as badly as it used to. you’ve learned to bear it, swallow down the hurt that sits like a stone in your gut and go about your day, filling it with any meaningless errand that would stop your mind from wandering back to him.

mattsun was subtle, you could give him that much. the way he slowly pulled away from your arms until you could hardly remember how he felt beneath your palms. the realization that you don’t really know your boyfriend anymore was slow to hit you but it knocked the air out of your lungs when it did. it crashed down on you when you woke in the middle of the night and turned to stare at his back gently rising and falling with every breath. his hair is longer then you remember and you don’t know why the thought has a lump forming in your throat. you focus instead on the broad expanse of his back. he’s tense, even in sleep, shoulders rigid and you’re sure if you could see his face, his brows would be furrowed. subtle changes that are enough for you to realize you’ve been shut out of his life.

you used to know him. when you were university kids who thought the future would never catch up to them and spent countless days in each other’s company. it wasn’t so much you knew him, it felt like you were him. and he was you. less attached to the hip and more intertwined with one another. you two were of one mind, to the point where you knew what the other needed before they’d even say it.

your mattsun who was always just a text away.

your mattsun who would indulge your late night drives, who would look at you with a permanent crooked smile on his face and love in his eyes.

“you think we’ll always be like this?” you said one night, straddling him in panties and a baggy hoodie in the backseat and lazily kissing beneath the stars. and because he was yours and understood every little anxious thought that crossed your mind, he didn’t question why you were asking, didn’t make you explain what you meant, didn’t try to make a half assed joke about it.

his hands trailed up your sides as he contemplated his answer, sending shivers up your spine. “probably not. things always change. we’ll change with them.”

“what if things get worse?”

“they might. but what if they get better? just cause it’s different doesn’t mean it's scary, angel.”

“i know. but i hate thinking about it cause things are so good right now. i want it to last forever.”

“we got time. let’s make the most of it, yeah?” he gripped your hips, slowly grinding you against his growing bulge and pulling you back into a kiss, sighing as your lips slotted together. you took control of the pace and grinned against him when a groan spilled into your mouth.

“is that your way of saying we should hurry up and fuck?”

“it’s working, isn’t it?” before you could pull your sweater up over your head, he cupped your face and brought your forehead to his, sincerity shining through his dark eyes. “i’ll always love you. that’ll never change. got it?”

“got it.” you managed to push the words out despite the lump that formed in your throat. he kept his eyes locked on yours as he slid your panties to the side and sank inside you, the familiar stretch a welcome one.

it was nothing special, one night of many spent panting into each other’s mouths with an unspoken promise still hanging from your lips. but it was a memory you circled back to often, so often you could hear the echo of his vow ring through your head.

your fears came to pass not long after that. life caught up and tore him from you, leaving you a shattered mess in the aftermath. you tried to fit jagged pieces of yourself back together in an attempt to remake the person you used to be but what stared back at you only left you keenly aware of the empty space he used to reside.

these days, you like going to the roof of your apartment and letting the wind blow through those countless gaps in your soul. you feel whole for a short while as it whistles through you, the air filled with the broken melody of you, of the relationship that slips past your grasp more everyday. it’s shrill and ear piercing and leaves goosebumps littered on your skin.

you can’t stop listening to it.

it’s where you were now, staring out as the sun dipped below the horizon and listening to the haunting sound that’s been your only company in recent memory. later, you’ll go home and crawl into bed desperate for any warmth and no time to miss the heat of a body next to yours. your phone lights up bright in contrast to the darkening sky and it takes you a few moments of staring blankly at the screen for it to sink in that mattsun is trying to call you.

this isn’t part of the script.

you don’t know your lines.

and yet you find yourself answering anyway, hitting the green button before the call drops and you raise your phone to your ear silently.

“are you okay?” his voice comes out rushed and strung together almost before your phone is pressed to your ear.

“why’re you asking?”

“remember that time you failed that essay? i think it was third year and you hid in your room all day and wouldn’t answer the phone?” you did remember. how you couldn’t bear to face the world that day with the crushing weight of failure hanging over you and how shocked you were to see mattsun standing at the front door. “did i ever tell you why i checked up on you?”

“no.”

“the whole day i felt, in my gut, like i needed to see you. i can’t describe it, it was like a stab that just dug deeper until i went to your place. would you believe me if i said i have that feeling right now?”

“i- i would.” you say quietly, wondering if he could even hear you over the roar of the wind.

“are you okay?” he repeats. there’s a weight behind his words that has tears springing to your eyes.

“no, issei ‘m not.”

“i’m almost home, i’m parking right now. i’ll be up in a few minutes, okay? wait for me, angel.”

you were always waiting for him, weren’t you? what's a couple more minutes? you hang up and try in vain push down the wave of anxiousness that hits you. it’s just mattsun, you try to remind yourself. even if it’s been awhile since you’ve really felt like a part of his life, he’s still the person you fell in love with. right?

even if the issei from the past would never have made you feel so alone. the issei that was free from the hardships of real life, of 9-5s and bills due and rent to pay. you miss that issei, mourn for him on empty rooftops everyday. maybe he’s still alive somewhere within this new issei but it’s not like you would know.

you head off the roof, shivering slightly as you make your way home. the days were only getting colder, you should’ve known not to stay out for so long. you were trying to get your shaky hands to cooperate and unlock the door when you hear the elevator dings open and your name being called out.

“you weren’t home?” he asks, gently prying your keys from your grasp and opening the door for you both. as soon as he locks it behind you, his hands are covering yours once more. “baby you’re freezing.”

words. where were your words? you couldn’t call up any as he brought your joined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air on them and rubbing them between his to warm them up. this is the closest you’ve been to him in who knows how long and you couldn’t summon up a single sentence. it’s not your fault. his attention has always stunned you into silence.

he thought you were painfully shy the first time you met and though that was half true, you mostly found yourself silently panicking about the handsome man that suddenly sat beside you. the professor had paired the class off to discuss the readings for that lecture and your interest had only come to life when you saw the dark haired man make his way to you.

“i’m gonna be honest.” he said as he plopped down beside you and showed you the blank document open on his laptop. “i have no idea what we’re supposed to be doing right now. do you?”

it was his eyes, you decided much later, hugging your pillow and staring at the text you just received from a new number. you came alive under his gaze like you could finally catch your breath, everything dull until his eyes landed on you. you don’t believe in love at first sight, this was something different. it was the dust of collapsing stars finding each other once more. it was strings of fate being braided together. it was more profound, more important than love and it all happened in a moment.

you nodded in response to his earlier question though it was clear neither of you were paying any attention to what was going on in class, too caught up in the small bubble that surrounded you and drowned out the rest of the world.

“matsukawa. i’m- my name’s matsukawa.” you must’ve given your name in return judging by the smile he gave you in return. “so what’re we doing, partner?”

this time, you forced a proper response, intensely aware of how you held yourself in a way you’ve never been before. “yeah, she just wants us to talk about today’s reading.”

matsukawa watched you pull up your notes, resting his head in his hand while you began explaining the general concepts. you paused when you noticed he was still looking at you and not at the notes you had angled towards him.

“am i explaining it okay?”

“we’re a month into the semester, how have i not noticed you before?”

“guess you don’t notice something you’re not looking for.”

just then the professor grabbed everyone’s attention, the student’s quietly migrating back to their seats but matsukawa stayed where he was. instead, you could just hear him speak under his breath, more to himself then to you but you still managed to pick it up, your face going hot as it echoed in your head. “trust me, i’m looking now.”

the memory leaves you more vulnerable than you expected, soft in his arms as the numbness finally fades and the shaking stops.

“where were you?” he says.

“the roof.” his brows furrow, lips pulled down in a frown. it’s strange feeling yourself falling back into reading him so easily, not needing him to ask to know he wanted you to explain why. “i like going up there. this place is too quiet with just me in it.”

the longer you watch him, the more you pick up from his body language. the confusion then understanding that flits across his face, the underlying care you’re so familiar with as he smooths his thumb over the back of your hand. but more than anything you start to see his guilt. his muscles are rigid with it, it swims in his eyes that never quite seem to meet yours.

“i’ve fucked up, haven't i?” he finally says when he realizes you won’t be the one to breach the subject.

“issei…”

“no, i have. things have been so endless, i feel like i’m half awake and i’ve hurt you because of it.”

you squeeze his hands, trying to reassure him. “just talk to me. please.”

“i hate it. work is nonstop, everyday is the same shit over and over. it’s just a wave that keeps knocking me down and i can barely get my footing before it pushes me down again. and every day i think about quitting just to get ready the next morning.

“if i was alone, if… if i didn’t have you i would’ve quit so long ago but i want to give you the life you deserve and i can’t do that if i’m broke. and it all might be for nothing cause i might’ve lost you already.”

the confession ends with mattsun clearing his throat, blinking fast and concentrating solely on your laced hands. you can’t seem to catch your breath, struggling under the weight he had carried silently until now as he finally shares the burden with you.

“you haven’t lost me, issei. look at me.” you wait until his eyes meet yours before dropping your voice to a whisper. “you haven’t lost me.”

“i don’t deserve you.”

“it’s not about deserving, i chose you. i chose to love you, i chose to stay when things got bad. yeah, you hurt me.” it’s impossible to miss the full body flinch at your words, “and i’m not ready to forgive you just yet. but that doesn’t mean i’m giving up on us. i don’t want you working yourself to death for me. i don’t care where we live or how much money you spend on me. i don’t need all of that, i just need you. got it?”

“got it.” you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows down whatever feeling overcomes him, “i’m sorry.”

“i know.”

“tell me what you need, please. i need- i need to make this right.”

you answer by leaning forward and mattsun meets you halfway. the kiss is soft in contrast to the way you bundle the front of his shirt in your fists, afraid the moment might end before it’s even begun but mattsun takes his time cherishing you. there’s regret and gratitude and love that dances across your tongue and the taste has pressure building behind your eyes.

it isn’t enough. you need him closer, need him to line the cracks of your soul with his touch. you pull just far back enough to break the kiss and mumble against his lips, “more, ‘sei please. i’m so cold.”

“anything you want, pretty baby. let me make you feel good, yeah?”

his lips crash back down on yours with renewed eagerness. there’s a desperation that wasn’t there a moment ago fuelling you both and urging you to stumble blind into the bedroom, barely letting your mouths detach as you fumble and undress each other.

it’s not until you’re naked before him that your head clears a bit and shyness comes creeping in. he cups your face as though he could sense you curling into yourself and simply says, “beautiful.”

the utter conviction in his voice is enough to dispel any insecurities before they have a chance to latch on and you turn your head to kiss the center of his palm, silently telling him you were all right. together you land in a tangled heap in bed, his half hard cock resting on your thigh. mattsun kisses his way down your neck, licking and sucking at every sensitive spot he had mapped out over the years.

“issei…” you say, impatience tinging your voice as you feel your core throb with need.

“i’ll get you there, angel, you know i will. let me take my time, i missed you.”

true to his word, he began kissing every inch of skin he could reach. your tits, your stomach, your thighs all the way down to your ankles, he made sure to shower with affection. it’s nearly overwhelming. you knew you were starved for his attention but it feels like something breaks loose inside you the longer his mouth trails over your body, whispering declarations into your skin that left you tingling in his wake. by the time his fingers dip between your legs, your thighs are sticky with arousal, clit thrumming and begging to be touched.

“look at my pretty baby’s pussy. all wet just for me?”

“mhmm ‘s all for you, issei.”

he hums, swirling his middle finger around your entrance and pressing the thick digit inside with ease. it’s only a few pumps later he adds another, stretching out your gummy walls. his other hand drifts over your mound, his thumb finally giving your clit some attention as his fingers graze over a spot inside you that has your hips rising off the bed.

“stay still. you want to be my good girl, right?” the quiet authority that radiates from mattsun has you clenching around him, doing your best to do as he asks and keep your legs spread for him. “there you go. you’re taking me so well, baby. you’re close, aren’t you? i can feel it”

mattsun loves showing off how well he knew your body, how it never took long for you to crumble beneath him. a few more idle circles with the pad of his thumb and your orgasm washes over you, rising gently and leaving you relaxed in its wake.

that state didn’t last long as he replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking at your clit that twitches against his tongue, still sensitive from your high. “issei! w-wait please give me a sec-”

his glare is enough to cut through your babbling, his fingers never slowing in their strokes against that sweet spot. you let out a low moan as he adds yet another finger, the stretch just shy of uncomfortable but it’s quick to fade into pleasure once again. the flame in your gut is far more intense this time and you can’t stop the whimpers he pulls from you. you thread your fingers through his dark curls, tugging on them and pulling him deeper into your folds.

“that’s it, princess. cum on my tongue and i’ll stuff you full, i promise. you can do it, c’mon baby.”

the encouragement has the coil in your gut tightening once more and the lewd sounds of mattsun lapping up every drop that escapes you is enough to snap it. when the blood stops ringing in your ears, you realize he’s shifted your positions. he’s sat cross-legged on the bed with you pulled into his lap, legs locked around his waist. his cock is pinned between your stomachs, smearing precum on your skin and your mouth waters as you catch sight of the blushing tip.

he whispers your name to grab your attention, naked devotion plain on his face when you gaze up at him. “i love you.”

this. this was your breaking point. the words you longed to hear every time you picked up the phone for those dreaded calls. your vision blurs with tears that well up and spill down your cheeks before you could blink them away. “you do?”

“i do, baby, with everything i’ve got. i-“ he falters for a moments, visibly steeling himself for what he wanted to say. “i want to spend the rest of my life with you. there’s not a future i can picture that doesn’t include you. you’re it for me.”

“i want that too ‘sei.” you hiccup, more tears trickle out faster than you can wipe them clear.

you feel his whole body relax, hands rubbing at your sides to soothe you. “don’t cry, angel. wait till i’m inside you at least.”

“shut up.” your laugh comes out watery but it feels good to smile. “how do you go from sweet to nasty so fast?”

“just wanted to see you smile.” you try and fail to suppress another grin that only widens when mattsun peppers your cheeks with loud kisses. “so pretty and all mine.”

“all yours.” you repeat, grinding your soaked folds along the underside of his cock. “and you’re mine, right?”

“that’s right, princess. go on, take what’s yours.”

sinking down on mattsun feels like coming home, the empty ache finally gone as he fills you and you both moan when he bottoms out. there’s no way for you to bounce in this position but you find that you don’t mind. you feel closer to him like this, what little space there is between you vibrating with how vulnerable you both were.

it’s relaxing, slowly rolling your hips against each other, not building towards anything and indulging in the other’s touch. your hands roam across his broad back, sucking dark marks into his neck while he grabs at your ass, kneading and groping so possessively you clench around him.

“fuck.” he groans next to your ear. “keeping squeezing me with that princess cunt, you feel so fucking good. just like that, good girl.”

“issei…” you whimper, pressure gradually building in your gut as your grinding gets sloppy and legs grow weak.

“what is it, baby? use your words.”

“want more, ‘sei i want your cum.”

“yeah? want me to fill up this greedy pussy and keep you warm with my cum?” he leans forward, keeping you cradled in his arms as your back hits the mattress, your legs still crossed around his waist keeping him as close to you as possible.

you nod, half delirious with need and mattsun begins thrusting in earnest. his cock is so thick he nudges against every sensitive spot along your walls, his tip battering just below your cervix and hitting so deep you swear you can feel it in your throat. his hands pry yours open from where you had been gripping the sheets and laces his fingers with yours. a swell of love rises in you and has you gasping for air as he fucks you into the mattress. you can’t even hear your own moans over the squelch as you grow wetter and wetter and the smack of his heavy balls against your ass.

your orgasm takes both of you by surprise, ripping through you so violently you’re left a shaking mess. mattsun’s hips stutter, bucking wildly into you as he nears his own high and you stare in awe as he reaches it. it’s a sight you’ll never get enough of, how beautiful he looks as he spills endlessly inside you, mindlessly grinding it deeper with his softening cock.

“you okay, angel?” he asks, pulling you in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“mhmm. can we stay like this?” you weren’t ready to put any space between you, not so soon after reconnecting.

“‘course we can.” he settles over you, knowing exactly what you need. his weight a reassurance that grounds you in a way words never could. it’s a conversation in its own right, one that could only pass between two people who knew each other as well as you knew each other. in the quiet afterglow he tells you that he’s here with you. that you were going to work on being okay again. that he wouldn’t let you feel that lonely ever again. and you believe him with every fibre of your being.

dedicated to: @honeykeigo @ohno-otome @keigobaby @saintdabi @toshidou @sawam0chi

#matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #matsukawa angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei smut #matsukawa issei angst #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! smut

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high-hime · 2 years

Text

A/N: This was written for a secret Santa event on the Squid Game Simps discord! Took a bit to write because of writer's block, but I did it! Please enjoy! ❤️

Words: 4,575

Rated: M

Genre: Smut with plot

(strangers, instant attraction, unprotected sex)

Pairing: Seong Gihun/Female Reader

"THE CONVENIENCE STORE"

Gihun was more down on his luck than ever, lighting his last cigarette that was half crumpled in his pocket, before cursing under his breath. A puff of winter air left his lips before shakily trying to light said cigarette. Click, click. No good. The red lighter in his grip shot blank, and one could see through it that the fluid was shallow at the bottom. If there was ever a time where he needed a cigarette, now was one of those times.

His daughter's birthday had passed, and he spent what little he had after that beating he took from the loan sharks. Two days later, and a bitter voicemail from his ex wife sitting in his inbox, her words haunted him. "Gihun-ah, why did you get our daughter a GUN shaped lighter for her birthday?!! Why would a child carry something so dangerous?! Next time, don't get her anything. Then again, we won't be in Korea much longer."

His face twisted to a sad, disappointed expression. How pathetic was he? A disappointment to his daughter, and even moreso, a man without a working lighter, sitting outside of his local convenience store with the last of his cash on hand, long spent on alcohol and his last pack of cigarettes, both of which by now, were long consumed.

His tired brown eyes gazed at the neon sign of the establishment as people quietly passed him by. At an hour like this, the small city never slept, and neither did he.

The longer he attempted to light the cigarette, the more frustrated he came. The world was crashing down onto him, and it was always a losing game. He was getting fucking sick of it.

"Shibal!" He cursed before his lighter slipped out of his cold grip, clicking faintly on the concrete.

Then, he saw you. A young woman in a long coat and a purple scarf, watching him with a bit of shock and curiosity. Why was he so upset over a lighter? You wondered as your eyes met his with a few blinks. He seemed safe enough to approach and you simply stood and observed him.

Upon seeing such an attractive girl like yourself, of course he shook his head and regained some composure, giving you a boyish grin and nervous laughter. Was that a blush you could see?

"A-ah, hello! Ah! S-sorry for bad English!" He trailed off in English, respectfully noting that you were a foreigner.--a rather beautiful foreign girl at that.

"Don't worry about it, please!" You replied in his language with a sweet smile.

Gihun quickly gave up his attempt at English and switched back to Korean as you shook your head and waved a hand in reassurance. He sighed in relief that you spoke it so fluently.

"Also, I apologize if I startled you! Did you need help with something?" Gihun asked you.

You couldn't help but smile a bit, and he gazed at your foreign features with a warm expression. It was quite rare that he bumped into tourists or foreign students, much less ones that knew Korean as well as you did.

"No, my apartment is nearby and I just wanted a midnight snack. Then, I saw you seemed pretty....

upset? I was just concerned! Sorry for staring!"

You apologized, blushing at his charming looks. Even in the disheveled state this man was in, he was very good looking. Just your type too--tall, messy, a bit wild? He sure was passionate about his lighters, anyway.. you wondered if you should offer to get him a new one, since you were heading into the store anyway.

During the short silence, He noticed your curious gaze that dropped to the lighter that had been thrown onto the ground, and he quickly waved up his hands in a flustered manner. He laughed nervously.

"Ah, ah, aniya! I'm usually not so callous with my belongings! I've--just had a long day, you know? and my lighter is finished. I think that's simply a sign for me to just stop smoking and go home, right?" He laughed it off, hoping he didn't seem too neurotic on the surface.

You whined quietly. You liked his company, so you felt bold.

"No! I mean, you don't have to go home just yet. I was just heading into the convenience store, and I'd love your company! I'm Y/N."

Smooth, and yet immediately direct in your approach. You've been so busy with working in Seoul during your long days that you've haven't had the time to meet men here. It was a very late Saturday night, so why not be a little shameless?

Your big brown eyes checked him out further as his brows raised in intrigue. He didn't seem to mind this idea of yours. He looked older, but you liked that. He was hot, and you wanted to catch his interest. You bit your bottom lip, nervous if he'd oblige.

"I'm Gihun! Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'll keep you company, sure! Wouldn't want any creeps bothering you at this time of night! No one in this town messes with me, you know!" He exaggerated, but gave you that same genuine, boyish grin from earlier as he held the door open for you.

"After you!"

What a gentleman. You weren't easy to please, but chivalry definitely wasn't dead and you enjoyed the kind gesture and headed in to shop.

The brightly lit little store awaited all of your snacking needs. Rows and rows of colorful ramen, candies, chips, sodas, sandwiches, and more were there for the picking. You loved the night time. Saturday nights were your favorite to stay in and curl up with snacks and your favorite drama playing on the big screen tv in your modest apartment. You worked hard to pay for it, after all!

You perked up and threw some ramen packs and a few frozen Tteokkbokki bags into your basket, Gihun watching you joyfully choose your late dinner and snacks for the night as you combed the aisles. You loved the bottles of strawberry milk they had too!

"Wow, you sure love convenience store goods, huh? You must be an easy date to please!" Gihun joked as he followed you at an arm's length behind.

You could hear how genuinely amused he was and you blushed, finishing up your shopping as you kept your back to him for the time being. Was he flirting with you? It made your heart pound. You cleared your throat.

"Erm, easy to please? No way!" You dismissed him with a laugh, feeling as if you were lying to yourself.

This was so unlike you, feeling attraction at first sight like this. Easy? Maybe you were just easy for Gihun.

How shameless.

You ignored the butterflies in your stomach while changing the subject without a beat missed.

"Hey! So, considering your earlier outburst, I'm guessing you need a lighter? I can buy one for you if you'd like!"

Big power move, offering to buy a man you just met something on the first meeting. Maybe your fiery spirit and neglected loins made you act this bold. Hopefully, he'd be impressed instead of insulted.

"Ah??? I really shouldn't be so careless, letting a lady treat me… a lady I just met, too..." Gihun said with a frown, quickly searching his pockets for any won coins to pay for his own lighter at the very least.

"Ah, no! It's fine, seriously! Hey! Just let me do it, got it?" You gently slapped his arm cutely, your expression firm but reassuring.

God, he found you adorable. Such a tiny woman yet so determined on what she wanted to do. Gihun half bowed in gratitude, smirking as you chose a lighter that was displayed at the counter.

"Fine, Y/N. But, Oppa will pay you back for everything next time, you'll see!" Gihun promised, meeting your gaze with a warm, sexy grin.

You felt a second heartbeat between your legs. It was so pathetic, but you were crushing, as if the word Oppa was the secret code to getting you hot and bothered. From a stranger, no less!

"I'll hold you to it, Oppa."

Fuck it, you thought. Why not make your move to keep him guessing and interested?

"Anything else?" The guy behind the counter asked after ringing up your basket of items.

"Yes, actually… two boxes of those condoms, please." You pointed to them while Gihun's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Eh?? Wh-? Y/N-ssi? So suddenly??" Gihun asked you after a moment to think. He wasn't very good at thinking to himself, and was very much an open book. You learned that quickly, and it made you giggle.

"Hm? Is it a crime that a young woman likes to have condoms in her apartment? I always get these. It's very healthy to be safe in case of an "emergency"."

You did all the time, back in the states, anyway. Not here. Not yet here, until now that is. God, you sounded so stale, but figured explaining it so formally would make you look less slutty/promiscuous. You simply wanted to leave an impression on Gihun at this point.

"Right, right! Of course!"

Gihun chuckled at the misunderstanding, sighing in relief. It was intriguing how forward western women were with things like this. It was very intriguing at the end of the day. He wanted to learn even more about you, leading you back outside while he held the door up some steps up ahead.

After he closed the door behind you two, he felt you place the lighter into the palm of his hand.

"It's purple, I hope that's okay." You said sweetly, giving him a shy smile. Quite the different girl compared to earlier.

He grinned a perfect smile and shook his head. You really were something else.

"The color doesn't bother me. Thank you very much for buying it." Gihun said warmly, before pulling you by the hand when rain started to come down hard from the late night sky.

You were pulled back under the convenience store awning as it was pouring rain. A bicyclist that came zooming by just then could have easily could have hit you a moment later, on top of that.

You blushed when you met Gihun's warm gaze. You didn't know it, but this was the happiest he's felt all week considering everything that's happened to him.

"Ah, sorry, Y/N-ssi. Figured you'd want to open that umbrella first." He noted to the compact umbrella that dangled around your wrist by it's string. It was purple with lighter purple polka dots. He found your fascination with the color absolutely adorable. Such a cute girl.

"Right." You said shyly while looking away from his smoldering gaze, opening the umbrella with a push of it's button. You notioned home to walk with you underneath it.

"Wanna have some dinner at my place? It's just around the corner. I know it's late, but It'll pass the time until the rain stops. I wouldn't want you to wait in the cold, you know?"

You handed Gihun the umbrella to hold and share since he towered over you.

He cleared his throat at your invitation, unable to withhold his laughter at the irony at hand. You didn't know it, but the dinner included ramen, and inviting anyone to ramen at your place was always code for "let's hookup." He dismissed the thought and graciously agreed.

"Sure, sure! That sounds great! You spoil me, Y/N-ssi."

With that, you lead him to your apartment complex that was a short walk away. Into the elevator and four floors up, you were finally home.

Gihun closed your door behind you before taking off his shoes. He watched you scurry up ahead.

"I'm gonna get us some towels and quickly change into something comfy! Feel free to use the house slippers next to the closet!"

Gihun acknowledged you from where he was and hung up his coat, stepping into the guest slippers before he'd enter the rest of the apartment.

He assumed the seat in the huge living room (which was also your bedroom) and watched you multi task like a busy little bee. You boiled two pots and pans of water on the stove for the ramen and Tteokkbokki after you changed into pajamas.

He thanked you for the towel you handed him and ruffled it through his damp, curly hair. He looked around your cutely decorated apartment and noticed the big TV that faced your bed.

"Nice flatscreen! Here I thought you were just an exchange student! Do you work here in Korea?"

He asked from where he sat as you began cooking in the kitchen at light speed.

"Yeah! I'm an English teacher for this fancy middle school in Apgujeong. it pays decently well, honestly!"

"Wow! Bilingual AND educated! That's really impressive, Y/N-ssi!"

You laughed it off and prepared both servings of food. Delicious ramen mixed with Tteokkbokki sauce, the rice cakes and some freshly cut green onion and fishcake you had in your fridge. You invited Gihun over to the table to come and eat.

"Ah, smells great! Thank you!" Gihun bowed cutely before digging into the hot meal in front of him.

As you two ate, Gihun opened up about his recent unfortunate events. You didn't know someone so kind could be so down on his luck. He didn't tell you everything, but he did say that he needed to do something before it was too late. You were definitely rooting for him to complete that goal.

It made your heart melt that he was a father, too. In his words, the worst father, but from what you were told, you didn't believe that one bit. He sounded like he needed to make things right, and he was determined one way or another. That's what made you believe that he was definitely a good person at heart. You smiled at his resolve.

You got up to take the dishes to the sink, but he got up right after you, insisting on cleaning up since you were kind enough to let him into your home at a time so late in the night.

"Please, let Oppa handle it, Y/N-ssi. It's the least I can do for now." He smiled and you nearly melted into a puddle. How can you say no to a face like that?

God, he's so fucking sexy. You thought, giving in to his request. You allowed him to take the dishes to the kitchen and wash them in the sink, all the while, you went to the living room to play some Spotify on the tv.

Some relaxing instrumental music (reader decides) was one of your favorite things to help you settle in on a late night.

Gihun washed his hands and left the dishes out to dry before he went over to join you where you sat. He enjoyed your music taste as he closed his eyes with a yawn.

"You think I missed the last train, Y/N-ssi?" He thought out loud, leaning back into the small couch that was next to your bed.

You looked at the time on your phone, surprised at how much later it had gotten. Time went by so fast when you were with this man, and you found yourself wanting even more of it. So greedy of you, but you couldn't deny it.

Gihun explained that this was a bad habit of his, and happened often; staying out late and having to walk home.--which was in the next town over and almost an hour's walk.

"No way you're walking in this rain! It doesn't seem to be letting up, either…" You simply refused that idea right away.

Gihun scratched his head with intrigue, wondering what you had planned next.

"Yeah, so, what are you suggesting then, Y/N-ssi?"

You gave him an inviting smile and batted your lashes at him. Fuck the pure girl image. You wanted Gihun to know that he could depend on you anytime from now on. It was the mature woman approach from here on.

"Let your mother know that you'll be home tomorrow morning. I insist you spend the night here and let the storm pass! You can shower and sleep on the guest futon, alright?"

Gihun blinked several times, wondering when your kind hospitality would end. You never ceased to surprise him. You didn't sound like you were asking, so how could he refuse? You sure we're a caring girl for a nobody like him. A stranger at that.

"Hey, Y/N-ssi! Do you always invite strange men into your home like this? You're lucky I'm harmless, you know!"

You laughed while you showed him to the bathroom, handing him a clean towel. You knew his words were coming from a good place, and he wasn't wrong about the last part. You never did something like this before, but there was something about Gihun that made you trust him. Maybe you were crazy to take such a risk, but you didn't sense any danger from the unlucky man. Sue you.

"No, Oppa, I don't. I can just tell when someone needs a supportive friend. The sleepover part was on a whim, you could say! Let me know if you need anything!"

You quickly left him to his own thoughts before he could question you further, closing the bathroom door behind you.

He laughed to himself and turned on the hot shower. He had bruises all over his ribs and shoulders from what had happened with the loans sharks a few days ago. They were healing, but they looked worse during the process. He hoped you would bring him a shirt so you wouldn't worry or ask any questions.

Gihun sighed as his back met the wall. The room filled with steam and the hot water trickled down his aching muscles. He closed his eyes and waited a bit to wash up.

Meanwhile, you were setting up the futon, spreading it out on the carpet, adjacent to your bed. You gave him a fluffed up pillow and a warm blanket. As nice as this apartment looked, the walls between the bathroom and the rest of your living space was quite thin.

Gihun didn't know it, but you could hear the relaxed groans and sounds he was making from the shower. You felt weak. He sounded so fucking sexy, and it sounded like he felt good. You were indeed getting wet too, and it was so slutty of you. You felt a needy ache between your legs. You never felt more perverted than now, and you went over to sit against the bathroom door that separated the two of you.

Gihun had finished washing his body and simply let himself soak under the hot shower's stream. Water trickled over his defined stomach and down his legs and of course, naturally erecting cock.

It was natural as the room was hot and heat, indeed caused him to get a bit hard. Gihun looked down at his healthy girth and decided to entertain it, gripping it firmly as it erected fully in his grip.

He glanced to the side, hesitant at first, wondering if you'd be able to hear him from the livingroom as the music played from the tv. There was no way, right? You wouldn't be able to hear if he just…

You blushed when his sounds continued, your heart pounding against your abundant chest. He sounded much more lewd this time, his breaths sounding quick as his voice bounced off of the tiled walls. There was no doubt about it; he was jerking off! Right now, in your shower!

Your own hand slipped between your legs, pressing on top of the pajama pants that felt the tiniest bit damp at the touch, when your fingers pressed against your clothed heat. Fuck, what were you doing? Touching yourself at the same time he was? In such close proximity? This was wild, even for you.

Gihun gripped his fat, hard cock, jerking it back and forth in the way that he liked. The hot water trickled down. His hands and fingers were already slippery from the body wash you kept near the faucet, so it was just enough lube to feel damn fucking good. His head tilted back in ecstasy.

Your body flinched at what he groaned out.

"Y/N-ssi! Just like that!"

Fuck, you swallowed your nerves, shaking your own head in disbelief. You had to of been dreaming, right?

You couldn't deny how turned on you were becoming, slipping your hand underneath your pajama pants to finger fuck yourself at what was happening. You fucking loved how your name sounded leaving Gihun's lips. You wished you could hear it again.

Your fingers pressed to your clit after slipping out of your needy little hole, and you began rubbing.

"Ah, Y/N-ssi!" Gihun said again, and you smiled in ecstasy that your wish was fulfilled. You pressed harder against your swelling clit, rubbing up and down to the rythm of Gihun's lewd breaths. Never has a man sounded so hot the way he was, stroking his cock to the thought of you.

You couldn't help but let out a moan, moaning out his name a bit louder than you should have, forgetting how thin the walls were.

"Gihun! Ah--!"

Gihun's breath hitched. That barely muffled, high pitched cry was definitely his name. He listened further with focus. He could hear you touching yourself, with your back pressed on the other side of the bathroom door.

His gaze widened, staring at the door while your sounds continued. Was he hallucinating? Why was he even more turned on at the thought of you touching together? He asked himself, what the fuck should he do now?

He shrugged and closed his eyes again, thinking about your curvy little figure naked. He didn't get much of an opportunity to leer at you in the convenience store, (mostly out of respect) but he could tell you had a very sexy hourglass shape to you. His favorite part of you was indeed your pretty little face, as well as those sexy lips of yours. He jerked himself off even faster, seeing what your move would be from here.

You were behind the door, rubbing your clit even faster to his breaths, moaning out in pleasure as your sex was now soaking wet. What you heard him say made you tremble where you sat.

"Y/N-ssi! Let me inside of you!"

Shit, what now? Why was Gihun so vocal when he thought he was in private? Your thoughts ran a mile a minute. You couldn't take it anymore. Your name leaving his lips was enough to help you make this decision.

You entered the bathroom, closing the door behind you to not let any of steam escape.

Gihun stopped what was he was doing and gazed at you in near shock. He flinched and covered himself with both hands, turning slightly away. He couldn't believe you were here.

"Y/N-ssi…?!"

Fuck it, you didn't care about formalities anymore. You didn't care that he was a stranger. You quickly stripped of your pajama pants and button down shirt and walked over to your guest.

"Fucking take me, please." Your eyes locked and Gihun's hesitant stare shifted to a smoldering, knowing gaze. You gave him the green light he needed.

Head tilted, Gihun pulled you into a passionate kiss. Over and over, your lips pressed and met in a smacking frenzy of warmth and lust. His hands gripped to your hips as you pressed your naked body against his.

The hot water ran over your long hair and soft skin as Gihun let his back press against the wall.

Your thigh ran up the side of his leg and he held it up, and immediately, his cock met your soaking wet fuck hole. You pressed as close as you could get, crying out in pleasure while his fat cock slid so easily inside of you. Your hands held to his shoulders for support, and with ease, he lifted your small body up, his large hands cupping beneath your ass.

"Ah!"

Gihun thrusted in careful intervals so that he wouldn't fall, and still he guided you to bounce on his cock with a firm grip on your jiggling ass cheeks. You followed his rhythm and rode his fat cock, digging your nails into his defined shoulders.

Fuck, he felt so good. His girth was stretching your tight pussy, and you bouncing on him at your favorite pace made his tip venture deeper inside of you. He was hitting that g-spot, over and over again.

"You fuck me so good!" You cried into his ear, making him smirk as he began thrusting even faster.

You entangled your hands in his hair and kissed him wildly. It felt so hot and tight inside of you, and you loved how fat his cock was, pushing up into you like there was no tomorrow. You were pulsating, feeling so fucking close. He gave you a knowing look. He could feel it.

"Y/N-ssi… Can I…? He was asking for permission, switching places while your back gently met the wall now. He adjusted his grip and held you up securely, remaining inside with another push. You gasped.

You ran your fingers over his wet locks and looked him in the eyes. You looked like a lust drunk mermaid as the words left your full lips.

"Gihun, make me fucking cum! And don't pull out."

That's all he needed to hear, fucking you even harder against the wall, now that you had more of a support holding you up to take his deep thrusts.

Your nails scratched down his shoulders while he buried himself deep inside of you. His breaths and groans quickening while he fucked you without restraint.

"I'm! I'm so fucking close! I!"

You screamed, wracked with pleasure as a lust crazed Gihun pumped in and out of you the fastest he could.

"Ah! Fuck… you feel so fucking good!" Gihun groaned into the crook of your neck, moving with you as your back slid up the bathroom wall.

"Gihun! Cum---c-cum inside of me!" You screamed as your juices washed over his cock like a waterfall.

He held you as tight as he could, and with one final stroke, his cock pushed up the deepest it could, filling you up with his load.

You both gasped, and his grip on you eventually relaxed as your back slowly slid down the wall. He placed you gently on your feet before turning the shower off for now.

He laid on his back on the tiled, watery flooring, laughing up at the ceiling in an intoxicated daze. Fuck, that was amazing.

You joined him and he held to your hand when you laid on his chest, looking into his eyes.

Gihun kissed your lips a few times before going back to catch his breath. His strong hand stroked your hair out of your face and rubbed your back. You nearly fell asleep, but got up the strength to speak after a few minutes.

"Get me some plan B in the morning, please. The convenience store should have it." You said quietly as Gihun flinched where you two cuddled.

"Gihun....?"

"Mm?" He asked with a relaxed smile, leaving his eyes closed.

Shibal!" Gihun said, jolting up, loud enough to stop you from dozing off. You laughed and he sat up. He knew he'd better get going!

#seong gi hun #seong gi hoon #squid game smut #squid game #smut with plot #gi hun x you #gi hun x reader #gi hun fluff #seong gihun imagine

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appleflavoredkitkats · 2 years

Text

Dream SMP Characters as Lyrics from Dave Malloy Musicals

(note: only got lyrics from tgc, ghost quartet, octet, preludes, and moby dick. not all characters are here, though i think i got majority! also, some characters have two quotes because i couldn’t pick lol)

Eret:

All of my life I spent searching the words Of poets and saints and prophets and kings And now at the end all I know that I’ve learned Is that all that I know is I don’t know a thing

- Dust and Ashes, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Fundy:

They say you can see your future In the long row of candles Stretching back and back and back Into the depths of the mirror In the dim confused last square You’ll see a coffin or a man Everyone sees a man

- Sunday Morning, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

I don’t know if this is me at all Or just some ghost of me That I dreamed up Just to sing myself to sleep Or someone that I used to be Or someone that I will be Or someone that I am right now

- I Don’t Know, Ghost Quartet

Niki:

And I’m haunted by that memory Of who I used to be So gleeful So blank So ready I was empty then And I’m empty now But it’s not the same at all

- Tango Dancer, Ghost Quartet

Phil:

What if you just missed something? What if you let something go? Just for the night Would that be alright? Oh, I swear it’ll be the same They are all motes of dust We are all motes of dust

- Glow, Octet

(20+ more under the cut!)

Karl:

I’ve got a thousand one stories Every single one of them’s a lie Let me read you a story Let me read you a romance I will read, you will listen And this terrible night will pass

- I Don’t Know, Ghost Quartet

Staring at the mirror ‘Til everything's fuzz My memory is a trap I’m not what once was Infinity is mine It whirls and it swoops And I am but a child I am on a loop I am on a loop I am on a loop I am on a loop I am on a loop (x10)

- Loop, Preludes

Sapnap:

A pencil scratch on an empty page You lift the latch and open a window pane And all I hear is the sound Of your life singing in my ears And all of the peace that I had for so many years Now that’s all gone, all gone All of my life is entwined with my love Every whisper, snore, and heartbeat Every rhapsody of What’s yours is mine

- Not Alone, Preludes

Purpled:

But I will transcend And vomit this loser out of me I will become the next big thing I will light myself on fire It’s time to get out of bed And be the Starchild I can be

- Starchild, Ghost Quartet

Ghostbur:

And you You were there too You drove that train Right through my heart But I guess it’s time To put that to bed I guess it’s time To let the dead be dead

- Hero, Ghost Quartet

Schlatt:

Drink with me, my love For there’s fire in the sky And there’s ice on the ground Either way, my soul will die

- The Duel, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Puffy:

I am not a hero I am not a movie star I am not a genius, I know I am not a monk I’m not special I’m the same as anybody else

- Hero, Ghost Quartet

Foolish:

I suspect deep down I don't care if I die How else could I Be wasting so much time On this sweet fluorescent smiling brainrot? Stupid and dry eye poison?

- Candy, Octet

Techno:

First they poisoned the water Then they poisoned the sky And now it’s our minds And you gotta stay vigilant Everyone thinks they’re so top tier No one sees the fragmentation in themselves

- Actually, Octet

My soul is grooved to run on iron nails I will rush through hearts of mountains Over gorges, under raging riverbeds Now, see if you can swerve me

- Sunset, Moby Dick

Quackity:

For years you study the monster Practicing your irony and outrage On a scraping violin 10,000 hours of shrieking malnutrition Your practice makes you master of the monster Your brain is chemically changed Your mind goes dark and strange And you fall apart Like a naked mannequin Clattering to the floor

- Monster, Octet

This crown I wear made of iron not gold, is so heavy Its jagged edge, it beats against my brain But the men I lead, their souls are sold, they’re ready Too burn and bleed and hunt until you’re slain

- Sunset, Moby Dick

Hannah:

The forest was beautiful My head was clean and clear Alone without fear The forest was safe I danced like a beautiful fool One time some time The twilight moon Smiling and winking Mist across my cheeks Murmuring magic Whispering soft Soothing green

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

Tubbo:

I have a lot of memories And I have a lot of sadness But the two don’t line up The two don’t line up

- Tango Dancer, Ghost Quartet

Dream:

And I feel the moonlight whispering through my hair And let my thoughts uncoil and go somewhere else Where I can just not care

- Loop, Preludes

But now The woods are dark and cold Clogged with nettles and roots There is a monster And I am a monster

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

Punz:

You and I We were always a mess Drinking our bourbon Screaming in the streets When I saw you coming Ice and rage in your eyes I put on my armor and my shield And raised up my sword

- Hero, Ghost Quartet

Ranboo:

Now I don’t know But I’ve been told And that’s true of everything I think I know Everything I think That I don’t know But I’ve been told Yes I’ve been told

- I Don’t Know, Ghost Quartet

I dissociate all the time Like I’m not completely here right now I feel very far away from myself right now And I don’t trust myself anymore And I don’t love— Fuck it

- Actually, Octet

Sam:

And here Anatole With the stubborn attachment small-minded people have For conclusions they’ve worked out for themselves Repeated his argument to me for the hundredth time

- Preparations, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Ponk:

Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, but he didn’t speak ‘Til then he had reproached her, and tried to despise her But now he felt such pity for her That there was no room in his soul for reproach

- Pierre & Natasha, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Michael:

Isolation, anxiety Inability to assimilate with society And the fear that the monster will find me Infect me and blind me Butcher my heart and distort my soul It’s starting to get to me It’s starting to get to me

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

I am not a fucking luddite Or a cracked illuminati Or a stubborn crazy codger I am sane And I am telling you, the monster is real

- Monster, Octet

The Egg:

Come hither, broken hearted Here is another life Here are wonders supernatural Here is the face of God without dying

- Loomings, Moby Dick

Skeppy:

There’s a forest burning somewhere And the moon is red as blood But then I look in your eye and the fairies come And I’m squishing my toes in the mud I’m dancing on the stones of the oracle I’m kissing in the waterfall I’m under your spell, in a wishing well I’m lost and I don’t care at all

- Four Friends, Ghost Quartet

Bad:

I am a joyful person An optimistic person But sometimes I get scared You’ve been drowning so long in your ocean What if my boundless joy has a limit after all? And I’m not the rock you need to save you? You are in a hole And so I jump into the hole But I can’t get you out You are in a hole And so I jump into the hole But I can’t get you out

- Natalya, Preludes

Jack:

Well, what if I’m not big enough? To take in so much pain It beats on my brain I am going insane

- Glow, Octet

Someone in this room is trying to feel something Someone in this room is trying to have a beautiful moment Why won’t you let them? Why the fuck are you talking to me? You have no right To inflict your mind on mine

- The First Symphony, Preludes

Tommy:

I will stand in the dark for you I will hold you back by force I will stand here right outside your door I won’t see you disgraced I will protect your name and your heart Because I miss my friend

- Sonya Alone, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

I was okay once I can be okay again I’ve not gone crazy just yet I know what helps And I know what hurts

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

Wilbur:

I watch myself reborn as an icon For awfulness and hate

- Refresh, Octet

Beneath us lurk the many monsters of the sea The horrors in the murk wait for me And I thought I could just dip my toes in Didn’t think I would lose my soul in this silver asylum But I let myself disappear I let myself disappear No one grew into anything new We just became the worst of what we were

- The Pacific, Moby Dick

Kristin:

Beyond right and wrong There is a field I will meet you there We will lie down in the grass Let the morning hours pass ‘Til the words you and I fall away And there’s nothing left to say

- The Field, Octet

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hollandsmushroom · 3 years

Text

Lost In My Brain

Hello everyone, so this concept came from the very very depths of my brain as I went into a deep dissociative episode and I wrote this to pull myself out by imagining semi mob tom comforting me.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS MUCHLY APPRECIATED

Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You aren’t replying to Tom’s texts so he is really worried, he finds you in a state of trauma and unable to really communicate.

Warnings: Please read this at your own comfort, I wrote this to help me cope and I thought someone else might want to read it. I have written about extremely personal topics in this and I am not talking about stuff that I don’t know anything about, I suffer from dissociative PTSD. So warnings really include mentions of an unidentified trauma, Dissociation, Dissociative PTSD, Loss of recognition of faces, mentions of Mob Tom, missing person?, Trauma that happened at night, intrusive thoughts, thoughts that you are actually dead.

Masterlist

Request Here

Word Count: 1577

Tom’s meetings had run late, he had messaged you throughout the discussions to keep you updated and so you wouldn’t worry but it was him who worried as his phone remained void of any response from you. He began to grow antsy as the conversations just dragged on. He gave his input whenever he had to but most of his time was spent trying his hardest to seem as if he was paying attention and then checking his phone to see if you had responded, and every time his phone screen was blank. His worry was beginning to overtake his body, he worked in a dangerous profession and people knew that the best way to get to him was through loved ones, you being the main one. The thought of something bad having happened to you made his heart break, the thought of someone hurting you added to that made his blood boil. It wasn’t like he was overreacting, you were always very attentive to responding to him when he was in meetings, you knew that under his hard mobster outside he worried about you a great deal and if you could do anything to ease that, you would, and that is why he was freaking out to this extent. As soon as the meeting came to a close he left immediately, ignoring the people who tried to catch his attention on his way out, focused only on getting home to you.

Tom walked into the house, calling out your name and receiving no response in turn his heart beginning to pound as the silence reverberated in his ears. With an urgency he began making his way through the rooms of your shared house. He started in your bedroom, eyes landing on the perfectly made bed, signalling to him that you never went to bed, he made his way through the guest rooms, your office, the living room, by the time he reached the kitchen he was on the verge of tears. Hands grabbing on to the counter as he faced the empty living room, retrieving his phone from his slacks pocket and quickly dialing up his mate Harrison.

“Mate?” Tom asked as he heard the phone be answered on the other end of the line.

“Yeah?” His friends tired voice answered, clearly having been woken up by Tom’s call

“I can’t find Y/n, I don’t know where she is” At this point Tom felt like he was on the verge of breaking down, the idea that something had happened to you and he wasn’t there to protect you made him see red.

“Wait? You can’t find her?” there was a rustle from the other line, Harrison having sat straight up in bed, shock over taking him.

“Yeah, mate and I am kind of starting to freak-” Tom spun around, leaning his back against the cool marble countertop when his eyes caught on the open sliding glass door leading to your backyard, a dark figure sitting on the cement ground rocking slightly.

“Mate, I'm gonna have to call you back” he ignored his friend's words of worry as he hung up, placing the glowing screen face down on the counter and making his way outside. As soon as he passed the threshold of the door sniffles reached his ears. The weather wasn’t freezing but it definitely wasn’t warm enough for you to be sitting there in nothing but one of Tom’s shirts, bare thighs on the cool ground.

“Love?” Tom called as he made his way to your quivering figure, shoulders throwing themselves back and forth as you attempted to rock yourself in comfort. He reached a hand out to your shoulder, but you flinched away from his touch causing his heart to shatter. With the jerk of your movement his eyes caught your face, tears staining your cheeks.

“Love it's me” Tom assured, once again reaching his hand out to you, and this time you let him, his hand soothing over your shoulder causing it to cease its shaking as you eased into his touch. He did this gradually, progressively enveloping you further into his hold, a protective embrace, your face tucked into his chest as his hand rubbed up and down your back, trying to warm your body as you began to shiver from the night air.

“Let's get you inside, darling” Tom’s soothing touch helping you off the ground. He grabbed your hand, gently moving you into the house, and led you to the bathroom. His hands grabbed your hips, placing you onto the bathroom counter, you sat there, eyes trained on the wall ahead as Tom dampened a washcloth, moving back to you to wipe the snot and tears off of your cheeks, he stood in your view for the first time, his hands reaching towards you as you examined his face, causing you quickly push him away, hurt flashing across his unknown feature as you distanced yourself from him, scooting back on the counter curling further into your own body.

“Y/n?” His voice sounded defeated, reaching out again only for you to have the same reaction. His voice, you knew his voice, and his face didn’t seem completely unknown, something about him was familiar. It was so close to the face you loved so much but your eyes were distorting his features.

“I...I don’t know who you are?” He could have sworn he broke when you said that.

“Baby, it’s me, it’s Tom” he cooed, trying to understand what was happening, fear bruning through his chest and all the way down to his gut, feeling as if his world was slipping from under his feet.

“No, I-I know it’s you but..but I look at your face I don’t recognize it, it’s off, it’s not quite right and I don’t know who you are, you look like I stared at you for too long and you lost all feature, Tommy, I don’t know who you are and I don’t know who I am” your tears began to flow again as you looked in the mirror, your face was just a little bit off till it wasn’t your face anymore. You closed your eyes and shook your head violently causing Tom to gasp, reaching out and grabbing your shoulders to halt your movements.

“Stop, baby, please stop, it’s me, it’s Tommy, I’m right here” his voice soothed you, peeling your eyes back open, you saw his face, it was right, it was your Tommy.

“Tom?” His name but a question on your tongue as he cupped your cheek.

“Yes it’s me,” the pad of his thumb brushed away tear streaks. “What’s happening, sweets, talk to me please” he pleaded, eyes begging you to let him know what was happening.

“I’m dead Tommy” you explained but it only made it worse, yes widening comically as fear shot through his body.

“W-what do you mean you’re dead?” His mind was racing, had someone put a hit on you? Did you need to go into hiding? He felt like he was falling into every possible issue that you could be having but he was cut off by your voice again.

“I was thinking earlier and what if I died that night? What if I didn’t get out of the way? This is the after life” you mumbled, fully convinced that you had lost your mind.

“You are not dead” Tom demanded

“How do you know that” you whispered

“Because I’m here, dusting with you, I can touch you and trace every mark in your body, I have my own life, I would have that if you were dead, and if you were why would it just be a continuation of your day to day, why are you freaking out if this is heaven” he tried to explain and something must have worked because your body eased, eyes drawing from your hands to his face.

“This is real?” your voice sounded weak, so lost in your mind as your eyes seemed to glaze over.

“Yes, love this is real” he hummed, finally being able to wipe the tears from your face, his touch drawing you back from the farthest depths of your brain that you kept spiraling into “Now let’s get you to bed” Reaching past you he grabbed your toothbrush and toothpaste, preparing it for you to brush your teeth. You took your toothbrush from his hand as he leaned in and kissed your forehead lovingly, a tear slipping from his eye as he took in your defeated state, brushing it away before you could see and brushing his teeth as well.

Moments later you fell into your bed, Tom’s arms wrapped securely around you as your back curved into his chest, you shook your head as you closed your eyes seeing everything you wished you could forget.

“Tommy, I feel so lost in my brain, its like its yelling and every new thought just adds to the noise, continuing to bounce around with everyone else” You whispered as you shuttered.

“I know it's not okay, my love, but I am here and I will be here, I will help you come back” he kissed your temple and held you as you fell asleep. He vowed to himself that he would be there for you, he would never let you go, give you a life that distanced yourself from that pain that haunted you. He would remind you everyday that you are alive.

#tom holland #tomholland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x plus size reader #tom holland au #mob!tom #soft!tom #tom holland angst #angsty tom holland #tom holland x y/n #mob tom #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland x reader

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archived-kin · 3 years

Text

three names

note from kin: apparently that domestic diluc piece really did wonders for my writers block because i managed to churn this entire thing out within one night

anyway i know little to nothing about childe’s backstory so do be warned that i am only very loosely following the information we get from his story quest/voice lines/etc!

(also as a heads up childe is referred to as ajax throughout this piece! for those who don't know, ajax is his birth name)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, childe, zhongli

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): death (brief and not descriptive), mentions of blood

genre: angst i guess?? it isn’t SUPER heavy but this is very much Not A Happy Piece

You’ve known Ajax for what feels like forever.

The two of you grow up together on the streets of Morepesok, spending the short hours of daylight chasing each other down icy streets and pelting each other with snowballs until your fingers are frozen solid under their mittens and you’re both lying exhausted under the trees. He’s still a somewhat skittish and shy young boy, always hiding behind you while you ask the local farmers for permission to play in their fields and leaving all of the decisions to you when it comes to your childish games.

You know exactly how to get those blue eyes of his to light up like no other, though. Ever since the two of you were tiny tots, Ajax has always been enchanted by stories of adventures, of heroes who journey far from home to conquer evils beyond his childish comprehension, fighting with both sword and mind to quell any hardships or troubles that come their way. He listens to his father tell him these stories with a sparkle in his eye like no other, and begs for a new chapter as soon as one is finished.

You take advantage of this love of adventure to coax him into playing with you - him, the hero and you, his trusty sidekick, braving fight after fight together until the great sea monster is defeated, or until the brainwashed former friend was released - until the world bows down at your feet. You stand beside him and smile as he cackles, foot set atop a stone and brandishing a stick to the sky like a sword.

While Ajax longs for battle and glory, however, you secretly prefer the stories about the fisherman who wins the favour of the sea gods by saving a seal from a net, about the fae who collects the treasures of the land in an attempt to preserve the remains of a race she has loved and lost, about the dragon who follows the rainbow far into the east to find a companion who has fallen under the control of an evil sorcerer. Where he finds interest in tales of clashing blades and rumbling cannons, you find interest in the warmth of a campfire, surrounded by laughing companions that have shared a long journey together. You don’t love these games for the fights and the victories like he does - you love the games because it means you can be with him.

You suppose that this difference of interests is the reason you stay behind when he leaves on his own ‘heroic journey’.

The two of you are only fourteen - still children, for Archons’ sake - and Ajax has long since lost interest in the mundanity of his daily life.

“All we do is eat and play,” He mutters with a pout, poking at the snow with a stick. “It’s boring.”

You tilt your head in confusion and trot up to stand beside him, face half-hidden behind a scarf wrapped like a vice around your neck. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs a little then, and offers you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry, [Name]. You’re an exception.”

You still don’t understand what he means, not exactly, but it still sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The next day, he knocks on your door, dressed in an over-large coat and his favourite hat, a backpack strapped firmly to his back and a rusty shortsword in his hand. He beams at you as you open the door, and announces that he’s running away to find an adventure, and that he was wondering if you wanted to come with him.

You ask if this is another game he wants to play. He shakes his head and tells you that this is for real - that he’s going to explore far and wide, to seek out the quests that he’s heard so many stories about. He’s going to be a hero, and he wants you to be his sidekick, just like always.

But you have always been a little too timid, too afraid of going so far out into the snow, too aware of the dangers of a reckless jaunt like this. And so, bowing your head in shame, you answer that you can’t

He freezes for a moment then, disappointment clear on his face, but he replaces it with a a grin almost immediately. You don’t know it at the time, but this is the last time you’ll ever see him smile like this again.

“Don’t worry about it!” He reassures you. “I’ll bring back lots of souvenirs for you when I come back! Like a dragon head!”

“I don’t like heads.” You mumble. “Too much blood.”

He doesn’t falter. “A dragon claw, then!”

The two of you exchange brief goodbyes, neither of you aware of the magnitude of what Ajax is choosing to do, nor the consequences it will bring, and then he leaves. And you let him, watching his little figure disappear and melt into the blinding white of the snow.

It’s a mistake that continues to haunt you for the rest of your life.

He turns up again, two days later, lying unconscious on the outskirts of the forest by the village. A mere two days - but somehow, you’ve always felt as if he’d been away for much, much longer.

Ajax is never the same after that. He’s more distracted, more absent - he never wants to go out for walks in the fields with you anymore, nor does he have any interest in playing games or hearing stories. He still lets you follow him around and sit beside him, but he speaks less and less, and spends more and more time thinking.

You don’t give up on him, though. It doesn’t matter how much his blank gaze scares you sometimes, nor how unsettling the look on his face is after he shreds yet another hay training dummy to pieces. You hang around him anyway, talking about every little thing that comes to mind, and sometimes, he replies with the same silliness that he did when the two of you were younger.

It bothers you, the way that he swings so abruptly between the old him and the new him. Sometimes he’s just the boy you’d spent your childhood playing with, chasing you down the street only to stuff snow down the back of your jacket, then making you a hot drink afterwards as an apology when you declare that you hate him. But sometimes he isn’t.

His face stills, and his eyes go cold. He stares emptily at the snow beneath his feet, not responding when you call his name, and he returns to his garden sooner or later, to slaughter another line of training dummies. The way he gazes down at the wreckage, the way his hand clenches around the shaft of an arrow or the hilt of a blade, the way that he seems to hunger for more - it scares you.

Perhaps it is unsurprising that he joins the Fatui as soon as he turns seventeen.

He doesn’t tell you - he doesn’t tell anyone, not at first. He simply slips away and leaves, sometimes for days on end, and returns without a word as to his absence. You believe him when he tells you that it’s a series of job interviews in a different town, even congratulate him on the opportunity. You believe a lot of the lies he tells you.

It isn’t until you come upon him in the middle of one of his assignments that the wool is finally pulled away from your eyes.

You’re out in the city on a shopping trip by your mother’s request, carrying several baskets of fresh produce that just don’t grow quickly enough in your little seaside town, when you spot his auburn hair disappearing into a secluded alleyway. You follow quickly, opening your mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when you see what he’s doing.

A woman is lying beneath his foot, and he is crushing the breath out of her with the heel of his boot. There is a blade in his hand, glinting softly in the darkness of the alleyway.

The woman sobs breathlessly, begs for her life to be spared, her face contorted with fear and despair. But Ajax doesn’t flinch. In one, smooth movement, he points the blade to her neck and slashes.

You don’t know if the scream that echoes around the alleyway is yours or hers.

It’s only then that he finally turns around and sees you, and the mask covering the upper half of his face is all too familiar.

Your eyes fall upon the dead woman, her mouth still open in her final plea for mercy.

“Ajax,” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What have you done?”

The bloodstained blade in his hand clatters to the ground. “[Name]... what are you doing here?”

You don’t answer him. Your entire body feels numb. “You’re… you’re one of the Fatui.”

It isn’t a question.

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it to the ground carelessly, and approaches you, hands held out as if comforting a frightened child.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” He says quietly.

“Were you ever going to let me find out?” You ask. Your eyes move back to the woman’s corpse despite everything in your brain screaming at you to look away, and your hands start shaking.

Ajax notices. He steps in front of the body, as if trying to shield it from your view. “Of course. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, that’s all.”

“Why… why would you…?”

He meets your gaze. He shrugs. “I wanted to fight.”

There is blood staining the left side of his face. Your eyes are drawn to it in the same way they were to the corpse, and you feel a sudden burst of anger on her behalf. “How was this a fight? You trapped her in an alleyway - you didn’t even give her a chance to struggle!”

“This is different.” He states, as if it’s obvious, and his eyes go cold. “The woman was defying the will of the Tsaritsa. She needed to be disposed of.”

“Is that all you are now? A puppet of the Tsaritsa?!” You’re practically shouting now, tears threatening to start streaming down your face. You want to punch him, slap him, anything to make him realise what path he’s rapidly beginning to go down, but there isn’t any strength left in you. Not after what you just saw. “What happened to you?!”

“I changed,” He says simply, and his sea-blue eyes are frozen over completely. This isn’t the boy that you grew up and loved - and it occurs to you that he might not have been for a long, long time. “I grew up and I changed.”

“Ajax—” You begin, but he places a finger to your lips.

“It’s Tartaglia now.”

Perhaps if you look close enough, hope hard enough, you’ll be able to fool yourself into thinking there was some kind of emotion on his face - something, anything that proves that he still cares - but there is nothing but emptiness in his gaze.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t sleep for a long, long time, unable to put a stop to the unrelenting march of thoughts streaming through your head like a gushing river, like the endless depths of the ocean, like the deep blue of his eyes...

You distract yourself as best you can. You move out of town while he’s out on another mission and take your parents with you, settling down in a small village at the base of a mountain. There, you busy yourself every hour of the day, taking solace in the ache of your muscles and the fatigue that weighs heavily on your limbs. The people of the village come to know you as the helping hand, the eager assistant, always raring to go when asked for a favour.

And yet, even as you sit around a table in the local bar, surrounded by warmth and chatter and familiar faces, you can’t help but feel an emptiness opening in your chest. Old Dmitri, manning the bar as usual, slides a tankard over to you with a sympathetic smile, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You ask yourself that question more times than you can count, digging it deep into your skin, carving it into your mind, unable to help wondering, and yet... you never find an answer. What is wrong with you? Why does Ajax’s absence cut into you like a knife, keeping you awake deep into the night, plagued by dreams of cold, dead eyes and red blood pooling in the white snow? Why is it that, no matter how many times you remind yourself of the man in that alleyway and the body of the woman he’d just slaughtered, of the man that was not Ajax, of Tartaglia - you can only remember the grinning boy of your childhood?

Your parents don’t know why your eyes are always red-rimmed when you come down for breakfast in the morning, nor why you refuse to look at your surroundings when you go out into town, keeping your eyes focused determinedly on your dragging feet. They don’t know how many hours you spend staring out into the deep sky, wondering if Ajax is watching the same stars as you are, whether he even thinks of you at all.

Everything around you seems to taunt you, and you realise something.

You have to leave. You have to run away, to find a home in a place where the streets don’t stir up memories of days long gone, where the crunch of the snow beneath your feet doesn’t remind you of the sound of tearing flesh, where you can just be without Ajax haunting you around every corner you turn.

And so you set off for Liyue. You journey to the land amidst monoliths, seeking golden soil warmed by the sun to escape the cold snow and icy rain. You do not stop moving until you reach the land where the mountains stretch high and the streets of the harbour are painted with red and yellow, where the people are unfamiliar, the buildings are unfamiliar - where everything is unfamiliar. You’re tired of dwelling on past memories, tired of putting yourself through the same pain.

You settle in quickly, taking up a job at Wanmin Restaurant and eventually saving up enough to afford more than the little hotel box room you first are resigned to stay in. You move in with a new friend of yours, an apparently refined gentleman who seems to have no shortage of money but still always forgets to bring it when he needs it, and you start to remember what living in peace feels like again.

You take a deep breath as you watch the bustle of the city from the open window of your bedroom. The cool evening breeze in Liyue Harbour is soothing, unlike the biting nightly winds of Snezhnaya. Perhaps you can finally let go of Ajax now, you think.

Somewhere in the heavens, Fate mocks your hopefulness.

Two years later, your friend, who has only become even worse at managing his money despite your constant nagging, invites you to a dinner with him and a new acquaintance he’d like to introduce you to. You agree, unsuspecting of the true identity of his so-called ‘friend’.

You take one step into the private room that Zhongli had booked and realise what a terrible mistake you’ve made when you see a familiar figure sitting at the table.

He doesn’t turn around at first, too occupied with trying to take a sip of his tea without burning his mouth. Zhongli smiles at you, painfully unaware of the amount of old trauma he’s inadvertently stirred up.

“I’m glad that you made it,” He says pleasantly, and gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is the acquaintance I was telling you about. His name is Childe.”

There is a long silence. The initial shock of the moment wears off, only to be replaced by something resembling anger.

“So it’s Childe now, is it?” Ajax stiffens as he hears your voice come from behind him. “How many names does one man need?”

He turns around agonisingly slowly, failing to register the dangerous tilt of the teacup in his hands as it comes close to tipping its contents all over the table. You stare blankly back at him from the doorway.

How long has it been since he last saw you? He doesn’t know. Ever since the two of you had parted ways in that alleyway, you’d all but disappeared. The window to your bedroom had always been dark and empty when he stopped by your home, and neither you nor your parents were anywhere to be seen, no matter how thoroughly he’d searched the town. It had only been when Tonia had mentioned your absence in one of his letters that he’d realised that you weren’t just avoiding him. You’d left. Left the town where the two of you had grown up, left the home you’d lived in for so long, left behind all the friends you’d made over the years - just to run away from him.

There are new scars on your face, a new poise in the way you hold yourself. A sheathed dagger glitters at your belt, and even now you toy with its hilt in a way that tells him that you are familiar with it. You’ve changed so much, and he aches to think that he had been unable to see any of it.

He hadn’t wanted you to go, he never had. You’d always been his best friend, someone he looked up to, someone he enjoyed the company of, someone he cherished - someone he loved. But he’d had a duty to attend to, a new mistress to serve, a new title, a new responsibility. He couldn’t keep fooling himself into thinking he could keep the relationship he had with you forever.

That day in the alleyway - he’s never been able to forget the look on your face when you realised who he had become. It’s been burnt into his memory ever since then, flashing before his eyes just before he strikes, and even now, five years later, he still gets reprimanded by his fellow Harbingers for faltering just before he makes the kill. They always ask - how can Tartaglia, who takes pleasure in watching the life drain out of his opponent’s eyes after a battle well fought, hesitate like that?

He never has an answer for them.

Zhongli looks back and forth between the two of you, his brows knitting together slightly. “Do the two of you know each other already?”

“You could say that,” You reply, though your eyes don’t move even an inch from your old friend’s face. His expression is crumpled, almost vulnerable, a far cry from the stone-cold indifference he wore the last time you saw him.

“[Name],” He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve lived in Liyue Harbour for two years. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Several seconds pass by with no response.

“It seems the two of you have much to talk about,” Zhongli observes, and gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

He’s out of the room before either of you can object. Damn him and his perception.

You don’t sit down at the table. Instead, you move to the window, looking out over the city that you have come to love.

Ajax joins you. He hesitates as he approaches, as if debating whether or not to settle right beside you as he would have in the past. Eventually, though, he decides to keep his distance.

“Liyue is beautiful at night.” He says quietly. “Language is a nightmare to learn, though.”

That earns him a short laugh from you, and he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat as he hears it. “You can say that again. I don’t think I even have a proper grasp of it now.”

“You’re speaking pretty fluently,” He replies. “I’d say that’s a proper enough grasp.”

“It’s all just conversational, really.” You don’t look at him, instead choosing to look down at Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun as they walk through the street below you together, exchanging jokes and nudges. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think I know it pretty well. I had to learn for—”

He cuts himself off, but you already know what he’d been about to say.

“For your Fatui duties here,” You finish for him, and though you don’t move, somehow he feels as if the gap between you has widened. “There’s no need for pretences, Childe.”

He freezes at the way you address him. It’s become familiar to him after using it as an alias for so long, but it sounds so wrong coming from you. It feels as if you’re distancing yourself from him, from the childhood you shared together. As if Ajax, your childhood friend, never existed - only Childe, the Fatui Harbinger.

“Don’t…” His voice breaks, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You sound so detached, so distant - and he hates it. “Would you prefer Tartaglia? That’s what you told me to call you last time we met.”

He feels as if you’ve stabbed him in the chest. It probably would’ve hurt less if you did, actually, but he knows he deserves it. “...no. I don’t want you to call me Tartaglia, either.”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway. “I want… I want you to call me Ajax.”

Silence.

You finally turn to look at him, surprise painted on your features. “...what?”

Your eyes are just as he remembers them. He never wants to see them as they were on that day five years ago, filled with despair and tears that threatened to brim over.

He takes a deep breath and repeats, “I want you to call me Ajax.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Your face shifts, as if you can’t decide whether you want to be angry or sad or something else entirely. You open your mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opens again, and Zhongli pokes his head in.

“My apologies,” He says a little sheepishly, “But the attendant informed me that we should start ordering our dishes now if we don’t want to accidentally go over our time slot. That is - if you two are alright with having dinner with each other?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your eyes stay on the man gazing almost wistfully at you, your expression becoming thoughtful.

It’s been five years since you’ve last seen him. Five years of sleepless, tormented nights spent tossing and turning, of days spend exhausting yourself just so that you don’t think of him, of a journey filled with obstacles and monsters just to find a place to be at peace in, and just as you finally think you might be moving on, he shows up again.

Maybe you should be angry. Maybe you should be drawing your dagger and threatening him to stay the fuck away from your city and to take his Fatui agents with him. Maybe you should punch him right where it hurts most for all the pain he’s caused you.

But… you’re tired. You’re tired of hurting, tired of remembering. And maybe there’s a little part of you that hopes - a little part of you that still clings to the boy you played with on the streets of Morepesok, the boy that you lost the moment you let him leave on that journey.

And so you come to a conclusion.

“I’ll stay for dinner. What about you, Ajax?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #angst #first angst piece of the blog baby!#i hope it wasn't terrible :'))#yuta this is for you i know you like a bit of the tartaglia on a rainy day #it isn't raining but you can have this anyway #you still need to do the dishes by the way i'm tired of looking at your dirty-ass plates #enjpy darlings!#unedited

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quillify-tries-to-talk · 3 years

Text

Defense and Love

(A rewrite of that scene in Chain of Gold where Cordelia does not defend her brother when James calls him unworthy of his sister's love. Because I was angry. Because CC knows zero things about sibling interaction.)

Lemme know if you like it!

“I know you hate me for how I treated you in school, and rightfully so,” Alastair said. It was a wonder his voice was not shaking. “But however much you hate me, do not take it out on my sister.”

Please, the word hung from the very tip of his tongue, unspoken and desperate. His heart was galloping inside his chest with an almost painful intensity, even more so under Cordelia's watchful gaze. He couldn't break now. Not in front of her. She would ask, and how was he going to explain why he'd distorted into something he didn't recognize himself?

“Alastair," said Herondale in that low, cruel voice that took him back to the Academy, his own past coming back to haunt him, "you made my life a living hell at the Academy. But I’d never take it out on Cordelia. That’s something you would do, not something I would do.”

So he thought Alastair would hit his own sister. Good God. You don't know anything, rich boy, he wanted to snap. You have no idea what you're talking about.

Perhaps it was his own fault. He’d hurt so many people in his quest to guard his family. His life had turned into one horrific, monotonous nightmare. Protect them. Protect Layla. Let her be happy. Let my mother be happy. Let Father never come back.

The rational part of his brain had taken over the reins. He stood up straighter, schooled his expression into blank, icy indifference, the mask he’d perfected at school. Let Herondale think what he wanted. Alastair had a job to do and he wasn't about to let patronizing sermons get in his way.

“I see how it is. In school I had the power, and here you have the power to lord it over me. What’s your game? What do you want with my sister?”

“Your sister,” James said, speaking with a slow, deliberate coldness. “Your sister is the only thing keeping me from punching you in the face. Your sister loves you, Angel knows why, and you aren’t even the least bit grateful.”

The words were more powerful than any Shadowhunter weapon. They ravaged the remains of his heart over and over again.

He was ten and watching his father trip on the floor of his bedroom as he collected the brandy bottles littered around. Elias had been too drunk to tell who’d been into his room.

He was twelve again and practicing the iratze. It will help Baba, he'd thought then, childish hope still guiding him through the dark descending over the horizon of their lives.

“You have no idea what I’ve done for my sister." His voice came out rough and shaking. Horror of all horrors, Cordelia was still looking at him as though seeing him in a new light. Did she agree with James? She could. She was thriving here. "You have no idea about our family. You don’t know the first thing—”

He was fifteen again and refusing to train with Layla for the hundredth time because his body ached like one giant bruise. It was Pounceby. His jaw and neck tingled with the sting of the phantom bruise. He was watching the hope in his sister's eyes die. I am sorry, he'd wanted to say then. I truly am. But I can't let you see this. Live, Layla.

Something knocked against his shoulder. Hard. Only his training, both physical and mental, kept him from stumbling back in surprise.

It was Cordelia. She’d come to stand in front of him, the way Alastair had done when they were kids whenever their father had been home. Like a shield, he realized in disbelief. He wanted to push her out of the way, but her outstretched arm only resulted in him shifting to the side so he could catch her expression.

Anger.

He'd seen his sister annoyed. He'd seen his sister frustrated. He'd seen her distressed. He'd seen her scheme and calculate, always finding a way out of anything with her brilliant mind and ambition.

But never before had he seen her like this: dark eyes aflame, hands curled into fists, shoulders bunching up as though she was preparing to land a blow.

Oh. Oh no, no, no, no. A number of curses flashed through his head in all the languages he knew. Farsi. French. English. Urdu.

He looked down at her, and his expression visibly softened. Alastair tried not to narrow his eyes.

"James," Cordelia was saying. Her voice sounded normal. "You'd better go."

“Are you sure?” he said in a low voice. “I won’t leave you alone, Cordelia, not unless you wish me to.”

She seemed to rise taller, and in that moment Alastair was reminded why Cortana had chosen her. His sister looked the way their mother was, fire and embers and a gaze so piercing that the other person was left stuttering, though they'd originally come to scrutinize every inch of her. The colour of her eyes, her skin, why she covered her hair with a roosari.

He wished he had their courage. He wished he hadn't withdrawn into the shadows.

Thorns in your way, Esfandiyār, whispered Baba's voice inside his head. Why look back when you can look ahead?

But that would've entailed far worse consequences than a sermon.

Ahead? His thirteen-year-old, iratze-fumbling himself had wanted to snap as he'd stared at the glass sticking out of his foot, blood dripping on the floor. Ahead at your next bottle, Father?

Cordelia's voice rang out in the hall, sharper than the crack of a whip. "I will say this once and only once, James Herondale. So listen carefully." She took another step closer and Herondale's eyes actually widened. In surprise? Or in whatever the hell had happened between them before coming home? Alastair thought dryly.

"Do not for one moment think that you are my saviour," Cordelia said through her teeth. The words sent a jolt of surprise through him. "I am thankful for all your help, believe me, but my love for my brother has absolutely nothing to do with this."

A faint smile curled on the edges of Herondale's lips. "You still don't know what he did?"

Cordelia raised her brows, and oh there it was. The sibling resemblance. Clear as day in the anger cloaked behind disdain and a smile. "Why does my love for my family have to come between your feud?" she demanded. "Do I require your blessing to love them? You have notions about my brother that I would have expected from the Pouncebys."

He looked like she’d slapped him awake. "Daisy, I—"

She took a step back, and the anxiety on his face heightened. Cordelia herself was trembling.

And Alastair? He still couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't move, save to draw breath. The scene unfolding before him seemed like a fever dream. Cordelia didn’t know how he’d tormented Herondale and Fairchild at the Academy. She had no idea of the bomb going off when he’d been mere inches from the building. She didn’t know why everyone hated him so much. He knew, and perhaps he was a greedy monster for making his sister choose between her love and her family.

She raised a silencing hand when Herondale opened his mouth. "You assume that you know my brother better than I do. You assume that I am still Daisy—the girl with pretty ribbons in her hair, who needs your help to distinguish right from wrong. I will find out what happened at the Academy, but I will not stand idle while you say Alastair doesn’t deserve my love. You don’t get to choose who does or does not deserve me." She smiled, eyes glittering with the storms of the night. "You hurt my family, Mr. Herondale, and you will face my blade.”

Silence descended. Herondale’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between Alastair and Cordelia. A flicker of longing passed across his face as he saw Layla, there and gone. Alastair was gifted with a long, hard, assessing look.

“You may take your leave now," Cordelia said coldly.

James's expression shuttered. Was Alastair the only one who noticed his sister's wince? Guilt twisted in his gut.

"Very well, Miss Carstairs," Herondale said in a low monotone. "As you wish."

As soon as he was out of sight, Cordelia seemed to shrink, deflate.

Alastair snapped back to his senses. There were a number of things demanding his attention but he crossed the room to catch his sister by the elbow, older brother once more. His head was still reeling with the impossible absurdity of what had transpired.

"Layla?" He tested out the name hesitantly. "What? I mean, you shouldn't have—"

"He said you don't deserve my love." She turned to face him, and to his horror, her dark eyes gleamed with tears. Tears on my behalf, he thought dizzily.

What was this day?

In all the eighteen years of his life, he’d been used to working from the sidelines, slow and quiet. People did not need to see his tears, his frustration at himself. Only the anger and the sneering indifference he put up to keep them away. It had always been that way, ever since he had held Cordelia in his arms as a confused two-year-old.

She is so small, mâmân!

I know, joon. Will you promise to help her?

“Why, Layla?” he snapped, and she flinched. He wanted to hit himself all over again. “Why did you do that? Herondale is not wrong. I have hurt people. I have done horrible, despicable things. You’re going to lose out on potential allies because of me, do you realize that? How will you save Father then? I thought--” He broke off, not wanting to say the dreaded word.

She lifted her chin and glared. “You thought what, dâdâsh?”

It was jarring to have heard her defend him, even more jarring than hearing the language of his home, the language he’d spent years shoving down because it tended to attract the wrong sort of attention. It was jarring that she’d even noticed his trembling hands or the tears that were clawing at his throat, begging to be let out. It had been years since he’d truly cried but London seemed hell bent on breaking him. He'd never really thought how much he'd needed Cordelia by his side. How many years had passed with just pushing and pushing and pushing people away until time sped by and they simply grew out of their love for you.

His sister was no longer a baby. She was nearly as tall as him, looking him in the eye, silent and waiting.

"I thought you-you... loved him."

She closed her eyes. "I do. I think so. It doesn't mean I stand by idly while he goes on insulting my brother. It certainly does not mean that I hold back on my own feelings." Her eyes opened. A wry smile played on her lips. “You keep forgetting that only I am allowed to insult you, Alastair.”

Hoarse laughter escaped him, and Cordelia looked delighted to have been the cause.

Taglist: @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword (look, your annoyance inspired me lol), @cant-think-of-anything @reesecarstairs @cherilyn-rose @carstairs-hopelessly

#alastair carstairs #tsc #chain of iron spoilers #thomas lightwood #chain of iron #choi spoilers #cordelia carstairs #chain of gold #here it is people #I finally did it #first fanfic ever fuelled by my rage lmaoo #cassandra clare #tlh #tsc: fic #my writing #div rambles about shit

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ktheist · 3 years

Text

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au.

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you.

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms.

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it.

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here.

Yoongi takes another step toward you.

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought.

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie.

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life.

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie.

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman.

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first –I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym!

#bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fluff

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself.

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence.

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal.

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left.

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold.

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.' You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse.

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back.

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips.

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope.

'Not here,' he replied.

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure.

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter.

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening.

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years.

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree.

He frowned and nodded.

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him.

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.'

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?'

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.'

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.'

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.'

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.'

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.'

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive.

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?'

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?'

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…”

“Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door.

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there.

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?”

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

"Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said.

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry.

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could.

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice.

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head.

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request.

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied.

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was.

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second.

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her.

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered.

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered.

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful.

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him.

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted. And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper.

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers.

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable.

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer.

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5

#murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you

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