#I'm not the only one around here who needs to learn to rest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Boots [joel miller]

Joel doesn't like the idea of someone else gettin' all your best.

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: jealous joel giving you a lesson in who really likes you best, birthday sex, (over)protective joel, softie joel, dominant joel, oral sex (m and f receiving), face-sitting, riding, no plot just porn and some fluff because it's me, possessive sex, praise kink, squirting, established relationship

word count: ~ 4.5k

hello, all! i'm beginning to unload my fics onto tumblr for those who prefer reading in this format - and as a result, some of you lovely folks who follow me will likely see works you've already read before. i sincerely apologise for that, but many new projects are in the works as well because i love y'all and i live to please. that aside, if you're new here, welcome, and i hope you enjoy this one-shot!! <3

BOOTS

If there's anything you know about Joel, it's that he can get real angry.

It ain't like he's always mad. He lives a lot of his life in utter silence, but you like to watch him. Sometimes, in the dark, he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers and bringing them to his chin. He’ll sit like that for hours without moving, barely shifting to take in air, and you know never to shake him from that trance. It’s how you’ve learned to read between the lines.

After fifteen years by his side, you can gauge his moods better than the weather. He’s got a restless spirit, but his voice is midnight water. It’s calm and dark and clear, and it rumbles: the ripples left behind by skipping stones. He never lashes out at you, never raises his voice.

Except for that one time in New Jersey.

“Are you goddamn fuckin’ stupid?”

This was a little while before you could patent your Joel-handling techniques, so you did what any woman would do when a man calls her stupid: you folded your arms over your chest and got just as mad. “Stupid?” you said incredulously. “I saved your ass in there. Multiple asses, actually.”

Above you, the canopy of brilliant red leaves felt like a bloody shawl, and they crackled underfoot. You sported a limp thanks to a sprained ankle and your lip was bloody, but you were fine. Truly. And yet, Joel’s anger was pulsating. You could see it: heat waves, distorting the air around him, his brows flattening over his eyes and his nostrils flaring. A bull ready to charge. He was brimming with the need to release this energy.

Behind you, a building burned. The fire was a monstrous, lively thing, and it scorched the hairs on the back of your neck. Inside lay the bodies of the men you’d stolen the medical kits from, along with two of your own crew. It was only you and Joel left. It was autumn, and the breeze was welcome in such relentless heat.

He’d been ambushed just as much as the rest of you, but rotten fuckin’ luck had pinned a man on top of him—armed with a knife, inches from Joel’s eye. Not trusting yourself to make a shot without hitting him, too, you had tackled the man without thinking much. It had worked well enough to send his knife clattering across the burning hut. He’d landed a punch to you before Joel had blown his head clean off. Brain matter still clung to your jeans, but you tried not to look. When you’d rolled the body off you, Joel shot him again. He was covered in blood from his greying hair to his boots.

“Your job is to look out for yourself out there,” he snapped, “not me. The fuck were you thinkin’?”

Your frown only deepened. What had you been thinking? Maybe leaving him to die would teach him a lesson or two about what it was like to fear for someone’s life. Even if it was his own. “We need to go. You can yell at me later.”

Joel didn’t say anything when he kneeled at your feet and lifted your ankle up onto his raised knee. You yelped when you almost toppled over, but he kept you steady and inspected the swollen flesh. He was achingly gentle when he prodded at you, his expression softening into something more like concern. “This hurt?” he asked.

“Of course it hurts, Miller.” You lifted a brow at him, but he wasn’t looking up. “Want me to try on a glass slipper, or can we go?”

“Still think that was stupid,” he grumbled.

You snorted. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one who can navigate for shit, and I don’t fancy getting lost without my own personal compass.”

When he stood, Joel surprised you some more by gently patting your leg. “Real nice,” he said under his breath, shrugging the strap of your pack farther up your shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

You grinned up at him. “Happily.”

He never gets angry for long. Not at you.

There’s a knock at his door in the rhythm only the two of you know. He still checks the peephole, but it’s you. You slip inside, practically bounding on the balls of your feet, that cute fuckin’ grin on your face as you hide something behind your back. “Guess what day it is,” you say.

Joel will never let it leave this room that he indulges in your stupid game. “Sunday,” he tries.

Your pout is extravagant, but he’ll be damned if it doesn’t make him want to bite it off your pretty mouth. “Rhymes with smirthday. Y’know… the only day I ever ask you for anything.”

He clicks his tongue. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

You roll your eyes and bring your hands around from behind your back. You’re holding a cupcake.

“Holy shit. Where the fuck did you get that?”

“The FEDRA guy who monitors my building likes me,” you tell him, honest as ever. Too honest for this world and too damned sweet to be anything but a liability. And yet, here he is, digging, indulging, sinking his claws in. “Enough to sneak this to me from the kitchen, apparently.”

That makes him feel real fuckin’ grumpy. Nobody with eyes would be enough of a fool to deny that you’re gorgeous, but it doesn’t make him sleep any better knowing other men are chasing that brilliant twinkle in your eyes. He wants to tuck it between his ribs and let it illuminate his insides. He doesn’t want anyone else to see it, not ever.

“He’s tryin’ to make a move on you,” says Joel. “That’s what that is.”

If there’s a second thing you know about Joel, it’s that he lives with his foot in his mouth. Unfailingly.

You have long since learned the tactics of Joel-handling. You'd be offended if it were anyone else, but you just pat his cheek affectionately. “Sit down.”

To his credit, he does, but not after some grumbling. You scrape the second chair along the floor until it's right next to him. You split the cupcake in two as best you can and pass him one of the halves. Joel eyes it suspiciously. “You sure this is edible?”

You just take a bite and groan. It's been a long time since you've tasted chocolate, let alone the decadence of over-sweet frosting. Joel watches you carefully. Your lashes flutter in your trancelike enjoyment, a small speck of white frosting on the top of your nose. He's overcome with the knowledge that people in this world would try and take you from him. That people have put guns to your head, that they have harmed you, that they'll do it again and again. This world does not leave a woman like you untouched.

It's a good thing you've got him to make sure the world goes nowhere near you.

“Got frosting on your nose,” he says gruffly, trying to suppress his smile as he swipes it away with his thumb. “Some killer you are.”

You kick your legs up onto his lap. His thumb idly circles your ankle bone. “I don’t pretend to be a killer. I get by just fine, Miller.”

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And if I wasn’t here?”

You shrug. “Dead, probably.”

Joel takes a bite of the fucking cupcake and he's a little mad when it's not bad.

You sit at the window on his bed later, your knees drawn up to your chest and your cheek resting atop them. You like to watch the lights of the FEDRA vehicles and the occasional star that winks at you from high above the QZ. You're a pretty sight to look at all the time, but it feels somehow more delectable when you don't know he's looking.

It's nearing midnight, and you're getting up to leave. Curfew means you have to scurry back to your apartment across the street or you'll be stuck here all night. It also means you have to walk right past the same officer who snuck you that cupcake.

“You asked me once if I ever wanted to end it.”

Across the fire, he looked like a spectre: a thing you could not touch, sizzling tendrils of silvery air curling around crackling flame. You’d stopped for the night, and neither of you wanted to sleep. Even though you’d both seen enough fire for a lifetime, you still extended your palms toward it and let it warm you as you watched his dark brown eyes grapple for a way through the thistly wood of his past.

“I tried,” he told you. “After I lost her.”

Somehow, you felt undeserving. Like wrapping your fingers around a piece of Joel Miller’s steel-hard aorta and yanking out all the precious bits that came with it. Like licking the blood from the heart and shoving it back inside. Would he ever be the same knowing another soul in the world had this information? Would he come to regret telling you?

He watched you stand and shuffle up next to him on the piss-poor, blood-stained excuse for a sleeping bag. When your fingers lifted to the scar on his throat, he did not flinch away. Your hands were warmed by the fire. It filled the very soul of you, that flame. He did not meet your eye, but you looked into his nonetheless.

“I’m happy you missed.” A hand, warm and kissed by a tenderness he would never deserve, settled at the nape of his neck. Fingers gently combed through the grey strands, and he leaned into your touch, not quite understanding the pull but giving in nonetheless. For the first time in years, he thought he might be able to sleep if you just kept touching him like this.

Your next words were soft, but they were not afraid. “But I’m sad I never got to meet her.”

His head turned, and at last, his eyes met yours.

“Me, too.”

You smiled sadly. “Joel.”

“Don’t ever,” he said slowly, his hand squeezing your knee, “play fast and loose with your life again. Your life happens to fuckin’ matter to me.”

And that was that.

At some point, this began. Neither of you attempt to define how or when. Perhaps it has always been. It isn’t like time matters anymore.

When you pass Joel on your way to the door, he grabs your wrist.

“Does that FEDRA fucker know whose place you go to every night?”

You sigh, turning your head to meet his eyes: glimmering black beetles in the dim light. “Joel. Don’t be an asshole.”

But he’s long past trying not to be an asshole, especially when it comes to people honing in on his fucking territory. He tugs you by the waist so your back is pressed against his chest. His fingers are splayed over your belly. “You like him?” he says into your ear.

Your lashes flutter on your cheeks. “Joel.” His name sounds like the citrus of the oranges you like from the cafeteria. It’s sweet and tangy and somewhat discrete. “You know I need to meet with Robert about the battery tomorrow. You’ll keep me up all night.”

A grunt rumbles deep in his chest. “You’re not goin’ to see Robert alone.”

“That was part of his deal.” You gasp when he buries his face in your neck, sucking at the skin beneath your ear. He’ll make it show up angry and purple for the FEDRA officer and, fuck it, the entire QZ to see. He’ll litter your whole body with bruises and hickeys like he's a goddamn teenager if that's what it takes to keep you here.

“Shit fuckin’ luck.” His fingers dip to the waistband of your jeans. Your hips rock subtly and he smirks against your skin. “Robert doesn't get to decide how this goes.”

“Yeah, he does. He’s the one with the battery.”

The scratch of his beard is rough and deliberate against your neck. “If he doesn't wanna see me,” says Joel, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down, “he can tell me himself.”

“He’s terrified of you.”

Joel turns you around and presses you right up against his chest. You feel his hardness at your belly, the sear of his gaze through yours. “Good,” he says. “Get on the bed.”

It’s already midnight, which means you’ll get chewed out if you try to leave now. Joel’s plan, you guess. “You jealous of a little FEDRA officer, Miller?” Backing toward the bed, you smile up at him, coy and teasing.

“You never answered my question.” He chases your body, stalking toward you as his hand juts out to squeeze your hip. Your legs hit the edge of the bed. “Do you like him?”

His lips are so close you could just surge toward him and end this suffering. But he's keeping you at arm’s length, keeping you pliant under his touch because he knows—the bastard—that he’s winning.

Still, getting a rise out of Joel Miller is your birthright. “Would you rather I fuck a Firefly?”

A faint sneer twists his mouth, and this is his anger. This is the simmering, thrilling thing that infests your very blood. He’s jealous, and you're surprised at how deliciously it thrums in your lower spine, knowing he’s furious at the thought that someone else could even come close to the way he knows you.

The kiss begins slowly. For the heat you can feel through the press of his chest against yours, his nose only gently nudges yours as he works his way up to claiming your mouth. When he does, it’s a bizarre and dizzying shift compared to the rage you know he feels. The desire to march out onto the street and beat that officer to near-death. He compensates with a unique tenderness, taking his time with you, his hand pressing down against the exact spot on your lower back that forces his hips to mould to yours. His other cups your face, his fingers winding into your hair and curling at the back of your neck. It forces you to look up at him.

His beauty loops like a knot through your nerves. If you prodded any spot on your skin, the blood beneath would sing with the topography of him. You know the lines of his face better than your own. There is a patch in his beard that resembles a heart. There is a twinkle in his eye that lingers when he frowns and smiles. It’s a rare thing in such a sullen person. But you like finding those eyes in the dark. Somehow, for you, he’s hope.

When his lips finally meet yours, they're soft, and he lets you reach up to tangle your fingers in his soft, messy hair even though he’s doing everything he can to keep you under his control. Not that you mind. He knows you're his.

He deepens the kiss with a soft groan, curving his body over yours, tongue seeking the seam of your lips. You part them willingly, gasping when he lurches forward and slides his tongue along yours, biting and sucking at your lips. Joel growls softly at the faint noises you make, your fingers tightening in his hair, the pleasing sting in his scalp sending jolts down to his hard cock.

“MmmmmJoel.” You’re panting, desperate for air he won't give you. He likes this—making you gasp, making you weak, making you forget entirely that you’re supposed to be teasing him.

“Careful,” you gasp, barely able to form words around his mouth on yours. “Gonna hurt your back.”

That only seems to egg him on. He may not be young and agile anymore, but that’s never stopped him from giving you what you need. He turns you around and lies on his back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down on top of him. Your jeans go quickly, sliding down your hips with your panties and dropping somewhere on the floor. Your shirt follows, his fingers enjoying their path along your shoulders as he slips your bra straps down: a rare moment of indulgence and appreciation in a world that does not allow either.

For a moment, he just looks at you, brushing the pad of his thumb across your chin. Your eyes glimmer from the light through the window. “You only like me,” he says. Matter-of-fact. He knows.

But you smile, because he decided to say it anyway. “I only like you, Joel Miller.”

A hand kneads your ass, giving it a smack. You jump in his grasp, but he just gives you that crooked smirk and whispers: “Come take a seat.”

You rear back, frowning at him. Is he—

“You waiting for a sweeter invitation, baby?” His voice is low and gruff, unused to compromise. You feel his fingers dig into your ass and pull you up onto his chest. Your cunt is slick with anticipation and the ichor of desire.

He wants you on his face.

“What if I—”

“Sit.” Every letter feels like a deliberate strike, bone-deep. “C’mon, now.”

Let me show you how much I like you.

Your bottom lip between your teeth, you shuffle gingerly up his chest until you can brace your hands on the wall, your cunt hovering over his mouth. Joel doesn't like that. He wraps his hands around your upper thighs and forces you down onto his face. You gasp his name, one hand flying to his hair and locking your fingers in his locks. “Fuck.”

He grunts, squeezing your thighs up to your hips as he pulls your clit into his mouth, lathering it with his spit and your wetness. It’s white-hot: the pressure on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, the insistent bump of his nose against your clit as he teases his tongue around your tight hole. “Joel, Joel, fuck,” is all you can manage, sweet little gasps that he drinks in, his hips bucking involuntarily with the delicious pain of your fingers pulling at his scalp. You're losing grip on the real world and slipping elsewhere, and he wants to get you there.

One of Joel’s hands slides between your legs, easing them open even more, and rests on your belly, shifting to your ribcage and helping you steady yourself atop him. His fingertips graze your breasts, reverent and gentle despite their roughness. Those hands have been split and bloodied, but they hold you like they’ve never known anything but kindness. His eyes closed, savouring the taste of you, his fingers trace a scar on your sternum from an incident at knifepoint six years ago. He cannot see it, but he knows it nonetheless.

Joel is greedy when he has his face buried in your pussy. He doesn’t get the opportunity to take his time like this often; the both of you have only ever been acquainted with impermanence. But now, tucked comfortably between your thighs, licking between your folds like a starving fuckin’ dog, taking what he wants from you.

The sounds are slick and obscene, mingled with your drunken sighs and words of encouragement as you curl your fingers against the wall uselessly. “Joel,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face, moonlight bursting on your eyelids. “I… can’t… so good—”

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly. He’ll imprint the feeling of him on your skin forever—if he hasn't already. He’ll make sure you never have another man like you have him.

It’s a selfish thing, love. He's mastered clutching it to his chest and keeping his palm closed right around it.

“I’m… oh, fuck, I’m gonna…” Your hips buck wildly, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you steadfast and firm to his face. He sucks your clit back into his mouth and fixes his tongue to you, wiggling slightly as he feels you stiffen above him. “Oh, my—gonna come!”

He knows. You're already coming. Your hand leaves his hair and braces next to your other one on the wall, ensuring you don’t fall over as your thighs shake uncontrollably and your mouth drops open in a keening whine. Joel keeps lapping at your clit long after your orgasm fades and you cry out from the overstimulation. Gently, you reach down to tug his hair, and he reluctantly pulls away. He’s so hard he can’t conjure much mental activity besides getting his dick wet.

Your chest is heaving as you try to pick your leg up and get off him, but your strength fails you. Instead, Joel grabs your hips and sits up, your cunt sliding down to sit on top of his erection. Experimentally, you grind down on him, watching a muscle in his jaw feather. “Are you going to let me take your pants off?” you ask him, teasing, your finger tracing the metal of his belt buckle.

He grits his teeth, letting you take control for a moment, sliding the belt achingly slow out of each loop. Your wicked little smile is so pretty in the darkness, illuminated briefly by passing patrol vehicles through the window. Unbuttoning his shirt, you dip your body low to his chest and press gentle kisses all the way down to his soft belly and the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband.

Joel moans brokenly when you shuck his jeans down his legs and squeeze his hard length before it can slap up against his stomach. There’s a tattoo on his inner thigh that you like to trace with your fingers, something he got with his brother when they were young. Your tongue darts out and licks up the precum pooling at his slit, making his cock twitch in your grasp. “Jesus,” he groans. “Baby, c’mon, let me—”

Your soft lips parting around the throbbing head of his cock destroy whatever end to the sentence he had planned. Squeezing his strong thighs to ground yourself, you swirl your tongue around the tip and take him deeper, your throat expanding to accommodate his thick, heavy weight in your mouth. He huffs, grumpy that he can't think straight for long enough to stop you and overcome with pleasure all the same. You squeeze his thigh again, your thumb rubbing circles over the little tattoo, and he meets your eyes. They're watery, blinking hard to expel the tears, his hand instinctively cradling the crown of your head to keep you on him, keep you choking around him.

When your nose meets the thatch of hair above his base, he’s the one who chokes, his head tipping back. “Jesus, fuck, goddamn—” His fingers curl in your hair and gently urge you off his cock; you pout, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. His dick jumps at the sight, lying hard on his stomach.

“Come up here,” he rasps. You do, crawling up his body until your hips are flush, his hardness slotted, thick and throbbing, between your folds. The hum that leaves your mouth is wanton, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hands move to your lower back, digging into the flesh just above your ass so you’re forced to roll your hips along his shaft.

Your mouth drops open at the jolt of pleasure to your cunt. “Oh…”

“That’s it, baby.”

He cannot come inside you, but he can come like this. And he will, probably faster than he likes; your pretty lips parted, your eyes lidded and boring into his even as you grind along his cock, unwavering. You look good like this. You look happy and soft and all his.

Joel’s hands clutch you a little harder, roll you a little faster, your hands supporting your weight on his firm chest. He’s so fucking close, your wet pussy soaking his length and his tip catching on your sensitive clit with each roll of your hips, but he needs you to come again. You come first.

“Joel,” you sigh, your thighs locking tight around his hips, nectar and frosting and citrus.

“I know,” he says, “I know. Keep goin’, baby. C’mon. Doin’ so good. Jesus, so good.”

The first orgasm was a meticulous build-up. This one crashes down with the ceremony and courtesy of an ambush: it seizes your whole body and leaves you helpless. You moan his name—maybe you whisper it; everything is loud in your ears—and double over, your cheek pressed into the hollow of his throat. He keeps you moving, seeking his own high, bucking up against your cunt.

“That’s it.” His praises gently puff out across the top of your head, tucking your head under his chin, admiring the curve of your back and the supple taste of your skin under his fingers. His balls draw up and his core goes tight with imminent release. “Fuck, baby. Fuck—”

There’s a hot, wet splash against your belly, then another, and another. When you peel yourself away to watch his cum spurt onto his stomach, your cunt tightens with the pulsating rhythm of his shaft under you and another brief, but devastating, rush of pleasure surges through your whole body. It almost fucking knocks you over. You lift yourself off his cock in time to see a burst of wetness soak him, dribbling out around your bodies onto the mattress. Joel groans, his brows lifting, another spurt of cum landing on his belly.

“Jesus Christ.”

You list to the side, unable to hold yourself up in any capacity. You land next to him, your arm belted across his chest, fondly nudging a pec with your nose. “Me, too,” you mumble. Your voice is hollow.

Joel turns his head to face you, and you swipe some cum off his belly with your index and middle fingers, looking him in the eyes as you lick it up and swallow. He grabs you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard. “No fuckin’ FEDRA asshole,” he grumbles into your mouth, “is gettin’ anywhere near you. And neither is Robert.”

You forgot that was what this was about. “Joel,” you whisper, lips migrating from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, his scratchy beard, “you can’t keep me safe forever.”

He reaches around to grab your ass and then hitches your thigh up onto his hip. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can. Stay here.”

“We aren’t related, or married.” You pin him with a stare. “They would never let us.”

Joel lifts his brows. You roll your eyes. “We aren’t married.”

He’ll pick a fight in the morning. But you already know you won’t be going to see Robert about the battery with your big guard dog standing just behind you. Robert can suck it the fuck up, for all Joel cares.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “It was a shitty cupcake, though.”

You laugh, kissing him on the nose. “No, it wasn’t. For all you know, you may never have one again.”

“For the fuckin’ best,” he grumbles, chasing your mouth again. You let him kiss you, and neither of you get much sleep.

He really didn't mind the cupcake.

#kiwisbell's fics #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

3K notes · View notes

norrisleclercf1 · 9 months

Text

Be The One

Pairing: Lando Norris x Innocent/Virgin!Reader

Rating: R

Requested: Yes/No

Request: lando with an innocent reader who hasn’t had sex yet and wants to lose her virginity

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Smut!!! This is just pure smut with no plot, Oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, Lando is just a giver in this, inexperienced reader, experienced Lando, etc.

Synopsis: It was stupid to ask him to be your first, the stupid books and edits are to blame

A/N: This was supposed to be a blurb, but I kept writing and writing and I've just been sitting on this in my drafts, now finally posting it, also I don't show the full sex scene just the beginning and then after

"I'm sorry, what?" Lando was spread out on your bed, having just come over to watch some movies and enjoy a quiet night during his summer break.

Instead, he got you the literal version of an angel asking him to take your virginity. "I want you to be the one to take it. Please?" Lando has to clamp down that instant reply of fuck yes. You try hard to control the way you're looking at him.

Grey sweatpants and signature black t-shirt with that necklace of his resting on the collar. Arm behind his head, showing off the muscles that he's honed and crafted from all the training for races.

Lando just blinks at you, running through all the different scenarios at a time. A million emotions hit him, as he tries to think of the right words to say.

"Lando?" Shame and embarrassment hit you like a truck, he probably thought you were crazy. Asking him out of the blue like that. All he simply asked was what movie you wanted to watch and you reply with asking him to have sex with you.

"Sorry, I'm just.....I'm just trying to figure out what to say." To you, those words meant no, hanging your head you step back from the foot of the bed. "I shouldn't have asked, this was stupid. I'm sorry." Lando sits up quick grabbing your wrist, stopping you.

"It's not stupid. Y/n, what the hell is making you want to lose your virginity all of a sudden?" The question has you flinching, you didn't want to tell him the truth. That some friends got you some spicy books, and all you could picture was Lando doing everything you read to you.

That, you had a secret folder in your phone of edits that fans did. Like you said, it was stupid to ask your friend to do this. "Nothing, can we just forget it?" Feeling that burn in your eyes, Lando stands in front of you. "No, no we can not forget it. If you want to lose your virginity, I need a valid reason." His jaw was tight, he was getting annoyed.

"Fine! My friends gave me spicy books and they had...sex scenes in them and all I could think about was your stupid face and how much I want you to be the first one dammit!" Cheeks flushed, Lando's chest heaves as he tries to control that urge in him. "What kind of books?"

His annoyance quickly gone, replaced with his boyish teasing charm. "None of your business, this was so stupid. Lando, please." You whimper the last part. His entire demeanor changes, quickly thinking of gross things to stop the rush of blood heading south instead of north.

"Do you really want to lose it?" Voice dropping, you look up seeing his pupils blown wide. "What?" Taken aback by the 180 this man can give you in the span of a minute. "Your virginity? If you want to lose it, now. Here. I'll do it, but just one condition." Lando stepping back, his knees hit the bed.

He sits down, hands wrap around your exposed thigs as he yanks you to stand between them. Stumbling, you almost fall into him but balance yourself on his shoulders. "What's your condition?" Voice wispy trying to get air into your lungs. His hands moving slowly up your nightie.

"If you do this, ever get curious about something, want to learn something new. You come to me, only me." Jumping his hands squeeze your ass, his teeth showing as he smiles. Leaning in, he places wet kisses against the thin material. "Yes." Lando looks up, bottom lip pulled down as he places another kiss to your stomach.

"Come here." A gasp is pulled from your throat as you land on his lap, his face buried in your chest. You lean back, freezing when you feel something resting between your legs. "Lando." Unsure, he stops. He really wants to laugh at your confused face, but schools his features.

"It's just my cock, angel." Heat flares throughout your body hearing such a vulgar word come from Lando. "Oh." Feeling a little lost, Lando smiles. Scooching back, he sits up so you two are face to face.

"Hey, we don't have to do anything you aren't ready for." Thumb rubbinng softly into your thigh, you nod your head. "No, I'm ready. Just be careful with me?" If it was possible Lando would've comed right then and there and died happily. "Always." His teeth nip your bottom lip sucking it in, losing himself in you.

Whining you pull away, arching up into his hip the sudden need for pressure too great. "Lando, please it hurts." Lando groans pressing up against you as he rolls you over, so he's on top. "I know, princess. I'll take care of you. Such a good girl." Kissing his way down your body.

He stops at your shorts looking up at you. "Hey, what I'm about to do is get you prepped. I'm...on the thick side and considering your a virgin it'll hurt and be very uncomfortable. But, prepping you will help, are you okay with that?" You nod but Lando doesn't budge. "Y/n, your words. I want to hear it out loud no nodding." You whine just wanting him to touch you.

"Yes. Yes Lando I want you to touch me and fuck me." Lando's eyes darken as he pulls your shorts and underwear off in one swoop. You squirm at the coolness hitting your bare pussy. "Cold?" Lando giggles, running his fingers over your thighs. Looking down he smiles seeing your trimmed but still have hair.

"Lando, please." He shushes you, taking his pointer and middle finger running them over you watching the way your hips jolt up and your face scrunching at the unfamiliar feeling. Slowly he pulls your lips apart, seeing how your wet but he wants you wetter.

"Are you okay with using my mouth and fingers? You can say no the either if you want, princess." Thinking it over you remember the videos and how woman seemed to really enjoy a man's mouth on them. "I'm fine with it." You gasp feeling Lando's mouth placing a delicate kiss.

He takes his time, wanting to learn what you like a don't like. He's careful to read to your face not wanting to push to far he hesitates to use his tongue. But hearing your moan when he moves it up and down, he's found something. "Lan...lan." You whimper as he grows more confident.

His lips wrap around your clit which has your legs clamp shut on his head. He laughs which has you giggling as he pries them off his neck. "You okay?" Licking his lips you nod. "Sorry, it sent this odd feeling up my body and I just reacted." Embarrassed at your reaction to it.

Yet you can't help the relaxed feeling seeing Lando's soft smile. His hands rubbing over your body helping you feel better. "It's fine, Y/n. You're experiencing this for the first time. I'm taking my time for a reason." You groan hearing that, hating he's having to take his time.

"I hate this! I don't want you to take your time, if I wasn't a stupid virgin, you could've just fucked me fast and hard." Lando narrows his eyes, pinching your side you squeal slapping his hand away. "This is your first time, Y/n. No one's first time is magical. Am I experienced? Yes, but do you know how many times it took me to feel comfortable? A while, it's not going to be fireworks and all that. But, you asked me to take your virginity and I'm going to be gentle and make sure you remember with fond memories." You can't help but snort on a laugh at his speech.

"Oh shut up, I'll leave right now and leave you a virgin." Lando teases, but you just mesh you lips together both of you falling into one another. His hands palm your tits, pulling out sweet moans as he goes back between your legs. "Lando, wrap...yes." Fingers tugging his hair when his lips wrap around your clit.

He pulls off, telling you he's about to use his fingers. Taking several deep breaths you relax as he slowly slides one finger into you. "How does that feel?" Using his free hand to rub circles into your hip. "Weird, it hurts, but not in a bad way just in a, never felt this before." Lando nods curling the finger and moving it in and out. "Oh, that's....not bad." Lando nods going back down.

He adds a second finger which has you panicking but he talks you down explaining why he's using another finger and it helps you. Lando is gentle as he gets you ready, he smiles seeing that you're ready. "Okay, you're stretched enough. Are you ready?"

"I think so, is it going to hurt?" Lando sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, but I'm going to be slow and make sure I don't hurt you. If you say stop, no, or anything like that. I'm stopping. You just need to let me know." You watch as Lando takes off his underwear, holding a condom you can't help but stare.

It's probably odd, but he has a pretty cock. He wasn't lying when he said he was on the thicker side. "You're pretty." Lando snaps his eyes up at you, covering your mouth you look away. He can't help the blush on his cheeks, no one has ever called him pretty. He liked it.

"I'm ready." Wanting to move on from you calling him pretty. "Okay." He shuffles forward, placing your legs around his waist. "Try to relax, it'll help." Closing your eyes, you think of something relaxing. "Oh." Eyes opening Lando stops, having only entered you past his tip. "Are you okay?" You blink trying to figure out what you're feeling.

Yes, it stinges, but it doesn't hurt as much. "Yeah, I was expecting it to hurt, but it just stinges." Lando smiles, leaning over as he kisses you on the nose sliding the rest in. He places his head in the crook of your neck while the two of you adjust. "Lando?" He hums as you smile, fingers playing with the baby hairs on his neck. "Thank you, for doing this. Also, you can move." His back shakes, laughing at your words.

Lando moves his hips carefully as you wrap your arms around his neck, breathing as you get used to the feeling. Lando and you whimper and moan as you start to relax more enjoying this. You giggle when you kisses you on your neck which has him laughing. He was right, your first time was weird but also comfortable.

Laying in bed, feeling oddly tired he smiles drawing patterns on your stomach. "You're right, not the best but maybe we should practice more." Lando snorts, eyes growing heavy. "Easy, it's the orgasm thoughts. Let's wait till tomorrow." Nodding you roll to your side curling into Lando.

"I'm glad you asked me too."

2K notes · View notes

fatesundress · 11 months

Text

⭑ for the love that used to be here. tom riddle x reader

summary. you and tom are the only muggle-borns in slytherin, until one day he isn’t.

tags. angst, afab reader who is referred to as a witch a few times and rooms with girls but i don't think i ever use she/her pronouns or say the word girl/woman, biggest warning is that this is SO long (idk what compelled me to write a year 1 – post-hogwarts fic but here we are twenty thousand damn words later), blood purity and bigotry, dumbledore is greatly offended by the bonding of two orphans until he can capitalise on it, frequent wwii mentions (specifically the blitz), book clerk tom, MURDERER TOM… ministry reader, kissing, smut once they’re 21/22 May all the minors in the room exit at once, more angst, sad ending kinda, me spreading a very personal and very nefarious tom riddle agenda that is canon to ME but probably only like two other people

note. i need a shower and an exorcism after writing this shit. i'm exhausted. i don't even remember half of it. but i'm also SO stoked, this is my little (very large, frankly) 100 followers celebration! i've only been on here for about a month and the love has been so crazy so thank you mwah mwah mwah ♡

word count. 21.8k (i know... i KNOW)

You learn quickly that your shade of green is not the same as theirs. The rest of them are emeralds, even at that age — they glitter with their parent’s polish. You are flotsam, sea-sick, envy green; the putrid boiling stuff that brews in your cauldron when you look away for a second too long, and, really, it’s more of a stain than a colour at all. There is a fraction of a second where you find something powerful in that. You are not an easy thing to remove. And then it’s gone, because they want to so badly.

You learn, with a bit less tact, that you doesn’t actually mean just you; that it’s you and him whether you like it or not.

He evidently does not.

“It has to be completely fine,” Tom says to you in Potions, his voice small then but just as practised.

You narrow your eyes. “‘Scuse me?”

“I said the powder has to be completely fine.”

“I heard you completely fine. I know how to read.”

He stares blankly at you before returning to his own station, and that’s that.

It isn’t unheard of for muggle-borns to be sorted into Slytherin, so you’ve been told, but one glance around your common room and you can see it’s pretty damn rare.

There’s Tom Riddle, there’s you, and there’s a seventh-year girl whose knuckles are always white like she’s spent so long with her hands balled into fists that they don’t know how to do anything else. Tom Riddle is a prat, the girl is too old and unapproachable even if she wasn’t, and you are very good at being alone.

That decides it. Flotsam still floats.

Everything is — fine. It’s fine for months; you have no one and need no one and sometimes you catch a jinx in the back of Charms that zips your mouth shut or bends a foot the wrong way (a cruel reminder of how much more these people know than you) and your broom occasionally pivots so sharply the Flying professor has to stop you from careening into a wall and breaking enough bones for a week’s worth of Skele-Gro, but it’s fine.

…It’s just that he’s insufferable.

The boy is eleven years old and he speaks like he’s stealing glances at an invisible lexicon between every word, more refined than any of the orphans you grew up with which makes you wonder which sort he’s surrounded by, and you take it upon yourself to theorise in passing if you could ever scare him badly enough his real voice would slip and he might just appear human for once.

Only it becomes clear when you’re stirring awake in the Hospital Wing after a mysterious bout of dragon pox (conveniently, all the pureblood children developed an immunity after catching it young) has rendered you bed-ridden and pockmarked, that you don’t think anything can scare Tom Riddle. He’s suffering just as well in the bed beside yours to keep the contagion to the two of you, and he’s all cold, eddied rage under sallow skin and beetling bones.

“They’re going to kill you,” he says after three days of silence, when the room is dusted in moonlight so thin it’s like squinting through cinema noise or mohair fluff to try to see him.

You blink at the vague shape of him. “What?”

“If you don’t hurt them back, eventually, they’ll just kill you.”

In hindsight, it’s an assumption so hastily bleak only a scared child could make it.

I want to hurt them, you try to say, but for what follows you cannot: I want to hurt them but I’m not good enough to do it.

You roll over and pretend to sleep, and in the morning, you hurt them anyway.

It’s Avery who’s unlucky enough to be the first to test you when you’re three assignments behind in Transfiguration, still a bit groggy from your last dose of Gorsemoor Elixir, and actually, physically green. He tugs your hair and stings your cheek with the promise of “bringing a bit of colour back to your face” and it’s sort of funny how banal it is compared to the other transgressions you’ve been dealt — that this is the thing that makes you bare your teeth, grip your wand in a hand that still can’t hold half of it, and send Avery flying across the room with a Knockback Jinx.

Tom sits with you in the Great Hall for dinner that night, and he never really stops.

You practise spells by the Black Lake between classes and he’s anything but kind about the ordeal, but you teach each other. You end your days with singe prints and sore wrists and you often take more damage than he does, but sometimes, as spring settles in with warm tones (apple and jade and moss — all the greens you’d never imagined), you leave with less bruises than he does. It hardly feels like friendship. It feels much more like purpose.

When summer comes you don’t write to him, and you don’t expect he will either. You don’t suppose you’ve actually written a letter in your life. Instead you try new wand movements under your quilt every night and wait for August’s departure on a big red train.

You sit together when the day does come. He asks you if you’ve been practising. You frown and tell him you’re not allowed to use magic outside of school.

Second year is nothing but monotonous, antiquated theoretics. Most everyone complains. You don’t see why they should — they’re already aeons ahead of you — but that means you finally have a chance to catch up in your less-than-school-sanctioned meetings with Tom while the rest remain practically stationary.

Deputy Headmaster and Transfiguration professor Albus Dumbledore is imperceptibly less soft with you than he was last year when you make the apparently poor decision to sit beside Tom on the first day, and you file the subtle shift in demeanour into some mental cabinet to review later.

You find workarounds with the librarian, Madam Palles, inclined to sympathy for the poor, orphaned muggle-borns to grant relatively unfettered daytime access to the Restricted Section so long as you keep it tidy and none of the books leave the library. That’s where things get a bit more interesting.

For a month you remain innocuous as can be. You browse through rare historical tombs and foreign biographies that would charge more galleons than you can conceptualise, and you never leave so much as a tea stain on the parchment. You smile at the Madam when you return the key each night, and walk back to the dungeons with your hands behind your back. It is, of course, totally unrelated that a month is what it takes for Tom to master the third-year curriculum’s Doubling Charm. An entirely separate affair when you meet him in the most secluded alcove of the library, slip him the key, and stifle your grin as he duplicates it perfectly.

You discover Christmas break is your favourite time of the year. Nearly all the purebloods go home. The Slytherin dormitories are effectively halved.

It’s two weeks of earnest, uninterrupted work and sleep without fear of waking up with jelly legs or whiskers.

Madam Palles, most nights, makes a slight, drowsy effort of searching the library for leftover students before she casts the lights out and closes the door. Then, it belongs to you and Tom.

You’re splayed rather ridiculously over one of the big reading chairs on Christmas Eve, Lore of Godelot in hand, enthralled by a chapter detailing his controlled use of Fiendfyre through the power of the Elder Wand.

Tom is cross-legged and sat straight, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What’ve you got?” you ask, leaning over to answer your own question.

Tom as good as rolls his eyes, holding up the book to give you an easier look.

“Magick Moste Evile?” You scrunch your nose. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

“It’s the stuff they’ll never teach us.”

“I wonder why.”

He steals a glance at your own book and smiles in that smug way that makes you want to slap him.

“What, Tom?”

He shrugs. “You might want to know you’re reading stories about the author.”

You look down. Lore of — Godelot wrote Magick Moste Evile?

It shouldn’t really be surprising. Three chapters ago your book was recounting his months in Yugoslavia grave-robbing magical burial sites.

“Whatever,” you mumble, “It’s just a biography. Least I’m not reading the words out of his mouth.”

“Well, they’d be out of his quill.”

“Oh my God, Tom, shut up.”

All good things must come to an end. Term resumes and your hackles are back up.

Abraxas Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, Walburga Black and the best of the worst of your house have returned, sleek-haired and insatiable and deranged, truly, in such a manner that you don’t think you can be blamed for the instinct you feel every time you pass them to lunge like a wild predator or run like wild prey. All Tom does, though (and so you follow, because he’s standing with you and who has ever done that?) is meet their gazes with equal assuredness. He never seems bothered. He never seems animal. You are still all hammering heart and heavy lungs, and you are learning not to see the world through the eyes of someone who’s only ever had their fists to fight. You have magic, you remember. You’re good at it. You could hurt them, if you really wanted.

Not much is different that summer than the last. The war is hard. The food is hard to chew. You chip a tooth. You’re too afraid to fix it with the Trace on you, but you still smile because you will, and everyone seems put off by that. What is there to smile about?

You suppose, for them, it’s a question with few answers.

For you — you’re back on a big red train musing about the functions of muggle warfare with Tom Riddle, chucking a useless card from a chocolate frog out the window and moaning about how you wasted the sickle you found under your seat.

He’s gotten very good at ignoring your theatrics and going right back to whatever it was he was talking about. And you note, unrelatedly, he almost looks like he’s learned how to open the windows at Wool’s. (You dare not suggest he’s doing something so ludicrous as sitting in the sun too, but this is a start.)

Dippet, or the Minister, or whoever it is that’s in charge of the practicality of the curriculum, has become fractionally less stupid in the last three months.

You don’t have to rely on nights in the Restricted Section or weekends at the Black Lake to actually learn something anymore. Of course, without the assistance of those illicit extracurriculars, you wouldn’t be able to match up to your peers the way you are this year, but it’s nice to duel with dummies instead of motioning your wand vaguely over a desk, and you and Tom still climb the notice boards in rapid succession.

They hate you for it. One of your roommates makes a pointed effort each night to glare at you from her bed like those jelly legs are back on the table, Orion Black (two years younger but just as nasty as his cousin) nearly trips you on your way to Divination, Abraxas Malfoy develops what you think borders on obsession with Tom, and for once it feels almost offhand to not care about any of it.

You’re beginning to think even at its best, Hogwarts is remarkably insufficient. This leads you to books mercifully unrestricted so you can read about a few of the other magical schools for comparison. Beauxbatons is renowned for providing most of the worlds alchemical developments, Uagadou’s early propensity for wandless magic makes it unfathomably more practical than Hogwarts, Durmstrang (though you scoff at their violent anti-muggle sentiment) teaches the Dark Arts as something beneficial rather than unforgivable, and — what do you learn here? Even with the hair’s-breadth of magical leniency you’ve been allowed this year, it’s no surprise so few recognizable names in wizarding history are Hogwarts alumni.

“Let me have a look at that,” you say to Tom one evening, when he’s peering once more over the pages of Magick Moste Evile. He’s a purveyor of knowledge in all forms, but he always seems to come back to Godelot in the end.

He raises a brow, handing it to you like your intrigue doubles his. “No more reservations?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m only curious.”

“Curiosity—”

“Killed the damn cat, I know.” You glare at him through the pages. “I think that’s you, in this case though, since you’re the one in love with the bloody thing.”

He shakes his head as he reclines in the low light of the Restricted Section, muttering something that sounds like “ridiculous,” or “querulous,” or something else unimaginably fucking annoying.

You might be wrong. Retract your last quip and expunge it. If Tom’s in love with any book, it’s the behemoth dictionary he’s been spitting stupid adjectives out of since he was eleven.

But Godelot’s musings on the Dark Arts are fascinating enough that you can understand the appeal. He’s no wordsmith, and you appreciate that in a way you’re sure Tom deems regrettable, but his points are straightforward but thoughtful in such a way you can read in them how he was guided by the Elder Wand through everything he did. There’s a stream-of-consciousness to them. Something doctrinal you’re surprised to enjoy for all the obligatory English creed they washed your mouth with at the orphanage.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Tom asks, combing with little interest through the tomb you’d put down in favour of his.

“I’m not looking for anything. I’m just…” You sigh. It’s almost painful to say. “I think you were right, and — oh, shut up, don’t look at me like that — I don’t think we’re learning anything here. Not really; not as much as they do at other schools.”

“Of course,” he says blankly. “Hence this.”

This — restricted books and furtive duels — should not be necessary.

“You know that’s not gonna be enough. For the rest of them, maybe, but not us.”

He tenses how he always does at the reminder of his difference. And you get it. Sometimes in moments like these you forget the reason you’re here in the first place. It isn’t just the rebellious divertissement of two academically eager students, it’s… survival. What future do you have as a penniless orphan in wartorn London? What future do you have as a muggle-born Slytherin who’s apt with a wand when there are a thousand more your age, just as skilled and twice as pure?

It isn’t enough to be as good as them. You have to best them, and you have to do it forever.

The night stumbles into an exhaustive silence because you both know it’s true and it’s a bit too heavy right now. The answer isn’t in this room. Just you. Just him. So you sit in the dark and you stare through that muffled nighttime noise playing tricks on your eyes. The worst of the world can wait until morning.

The worst of the world has impeccable timing.

A fault of both sides of the coin; the muggle world is a travesty and the wizarding world is just a bit fucking late, really.

So there’s the newspaper. It’s October first and the date reads September tenth. School owls are a joke and you can’t afford anything better.

And it’s a dirty, ashen grey. It smudges your green if you ever had it at all. You were born to this and you will return to it always.

BOMB’S HAVOC IN CROWDED PUBLIC SHELTER

MOTHERS AND CHILDREN AMONG THE CASUALTIES

DAMAGE CONSIDERABLE, BUT SPIRITS UNBROKEN

All you can hope to do is pass the paper to Tom and wonder without words what you’ll go home to.

The answer is very little when the summer clouds your vision with dust and you stand dumbly with your suitcase in front of nothing at all. You’d tried your best until your departure to keep up with muggle news, but it had remained, routinely, a month behind with the owls. By the time June arrived you were still holding your breath through May. Tom had attempted to reason with Dippet for summer lodgings at the school but you were both denied in light of the exquisite mercy — the bombs have stopped! The Blitz has ended! Go back to the aftermath and make do with the craters.

It’s a bit ironic that Tom’s orphanage survived and yours didn’t. At least you can finally see what all the fuss is about.

In truth, it’s more strange than anything. You feel unreasonably like you’re impeding on a part of him that has never belonged to you (if any of him does); that place where you intersect but never draw attention to. You remind yourself you had no choice in the matter. The system puts you where it wants to, and these days the options are slim. But it’s — the walls are amber-black tile and plaster, lined with sanitary-smelling hospital beds and a cupboard per room. Per room, you think; you’ve got one of those now, and with only one girl to share it with.

You figure the reason for the extra space is probably not one you want to know.

Anyway, you don’t actually see Tom for two days. The caretakers bring you a tray of dinner that’s vaguely warm and a bit too salty and you sleep off the debris you think you breathed in that morning, half-sated and sun-tired.

But then you do see him, and he’s in these funny uniform shorts and a thick blazer and your greeting is an offhand joke about the scandal of his knees that he doesn’t seem to appreciate. He eyes your muggle clothes while you wait for your own set and you know you really don’t have any room to judge.

He doesn’t, or at least doesn’t say he minds your relocation.

You spend half the summer waking up in the middle of the night to acquaint yourselves with the London tube stations, and the other half in whatever crevices of the orphanage you aren’t harangued by Mrs Cole every five seconds, which are far and few between. She seems to have decided fourteen is old enough an age to worry about your intentions unchaperoned, like it’s the bloody 1800’s, and admonishes you and Tom relentlessly despite only ever finding you quietly buried in useless books.

You begin to miss Madam Palles and her invaluable pity. Everyone’s an orphan here. No one’s sorry.

“What’s his deal?” you ask one stuffy afternoon, reclining in your creaking seat to prop your legs on the desk.

Tom knocks them off (he’s so well-mannered that you sometimes push these little gestures of impropriety just to bother him) and glances at the target of your question. Some broad, blond boy who skitters down the corridor a shade paler than he arrived. You’ve yet to properly introduce yourself to anyone you don’t have to, so names are muddy when you try to apply them to faces.

He shrugs, but there’s a flash of something in his expression you’re fascinated to realise is unfamiliar. “He’s an imbecile.”

“...Riiiiight, but that isn’t a proper answer.”

You smile. Legs return to table. Timeworn Oxfords muddy the surface. Tom scowls.

“There was an altercation last year,” he says tersely, “he’s rather fixated on the matter.”

“An altercation.”

“Very good, that is what I said.”

You narrow your eyes and he sweeps your legs off the desk again, gaze catching the unmistakable ribbon of an old bullied scar on your shin.

“And I suppose you’re above such incidents,” he muses.

You cross your arms and huff. He always wins games like these.

You’re grateful when you return to Hogwarts in one piece after your final night of summer is spent underground, and the certainty of knowing where you’ll rest your head for the next ten months cannot be understated.

But the worst thing has happened, and you blame it on the flicker of a moment where you missed Madam Palles like it was some jubilant, accidental curse to ever miss anyone. A foreign thing you remind yourself never to do again.

She’s only gone and jinxed the locks to the Restricted Section so they cry like newborn Mandrakes when Tom’s replica key clicks in place.

For a second you both stand there looking stupidly at each other. Getting caught was a fear two years ago; you’d almost forgotten it was still possible.

Tom is quicker to collect himself. He grabs you by the arm and casts a Disillusionment Charm, and you don’t burst running out of the library like two blurry suncatchers reflecting the candlelight as your instinct heeds; you cling to the shelves and you slither silently to the door. (You’ll make a joke about it when you can breathe.)

Madam Palles the Traitor comes heaving into the library in her nightgown, a blinding blue light baubled at the end of her wand, and it’s really just theatrical at this point to use Lumos bloody Maxima when the basic spell would do the job just fine.

“Has she suspected us the whole time?” you say on gasp once you’ve made it to the dungeons.

“Perhaps someone else has,” Tom suggests.

“What? Malfoy?”

You think it’s a good first guess. It could have been any of the Slytherins, upon consideration, but Malfoy seemed most fixated on Tom last year and it wouldn’t surprise you to learn he’d been observant enough to follow you to the library and notice you don’t leave with the other students.

But Tom quashes the idea. “I’m doubtful. Malfoy is attentive, but Madam Palles is hardly partial to him.” (He had, in second year, set one of her books on fire while studying offensive spells.) “I suspect it was someone with more influence.”

Only no one has more influence than Abraxas Malfoy. The rest of the Slytherins follow him like lost pups. But then Tom might mean —

“A professor?”

“It may be.” He says it like he’s already decided his suspect.

He is, as always, and ever-infuriatingly, correct.

It’s that file you tucked away for later, reoccurring when you return to Transfiguration in the morning like a second epiphany: Dumbledore.

He assigns the term’s seating arrangements, which he’s never done before, and there’s something in his tone when he pairs you with Rosier that feels intentionally like not pairing you with Tom. You don’t think it’s paranoia clouding your better judgement, and by the way Tom’s gaze hardens as he takes his seat beside Malfoy, neither does he.

Dumbledore is suspicious for a number of reasons. He disappears for weeks at a time. The Prophet writes articles on his sightings in Austria and France like he’s an endling beast. He’s being sighted in Austria and France — two notable countries in Grindelwald’s ongoing war. Perhaps ancillary, you’ve decided the charmed glass repositories he uses to hold his old artefacts are the same ones encasing the least permissible books in the Restricted Section. And if that isn’t paranoia (which, you’re willing to admit, it may be) then you assume he has them so proudly on display because he wants you to know.

You consider it a warning.

Tom does not.

“Just give it up,” you hiss over a game of wizard’s chess, “I bet we’ve read every book in there twice already anyway.”

His jaw ticks as the sole indicator of his annoyance, and he takes your rook. You scowl.

“Tom, that man thinks you’re devil-spawn. You know he’s just waiting for an opportunity to catch you doing something wrong.”

“So?”

It sounds so petulant you think he’s been possessed by his eleven-year-old self. Then you think he was a lot wiser at eleven.

“So?” You make an aggressive move with your knight. “So don’t give him one!”

He stares at the board and his breath is just a trace sharper and you hate that you know him like this and no one else. You wonder if he knows you like that too, but resolve with ease that he does not. You’re hard frowns and lewd jokes and trousers torn at the knee to bare scars with stories you wish you could forget. There’s no mystery there. Tom is nothing but — gordian knots and fixed expressions and little patterns to learn like the rules of this stupid game between you. You must know Tom Riddle by every atom or not at all. And that isn’t a choice, really. You’ve never known anyone else.

“Are you stupid, Tom?”

You glance at the board. He’s got Check. A terrible, true answer.

“No,” you finish. “Then don’t act like it.”

Your king glances at you and you nod. He falls. The game is resigned.

Tom acts stupid.

Dumbledore knows.

It all happens very fast.

You strike Tom harder in the arm with Confringo than is likely necessary that night, and he returns the favour with a Knockback Jinx that thrusts you into the shallows of the Black Lake.

You gasp. The cold water feels like it’s swallowing you whole when it strikes, an envelope sealed around you and licked shut for good measure. Everything holds to you, and it’s fucking November. Your senses are so overwhelmed that you forget to murder Tom the instant you sink in. You forget to do much of anything.

You wade trembling out of the lake when sense returns and Tom huffs, peeling off his robe to treat the burn on his arm.

“You—idi—iot,” you mutter, trying to find the incantation for a warming charm but the words get stuck between your chattering teeth. “You stole a re… stricted book.”

Tom glares daggers at you between his poor healing job and you scowl, mincing through the grass and grabbing his arm. “Fucking imbec-cile…”

You’ve done enough damage that if he were anyone else you’d be proud of yourself, and somehow, simultaneously, if he were anyone else you’d be able to manage a pinch of guilt. But he’s Tom, and you know him by every atom, so you cannot be proud, and he’s Tom — he retaliated by tossing you in freezing water and now your clothes are clinging sodden and heavy to every inch of you, so you certainly can’t be guilty either.

“I borrowed it,” he says tightly. As if that means anything at all. And then he takes his robe and drapes it spiritlessly over your shoulders. “You could attempt communication before curses.”

“I could attempt communication,” you scoff, uttering a charm to partially close the gash on Tom’s arm, “Fucking h-hypocrite. I did communicate. You lied.”

“I —”

“Omitted information? Withheld the truth? Watch your mouth or I’ll steal your fucking dictionary, Riddle.”

You swear a great deal when you’re cold and mad, apparently.

“I won’t be caught.” His calm is infuriating. “It would hardly earn expulsion regardless.”

“It doesn’t matter! He knows it’s you! He was staring at you all class!”

“So nothing novel then.”

“D’you want me to blast you again?”

His lips form a flat line. No. That’s what you thought.

You sigh, clutching his robes in your fists to quell your trembling. “What’d you take, anyway? We never touch the encased stuff.”

That is, you assume, why Dumbledore was vexed enough about the whole thing to mention it in class today. A highly valuable book has gone missing, from a repository you dare conclude belongs to him, and he has to pretend all the while not to know it’s Tom who took it. You are out of the question. Theirs is some delicate vendetta you can’t begin to unfurl.

“Nothing anyone should miss,” Tom says, a complete non-answer as he stops to murmur a warming charm you could probably manage yourself by now.

“Tom.”

“It was an encyclopaedia. It’s entirely in Runes. I suspect it will take months for me to decipher.”

“God’s sake,” you groan. He really is exhausting. “I think Dumbledore’l take his chances and loot your dorm before that happens.”

Tom wipes a stray droplet of water from your cheek. His fingers are soft. “We should return. You look half-drowned.”

“I am half-drowned, dickhead.”

And you accost him in hushed tones the whole walk back. Runes, Tom, really? Threw me in the damn lake over a Runic Encyclopaedia? He accosts you just the same; You burned me first.

It does, in fact, take Tom months to decipher the Runes, and he’s quite secretive about it. He won’t let you see the book, won’t tell you what it’s about, won’t indulge your queries on how far he’s gotten or if it’s worth the way Dumbledore bores his eyes into the pair of you in the Great Hall with nothing but the glass of his spectacles to soften his censure. You consider — well — you consider taking your chances and looting his dormitory.

The day everything changes starts the same as any.

You muse over breakfast about muggle news and how the way Tom holds his wand when he casts defensive spells is too sharp when it should be circular. He argues. You soften the criticism by telling him his offensive magic is stellar but you’ll always beat him in defence if he doesn’t swallow his damn pride and listen to you for once. (So, really, you soften it very little.) He doesn’t take Divination so you don’t see him until Herbology that afternoon and he’s silent enough during the hour you share with your wormwood plant that you know he’s done it sometime between breakfast and now.

Tom has cracked the book.

It’s late spring and the night takes longer to settle than it did in the winter. Errant sunbeams still sparkle on the water when you meet him by the lake, and it’s warm enough to forgo a coat.

“Are you going to tell me what it’s about now?” you ask without preamble, arms crossed over your chest as he approaches.

He hands you the book like it’s worth something to you without his explanation, but you’re intelligent enough to gather something from the illustrations of two twined snakes embroidering the cover.

“I should have suspected it sooner,” Tom says before you can comment. “By the way Dumbledore acted when I told him… I should have known he would have wanted to keep it from me.”

“Tom, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s an Encyclopaedia on Parseltongue and its known speakers.”

You flip through the pages and none of it means anything. “Parseltongue?”

“The language of serpents,” Tom supplies, and the two of you walk along the edge of the forest. “It’s almost exclusively hereditary.”

“Okay, so, what — you’re trying to learn it anyway?”

“I have no need.”

You frown. “You… you already know it.”

“I always have,” he says, and there’s something almost unrestrained in his voice. He’s proud in a new light, and it takes you a moment to understand and you’re not sure why exactly it makes your heart sink, but —

“You’re not muggle-born.”

“No, I’m not. And Dumbledore knows.”

“So, he —” You try not to sound crushed because why should you be? Why should it matter that he isn’t some exact reflection of you? He’s at your side, he’s still there, he’ll always be there — “How does he know?”

“When he came to Wool’s to inform me I'd been accepted at Hogwarts. I hadn’t known anything, certainly not that speaking to snakes is emphatically rare, so I asked him. He said it was ‘not a peculiar gift.’ Perhaps to keep my interest at a minimum.”

“Why would he lie?”

“Because it isn’t just that I’m of magical blood. I’m a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.”

You can’t be faulted for laughing. It’s not often Tom makes jokes, let alone funny ones.

“That’s good, Tom. Morgana used to have tea with my great-great-hundredth-great-grandmother, so that works out nice.”

He sighs, taking your hand and leading you further into the woods.

“Are you trying to murder me?”

“I might.”

“You’d be the first suspect.”

“No, I wouldn’t. You’ve far too many enemies.”

Not by choice, you start to scold, and then he stops, not so far into the Forbidden Forest that you’re afraid, but far enough you understand this is not something he’d chance showing you in the open.

He closes his eyes and whispers, and it’s — decidedly not English. And you know the sound of a few other languages, at least; this doesn’t sound like words at all. His consonants are pointed, his S’s stretched, the syllables repetitive but separated by a difference in cadence someone less perceptive might not notice.

It shouldn’t be surprising; it’s exactly what he told you, but it startles you how much it reminds you of a snake.

“Tom?” you murmur, unsure at the prospect of speaking some ancient, unknown language into the air of the Forbidden Forest, and, underneath that, still reeling with the knowledge that this is real at all. You’ve pinched yourself a few times to make sure.

There’s a low susurration in the grass, wet with dew that catches the moonlight, and you gasp, clinging to Tom’s arm when you see the blades part in helices for the space of an adder.

“It’s all right,” Tom says softly, almost elsewhere, his eyes zeroed in on the snake. “It won’t hurt you.”

You’re still by the balance of his arm and some petrifying awe as he extends a hand to the grass and the adder coils around it, weaving upward to his shoulder.

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Tom.”

The adder points its beady gaze at you, and Tom whispers something else in that strange language before it retreats in agreement or compliance or whatever could come close to expression on the face of a fucking snake, and maybe you’re dreaming this despite your pinching. Maybe you’ve lost your mind.

“Hope you didn’t just tell it to bite me,” you try, and it comes out half-choked.

He smiles. It’s partly for you and partly for this venomous little thing on his shoulder, and that’s a bit startling. Tom Riddle smiles for adders and you and not much else.

“Should I?”

And all you manage, for whatever reason, is, “Don’t be like them now that you’re not like me.”

It’s out before you can stop it, welling from a small, scared place that embarrasses you to return to. A hospital bed when you were eleven. The walls of a bedroom ravaged by bombs.

Tom’s smile fades. “We’re nothing like them.”

The thing is, neither of you know that’s the day that changes everything.

You celebrate your fifteenth birthday in the Deathday ballroom with Tom, a stolen dinner pastry, a green candle, and a few sad ghosts. You try to learn how to dance. Tom thinks it’s silly. You tell him that’s only because he’s upset he keeps stepping on your toes.

Summer blisters when it comes.

Some of the children take jobs as mail-sorters and steelworkers and you clasp for whatever you’re (one) allowed and (two) capable of, which isn’t much. You’re both old enough at the end of the day to explore London on your own, opting to spend as much time away from the orphanage as Mrs Cole allots, but you only have knuts and pennies and you warn Tom it would be unwise to swindle muggles and risk a letter from the Ministry. So you work where you’re needed and you eat the rationed nonsense you always do and you miss Hogwarts terribly. It’s much the same: you’re together, you’re hungry, and you’re nothing like them.

And then it’s different: Tom makes Slytherin Prefect, is suddenly tall, and you wonder in fleeting moments if his face has always suited him this well.

A stupid remark. You fervently ignore it.

Fifth year begins and you have almost the same number of electives as you do core classes, Tom has duties in his new role that take much of his spare time, and despite popular belief, you and him are not a mitotic entity, so this splits you up more often than it had in previous years. Which is fine. You still have plenty of things to talk about during meals and between duels, and you reckon you’ll share DADA until you graduate.

But in his absence, your attentions are forced elsewhere, and you should be grateful they land on something potentially promising.

It’s like Transfiguration just clicks for you this year. You’ve never been the greatest at Transformation (importantly though, you’ve also remained far from the worst), but fifth year launches you into Vanishment and something about that feels like a perfect equation. There are no complicated half-numerals and objects stuck between inanimacy and being — just unmaking the made. Nothing or not. You’re fucking excellent at it. You glean the theoretics fast and then the practise comes like breathing. Even the purebloods struggle as you Vanish Dumbledore’s Conjured garden snakes in brilliant tendrils of light. You exult unabashedly when you brush past them on the way out of class — who was it that didn’t belong in Slytherin?

You say the same to Tom and he rolls his eyes, but the amusement is there.

“Think you can talk to my snakes for me?” you tease, nudging him on the path to Hogsmeade.

“If they’re yours, I doubt they have anything worth discussing.”

And Dumbledore is… a hue nearer to the man you remember from first year. He praises your improvement and smiles when you can’t hide your giddiness as if equally impressed.

He doesn’t shelve people the way Slughorn does (you’re dismayed to find Tom has been invited to join the Slug Club and you have not) but you think if he did you’d be rapidly climbing your way to the top. Maybe get put in one of those neat little repositories he keeps all his best treasures in.

Dumbledore does, however, offer additional assignments for those who are interested, and tasks you with a few if you’re up to the challenge.

You always are.

The Tom-Dumbledore-Encyclopaedia debacle is apparently either resolved, or your part in it forgotten.

Tom humours you when you’re both singed at the fingers from duelling, yours dipped in the lake while he buries his in the cold moss, about how Abraxas takes the seat beside him at every Slug Club dinner. He tells you he pretends to be very interested in the Malfoy’s business affairs and their stock in the Bulgarian Quidditch team’s win this coming spring. He tells you he finds it amusing to let Abraxas think he can make Tom his pet. Tom says he considers searching for Salazar Slytherin’s fabled Chamber of Secrets and showing Abraxas what a real pet looks like. You smack him in the arm.

He’s had an ego forever. He just has a few too many reasons for it now.

And maybe that’s why you push harder in Transfiguration, dedicate the majority of your studies to it, spend your Saturday nights scrutinising advanced techniques while Tom makes nice with Potions experts and politics with people who don’t even know what he is but like him anyway. It’s patronising, of course — borderline fetishistic; not a real like — but it scares you. Tom Riddle would not allow himself to be anyone’s pretty mudblood show pony if he didn’t have an ulterior motive.

Everything changes but the observable truth that he is still insufferable.

You’re lucky to see him twice a week if it isn’t in class, and the way it starts is so slow you don’t even fully understand what’s happening until Christmas break when Abraxas stays a few extra days and leaves by Dippet’s Floo instead of the train.

You don’t dare ask where Tom has vanished to in that time or why the hell Abraxas Malfoy would willingly subject himself to unnecessarily extended time at school with all his lackeys gone, and it isn’t because you don’t want to. It’s because he won’t tell you himself. It’s because you’re terrified the answer will feel like a broken promise, and you’ve come to realise (it’s been there for so long; such an obvious, tiny thing that you’ve never stopped to really dissect it) that it’s quite difficult to know someone at every atom and not love them a little bit.

You’re suddenly aware of the risk of it: you love him like an inextricable piece of yourself, and, well, you’ve seen war. You know what amputation looks like. You’ve seen the remains of structures designed to stand forever, and you’re strong like them — casts and gauze in all the weak spots because you remember the pain of breaking them — but those were blows dealt without the complication of loving the bombs behind them.

Tom is the green on your robes, the dragon pox tinge you sometimes think never truly faded when you look in the mirror too long, and all the shades you never imagined. Apple, jade, moss. The beginnings of emerald. (No, he couldn’t be that.)

You wonder what the world would look like if he stole those colours back, and it’s much worse than some brutal decimation; it would leave you with too much. You would just be you without him.

So you love him into June like you always do, and you pluck his Prefect badge off on the last day of school and tell him it makes you jealous like a joke when it’s half-true.

It’s raining when you walk to the train together, miserable for what should be summer but not at all remarkable in Scotland. Tom wipes it from your cheek. Your wrists are sore from vanishing bits and bobbles all night while you still can, never truly prepared for three months without magic, and you curl into your seat as soon as you’re in it. Tom wakes you up when you arrive back in London, startling you to find that you fell asleep at all.

It rains a lot that summer. There’s nothing much to see in the city and you can’t get anywhere else (you note: the Trace cares little about broomsticks but you can’t afford one of your own and flying might be the only thing Tom is bad at) so you’re stuck to the library again with a noseful of old paper and a certain prose that magical literature cannot replicate. You theorise a lifetime of reckoning with the mundane forces one to be more creative.

Perhaps it’s the cold that makes you sick. Perhaps it’s the state of your meals. Either way, your final weeks before sixth year are hell. Biblical, blazing hell.

The nurses aren’t sure what it is — another influenza epidemic you’re the first in the orphanage to catch — but they isolate you immediately and there’s not much care they can offer.

You hear Tom arguing with one of them outside your door but can’t make out the words. Everything is dizzy, sweaty, halfway to unconsciousness but without its relief. You’d take dragon pox over this.

Some days later (though you can’t be sure because it feels like bloody centuries), he’s at your bedside, and you think even if you were lucid enough to ask what horrible thing he’d done to change the nurses’ minds, you wouldn’t.

But you know he’s not beyond breaking wizarding law, because he’s muttering healing spells with a hand to your damp forehead, and you hazily find yourself reaching for him, trying to shake your head no.

“Not allowed,” you mumble. Your throat is sore and your nose is stuffy. You sound terrible and you probably look worse.

Tom is slightly blurry but you think he’s staring at you. You know if he is it’s with the utmost incredulity.

“Not allowed,” he repeats slowly. It’s very easy to picture him clenching his jaw. “I wonder, if the Trace is so exact that it can detect all forms of magic, it can’t also detect malady. You’re burning — and I’m to consider whether saving your life might be illegal?”

He’s angry. He’s angrier than you’ve seen in a long time; and you can actually see it now. His magic courses through you and your vision clears, bit by bit, until your depth perception steadies and you realise he’s closer than you thought. His jaw is, in fact, clenched.

You move to catch his wrist and manage it this time. “Tom.”

“Don’t argue,” he says thinly.

“You’ll get sick.”

His face is far too neutral for the way his fingers stroke your damp cheek. “Hm. Then it’s a good thing you’d break the law for me too.”

Of course he’s right — you love him. Which makes it a good thing he doesn’t get sick.

Some of the younger children do. The fever comes overnight for a girl who wasn’t in the orphanage last year, and it takes her by the next.

When you get back on the train to Hogwarts, the virus is circulating Britain and you’re livid.

What Tom said is true; you consider the Trace’s precision and the details of the laws on underage magic — how one of the technicalities is that a young witch or wizard may be absolved of the consequences if the circumstances are life-threatening. You think about how it supposedly doesn’t care about broom-riding or Portkeys or Floo travel, and if the Trace is that complex, surely it understands sickness.

You only wonder if the Ministry would understand it. There haven’t been any epidemics in the wizarding world since Gorsemoor cured dragon pox in the sixteenth century, and when there isn’t healing magic there are antidotes and Pepper-Ups and herbs that muggles simply don’t have. The fatality of a fever of all things is not something you imagine could be comprehended by the sort of people who sent you and Tom back to London in the wake of the Blitz.

Of course, the Ministry hasn't written to you, you haven’t been forced in front of a representative from the Improper Use office, and you have no real reason to be upset.

You are regardless.

It shouldn’t even be a thought: you immolating into oblivion protesting rescue because one of you might get in trouble for it.

A world you’ve never much cared for is blanketed in ash and its people are dying and you can’t help them. A girl is dead. You’ll return next summer and there will certainly be more.

Life is for the magical, you find. The muggles can burn.

It’s what makes you start to panic this year, knowing you’ve only got one more after it. You have no idea what you’re going to do after school, and it doesn’t help that Tom doesn’t appear to share the sentiment. He’s got Head Boy in the bag and when he isn’t with you he’s with Abraxas, who can surely provide him connections if whatever game Tom is playing at works (and you have no doubt it will), but it’s like you said in third year: that isn’t enough for you.

You remember with a small ache that you no longer means you and him.

And then — it makes sense. You feel incredibly stupid.

“You told him, didn’t you?” you ask Tom the first opportunity you can get him alone, in the glum blue light of the Deathday ballroom on your way back from supper.

He sighs like it’s a conversation he’d hoped to put off for longer. “You’re referring to Abraxas, I presume?”

“You’re referring to — yes, you prick, I’m referring to Abraxas. Of course I’m referring to Abraxas, or are there others? Dolohov and Nott seem unusually enthralled by you, now that I think about it.”

“And for a reason I’m supposed to be aware of, this is an error on my part. Should I be apologising?”

“Why did you tell him, Tom?!”

“Why?” he deadpans.

You throw your hands up. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Shall I provide you with my itinerary as well? Would you accompany me as I tour the third-years around Hogsmeade? Or can you do me the favour of trusting me to make my own decisions with the nature of my ancestry?”

“You’re keeping something from me and there’s a reason,” you say, stepping closer to him, “and forgive me if I want to know what it is when you were willing to tell me you’re the Heir of Slytherin and you can talk to snakes. What — what could possibly be bigger than that?”

Tom returns your approach with one of his own. His eyes are steady, dark, thick with lashes and you can’t reminisce on the details of the rest of him because that would be strange for a friend to do. Stranger to do it now, when you’re angry with him and there’s two sleeping ghosts in the corner and he’s framed by deep indigoes like the ripples in the Black Lake and — you’re doing it anyway.

To be short, he’s close, he’s very beautiful, and sometimes you despise him.

“Trust me,” he says again, without the derision of the last time. “This will change things for us.”

You frown, but it’s a weak upset in contrast to the explosion you came in here willing to make. There were at least twenty questions you meant to ask and you only managed one.

You are not his keeper. You know that.

“Change them for the better, Tom,” you say on a sigh.

He blinks, and you think he’ll respond with a nod or a slightly offended ‘of course’ but he does not. He blinks and he just keeps looking at you. It’s disarming. It probably resembles the way you often look at him. There’s a rationale somewhere; you never see each other anymore, life is so incredibly busy, maybe he’s forgotten what you look like.

And he does nod, finally, but he does it with his thumb brushing the corner of your lip.

What? Sorry. What’s going on?

He pulls it away like he’s heard you. “You had something.”

You’re almost positive you did not.

Transfiguration this year brings Conjuration, which is an advanced and welcome distraction, and even more exciting when you consider no longer having to Vanish things you have no idea how to bring back. Dumbledore’s is one of three N.E.W.T classes you’re taking — Defence Against the Dark Arts and Alchemy besides. It’s easily your favourite.

You share it with eleven other Slytherins and twelve Ravenclaws. Four of them are muggle-born, and it’s hard to describe the ease you feel among them because you don’t think you’ve ever had anything resembling ease with anyone but Tom.

Your schedule is more crammed than it’s ever been, but it’s good. Two of the Ravenclaw girls invite you to Hogsmeade every other weekend, you share butterbeers when you can afford one, you study until you collapse, you take Dumbledore’s extra assignments and consider trying out for Chaser on one of your more restless evenings before waking up in the morning and resolving there is such as thing as too much of a good thing. Best not to get ahead of yourself.

Your contentment is remedied quickly.

Someone is found unresponsive in the dungeons. Dippet makes an announcement at breakfast that the boy isn’t dead, rather, petrified. No one is quite sure the cause, but the Headmaster warns a few minor precautions, suggests a buddy system, and says that after dinner studying should remain in everyone’s respective common rooms rather than the courtyards or library.

You know next to nothing about petrification, but the victim is muggle-born, and you suspect it was the result of a poorly performed statue curse by one of the many blood zealots in your house. The whole thing makes you hold onto your wand a smidge tighter, but you’re adamant not to let it drive you to paranoia like it would have a few years ago.

Tom nods at your theory when you manage to escape to the Black Lake together in November.

“That isn’t unreasonable,” he says. High praise.

You sink into the moss, sighing. “Do you think there’ll be more?”

He looks out onto the lake, the lapping waves, the crystalline beads that furrow them, midnight algae and flotsam you don’t think you belong to anymore.

You peer up at his silhouette in the dark. “Do you think whoever did it will do it again, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” he says finally, and after another pause: “but I don’t think it would be you.”

“How’s that?”

“No one would be senseless enough to try.”

And he sinks beside you with that, breath shaping the cold in steady, rhythmic clouds while yours are scattered. His robes brush yours and you take his arm with a sleepy hum, tracing patterns in the stars until your eyes feel heavy and he insists on taking you back to your dormitories.

One of the Ravenclaw girls, Marigold Wright, distracts you with a spare blue scarf and an invitation to her next Quidditch match. You watch from the stands and cheer as she catches the snitch to beat Gryffindor.

It’s a bit strange — having a distraction — having a friend. Mari is kind, smart, a good study partner who’s as keen on stepping into the advanced theoretics of Human Transfiguration a year early as you are. She’s funny in a vulgar way, introduces you to all her friends, shows you the best way to sneak into the kitchens, and you sometimes wonder if she was sorted wrong, but — her methods are creative, and she’s definitely intelligent. She’s also definitely not Tom.

You see less and less of him and more of her, Dumbledore, the Ravenclaw common room and the pages of progressive Transfiguration methodologies. He sees less of you and more of Abraxas, Dolohov and Nott and all the other purebloods, Slughorn’s soirées and Prefect meetings that cut into meals.

It happens again.

Second floor lavatory. A girl called Myrtle Warren. She isn’t petrified.

There’s a vigil the following week and her parents are there, two muggles whose sobs wrack the Great Hall even as the students clear out. Flowers descend from the charmed ceiling, little bluebells and white chrysanthemums.

You cry that night. You can’t remember the last time you cried.

This time, you don’t have to seek Tom out. He catches you on your way back from Alchemy and brings you to the Deathday ballroom with a melancholy glance in your direction that you don't hesitate to follow. You realise it’s an odd place to continue to end up in, but no one else goes there and you suppose that makes it yours.

You’ve seen Tom skinny and sickly and olive green, but today his eyes are circled with veined violets and the lack of summer sun this year has whittled him grey once more. He’s still beautiful. He’ll always be beautiful. But he’s tired and — sad — and for the six years you’ve known him you aren’t quite sure what to do with that.

You don’t spend too long pondering it. You just hug him with the dawning newness of a thing like that; a thing you’ve never done, and never really thought to do. (You ask yourself in bewilderment how you’ve never thought to do it before.)

He’s warm. He’s uncertain. He doesn’t reciprocate immediately.

And then he does, and you understand without caveats or concerns that you stopped having a choice in your destruction the moment you chose him. He’s home, and that’s going to ruin you one day.

Your arms tighten around him and his around you, the rhythm of his breath holding you to earth when you begin to float away. Nothing makes sense in this moment but the mercy that in all the death you’ve seen, you swear to God you’ll never see his. As long as you’re alive, he must be too.

And there’s something to be said about the innate self-slaughter of loving a person (of loving Tom Riddle, especially): that it’ll cleave you in two, that you’ll say feeble things in his embrace that you should be above saying, like ‘I’m scared’, that his hand will find the back of your head and he'll tell you he knows, that that should not feel like enough but it will be. You’ll clasp your hands under black robes and hold this singular embrace together by the faulty adhesive of your fingers. Maybe you’ll cry again, like your body can suddenly comprehend its capacity for it and is making up for lost time.

The first sign that something is wrong, more than the obvious grievance of the death itself, is the Ministry’s happy acceptance of Rubeus Hagrid as the culprit.

The boy is maybe fourteen years old, half-blood — half human, mind — and no one has a bad word to say about him other than he likes to keep eccentric pets. Which leads you to wonder what pet he possessed with the ability to petrify one student and kill another and what cause he’d have for it in the first place besides two terrible, miraculous accidents.

That question draws an even stranger path. Mari says over butterbeers (on her, bless her soul) that she read somewhere years ago that Gorgons can induce petrification, but that she doesn’t remember much else.

One of the boys in DADA says that his father’s an auror, and heard from him that Hagrid’s pet was some sort of arachnid. Tom deducts five points from his house after class with a scowl on his pale face, muttering about conspiracy.

The second sign that something is wrong is that only one of those things would need to be true for the entire case on Hagrid to be called into question. If Mari’s memory serves right, how the hell did Hagrid come into ownership of a Gorgon? (Could Gorgons even be owned?) If the auror’s son is worth your credence, then what species of arachnid is capable of petrification?

You take to the library.

Unsure of where to begin and hesitant to draw attention, your research lingers into Christmas break and stalls some of your extracurriculars in Transfiguration. Tom is busy enough not to notice the new step in your routine, and you’re grateful not to have him breathing down your back, telling you you’re looking in the wrong places or you shouldn’t be looking at all.

The third sign is the end.

You wish to retract it all. There are time-turners and memory charms and potions that could dizzy you enough to manipulate the truth; there is anything but this. You’d suffer the consequences for the bliss of loving him with one more day before the ruin — you’d write it down to remember through the fog: look at him, duel him without wanting to hurt him, kiss him to know that you did it at least once, have him, be had. You never will again.

He’d shown you the adder. He’d joked about the Chamber of Secrets. He’d spent months disappearing with Abraxas, earning the trust of the sons of the Sacred Twenty Eight.

And he’d killed Myrtle Warren.

So it’s statue curses and Gorgons and Tom — speaking to serpents when no one else can, buttressed by pureblood boys who want people like you dead.

Don’t become like them now that you’re not like me.

He’s something else entirely.

What do you do in a moment like this? Panting into an empty library at a revelation you wish you could unknow, fingers digging into the hickory of your desk — another memory carved among the initials and hearts; how do you stand from your chair and leave like the world outside this room is the same as it was when you entered? There’s nothing to orbit. You are cosmic debris, tea dregs in a barren cup, flotsam.

You stand; and you tell no one. Not even Tom.

His presence in your life is so infrequent that you don’t even have to come up with excuses for your distance until three weeks after your discovery when you’re paired together in DADA to practise stretching jinxes.

You almost laugh. He’s standing beside you, tall (lanky like he was when he was a boy if you look long enough) and serious, and you love him without knowing who he is anymore. You’ve skirted corners to avoid him and sat with Mari during lunch and breakfast like he’s some scorned lover to escape confrontation from and not someone who held you through a grief inflicted by his hand.

“You look tired,” he says, inspecting the daisy you’d been tasked to elongate.

You glance at him. You are tired. It’s exhaustive, bone-deep, aching like nothing you’ve ever known, and maybe that’s why you can look at him and smile sadly instead of thrashing against his chest screaming for what he did. You suppose it happens enough in your head to satisfy. When you can sleep, you sleep to the thought of it. The waking moments are just blank.

“Mhm,” you hum, transfiguring the daisy stem back to its regular length.

Tom observes it with curious eyes. “You’re getting good at that.”

“I’ve been good at it.”

His lips turn, a small frown before he puts it away. You make the observation that he’s tired too; there are still bags under his eyes and his hands tremble ever-so-slightly with his wand when he loosens his grip on it.

His own doing and still you flicker with some relentless hope that he's drowning in regret.

“Sorry,” you say. A ridiculous thing. Do you intend to slowly push him from your life with weak disinterest and diverging academic avenues? As if he were something extricable. He’d never let you.

You’ll have to confront him, and that’s a revelation that holds its weight on your chest until you think you'll suffocate under it.

You’re in the blue light of the Deathday ballroom with a face you've never worn before when it happens, deep into spring, and you know then that you were wrong all those years ago.

He sees all of you.

Takes you in in the flash of a second and maybe it’s your quivering jaw that reveals you or the flint of betrayal in your eyes waiting to be struck and lit. Yes, you were wrong — Tom Riddle knows you at every atom too.

“Are you going to let me explain?" he asks before any hello. His jaw is tight but there’s nothing else to go on to judge his disposition. He's settling into impassivity like an animal drawing its shell. You will not be allowed in if you're going to make it hurt, and you might be the only one who can.

“Explain," you copy with a hard exhale, “Just tell me it wasn’t you. That’s all there is to say."

He stares at you. There’s nothing there.

“Tell me, Tom.”

Your breath catches on an automatic please but you don’t want to offer him that.

“I cannot.”

Then make me forget, you want to scream. Let it be summer. Let us work for pennies and breadcrumbs and be no one together.

It’s late winter and it’s too cold.

“You killed her,” you say quietly.

“If I told you I did not wish for it, would you even believe me?”

“What are you… so it was an accident?”

“There was — an opportunity presented itself that may never have come again; that does not mean I don’t find the nature of it regrettable.”

“Regrettable.” You’re laughing or crying or both, and you must look unwell. Halfway out of your mind.

He’s so composed in the face of it that it only makes you more incensed.

“You told me to change things —”

“You killed someone! Can you understand that?”

“You nearly died,” he hisses, “and if I am to apologise for recognizing it only as the first of many times, I will not. If I am to apologise for doing whatever is necessary to prevent it, I will not. The hand we were dealt will not be the hand we die to — so yes, I understand it. And one day so will you.”

“Don't," you spit, and your anger must look pathetic under your welling tears. “Don't you dare tell me that this was for me.”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“What could her death possibly bring me, Tom?”

“Her death is the first step to —”

“God, stop dancing around the fucking question!” Both hands have wound their way to your head, clutching at your skull like the brain matter might spill through one of the cracks he’s wearing down. “Just… tell me.”

“You recall Godelot's work," he says stiffly. The question of it takes you by surprise, peels the moment back like the rim of a fruit and you're left uncertain.

All you can do is nod, arms falling to cross over your chest.

“There was one form of magic he refused quite concisely to impart. I searched the Restricted Section for days, and under Dumbledore's watch that was not an easy thing to do."

You stole from him, you're urged to remind him, but it's something you'd say with a nudge of annoyance and a roll of your eyes. Such admonishment is small and far away.

“I found it at last in one of the repositories," he goes on, “Secrets of the Darkest Art."

“...What?"

“It's called a Horcrux,” he says. “Murder, by nature, splits the soul. The Horcrux simply makes use of the act; puts the soul fragment into something imperishable so that it is protected, rather than abandoned. In turn, your life cannot be taken. By malady, by magic, by sword — the vessel is destroyed but the soul lives on.”

You blink, feeling dizzy. “Myrtle was the sacrifice.”

“Myrtle was there,” Tom remedies.

“How lucky for you.”

“The circumstances could be ameliorated if one were to be made for you. I would have preferred it be someone who deserves it.”

“For — you’d do it again? Again, Tom?”

His brows crease, and even his upset seems contrived. There’s this barricade he’s placed that you, in all your infallible knowing of him, cannot puncture. It’s agony to begin to question what he could possibly be keeping from you in a confession like this.

“You killed someone, Tom. You — I would never ask you to do that. I would never live at the cost of someone else."

“No, you would not,” he agrees, though he shakes his head like it’s incredulous of you. “Do you think, even if I knew it were certain, a summons from the Ministry would have stopped me from saving you this summer? Do you suppose the threat of punishment would cause me to waver at that moment? I know it would not hinder you. So, you have your lines and I have mine — you never needed to ask.”

And now it hurts. The emptiness clears and you can't stand yourself for crying, but you do. It comes out in ragged, breathless sobs, clasped behind your palm as you turn away from him.

You've loved him since you were eleven. It's always been you two — it was always supposed to be you two. What is there to say to him? He's blurring in your periphery like in the midst of your sickness, and there's nothing he can do to heal you this time. Your vision will clear and Myrtle Warren will still be dead. He'll still be a stranger in the face of the boy you love.

“Why," you whine, a wet, hollow stain in your voice you've never cried enough to hear before. “Myrtle was — wasn't — uh —" You swallow, hysterics severing your words. You can't really think right now. Your body wobbles and your head feels puffy and hot. This might be shock.

Tom scowls like it irritates him to watch you push yourself, like this is just the unfortunate effect of you depleting your energy in a duel, not eating correctly, treating yourself carelessly.

Of course you can't stand or talk or think. You're you, contemplating a life without him.

“Sit," he says in frustration. You smack his hand away when he reaches for you, but the world has turned a shade darker and you're slipping into it.

He tugs a chair towards you with a silent charge and a reprimand, and your body doesn’t possess the wherewithal not to collapse into it the second it’s under you.

After a moment you can speak again, shaking hands steadied by your knees. “Did you… did you think I wouldn't find out? You know, the only thing that can petrify someone besides a serpent is a Gorgon. And — where would Rubeus Hagrid have found one of those?"

“I thought I would have time.”

“To come up with a good lie? Something I’d sympathise with?”

He bites his cheek. “Evidently the particulars matter little to you.”

Fuck him. “Fuck you.”

“Very cogent.”

“No, fuck you, Tom. We could have — we only had a year left and then we could — we could've done anything we wanted." You're crying again. You don't have the energy to be embarrassed. “And you chose this."

He’s indignant as he steps closer. “With what money? For what life? We are better than all of them and it’s never mattered. It never will; you know that. You told me that. You’re angry now, but you must know the truth of it. I would not forsake you. I would not lose you.”

You blink up at him, mouth stuck with some cottony feeling and cheeks stiff from crying.

“You have lost me, Tom."

He stills as if suspended. Some maceration must follow but it doesn’t.

You stand on weak legs to look him in the eyes. You wonder if he can see the love in yours. You wonder if he knows you will walk away despite it. (Of course he does. You’ve never lied to him.)

You think about how his fingers seem to always find their way to your cheek and you put yours to his. The bone there is sharp, but the skin is soft. Boyish.

There isn't a word for a goodbye like this. It shouldn't exist and so it doesn't. You just leave.

You fail your N.E.W.T courses. Quite spectacularly.

Mari sits beside you on the train with a soothing hand on your shoulder, and doesn’t ask what’s rendered you into a comatose husk since March. There’s no crying. You chew numbly on soft caramels from the trolley and stare out the window onto the hills.

That summer is spent in your bedroom unless you’re forced elsewhere. A new girl with skin so white it’s nearly translucent sleeps in the bed beside yours, taking meals on trays like you did in your first days here, tracing the cracks in the tiles, humming to herself in the dark. She makes you feel less pathetic for doing much the same.

You’d been right in your assumption that there would be more dead upon your return, and wrong that there would be more empty rooms. There are always more orphans being made.

And then you receive a letter. It isn’t delivered by owl (only for secrecy, you assume, because there are no muggles who’d be writing to you) but it’s stamped with a vaguely familiar crest. Not Hogwarts’ waxen seal, but something undoubtedly magical. A cockroach and a cup, you think, squinting. Transfiguration.

You tear the envelope open and pull the letter out.

It’s from Dumbledore. Some of it melds together, but the key words stand out.

Spoken to Dippet… Exceptional promise… N.E.W.Ts… May be reconsidered… Upon dispensation… Be well.

Be well.

You are not. You are something half-drowned and half-burned, never enough of one to quell the effects of the other. Sunlight is sparse through your side of the orphanage. On the radio, they warn a pattern of one bomb every second hour. The only other warning is the sound when they fly overhead, and if you can’t run fast enough —

You write your answer in a crowded tube station with a spotty ballpoint pen. Tom is there, looking between you, the dust, and your shaking hands as if to say: tell me I was wrong.

Some of your letter melds together but the key words stand out.

Thank you, Sir. Whatever you need.

It’s a shock that you live to seventh year. It’s a shock that you do it without him — though he watches, and in his gaze you feel regressed. You’re alive, yes, but there’s something there… his dead weight, death-grip; his haunting. They always speak of the dead as something heavy. Something that holds onto you even after it’s gone.

You find that to be true.

Dippet’s condition that you remain in Dumbledore’s N.E.W.T class is that you achieve more than the standard requirement. Essentially, your final exam will be much harder than everyone else's: Human Transfiguration, mastery of petty Transformation (through the means of Wizard’s Chess pieces), Conjuration and Vanishment of various delicate objects — all done nonverbally.

Even Dumbledore seems sceptical, but it translates to more rigorous practise rather than resignation, assignments he doesn’t even task to Mari, though she’s just as good, and you can’t begin to understand why he cares so much.

“I’ll entrust you with these while I’m away,” he says before Christmas break, sliding a sheet of parchment your way with a flick of his wand.

You frown, unfolding it. His instructions are always short now — you’ve learned to decode his meaning well enough without much exposition.

Teacup to gerbil — to cat, and inverse.

Inanimatus Conjurus spell (cockroach and cup, as instructed) to be Vanished when perfected.

Study Antar’s Doctrine. Miss Wright will act as your partner.

Due February.

It’s far too much to be done in that time. “Sir?”

Dumbledore lugs a messenger bag over his shoulder that appears small, but he carries it in such a way you suspect it’s magically extended. He smiles wistfully, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “You know, I often regret how much this war asks of me. A consequence of my own doing.”

Right — Grindelwald. Sometimes you forget between awaiting the next muggle paper. War is everywhere.

You nod. “I hope… Good luck, Sir.”

Another half-smile as he twists open a jar of Floo Powder, and then he shakes his head with something you almost decipher as amusement. A brittle sort. Tired. “Good luck to you.”

And then he’s gone, in a swath of green flames that do nothing to inspire any desire for Floo travel in you.

Antar’s Doctrine is simultaneously prosaic and grandiose. They read like excerpts of a journal and you yawn into them over your morning tea, stirring amongst the first-years, who are the only people at the Slytherin table you can stand to sit with. Your blood status is apparently nullified by your age, and the worst they do is look at you funny. You aren’t sure what Abraxas’s — Tom’s (the new hierarchy never fails to stagger you) — lackeys would do if you sat with the other seventh-years instead. A part of you longs to know. They certainly don’t bother you in class the way they used to, you aren’t tripped in the corridors, but you wonder how far Tom’s influence can stretch. He is the Heir of Slytherin, and he’s earned them. But you are nothing.

You’d like it if he would let them hurt you. You think the incentive would be enough to hurt him back. And God — God, you want to. You want to hurt him almost as much as you want him.

You practise through the doctrine with Mari, as Dumbledore directed. When you’re able to sever Antar’s egotism from his abilities, you can see why Dumbledore would recommend his book to you. It feels like slipping through a crack in glass without shattering the whole thing. You weave in and back out, and Mari grins when she returns from the shape of a teapot to her body without you needing to utter a word to do it.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware what you’re doing is nearly unprecedented. It’s spring, you’re months away from eighteen, muggle-born, and mastering nonverbal Human Transfiguration like it’s a Softening Charm. Mari tells you you’re the smartest person she’s ever met. It makes your cheeks go hot to hear such open praise, worse when you snap out of the thought that you believe her.

Grindelwald falls. The school celebrates in whispers until the evidence is in front of them — Dumbledore, returned without a scar, a new wand in his hand — and then they’re cheers. The feast that night is a great one, and he toasts to you from the end of the staff table, a discreet tilt of his cup before he takes a sip and returns to converse with Professor Merrythought.

You take from your own, and your eyes land on Tom, spine of his goblet tight in his hand. He’s looking at you like you’ve affronted him somehow. You could laugh — by choosing Dumbledore. Of course. As if it was a choice at all.

But if it bothers him… if it feels anything at all like the betrayal you felt, then — good.

You drink, and don’t look away.

By the time your N.E.W.T.s arrive you have a renewed confidence that you’ll succeed, even with the obstacle of performing each exam wordlessly.

There are only twelve students who came out of your sixth year class, so to divide resources for the tests is no grand task. You’re given a Wizard’s Chess set, a desk with assorted vases and goblets, an intricate epergne (you had to whisper to Mari to learn its name), and a Ministry worker borrowed like some laboratory mouse. You suppose it makes sense, though — you’re all capable enough of Human Transfiguration not to mutilate anyone, and performing on a classmate could obfuscate the results. It’s far easier to Transfigure someone you know than someone you don’t.

You start with the chess set, Dumbledore and the Ministry worker observing you as you turn pawns to knights and rooks to kings, the minutiae of the pieces drawing sweat to your brow. They change, and change, and change, and you don’t mutter an incantation once. The Ministry worker puts the set away and directs you to the glass. You Switch the vases with the goblets, Vanish them, and Conjure them again. The Ministry worker takes notes. Dumbledore nods affirmatively at you and you can exhale. The epergne is the hardest; so kitschy and elaborate you don’t know where to start when you’re tasked to Transform it into an animal.

An animal — like that isn’t the vaguest instruction you’ve ever received.

You look at it on the desk, mirrors and glass and gold on protracted arms, and you go for the first thing you think of because the Ministry worker is staring at you like you’re inept and you see it in his eyes — this is the muggle-born one, this one can’t do it.

You’re better than them. You can do it forever.

The epergne spins at the dip of your wand, and emerges more than an animal. A big glass tank appears in its place, round and gold-rimmed, water lapping at the sides. Inside it is a jellyfish. Emerald green, bobbing, tentacles and oral arms coiling against the glass like the limbs of the epergne had spanned its centre.

The Ministry worker swallows. Dumbledore smiles.

“And — and back?” the worker says, like that will be the thing that stops you.

You point again, mouth tight with irritation, and reverse the Transformation. A droplet of water smacks your face and you’re lucky to be so hot you can disguise it as sweat. You suspect even an error that small would cost you a mark.

You wipe it away. A strange thing happens; you imagine Tom brushing the water from your cheek at the Black Lake. You imagine his fingers in the rain.

The Ministry worker steps closer with a shameless frown. He tells you to turn his hair red. You do. He regards himself in the mirror and scribbles something down. He tells you to turn it back. You do. To grow him a beard, to change his clothes, to make him taller, shorter, this and that — all read from a list he does not appear enthused to recite. You do it all.

He shakes Dumbledore’s hand when it’s done, duplicates his notes for him to keep, and follows the other Ministry workers through the fireplace when everyone’s exams are finished.

You find out you’ve passed with an Outstanding on your birthday.

Mari drags you to the Three Broomsticks to celebrate, butterbeers on her. (They always are.)

“Can’t believe we’re about to graduate,” she says into her cup, froth on her upper lip.

You sigh into your own, partially giddy and mostly nervous.

Mari squeezes your face between her thumb and finger so your frown is puckered. “Chin up, genius. You’ll be excellent.”

You push her hand away but can’t help a small smile. “Outstanding,” you correct.

“Outstanding!” She bursts out laughing. “Bloody ego on you now…”

“Well, I am the smartest person you know.”

“I take that back.”

She pushes out of her chair with a slightly inebriated wobble. “Going to the loo. Don’t touch my chips.”

Your hands raise in surrender, and you steal only one when she’s gone.

You aren’t the only ones here to celebrate. (Your birthday and your mutual achievement, yes, but the Three Broomsticks is filled wall-to-wall with seventh years drinking their final nights at school away.) There’s music charmed to reach every corner, even yours at the little alcove hidden from plain sight. It’s nice to watch from here — the stumbling, the kisses meant for mouths that land drunkenly on cheeks and noses, the barkeeps that roll their eyes as soon as they turn away from all the newly adult customers, not yet learned or careless in their drinking manners.

It is not nice to be occluded from plain sight in such a way that you don’t notice Tom Riddle until he’s inches away from your table. It is not nice that no one else notices either.

On instinct you don’t make any impressive exit. He slides into the booth next to you and your brain short circuits for a moment at the warm familiarity of his presence beside you. Then it occurs that it’s been more than a year since this was remotely commonplace — that you cannot forget the reason why.

There’s not much time to decide whether you want to be vicious or indifferent or to debate on past precedent which would bother him more. You haven’t attacked him despite being concealed enough to do it unnoticed, and you haven’t shoved furiously out of the other side of the booth.

Indifferent it is.

“Can I help you?”

“You’re causing quite the stir,” he says, taking one of Mari’s chips.

You’re allowed. It’s infuriating when he does it.

“Am I?”

“It’s enough to fail a N.E.W.T level class and be expressly petitioned back, but to have a special criteria set for your exams and manage an O on top of it all…” He inclines his head as if to appreciate your face so close after so long. You should not let him. “You are incomprehensible. It terrifies them.”

“They’re afraid of the wrong mudblood, then, aren’t they?”

Indifference effaced. You’re angry.

He seems to have come prepared, and shrugs your scorn off like a scarf you would have forced him to wear winters ago. “Of course, they have no reason to suspect Dumbledore might have ulterior motives.”

Ulterior — you certainly hope he isn’t suggesting this is based on anything but your merit, but then — you couldn’t begin to understand why Dumbledore cared so much, could you? You’d made brief inspections of his disdain for Tom in second year, his waning shades of kindness and the matter of his stolen encyclopaedia, but you hadn’t… you hadn’t thought at all about how his dedication to your progress only begun after you’d stopped sharing a class with Tom, how it had developed as you began to drift from one another in fifth year and accelerated in sixth after the first petrification and Myrtle’s death. How Tom had worn you down with a weighted glare at Dumbledore’s little toast.

It wasn’t because you had chosen Dumbledore, you realise. It was because Dumbledore had chosen you.

“Why don’t you worry about your pets, Riddle?” you snarl, “I’m sure there are bigger problems with your lot than my exam results.”

Something in his face shifts at the name. You swell with distorted pride.

He mends the reaction by looking you over in more detail, his features schooled into something he must know you can’t deduce. You try not to squirm under the intensity of it.

He reaches almost mindlessly for your collar (there is nothing mindless about it, you’re sure) and smooths the fabric gently with his fingers. “I always liked you in this colour.”

You blink. His thumb just barely brushes against the skin of your neck before retreating, and your mouth falls open.

“Don’t do that,” you say. Truly a sad attempt. Your repulsion is more with yourself than him, and that’s not at all right.

Where is Mari?

“Your friend was at the bar, last I saw her.”

You stare at him with wild eyes. How the hell — ?

“You were always easy to read,” he supplies, and leans in so you can follow his line of sight to the tiniest sliver of the bar visible between two columns, where Mari looks deeply engaged in conversation with Leo Ndiaye, one of the Gryffindor Chasers.

You take a sharp, exasperated breath at her antics. She might be more in love with the competition than the boy himself. They’d never last without Quidditch to bind them, but you can’t fault her for wanting a bit of fun.

“Well then —”

Right. Tom hasn’t actually moved away. You turn and his face is just there.

His eyes dart forthwith to your mouth, and — no. No, he won’t be doing that and neither will you.

“...I’m off to bed.” Stop talking to him like he’s your friend, you think miserably. Stop looking at him like he’s your —

“That would be wise.”

He’s still looking at your lips.

No one else is looking at you at all.

It could exist in just this moment, you deliberate; separate from everything else.

Except nothing about Tom exists in its own moment. He’s all over you all the time, skin and bone and soul. You hope you still have a place in the broken fragments of his.

“So I’ll be going now,” you say again.

“I haven’t protested.”

But he’s leaning in, and he has to know that’s impedance enough.

“But you will.”

His lips touch yours. “Yes, I will.”

You grab him by his shirt and you’re kissing him. You’re kissing each other like either of you know what the hell it means to kiss anyone, but you’ve learned the rest together, haven’t you? Your noses bump and you don’t care. You just need to kiss him, and — God, you make some noise against his mouth and the hand cupping your face spreads to capture more of you, greedy and wayward — he needs to kiss you too. It’s a horrible thing to know. It leads you to pose too many questions.

The need must have begun as want, and when did the want begin? How long has he looked at you and wondered what you’d feel like to kiss, touch, mark? (He’ll never have the latter. You swear that.)

You’re pulling away in intervals. “You don’t have me, you know.”

“I know,” he responds, lips on the corner of yours.

“You still lost me.”

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

He pauses for a moment. “I know.”

You kiss him again. Long and soft, memorising his cupid’s bow and the tip of his tongue, and when one of his hands moves to your waist you part from him like you’ve been burned.

“I —” You resist the urge to touch a finger to your lips, standing abruptly from the table and adjusting your shirt. Your body feels like an evolutionarily faulty vessel, too easy to please, though you can’t imagine it responding to anyone else this way. Or perhaps your mind is the problem. Not wired well enough to resist an evidently bad thing. “Goodnight, Tom.”

You thought there wasn’t a word for your goodbye, but that’s it. So simple it sinks you. Goodnight, Tom. I’ll dream of a morning where I wake up beside you, but you won’t be there.

He grabs your hand before you can go, licking his lips and it haunts you to think he’s savouring you. It stings a place deep in your chest you’d spent all year trying to heal.

“My door is always open,” he says.

He lets you go.

You graduate with Mari’s hand in yours, and you aren’t afraid.

Dumbledore requests that you stay for the summer to help him prepare for the first year’s curriculum in the fall. It’s a ridiculous opportunity for someone your age — free lodgings and a stellar impression on your resume, and — you can only accept it with an ire you haven’t felt since the spread of influenza in muggle Britain.

If he’s offering you lodgings now, he could have done it all along.

It sends you down a horrible train of thought while you move your things from the Slytherin dormitories to a little chamber a few doors down from the staff room; Tom will be removed from Wool’s this year. Will he stay at Malfoy Manor? But Tom is still publicly muggle-born — Abraxas’s parents would never allow it. Will he find a job, a flat? Will he swindle muggles once he turns eighteen and the Trace is no longer an obstruction?

You think of him often. You think of his offer.

My door is always open.

Plenty of doors are open to you now. Why should you want to go back to his?

Still, the Second World War ends in November and you feel like you can breathe at a depth you never could before. The school doesn’t celebrate like it did with Grindelwald. No one but you seems to care at all.

It’s a tempting door.

The year passes in a blur of graded papers and lessons Dumbledore sometimes involves you in and sometimes does not. Most of the first-years care little for you, but there are two Slytherin muggle-borns who look at you like a new sun to orbit. Everything is worth it for that.

You see Mari when you can, and find she’s training with the Italian Quidditch team, who apparently are smart enough to care more about skill than blood. She says she misses the complexities of Transfiguration, but any career in it was always going to be yours. Smartest person she knows, she reiterates. Biggest ego too.

The next summer Dumbledore informs you of a posting at the Ministry. Something small with a smaller wage. He emphasises the weight of his personal recommendation, but that you won’t be respected unless you claw tooth and nail for it. You don’t take long to consider a chance to make an actual income with an actual career doing something muggle-borns simply don’t do before you’re nodding assuredly and asking him what you need.

Better clothes are first, and all you can afford until further notice. You take to Gladrags with intent to purchase for the first time in your five years of wandering in the shop with eyes bigger than your wallet, and the owner looks at you with distrust when you slide her your sickles.

The Ministry job is truly, infinitesimally, insignificant.

It’s far down in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You’re a glorified secretary, and you recall the few times you’d worked as a mail-sorter during the war. It’s some sick irony that you’ve landed yourself in a pile of paper once more.

But the money, though offensively scant to someone with better options (and it’s infuriating the options you deserve), is more than you’ve ever had, and within the next year you’re able to leave the castle and take a cheap room at an inn in Hogsmeade. You’re close enough to Dumbledore to aid him when he needs you, but far enough to feel like your school days are departed, and you need not worry about memories lurching unexpectedly at every corridor.

A sick part of you still reaches for your mouth sometimes to remember what it felt like to be kissed. That part of you wishes for Tom. You could kiss him into oblivion. You could find a way to make it hurt him back.

My door is always open.

Then you’ll slam it bloody closed.

Mari invites you to her first professional game and you cheer for her in the stands, a green, white, and red scarf around your neck in place of her old blue.

She wins and you get drinks in a muggle pub. You kiss a man at the bar. You go home with him. His hair is dark, but not dark enough. His lips are soft, but the shape is wrong. He makes you feel good, but you wonder if in another life, the dream is true; you roll over in the morning to Tom beside you, and he makes you feel better.

When you can find time between the monotonous demands of your job, you’re in the Transfiguration classroom, staying behind to help the Slytherin muggle-borns with their Switching spells.

It’s one stupid accident the next fall that changes things.

A muggle bank has been robbed, and whatever idiotic, panicked witch or wizard was behind it apparently found themselves incapable of getting the deed done with a simple Imperius Curse (you can’t imagine, based on the scene, that they’re above Unforgivables), and somehow ended up leaving the building half-charred and teeming with at least six bank tellers Transformed into birds, two chirping into the floor tiles with broken wings.

“Renauld’s on it, though,” your coworker says when the news finds your department.

“Renauld?”

He’s a year older than you, a pureblood with parents in high places, and endlessly fucking hopeless.

“Well, yeah —”

You push out from your desk, files fluttering behind you. “Renauld will expose the whole damn wizarding world if he touches that building.”

“But McCormack sent him.”

“Where is it?”

“I… McCormack said that —”

“Where is it, Flack?”

“Um. Um, near King William, I think. Moorgate or, um —”

That’s good enough. You toss the Floo Powder into the fireplace and go.

The place is a mess. You don’t even have to look for it. There’s some ward around the street, bouncing muggles away like an invisible end to a map they don’t even register is there. At least that’s handled right.

But you slip through it and curse under your breath at the muggles trapped inside the wards. They’re like fish prodding at the dome of their bowl, and some run up to you demanding explanations when they see you unaffected by it. You brush them off — Obliviation is not your strong-suit — though you do shout at a pair of DMAC wizards uselessly standing guard outside the bank.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask on approach. “Renauld’s supposed to handle the inside, yeah? You deal with fixing them.”

You point toward the frantic muggles, and the officials just regard you with vague confusion at your presence. “Renauld said —”

“Oh my God! Fix. The muggles.”

You afford nothing else before pushing past them to enter the bank.

It’s quite impressive, actually; Renauld, the result of generations of foolproof breeding, is waving his wand around like he’s just stepped out of Olivanders for the first time.

“Heal their wings,” you say without greeting.

Renauld jumps. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Heal their damn wings. They’re easier than human limbs and healing magic’s the only thing you aren’t completely shit at.”

“Who authorised you?” he hisses.

“I did.”

In hindsight, it should have gone horrifically wrong. Your wand could have been taken and your life might have been over in all ways that matter, flung back into the muggle world where you’ve always been told you belong.

But Renauld vouches for you. You Transform the walls, you fix the burns, you mend the bank to something presentable. A muggle robbery — dangerous, financially tragic, but believable. And your suggestion to heal the injured bank tellers in their animal forms might be the thing that saved them. When Renauld mends their wings and regenerates their blood, you Untransfigure them, and the other DMAC officials alter their memories with haste.

You were completely out of line and utterly right.

It isn’t something people like you are allotted.

Your probation period is dreadful. You hide in your room at the inn most days, Vanishing little stained panes on your window to feel the warm breeze of air before you Conjure them again. You help grade papers, though Dumbledore is displeased with you and the night is a silent one. He assures you curtly that he’s doing his best with the Ministry to amend this.

And… he does.

With Renauld’s help and the corroboration of the other DMAC officials, you’re back at work by the start of the school year.

It’s a slow process — almost eight months of meaningless paperwork — before the next incident occurs and you’re hectically ushered to the scene like a belated understudy. And then it happens again. And again. And again.

There’s really no choice but to promote you.

Your heroics are torn from a Gryffindor cloth, so says Flack. You urge him never to say such a thing again.

By your twenty-first birthday, you think about Tom almost exclusively in your sleep. You’re much too busy to think about him anywhere else.

The summer is warm and Hogsmeade is lively. You’ve vacated your room at the inn for a little house on the outskirts of the village, decorating it how you like — discovering what you like. You’d never had a chance to find out before.

Mari visits when she can once you have your fireplace connected to the Floo Network (you yourself prefer Apparating) but her name is slowly working its way from the Italian papers to the British ones, and she has so much to tell you there isn’t possibly enough time in her days to tell it. There’s also the matter of Leo Ndiaye, who has, recently, gotten on one knee and proposed to her. If there had been a bet on them ending up together, you would have been out enough galleons to put you in debt.

After especially gruesome days at work, you and a few colleagues make a habit of getting sherries at the Siren’s Tail, complaining that sometimes the nature of your work is akin to an auror’s but without the notoriety and pay.

“Oh, please,” says Emilia Alves, twirling her straw, “have you seen the shit the aurors are up to lately? I’d rather be a blimmin’ Unspeakable.”

“You’d have to be able to keep your mouth shut for that, Alves.”

Emilia punches Renauld in the arm.

“What are the aurors up to?” Flack asks.

“I dunno much. There was a murder all the way in Albania, s’posedly. Reeked of dark magic.”

“Nothing new,” you join, and then frown. “Why’s our Ministry dealing with it though?”

“I dunno. I got word from Hillicker that the Albanians didn’t know what to make of the mess. They’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Hillicker’s not a source,” Renauld scoffs.

“Yeah? Why don’t you ask your daddy for something better?”

“Alves, I’ll have you know —”

You lean in over the counter. “What do you mean they’ve never seen anything like it?”

She grins. “Why? Storming a bank robbery wasn’t exciting enough for you?”

You roll your eyes, taking a drink.

That ought to be the end of it. One extraordinarily lucky incident to push you up the career ladder was rare enough — there is absolutely no way digging around a case that has nothing to do with you or your department could ever end well.

But something about it itches.

You make nice with Hillicker. She’s a year younger than you and far too kind for her own good, and she gushes freely about her husband’s work as an auror (they must be a perfect match for him to gush freely about it with her). It’s a bit manipulative. You have no excellent excuse for it, but… ambition, and all that, you suppose. Flack’s Gryffindor theory is studded with holes.

You are green, through and through.

Emilia’s updates are meaningless when you garner so much information that you’ve already heard everything she has to say over drinks, and at this point her and Hillicker might be a step behind you. Emilia still only knows about Albania; peppery little details of half a story. Hillicker discusses an assortment of murders with no real string between them, and Dumbledore regards you with cool heeding when you bring up the matter with him.

You see him little nowadays but you’ve never been close in any true sense, traces of resentment budding over the years like rainwater collects on glass until the stream finally slips.

You visit Hogwarts mostly for your Slytherins, fourteen or fifteen now, unafraid of the distinction of their blood.

And then there’s one night after you turn twenty-two where drinks take place at yours for a change, Mari and Leo included and happily wed. You have no sherries but your ale is just as well, and it’s only you and Renauld who are sober by the time everyone else is vanishing into the fireplace and going home.

That makes it much worse when you sleep together.

There’s no excuse of having had a glass too many — so sorry, I’ll be on my way then, and him stumbling over his trousers to get out of your hair. Of course, he does that anyway, scratching the nape of his neck when he reaches your doorway in the morning.

“Thanks for the — well, you have a nice home — I do think I should —”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“Oh!” He turns around at the last second. “Er — I know you’ve become a tad obsessed with… Hillicker mentioned another, anyway. Hepzibah something. Killed by her own elf, the aurors suspect.”

“Oh,” you echo, sheets pulled up to your shoulders. “Thanks, Renauld.”

“I thought you might like to know. Don’t be daft about it.”

You’re incredibly daft about it.

There’s something reminiscent about Albania in this case that wasn’t there with the others. The tide of dark magic ebbing across the scene, the cherry-picked information released in the Prophet, the claim of an old, dumb House Elf who poisoned her mistress like the Albanian peasant killed in some insoluble accident.

The itch exacerbates.

You see him in your dreams again. He peers over Runes in a stolen encyclopaedia, he whispers to an adder on his shoulder, he kisses the corner of your mouth and it isn’t enough. He kills you, again and again. You kill him too.

You wake up and he isn’t there.

It’s a new low when you’re invited to the Hillicker’s anniversary dinner and you end up digging through the drawers of their study halfway through the night.

The Albania file offers nearly nothing. There was the charred residue of dark magic imprinted on a hollow tree in the fields of the peasant’s hamlet, but nothing detailing more than a blank imprint of the Killing Curse in his eyes. Still, you tuck the knowledge away for the file of one Hebzibah Smith, whose tea did indeed have traces of poison, but whose den was also ripe with a layer of darkness that didn’t line up with the Ministry’s tale of senile elf.

And then there’s the forgotten matter of her being a purveyor of ancestral artefacts. The file doesn’t recount whether any are missing, since the woman was wise enough not to proclaim all her possessions to the world, but it’s something. A scratch.

You travel to Albania that Christmas. The neighbours in the peasant’s hamlet have skewed memories, so they provide little help, but the man’s house was left almost untouched.

You tear the place apart and Transfigure it back together when you’re done.

All you find, in the end, is a scrap of an old envelope in a suitcase.

R.R

It could be that it’s old. The cursive seems ancient enough. But you swear the letters have the distinct shape of quill ink — too artful for any pen — and maybe that wouldn’t matter if it weren’t for half a wax seal stuck to the torn edge of the envelope. Stained but silver, the barest hint of two ribbons, a crest, and the letter H.

You return to Hogwarts posthaste.

It’s snowing in the courtyards and you waddle with a duotang under one arm to pretend you’re here for something scholarly, an array of excuses prepared in case you run into Dumbledore, but you don’t.

The Grey Lady is as beautiful as she’s rumoured to be.

You ask her about her mother, and she’s silent, an expression on her face like you’ve struck her.

“Is it found?” she whispers. The snow floats through her.

Your heart hammers as you consider how to approach this. She thinks you know more than you do, which means there’s something to know.

“Yes,” you say. And you dare further with the context you know, “In Albania.”

“Oh,” she hums. “Oh…”

And if she means to say more she doesn’t seem able, washing away through the balusters, then the walls. You think of your house ghost and what he did to her, and you feel sorry for a second.

Madam Palles expels you from the library the moment you find what you’re looking for, and you rush past a throng of staring students to the staff room fireplace. It’s too far a walk to the border of the castle wards to Apparate. You bite back the preemptive sickness, get swallowed by the flames, and go home.

There are blanks to fill in but you do it easily. Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem. Hepzibah Smith and her assortment of unregistered artefacts. The stain of dark magic. Something so rare not even the aurors recognized it.

But you do, because he told you.

You wonder on your search to find him what object he used when he killed Myrtle Warren. Nothing special, you think — maybe even the closest thing he could find. These murders involved more preparation. He got to mark them however he wanted.

It’s almost disappointing to find him here. In a little flat over Knockturn Alley with a view of charmed coalsmoke and the brick wall of another shop.

It’s as tidy as his room at Wool’s, the only dirt the irremediable age of the building itself. The whole place looks almost slanted, large enough only for the bare necessities; a kitchen, a toilet, a bedroom that looks more like a closet, and a study/dining room/den you can’t imagine he hosts many gatherings in. You rescind the mere thought. Whatever gatherings Tom Riddle is having these days, you’re sure you can’t begin to imagine at all.

You wait, legs crossed on an old loveseat, fiddling with your wand.

The door clicks open when the snow has turned to hail and there’s no light but the few scattered candles you’d lit on the mantelpiece.

It strikes you only when he’s standing before you that it’s his birthday.

You’re in Tom Riddle’s flat, on his birthday, adorned by the orange glow of half-melted candles, and you know everything.

He eyes you carefully, a hint of surprise at the sight of you after four years that even he needs a second to recover from. And then he's even, inscrutable Riddle again, and you dare to think, come back.

“I placed wards," he says, hanging his bag on a rack by the wall.

“I thought your door was always open.”

You see his posture change from just his silhouette.

“Wards never work in Knockturn,” you offer additionally, “not really. There's too much conflicting magic; one border cuts into another; leaves a little sliver behind if you’re smart enough to find it. You should know that."

He turns to you. You take in a moment to acknowledge how he's changed. It's hard to see in the curtained moonlight, and it seems unreasonable to imagine he’s grown, but you think he has. An inch taller, perhaps. Two. Maybe the dress shoes. His arms are bigger under his button-down, but not enough to consider him muscular. His black hair isn't as perfect as you remember, and you suspect a long day of work undoes his curls. You always liked him better that way in school, after a night duel at the Black Lake, his robes askew and his hair a mess. Evidence that you were the only one to dishevel him. Now you were — what? Did he even think of you anymore? Yes. You'd always think of each other.

“Duly noted. What are you here for?” He tries your surname like a foreign language.

You cross your arms, and you're acutely aware that he's observing your changes too. You're not the matchstick witch he once knew. Your emotions are cultured now, taut to mirror his. You wear dull, formal grey, and that glowing green tinge that should be gleaming on you is under a thick carapace. That’s for Mari, Flack, Emilia — even Renauld. Not for Tom.

You wonder if he knows it was Dumbledore who put in the word that got you this uniform. You wonder if he resents you for it.

“There’s been talk at the Ministry," you say finally, “A string of murders. Whispers of something — some dark magic they don’t understand. And you know they're careful about things like that after Grindelwald."

“A string of murders... Hm. That might imply you understand a connective thread. Is there some sort of accusation being made?”

“Oh, I'm sure you'd be flattered by accusations. There’s not enough there, as it stands. Just whispers." You sink more comfortably in the seat and the springs make a concerning sound. “But I know you."

His hard, sharp gaze falters for a moment. You watch the flames dance behind him, the firelight playing against the lines of his shoulders, and feel your heart skip a beat. “Who else is speculating?"

“No one." Your fingers brush over the book spines on the coffee table. “I guess their attention hasn't been drawn to a book clerk yet, even if you have taken residency... here." You say it with no shortage of disapproval.

Knockturn was never where Tom belonged. You'd once imagined a flat together in muggle London, taking the telephone booth to the Ministry together, changing the world together. It's a wish that's a lifetime away now.

“Is this a warning? I assure you, I don’t need the condescension.”

“I'm not warning you," you scoff, “I — I'm seeing you. God knows I'll probably never get the chance to do that again once you get yourself locked up in Azkaban, which you will."

You sound exasperated. You sound half-pleading. “What are you doing, Tom? Is this — this is really what you want?"

“Yes."

You shake your head. “I don't believe that." And then some of that fiery spit returns to you, and you feel like a child again, stuck in the London tube stations holding his hand at every plane that flew overhead, scowling that you needed his reassurance. Scowling that you were afraid.

“Well, your conjecture is ever-appreciated. Shall I lend you mine? Shall I congratulate you on your revolutionary position at the Ministry? Or is it Dumbledore I should afford my thanks?”

“I earned this,” you hiss.

“You deserve it,” he amends. “But do not lie to yourself and pretend that’s why you have it.”

“Fuck you.”

He smiles. “There you are.”

“I don’t need your congratulations, Riddle. Dumbledore doesn’t need your damn thanks. But,” you say, biting back the snarl that wants out, “you could thank me. After all, I could turn to the Ministry any minute with the truth of your heritage. I could tell them about Myrtle, the Horcrux — Horcruxes.”

The humour dissolves from his face and you despise the immense glee it brings you.

“Oh, did you think I didn’t know? Didn’t understand the connective thread? You are sentimental under all that… fucking posturing, you know. I’m sure it’s all very romantic to you — making Horcruxes out of Hogwarts artefacts. Shame it’s such an insult to your intelligence.”

“Very good,” he says after a long, terse silence. You’re sure he’s thinking just the opposite.

You hum, meddling with your nails. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’d need a Vow for that.”

You laugh. “I’m not that desperate.”

“You’re also not an auror, are you?” He tilts his head appraisingly. “And yet you’ve found your way here.”

“How many do you plan to make? How many people do you plan to kill?”

“A Vow.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Tea, then? Biscuits?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t. I read in the paper the other day about a poor old woman who had her tea poisoned.”

“Hm. Terrible shame.”

Your fist clenches around your wand. “Is it paying off well, Riddle? It must be a good life if you’re willing to split your soul to hell and back to have more of it.”

He smiles at the barb in your words. “You never were good with subtlety.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle. This place is horrific.”

“I was referring to your inability to see more than what’s directly in front of you.”

“Oh, really? And what more should I see than a boy who’s very good at getting weak men to bow and do very little else? I’d try to see the bigger picture, but I reckon it wouldn’t fit in here.”

Tom regards you colourlessly. You are slate, Ministry-grey, impermeable like palace portcullis.

“I suppose I should have killed you.” He says it with the nonchalance of a forgotten chore. He says it like you’re a stain.

He doesn’t say it like he feels any terrible urgency to remove you; and you think, this time, you’d feel more powerful if he did. You think it’s far more debilitating to sit here and be looked at like he regrets wanting you alive more than he wants you dead.

“Yes,” you concur, “I suppose you should have.”

You place your wand down on the table and scoot your chair away for good measure. “It’s never too late to rectify your mistakes.”

Tom, for a moment, looks surprised. That makes you feel powerful. You’d take more of that.

“You have wandless magic,” he tries. A weak recovery.

“Scout’s honour, Riddle.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, then fixes his wand in his hand and rises, doused in the same inscrutable calm that always used to drive you mad. Now something in you gleams with the knowledge that he only ever looks like this when he’s trying not to look like anything at all.

He steps closer and it gleams brighter. It trembles inside you and you know, distantly, that this is insane. You’re weighing your life on a childhood trust that was shattered years ago, and you don’t think you’ve ever been that good at faith, but he’s approaching you and that gleam you feel is reflected in his eyes and you just… know. Your spilled blood once crawled with his. There’s no undoing that. Half of you is made of the other.

“I should have killed you,” he repeats.

It’s a murmur. Stilted. Angry, even. Angry that you made him this and there’s no fucking rectifying it — what a joke that is. What an immensely you thing to suggest.

“Yes,” you agree.

It’s a breath. Low. Proud, even. Proud that you’re his only mistake and he’s going to make it again.

Tom kisses you. It’s a murder of its own kind. You kiss him back, and — you were always going to kill each other like this, weren’t you? It’s you and him whether you like it or not.

There should be no love in it. You know that. Love is far behind the both of you, stifled in a gasp at the back of your throat on your eighteenth birthday and the soft, selfish hands of a seventeen year old boy. This is mutual destruction. Spite and teeth and skin that’s cold under your fingers.

He was your first in everything but this.

You push back at him and feel the hunger, the need in him, like a flame as he kisses you deeper and harder, and you find yourself losing yourself to it all over again, like you're back in the dark alcove of a pub where you told him goodbye, pushing to extend the juncture. And then he lets out a hitched, gravelly sound; not a moan but enough to make you shudder.

You pull him onto the sofa and crawl onto his lap.

“How long?” he asks thickly.

You don’t have to ask what he means. You bite against his neck, nails under his shirt as you struggle to pop the buttons open. There must be a violence in all your want for him because if there isn't it's just loss. It's just another thing you'll give him without taking anything back.

“Sixth year," you pant, “in the Deathday ballroom when we fought for the first time. You — ah — you put your thumb on my mouth. Since then."

You hear a sharp intake of breath, and his hand moves up your back to pull you impossibly closer. His voice is ragged. “Should I tell you how long I’ve wanted you?"

You shudder a breath. “Since —" And it's a bit hard to talk with the way he's rolling your hips — “Since when?"

His lips twitch into a mirthless smile, hands spanning your thighs as you start to rock against him. “When you burned me, and I sent you into the lake."

You swallow, agonised by the slow pace his grip forces you to keep when all you want to do is go faster.

“Your uniform was terribly wet,” he says, mouth tracing your jaw. “Did I ever apologise for that?"

“N-no.”

He tuts, the hushed sound warm and deadly on your neck. “Bad manners. I must have been distracted."

Oh. Oh, you think. It seems pointless to flush in the position you're in now, but the knowledge that he wanted you then and you hadn't even known is... all the more devastating.

But you shiver at the question of how he’d wanted you, in what amount of detail, in what precise way. You almost want to ask. See it for yourself.

You don't think you'd manage the words. He’s hard underneath you and your head wants to lull toward his shoulder but a big hand holds you from one side of your jaw down the length of your neck, his tongue laving up the other. Instead you’re balanced only by his hands and his mouth, rolling against him because it’s all you can do like this.

He’s marking you, you realise with a gasp, and your fingers bury in his hair to remove his mouth from its descending assault on your collar. Not that. You’d sworn against that.

Your fingers return to his buttons and he copies you by finding yours, pulling at the fabric tucked into your trousers until it’s discarded entirely. You press your hands to the planes of his chest and watch him, your mouth agape as his eyes linger on your chest.

His heart is pounding and he must know you’re about to comment on it because his lips are on yours again and he adjusts his position and your fingers dig into his shoulders at the delicious new feeling of him pressing into your thigh.

You move for his belt. He moves for your zipper. It’s some sort of race, whatever you’re doing, and you’re at an unfair advantage when you’re still fumbling with his buckle when his hand is already carving a slow path to the band of your underwear. You're scalding under the journey of it, little stars pricking you under every new inch he explores.

He dips in and your eyes wrench shut, grasping frantically for his wrist.

“Shh,” he says softly, caressing your cheek with his spare hand, thumb finding your mouth how it did all those years ago and you want to curse him. The fucker knows exactly what he’s doing.

You shake your head, chest rising with heavy breaths as you return to his belt and scrabble to unbuckle it.

“So tense,” he murmurs. The hand at your cheek draws over your lower lip before it falls to your back to hold you closer. “Rest now.”

And his fingers trace you where you want him most, brushing past your clit as he pulls his face back to watch you.

You sink into the feeling, still swaying on his lap, a half-efforted attempt at finding friction in the hardness between his legs that feels fruitless because it won't be enough until he's inside. Your hand just grips onto the fabric of his unzipped trousers and stays there. It’s a pause. An obstacle on your path to him that you need just a moment to recover from before you’ll make him feel just like this. Better. Worse. It’s hard to tell which is which.

He’s stroking at you now, pleased by the way you lurch against him with every touch.

You have to recover, you have to make it even, you have to… you…

A finger presses inside and you moan.

“You came back to me,” he whispers, close enough to be kissing you but there’s just the stutter of his breath. It's a fucking religious thing to say, the way he does it.

“Doesn’t make me yours,” you breathe.

He shakes his head. “I know. You’ll still take it though, won’t you?”

Oh, fuck.

He makes a sound of approval. “Good.”

Good. Fine. Your hands slip from his zipper to the meat of his thighs, pushing yourself forward so the shape of him is firmer against you, and Tom slips another finger in.

You’ll take it, won’t you? Yes.

Maybe you don’t need to tear him at the seams (though you want to) to make it even. Maybe this is punishment enough. That he can have you like this and it still won’t make you his, that he’ll give you everything and you’ll lap at it with half the greed he possesses.

You ride his hand, clutching his shoulders, rocking your hips. You take all of it, and it builds something delirious inside you, that it’s him doing this, his perfect fingers, the shape of his lips, the soft dark of his hair when you find your hands in it again. The feeling makes you stutter, and he has to move you by the waist himself to keep the momentum when you can't do it yourself.

He’s painfully stiff, pushing up against you with a degree of self-control that feels like it can only end disastrously for the both of you, and you start smattering kisses down his cheek. You tilt his head back and lick a stripe down his neck. Rest now, you'd say if you could.

But he adds a third finger and your head falls, a cry planted in his collar when you come, and you don't think you say anything.

Tom holds your legs steady, guiding you through it like this is just another one of his studies. You are what he knows better than anything else, and still he wants to learn more.

“Look at you,” he mutters, dipping you back to press his lips down your chest, unclasping your bra while you’re still breaking, the sensation swelling again when he takes a nipple into his mouth.

“Tom,” you try to say. Your mouth is the sticky sort of dry that words refuse to come out of.

“Will you give me more?”

Give, not take. You fuss into a stolen kiss, grappling again with his trousers, pulling them down until you can palm him through his boxers.

He hisses, gripping your wrist like he hadn’t just done the same to you, and then he’s pulling you up and off the couch, trousers discarded with what must be magic because you blink and they’re gone. Greedy boy. (You have no room to judge.) Your back is to the wall an instant before his fingers are on you again, pushing your underwear down your thighs until it falls at your feet like they despised to ever part from you.

You arch to feel him press against your stomach, pushing off the wall so that you can meld to him but he just closes in on you to do it himself.

He goads the heat from you when his fingers push in again, still wet, coiling how you like, where you like —

“Want you,” you protest shakily, hand on his abdomen.

That must kill him a little, because he curses under his breath (a thing he never does) and the immediate absence of his touch is cruel when he goes to free himself from his boxers. You reach for him without thinking as he does, and he pins your hand beside you when your fingers so much as graze the length of him.

You sound frail, but you have to ask. “Is this how you wanted me?”

A cruder version of you would go on. Is this how you pictured it? Taking me against a wall? Have you waited for it all this time?

And you don’t belong to him but you’re so incomprehensibly, contradictorily his. You’ll want him forever. He could do anything, and you’d be his. You could haunt him into his lonely eternity, and he’d be yours. Then, you suppose — haunting him makes him yours by principle.

Maybe you already do.

Tom practically growls into your mouth, pressing against you and — God, it’s skin on skin. He's right there. You could push forward and —

He slides in. You cry out at the feel of him inside you, the angle of it like this.

“I wanted you,” he says lowly, your legs wrapped around him, “everywhere.”

You’re gripping him so tight you think he’ll bleed under your nails and somehow you still feel on the brink of collapse when he thrusts deeper.

“I thought mostly of your mouth,” he rasps. “It felt depraved to imagine it wrapped around me, but then I thought of you splayed out before me instead. That maybe you’d like it if it was my mouth on you.”

You whimper.

“Would you like that?” he asks, hands spanning your hips to snap them into his, like you are a piece removed from him he seeks to reattach.

If you wanted to answer you couldn’t. You’re clinging to him and the rising surge inside you, carved between your legs like something sweltering and unfixable. It rushes in and he pulls out of you. He pushes in and you cry for the release of it, the moment the wave lurches over the edge, but he won’t let you have it.

“But,” he says, and your eyes want to roll back at how heavy his restraint is, callous in the tone of his voice, some leash at his neck he must tug himself lest you take it from him — “If I knew how well you’d take me like this, I would have thought of it much more.”

Taking him, again — you don’t feel at all like that’s what’s happening. You feel possessed. You are buoyant in his arms: his and his and his.

“You can — uh — you can — ”

"Hm?" He brushes down the slope of your brow, your cheek, back to the edge of your mouth, wiping a trail of saliva from your chin. “Poor thing.”

And he slams into you again, drawing a mewl from you that slices your unfinished thought.

You clench around him, flames wild and fluttering at every contact of his skin on yours, and there are too many to count. Too many points where they intersect, just some blend of bodies connected at every curve.

“You’re going to give me more,” he says, like it’s an epiphany when you already told him you would.

You remember then. What you meant to say. “You can take me too.”

You feel him twitch inside you, his pace stilling for a moment, and the thumb on your lip slips into your mouth. Your lips close around him and he curses again.

He fucks you with a finger in your mouth and his teeth clamped over your shoulder, soothing the sting with his tongue. His pace is too slow when he drags his free hand between your legs, but you understand its purpose well enough that the mere recognition almost destroys you.

He’s patient in bringing you to the edge because there's time here. A slow agony that severs you from the rest of the world until it splits you down the middle. And he may not ever have it again.

You have to promise yourself he’ll never have it again.

But the movement of his fingers against the same spot he’s hitting inside you is too much at once, and you won’t last. You drool around his thumb. You let him mark you. You can see on his neck you’ve marked him too. And you hope impossibly there’s a scar. You hope the little death you coax from him claims him as yours for eternity, keeps him even when you're gone. You tighten, lurch for the edge, and make him mortal once more.

Tom holds you there, your cries reverberating as he sinks another finger in your mouth, and then he’s gasping at your neck, peeling back to look you in the eyes when he spills into you. Your eyes screw together and he releases the sounds you make by holding you by the jaw instead.

“Look at me,” he says, and for the strained need in it you do.

You come down to earth and you kiss him, wetness dripping down your thighs as he pins you to this moment. You love him. You’ll always love him.

He’s still inside you when he’s secure enough to bring you to his bed, only removing himself from you when you’re safely in his sheets, legs surrendering their grip on his waist as you pull apart. You pant into the cold linen of his pillow. Everything smells like him. There’s something empty now; the reason you came today; the reason you left four years ago.

You love him and it isn’t enough. Not even to look at him, the sleepy hint of the boy you knew in his eyes, and know that he loves you too.

“Goodnight, Tom,” you say, finding home in the warmth of his chest.

You’ll dream of a morning where you wake up beside him, but you won’t be there.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle smut #tom riddle angst #(the trifecta)#tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world #ftltutbh

3K notes · View notes

bad-and-drawn-that-way · 2 months

Note

Omfg I ate that Vox fic up! The one where he hypnotized the reader after a long fight of them nearly being taken from him. Can you do a part 2 please? Like when the reader eventually learns he basically forced them to sign the contract and they find a way to be immune to his hypnosis? He goes absolutely nuts despite literally owning their soul. He's canonically a control freak and seems to even have some yandere traits. I hope I'm not going against your rules! You don't have any posted so I just wanna ask! Thank you for being awesome! :D Don't hesitate to turn down this request. Write what makes you feel comfortable. Just please respond so I and everyone else knows not to make a similar request in the future. Lots of love!

ABSOLUTELY!! I did take this in a slightly different direction, but hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Lowkey thinking of doing a Vox POV of this later and maybe even a part three...

Vox isn't actually in this much, but I feel a loose actual plot coming together and this is what naturally flowed for me.

I hope y'all are ready for more angst... plus a cliff-hanger <3

More Than Anything Part 2 [Vox x Reader]

Part 1

Part 2.5

"You controlling prick!"

Vox ducked as you threw a pillow at him. Even in your righteous anger, you'd never actually truly try to hurt him, but by god were you pissed.

Despite Vox's obvious disdain for the Hazbin Hotel and its association with Alastor, you visited the hotel occasionally to catch up with your friend Angel Dust and give some much-deserved love to his pet pig Fat Nuggets. It was during one of these visits that you ran into Alastor, who immediately looked at you with disgust in his ever-present smile.

"Really now, my dear," he said as he shook his head in disapproval. "It's already enough of a shame that you have such poor taste in a romantic partner, but to give your soul to him as well? I thought you were smarter than that."

The overlord could see the aura of Vox's ever-annoying electric cords locked around your soul like chains. You'd been confused and his eye twitched with annoyance as he realized what Vox had done to you. To say you were livid after he explained that you'd been tricked was an understatement.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," Vox pleaded as you fumed at him in his room. "But you left me no other choice! You weren't listening to me and if I didn't bind your soul, then Satan knows what could have happened to you by now."

"Just because you don't fucking believe in my ability to look out for myself doesn't mean you get to just take my soul!" You screamed with hot, angry tears flowing down your face. You wipe at them, only crying harder at the frustration of the tears you couldn't control in your anger. You felt like they undermined your emotions.

Vox's magic sparked around him as he tried his best not to get angry and start a fight with you. He was terrified and was that much more susceptible to his angry tendencies in moments like these. It took everything in him to try and calm himself, not wanting to push you away further. His heart dropped and his blood ran cold as he saw you pull a large bag out of the closet and start shoving clothes into it.

"W-Where are you going?" Vox panicked as he crossed the room.

"The hotel," you said with quiet fury, as you stepped away from the closet and went to the nightstand with your personal things on it. "I need some space and it's the one fucking place I know you'd rather die again than follow me to."

"Ŷ̸̪͕o̸̢̿̿ū̷̫ ̶̬͂c̶̺̾͂a̴͒͘͜n̴̫̂̔'̶̡̉t̶͙̝̄͒," Vox said, his voice starting to glitch as his panic increased. "You've heard the news, the extermination is in a week and the angels plan on attacking there first. There's no guarantee they'll keep to the date after how much little miss dumbass pissed off heaven. It's not safe there."

You pull your bag over your shoulder and the look you gave him will haunt him for the rest of his afterlife. "It's safer than here."

It breaks him all the more when you shield your eyes from him and storm past him so he can't hypnotize you into staying. Vox is paralyzed with fear like never before. He wanted to scream, to beg, to stop you from leaving him, but he couldn't do anything as his system glitched so hard it forced him into a reboot. When he came to, he was alone. You were gone.

Charlie was more than willing to let you stay at the hotel. The two of you hadn't had the chance to really ever speak before, but she was always friendly when you came to visit Angel, even after you explained to her there was no way you'd be able to become a guest.

In exchange, you were happy to help set up the defenses against the extermination. You got to know all of the other members of the hotel and the work helped you push down the burning ache in your chest.

Vox had been trying to contact you nonstop. You eventually turned off your phone, driven insane by the wall of notifications of him begging you to respond in any way. He knew you were okay for the time being. He was literally connected to your soul. But as the extermination day grew closer, his panic only increased. If it wasn't for Valentino and Velvette holding him back, there were several times he genuinely would have set aside his pride and come to the hotel just to get you.

It was after helping Husk and Cherri put up a particularly tricky barrier with the dwindling supplies that Angel found you taking a break. He passed you a water which you took gratefully as he slid down the wall and joined you on the floor.

"So," he started. "Are we going to ever talk about the reason why you're hiding out here?"

"Do we have to?" You groan, running your fingers through your hair. Despite the smiles and laughter you'd been sharing with your newfound friends as you all prepared for the potential end of it all, the dark circles on your eyes gave away what was lurking underneath.

For as angry as you were at Vox, you missed him. You missed feeling him curl against you in bed. You missed being woken up at unholy hours early in the morning because Vox couldn't start his day without giving you a kiss and telling you how much he loved you. You missed his shitty taste in shows and how he'd collapse into your arms after a long day at work.

Angel sighed, looking at the boarded-up lobby. "Look I may not get it, but you love the guy, right? Are you really content with possibly dying in a couple of days for a cause you're not even a part of, just because you're pissed with him?"

"He stole my soul, Angie" You frown at him.

"And that is fucked up as hell," he agrees. "But I know you and I know there ain't no way in hell you're actually satisfied leaving shit like this."

"I just-," you start before groaning. "How the hell are we supposed to come back from this? I doubt he'd ever void the contract. He's too convinced he's right for that."

Angel sighed, setting his own cup aside. "Honestly toots, you're not gonna like it, but... He kinda has a point."

You whip your head up to look at him and he holds up his hands defensively. "Not saying that stealing your soul was the right call. Believe me, if anyone gets how fucked it is having your soul controlled by a sociopath with a big ego, it's me. But you're not exactly in the safest of places, dollface. Not to mention, you're dating an overlord who's in a trio determined to piss off as many big shots as possible. His mind may not be in the right place, but his heart kinda is."

You take Angel's words to heart and sigh as you bury your face in your arms. "I hate it, but you're right... I just... I don't want to hold him back. I don't want to be the person that needs to be protected. I want to be his equal, not his problem."

"Then tell him that," Angel sighs. His gaze drifts to the bar and smiles fondly. "Someone recently has taught me how important being real with yourself is. It's okay to be flawed. No one got stuck in this shithole cause we were perfect, y'know?"

He nudged you with a grin as he added, "Plus, come on. Can you imagine how many bitches in hell would kill to have a sexy fucker that wants nothing more than to love ya and keep ya safe? I love you toots, but for fucks sake, pick a struggle."

You snort, shaking your head as you lightly swat at his arm. "Fuck you for being right about shit all the time."

"It's one of my best assets," Angel smirked. "Y'know, aside from all the fluff."

You laughed as he puffed up his chest and by the end of the evening, you'd decided to head back. As much as you loved Angel and wanted nothing more than to be by his side as the extermination drew near, he had a point. This wasn't your fight and there was a controlling dumbass that had been blowing up your phone ever since you left that was praying for your return.

After exchanging promises to see each other after the extermination, you left the hotel. You had an idiot to see.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #angel dust #the tiniest nudge at huskerdust #i know this wasnt super vox focused but the next part def will be

497 notes · View notes

blueberrypancakesworld · 2 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Men - Take care of you

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, crying, no use of Y/n, fem reader

Characters : Alastor , Angel Dust, Husk , Sir Pentious, Vox , Valentino

Info : So it is here my first work for the hazbin hotel fandom and I'm very excited. I'm in it again after watching years ago the pilot, the first few episodes of hb and the great/amazing music video adict. So have fun everyone and enjoy it ;)

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

Alastor : A smile always graces his lips and even if you're not used to it, he's quite disturbed when his loved one doesn't smile too. They've been through a lot together, but when he walks through the corridors of the hotel from his broadcasting studio and finds his darling sad, even crying, the static goes out of his voice for a moment. He will always worry about his darling, the only one in his dark, twisted heart. ,,Darling, what's wrong...who should I make scream?" he asked, his claw-like fingers resting on your hands, the strange charged static running through you strange yet familiar. Almost judging and somehow tickling. He would listen quietly to what was on his darling's mind and let a soft song play over his wand, the song that had played when he got the letter. Your letter of admiration in such a cruel place as hell the radio demon had marveled at. ,,Or I'll just stay with you mhhh a little show?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheek with his fingers before pulling his sweet tone from the bed and flicking the room into a reddish dance hall. The radio waves turned to a song and he gently guided his darling around the room, brushing away her tears with each turn, reminding her of the things they had together. The time they had together, the things they had done for each other. His special affection, his gratitude and his love that belonged only to her. ,,You know I'm always with you darling, no matter what," he reminded his heart before leaving a gentle kiss on the back of her hand as the music faded.

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

Angel Dust : Angel Dust knew best what it meant when it came to money. He had lived it hell he was in that vicious circle and knew what it was like to be exploited for money almost every night. But in all this fire and poison he had found his own drug, so to speak. The one that had helped him when he was down, when he needed a break, when he couldn't sleep after night after night. She had sacrificed herself, Val had practically thrown herself at the throat, had taken it upon herself to become the number two in the business, something "enough" as Valentino called it. But Angel knew better than anyone that something like this didn't just pass you by. Which is why, with a warm tea in his hands, the spider heard the quiet knock on the door before he heard the ,,Come in." He didn't have to look to know that the runny makeup was from tears and other things. ,,Hey princess, come here," he murmured, putting the tea on the side table before slowly putting his hands around her. Never firm enough that she couldn't resist, always calm enough to show her that he didn't want what the others in the store wanted. The words flowed slowly over her lips and even though they both knew there was no point in talking about it, it felt good. It eased the pain and Angel was able to wipe away her tears before he gave her the tea. Because if there was one thing he had learned, it was that a cup of tea could work wonders in a few minutes and make you feel warm and safe. ,,I promise this will all end soon," he murmured, letting his beauty lay her head on his chest and he smiled gently as he saw the trembling of her body lessen with his calm heartbeat. At least they would both have something like hope for a while...a moment of calm and peace in the vicious circle.

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

Husk : The clinking of glasses was something that could always be heard at the bar, either when the former overlord was sorting, washing or serving the glasses. The bottles made about the same sound but darker. But something still filled his bar: sniffling and sobbing. The sadness of his favorite, lucky clover, sitting at the bar with his head buried in his hands. He had just blown away to take another order because everyone else was already off to Satan's place. The beating of his wings could be heard as he hurriedly came over to her. He didn't need to look at the sad face, ,,I know you've given everything we all know that" he said and reached for the right drink he knew her favorite order was the one she had brought him back when he was lucky. He handed her the drink and slowly and gently took her hands from her face before she took the drink with a slight look of gratitude. He nodded in acknowledgment as he saw them both just sitting there for a moment, he slowly wrapped his sweat around her waist and pulled her a little closer, placing a wing on her shoulder. Knew the feathers were something she wanted. Because he was right, she let her fingers wander over the pattern. She finally gave in and told him about her yet another failed attempt to get money and power for the hotel, maybe even a few free ones, but nothing had worked. Instead, only the usual cursing and swearing...as the cave was true. Without happiness and kindness. ,,But our happiness and togetherness will last forever," he said and handed her one of his golden dice before the two of them rolled it over the wood of the ceiling. But in fact, when Husk pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek, both dice landed as doubles. They knew that together they had the best luck they could have as a couple.

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

Sir Pentiuos : The airship's engine was loud, but the serpent demon was able to distinguish between the sound of an engine, the cracking of eggs and the sobs of its first officers. Turning away from the steering wheel, hoping that a cherry-scented bomb would not be thrown through the windshield, he made his way into the interior of his airship. ,,My beauty? Are you in here?" he asked as he looked into the individual rooms of the ship before he heard her from the craft room, where she was mostly developing her weapons. Weapons that had often led them both to victory, but this time it didn't work out. it was the third time in the last week that they had been caught by the bombs. He saw her sitting on one of the tables with another broken weapon in her hands, a mistake she took to heart. ,,Ohh darling please don't I'm here come here" he whispered and his forked snake tongue wetted her cheek lightly as he pulled her into an embrace. The kiss on her cheek made her smile as she saw that the serpentine demon was a little pink in the cheeks himself. His cuteness that he mostly didn't know about always cheered her up, he would always manage somehow. His snake tail curled around her body and his slightly scaly skin felt warm when she put her fingers on it. He knew his scales soothed her and his words dug into her like the bite of a snake. He slowly put her weapon aside and cuddled her again, encouraging her. ,,Shall I fetch the eggs? A big party, my dear, maybe a party," he suggested with a smile and shortly afterwards he lifted her into his arms before the two of them went to the little ones. The family sat down together and soon instead of crying, laughter and joy could be heard as Sir Pentious stood by their side.

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

Vox : Voices can get loud, programs can get loud and with the three Vees it can get very very loud. If not the models, then Val's employees or hookers suffer from this. But this stress for new eriesn, new porn shoots and new clothes became too much for every demon. And when Vox went back to his office/broadcasting station he had, as always, an overishct on everything. A look at everything and everyone, but a look at the one screen he always had closest to him. Just a second later, he showed up in her room using his skills to make the viewers go haywire. They were always surrounded by noise, so he knew how good it was to have silence. ,,Hey button we'll take care of the ratings later...what do you need mhh?" he asked taking her cell phone from the one she was using to monitor the other ratings. He used his hands to pull her towards him, moving her slightly around the room, not necessarily dancing but playfully looking for that spark. ,,Come on, tell dear Vox what it is? Something special you want me to take care of?" he offered a small spark on her body, seeing that she smiled briefly knowing she liked it, that little shock that made her heart beat faster, drove her nerves and dispelled her fear. ,,You know no one can do anything to the four of us, we're different...and hot," he reminded her, laughing with her as his mood brought her back to her proper self. She felt the loaded kiss on her lips briefly but like catching up on a television. Before they moved across the room they shared a drink and she rested her head against his shoulder as they looked across the cave knowing that if they all stayed together she would stay with Vox he would never leave her and everything would work out in the end.

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

Valentino : Obscene noises, neon pink signs, and a reclamation board and TV that gave a taste of the videos and movies that would come out if you went to the brothel in the compartment that belonged to Valentino. In this particular business, one thing mattered above all else. Stamina. Stamina if it was going to be a long night with twenty guys, stamina to film it all, stamina to count the money at the end and stamina when you were in hangover. It was exhausting for the employees and for Val, but especially for the assistant. The brothel mother, designer, scriptwriter and partner of the moth demon. It all just became too much at some point, which is why it took the Overlord a moment to realize that crying wasn't what he knew. In a flash of his smoke and the flutter of his wings, he made his way to their shared room. ,,My sweet kitty, what's wrong? No inspiration shall I fetch Angel or our favorite maybe Vox?" he suggested with a grin and took a puff on his cigrette as he approached the bed. Sha, however, that this only made him more depressed and his grin diminished as he extinguished the cigarette in the smoke and came to her, his wings blocking out the bright pink light from everywhere and the two of them a little darkened. Quiet and just the two of them. ,,Too much...I know it's a bit too stimulating sometimes," he mumbled, trying to find the right words, still not the best at taking care of others in his egocentric worldview of sex and money. But for her he would give anything and he could feel how it bothered him not to see her smiling, not shining with inspiration. He held out his hand to her for permission as she slowly cuddled up to him. ,,Here just the two of us just here and no one else just us" he whispered quietly trying not to hold her too tightly but not too loosely as the wings wrapped around them both like a blanket. As they both listened to each other's heartbeats, the sweet smell of Valentino was familiar but reassuringly true. It was just that hold they b oth needed in a place where they knew there was no going back.

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

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #alastor x reader #angel dust x reader #husk x reader #sir pentious x reader #vox x reader #valentino x reader

480 notes · View notes

uglyducklingofthe2000s · 2 months

Note

Please can you write a fic about reader who’s just had a baby and (any driver) looks after her and they do the cute things like drive baby home, makes sure she’s taken her pills, helps her learn to feed etc like fluffy cuteness 😍

A Piece of Us - OP81

Summary: Becoming young parents is a task but Oscar's never failed trying something new yet and he doesn't intend to now. He's going to be a great dad and he's going to make sure the mother of his child is just as cared for.

No part 2 requests please

Oscar felt blessed to know he has a couple weeks with his new baby and girlfriend before he has to work. Sadly paternity leave doesn't really exist in F1 unless he wants to just give up his seat.

"A long and exhausting recovery." Y/n sighs as she considers the challenge of getting out of bed so they can leave since they've deemed it ok to discharge her. "It's a good thing our baby is cute, or I wouldn't think ruining my vag-"

"Nothing is ruined and you are both perfect." Oscar states after having secured their sleeping daughter in the car seat. "Do you want some help?"

"You realise you're the only one of the three of us leaving this hospital not in a nappy." Y/n mumbles hating the fact that childbirth has done this to her.

"The midwife said every woman has to wear one when they have a natural birth. You don't look any less beautiful...I just wish I could take any pain away from you." Oscar smiles lightly then moving to kiss her which she is more than accepting of. "I love you. Before, during and after the birth of our baby, I love you entirely."

Y/n pouts feeling tears welling up before she climbs off the bed, purely so she can latch onto Oscar.

"We're not doing this agains for a long time." Y/n mumbles earning a small laugh.

"When or if you're ever ready to have another baby or go through this again. Then we can talk about it." Oscar nods making her smile since he has always made it clear that it's her body going through everything and he will never impose his view on anything because it's not his place unless she asks for him to add input. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready." Y/n nods as he holds her hands and she tests being able to keep herself upright. "I'm alright, you get Iris. I'll get-"

"Nothing, you're still not going to be carrying anything heavy. We just need to get you both to the car. I will take care of everything." Oscar states having made a point of knowing every rule the midwife has assigned to y/n.

Her only job is to rest, cuddle and feed the baby and if she's in pain alert Oscar. That last one might be more of a rule he's implementing since he was given the painkillers she might need since she did get stitches and she is definitely in a lot of discomfort.

Oscar gets the bags to the car first before making sure they're both secure in the back seats since y/n wants to be able to keep an eye on Iris while they're driving.

"Are you sure you're comfortable enough back here?" Oscar asks as he opens the back door looking at her.

"No, but I'm not going to be anymore comfortable in the passenger seat." Y/n sighs shifting a little and adjusting the tightness of the seatbelt around her as Oscar smiles lightly at her trying to be reassuring. "We're good back here. Ready to get moving when you are."

"Ok, we've definitely got everything. Let's get you guys home." Oscar smiles leaning over to kiss her before he moves back and closes the door.

With Oscar due to leave by the two week mark, he's trying to be as present as possible so they've made sure they aren't interrupted as y/n tries to recover and Oscar basically takes care of y/n and Iris single handedly.

Obviously, y/n is doing her bit. But if there's something he can do then he's making the effort to keep her as rested as possible.

"Is she latching on ok?" Oscar asks looking almost nervous while y/n looks at him with tired eyes. She might be "rested" in the sense that she's not doing much but the constant crying and needing to wake up to feed Iris isn't doing much for y/n's sleep.

"Yeah, she's either getting milk or blood out of me." Y/n mumbles earning a sigh. "Oscar, you know you're going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing when you leave for the season. And I know I look like shit, but I'm going to be alright. I was literally built for this."

"I know, I just don't like the thought of leaving either of you really and I want to make sure you're as happy as you can be when I leave you." Oscar sighs while she smiles lightly at him.

Y/n knows how lucky she is to have a guy who genuinely cares so much, sure it's not so lucky he has to leave so soon but she'd never ask him to stay. The plan is for her to travel and see him when she feels comfortable enough to do so with Iris. Until then Oscar is travelling back to be with them as often to see them between races.

"Come sit with us." Y/n smiles lightly earning a grin that makes Oscar move to sit down with her quickly, moving up behind her. He sits so her back is to her chest and she's leaning back on him.

"I got her, you can let go." Oscar states after placing his hands to support the baby in place.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I want to help take the load off as much as possible before I got. Even though I know you got it." Oscar smiles since he really doesn't want her to feel doubted or undermined her ability to be a mother unaided by him. "You are an amazing mother, you know that."

"I think you've set some pretty high standards to live up to as a father...I do have to admit, it might be harder than I thought doing this with you gone." Y/n sighs softly while dropping her head back. "But at least they'll be no temptation to have sex before the 6 weeks is up."

Y/n eventually decides that Iris is done before lying the sleeping baby between her legs on the mattress.

"We made a pretty gorgeous baby." Yn grins wanting to change the tone of conversation to something lighter.

"We did, didn't we?" Oscar smiles then kissing her neck. "You need your cocktail."

"My cocktail?"

"All the pills."

"Oh is that what we're calling it?" Y/n laughs then sighing as she looks at Iris. "Ok, if you get me the pills to pop. I'll put Iris down and then...we can have some mum and dad time...in the least sexual way."

"Sounds good to me. We could have something to eat. You haven't really eaten much since we got home." Oscar offers making her look at him for a moment since she hadn't even noticed she hadn't eaten and suddenly it dawns on her that the last thing on her mind has been taking car of herself. Thankfully Oscar is a mind reader and proves once again, he was more prepared than she was for parenthood. "You have me to take care of you for these next couple weeks and even when I'm gone, you know I'm just over the phone. I'll be checking in, I'll be sending reminders."

"You'll be keeping baby-brain in check, you mean." Y/n smiles as she stands up, sucking in a breath and picking up Iris who y/n thanks god her daughter is an amazing sleeper. So far at least.

Oscar has disappeared by the time y/n has finally stopped herself admiring Iris. But she moves through to the kitchen where Oscar was clearly prepared because he's got her a McDonald's.

"I'm allowed McDonald's?" Y/n jokes since Oscar had been kind of strict about her pregnancy diet and while fast food was allowed, he tried to curve her cravings for it.

"You were the one who told me not to let you have fast food more than once every two weeks." Oscar laughs which is completely true, he was only working on her instructions from when they found out she was pregnant. "Pills for you. Not to be taken on an empty stomach."

"Thank you." Y/n smiles moving to kiss him. "Thank you for everything, I'd be a mess with...a saggy stomach, probably crying over Iris not latching and I would've definitely had McDonald's more than the 3 times a week extra I ordered it while you weren't around."

Oscar laughs at the final admission since he knew but he didn't say anything because he was not going to be the one who got in her way if that's what she wanted to eat.

"You would be just as beautiful and put together, with or without me." Oscar dismisses before cupping her face as her hands smooth around his waist to hug him. "But I'm glad I'm here for you however I can be."

Oscar is not one to struggle so much with emotions but this feels impossible. Leaving Iris and y/n feels so completely impossible and far too soon.

As much as y/n has proved that she is very much capable of handling her own, he doesn't really care if she is or not. He wants to be there with her, and he had been warned last year by other dad's on the grid that F1 does come with missing a lot of milestones.

"Baby?" Y/n frowns as she stands on the tarmac ready for Oscar to take off with Lando. He's still got Iris strapped to him in the carrier. "You gotta hand her over at some point."

"I think she's good to travel. Bring her to the race." Lando grins before earning a look from the young parents which makes him shift back. "I'll just wait in the jet."

Y/n looks back at Oscar who just looks annoyed.

"Oscar, what's going on? What's wrong?" Y/n questions making him sigh looking down at Iris for a moment before he begins to take the baby carrier off.

"I just don't feel right leaving the two of you." Oscar sighs as he helps her put the carrier on. "It doesn't feel right leaving you."

"Hey...you have done more than your fair share. Time to let me be a mum and see if I'm actually any good without you being an amazing dad who picks up the slack." Y/n mumbles trying to perk up his mood. "It's not that long and after Jeddah, I'm flying over to Australia with you...Iris is going to meet your whole family. We're going to get time together and she's going to be there for your home race."

Oscar remains quiet as he helps adjust the straps to fit her before moving around and cupping y/n's face to kiss her a couple times.

"I'm calling you first thing when I land and use texts to me just to log feeding times and nap times and make sure you rest too-and eat. Please don't forget about yourself." Oscar rambles earning a small smile before she looks at him.

"Oscar, we're going to be ok." Y/n assures him then kissing him lightly. "In fact we're going to be great. Now you really have to go. Like really have to go."

"I know. I know." Oscar nods kissing her once more then kissing the top of her head. "Alright, I'll speak to you later. I love you."

"I love you too. Speak to you soon."

Oscar sighs getting on the jet and sitting down so he can watch y/n till she disappears heaving back into the airport while Lando pats Oscar's shoulder.

"You're going to be alright mate, it's going to get easier and they'll be able to come with us more...The team are all excited to meet Iris too."

"Thanks mate." Oscar mumbles before sinking back. "It doesn't feel right leaving them."

"I know mate." Lando states softly since he can tell this is painful for his teammate and there's not really anything he can do to help.

Despite Oscar leaving, y/n was still very much in recovery from giving birth. But when Oscar sees her in Australia is suddenly hits him all at once that she's thriving in motherhood. It really took giving her the space to breathe and find her footing without him there aiding her but she is absolutely the most perfect mother.

Oscar is watching y/n and Logan talk as y/n gently hands Iris to the American driver.

"You alright, mate?" Lando asks appearing beside him.

"I'm just...learning to enjoy these moments." Oscar nods with a small smile before he sighs. "I think my daughter is going to be more popular than me in life."

"I think she already is...so is your future wife." Lando smiles as y/n looks at the two and grins saying something to Logan which makes them both move over to the two McLaren drivers.

"Oscar, you're lucky your daughter is 99% y/n." Logan jokes while Lando grins and takes the baby.

"Are you two sharing uncle duties?"

"If this is about to be a competition of best uncle, I'm already an uncle so I think." Lando declares as he looks at the tiny baby, who has grown in the nearly 2 months of life that she's had.

"Nice try, but I live closer and I won't be dividing my attention between other nieces or nephews." Logan smirks while y/n laughs shaking her head. "She's really gorgeous, guys. You three are a beautiful family."

"Thank you." Y/n and Oscar beam at the same time.

"Alright, Iris mission to get you to say Lando before you say Logan is a-go." Lando declares earning a look from y/n and Oscar.

"Yeah, give me my baby back. She is a baby, and if she's saying anything first. It's mama followed by dada and then maybe McLaren."

"I think car is probably going to be a better starting point in that department. Ummm...it is time to eat though." Y/n mumbles subtly hinting they need to move somewhere without open space and such an audience.

"Bye boys, have fun arguing about who the better uncle is." Oscar smiles saluting his friends as he carries Iris and y/n hugs the two men before rushing to follow him.

Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos

1K notes · View notes

rkvriki · 7 months

Text

PAIRING ! rich jock!jake x mechanic!reader

SYNOPSIS ! Always having had this passion for cars and fixing them, you found the perfect summer job as a mechanic! Working in a mechanic shop where everyone that worked there was friends with each other was perfect until the friend that didn't work there showed up to get his car fixed.

WARNINGS ! i don't understand a single thing abiut cars or how to fix them it was all googled; jake has daddy-ish? issues; horrendously written angst; reader and jake get pretty heart broken but i cant write angst so its awful; reader thinks jake cheated yikes; curse words; drinking alcohol; reader and jake both have anxiety; reader talks about her past and not having many friends; slighlty suggestive talk but minor friendly! i think it's all, warn me if otherwise!!

word count : 18.9k lol PLEASE READ! so i want to warn everyone that reads this that this story is not my best. I wrote this during a huge writers block and I've never written something as long as this. I know there are flaws and things that could be better, so I'm all open to tips and advice on how to be better at this kind of stories. I would love to write more of this lenght fics even if my blog was not created for that but its a path i would like for it to take. I really apologize if this story doesn't reach your expectations, but I'm only starting so please be nice patient with me. i hope you enjoy this at least a little bit !

Summer jobs were a student’s worst enemy. The desperation of wanting money to go on a trip with friends led anyone to get the first job they could get their hands on. That’s how you end up at your friend's boyfriend's mechanic shop. Sohee told you about his shop when she found out you were looking for summer jobs to get money for your long-planned trip and knew her boyfriend was looking for employees. Everyone who knew you well enough knew you had a special love for cars and were good at fixing some car-related problems. Ever since you were a little child you were always running behind your father when he did some fixing around his car and as you grew up you learned a few things, enough to have friends call you occasionally to fix their cars. You were a little hesitant to accept this job, you had never fixed any big thing in a car and this job looked like it required more knowledge than you had, still after considering how much you needed the money you accepted your friend’s offer.

Sohee explained that only a few people were working around and they were all her boyfriend’s, Heeseung, friends. Heeseung, who ran the shop, does any kind of job around and fixes business and partnership offers, Jungwon worked during the weekends in class months and worked full time during summer break and usually worked in simple things like changing tires and cleaning the cars, Sunghoon who polishes the cars along with Sunoo who also paints and wraps them, Jay worked with changing heavy car pieces and finally, Ni-ki who was friends with all of them and the youngest amongst them all, was also doing this as a summer job and he was in charge of painting costume designs in cars. The 6 of them formed a friend circle along with another one, Jake – who didn’t seem to be working here since he most likely didn’t need to, seeing that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has always been more privileged than the rest of them in Sohee’s words.

Putting on your jacket and grabbing your keys you made your way out. The weather was hot and you were already regretting putting a jacket on as soon as you entered your car and felt how hot it was inside. You started the car, turned the ac on, waited until you could breathe properly, and felt like you wouldn’t melt in the car seat. You grabbed your phone and pasted the mechanic shop address in the GPS app. It wasn’t too far from your house, which you were grateful for since it meant you didn’t need to wake up extra early to reach the shop in time. The drive was quiet, the traffic was low, and deep down you wished it was high just so you could have time to calm your nerves. The app indicated that you were a minute away so you looked around the street until you spotted a sign that read Gearbox Garage. You made a turn and pulled into the small driveway the shop had to park cars. You turned your car off and took a deep breath as you pulled your keys out and got out of the car. You walked to the front of the shop and it looked empty, making you think that maybe you should’ve given Heeseung a call before coming. Looking at the time on your phone, it marked 2:30 pm meaning they could be on lunch break. You walked into the shop and looked around, the shop was well organised for a mechanic shop, it wasn’t as dirty as you expected it to be but small oil puddles and thrown cloths could be seen here and there. There were only a few cars, not that you expected more since the place wasn’t the biggest. Taking one more look around, you saw a door with a sign that said staff only, you walked towards it and knocked, hoping somebody would open it and it would be Heeseung. You waited a few seconds until a tall man opened it with a sandwich in his hand and sauce and bread crumbs in the sides of his mouth. He looked at you with a confused expression as he leaned in the doorway.

“Um I’m here to talk with Heeseung, I’m friends with his girlfriend and she told me he’s looking for one more person to work here so-” you were cut off as the man walked away and shouted, “Heeseung hyung, there’s someone for you!” a faint coming could be heard in the distance as another figure started approaching the door. Said Heeseung appears in front of you. “So you must be the y/n Sohee’s always talking about?” he said looking at you with an extended hand, waiting for you to shake it. You took his hand in yours as you shook it, hoping he didn’t notice how sweaty it was from your nerves. “Ah yeah, that’s me! I’m assuming she told you how I wanted the job, right?” “Oh yes, she did tell me about it and I just need you to answer a few questions to know whether you can get the job is that ok?” Shit, smile and nod y/n. You quickly nodded at his words, hoping he wouldn’t ask if you knew how to do complex things. “I just need to know what kind of things you can fix or have done.” “Oh! I have done quite a few things, I’ve changed oils, fixed engine chains, changed batteries, changed tires and other small fixes.” you nodded and fiddled nervously with your fingers, silently hoping this was enough to have him accept you to this job. Heeseung nodded and slightly smiled at your words and extended his hand again. You looked at his hands and then at him and he laughed at your confusion. “Seems like you’re our newest employee, welcome!” you let out a breath of relief and shook his hand again. “Oh my god, thank you so much! I promise I'll try my best.” you said firmly as you offered him a smile. “No need to thank me. We really need one or two more employees so you’re big help right now. Anyways, you can start maybe tomorrow at 9 am?” “Oh sure, I can, see you tomorrow then!” Heeseung nodded at you and went back to the staff room as you made your way out to your car.

As soon as you sat in your car you immediately texted Sohee, thanking her for having such a nice boyfriend. You put your phone down and sigh happily. You got the job now, what could go wrong? Now you just need to focus on working hard and getting that money to go on that trip.

The sound of your alarm made you stir awake. You groaned as you stretched out and let your arms fall limp in bed with a loud thump. You closed your eyes as you let out a sigh, getting mentally ready for your first day at work. Getting out of bed, you made your way to the bathroom to take your morning shower. You turned the water on and let it warm a little bit before you went in. The warm water felt relaxing against your skin, an almost therapeutic feeling. As you washed yourself you started thinking about how would your first day at work, hoping you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of the rest of the boys and could get along with them. Now, it wasn’t like you had a hard time making friends, quite the opposite. Still, you were always a little awkward when you first met people, all thanks to your constant overthinking, never knowing if people enjoyed talking to you or not. You could say you had a pretty vast friend group but you weren’t as close with anyone as you were with Sohee. She has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. She’s been there for you anytime you needed and you for her. Sohee was the one who helped you come out of your comfort zone and try new things. Without her, you wouldn’t enjoy your teenage years as much as you did, hell, if it wasn’t for her you wouldn’t even dream of going on the damn trip.

You got out of the shower and stepped in front of the mirror, wiping some of the steam off of it. You started doing your normal skincare routine that, normally, would be a relaxing moment for you, but now you were only thinking about how you could be getting ready to head to the beach with your friends and drink a cocktail while tanning, and now you were only harshly rubbing the products on your face with irritation. Taking a deep breath you moved to your room to finish getting ready so you could leave the house as soon as you could. You looked in the mirror, taking in your appearance one last time before leaving the house, not that the way you looked right now mattered because you were more than sure that sooner or later you would be covered in oil and car fluids so you opted for your old overalls with an old shirt underneath.

The drive downtown was quiet and easy-going, still, there was some traffic since everyone started their work around the same time. The car’s clock indicated that it was 8:50, making you relieved that you weren’t gonna be late on your first day of work. Making the already familiar last turn, you reached the shop, parking in the lot it had inside. You got out of the car and instantly felt the slight summer breeze that ran through the morning air. Walking inside the shop, you could already hear some shuffling going on around the shop. As you got in further, you saw Heeseung who probably hasn’t noticed your presence yet from his crouched position, cleaning up some tools and putting them in a separate box.

“Good morning, Hee!” you greeted, startling him. He got up and turned to face you with a surprised expression. “Oh hey, y/n! Wasn’t expecting you to be this early, though.” He said, chuckling as he wiped his hands with a cloth. “Well, you know, didn’t wanna be too late on my first day of work, I guess,” you said, swinging yourself back and forth, avoiding his gaze, feeling kinda awkward with yourself for worrying so much about being on time. “Usually the other boys come super late since they come all together so you shouldn’t worry about being on time here. Also, we’re supposed to be all friends here, so don’t put too much pressure on yourself about working here, it’s all chill here!” Heeseung said, trying to reassure and comfort you. “I guess it’s just a matter of time for me to get used to it.” you clapped your hands behind your back as you finished talking. “Anyways, should I start working?” you suggested. “Oh, yeah. Actually, there’s a car that needs an oil change, so maybe you could start by doing that.” Heeseung said, pointing to a red car that was already up in the hydraulic lift. “Sure thing!”

You put on some gloves that Heeseung gave you and started getting to work. Changing oil was something you did quite a lot, it was one of the first things your dad taught you, something that was so hard for you back then is now a piece of cake for you. Having a passion for cars made learning things way easier for you. Obviously, this old passion of yours wasn’t seen as a good thing for some people. Some would tell you girls shouldn’t be working with cars as it was the role for the boys or that you should be playing with your dolls instead of getting in your dad’s way while he was fixing his car. Of course, your little kid self felt awful hearing such things, but your parents would always reassure you that it didn’t matter what they said and that it was okay to want to learn those things. As time went by, people stopped commenting less and less. As you grew up you learned how to stand up for yourself and you wouldn’t leave those people without a response, and with time they learned how to mind their own business.

As you waited for the oil to fully drain, you heard a car pull up in the parking lot and the rest of the five boys arrived together, just as Heeseung had mentioned previously. You got up from your kneeling position and turned to look at them as they all got in and greeted Heeseung. Their loud voices quickly filled the place that was once only filled by the quiet tunes from Heeseung’s playlist and the occasional clanking of tools hitting the floor. You went back to work as they all talked with each other and started getting ready to work. You heard steps coming in your direction, making you look back to where it came from, seeing Jungwon walking towards you with his dimples on display.

“Good morning, y/n! You know it’s weird seeing someone who’s not Heeseung working here this early.” Jungwon said as he walked towards you, chuckling to himself. Stopping what you were doing, you turned all your attention to him. “Guess someone needed to give him some company, no?” you said putting your hands on your hips. “Keep going like that and he might give you the “employee of the month” title,” he said, making you laugh at him. “Anyways, what are you doing?” he asked, nodding at the car above you on the lift. “Oh, changing some oil, was about to put a new filter on.” you said as you pointed at the car’s oil pan, “Shouldn’t you get to work as well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him, making him scowl at you. “Don’t remind me, Heeseung gave me a shit ton of cars to clean, got work for a whole week,” he said rolling his eyes. Jungwon walked away to start working on his cleaning duty and you put your focus back on the oil filter.

Soon enough, it was lunchtime and the seven of you were all gathered in the staff room. You were all talking about multiple things and something that came to conversation was how they had never seen you around campus.

“I mean, I guess I’m not necessarily a social butterfly and we might not even have classes in the same place, so that might explain why we never crossed paths.” you explained as you ate some of your tuna-mayo wrap you brought from home, they all hummed in agreement. “What are you majoring in, though?” Sunghoon asked you as he looked up from his lunchbox. “Oh, I study computer science!” “Oh really? Then you must know Jake? Jake Sim? He shares a few classes with comp sci students” Heeseung asked, surprised to know you were in the same major as his best friend. You hummed in thought as the name sounded familiar. “It does ring a bell but I’m not really adding a face to the name though.” You said slightly tilting your head to the side as you tried your best to remember who the hell was Jake Sim. “Yeah, let’s just say his attendance isn’t exactly the highest…” Heeseung said as he hissed quietly. “Oh… yeah that must explain why I don’t remember him then.” You said chuckling. “Don’t misunderstand it. It’s not like he doesn’t care about classes, I mean he kinda doesn’t, but he is much more focused on football.” Heeseung paused as if he was in deep thought. “Jake knows if anything school-related goes wrong for him he can just take over his dad’s business, which most likely will happen.” You hummed, understanding what he meant.

It wasn’t rare for jocks like Jake to skip classes and ignore the fact that they need to graduate. Still, some of them were lucky to have successful family businesses, like Jake was. His father was one of the most prestigious CEOs and businessmen of Seoul and even the whole of South Korea. He led one of the most famous costume software development companies around, starting in a small office in Seoul that, over the years, grew all over the country’s most famous districts. Jake obviously was following his father’s steps, deciding to follow the computer science field so one day he could take over his father’s business. Was this his dream? No. Did he really wanna be a future CEO? Also no. He was doing this solely because he knew his dad would never approve of his younger son pursuing a football career. His older brother, Jaewoo, was already following the business field and Jake was just expected to do the same as him and since the older sibling decided not to work in his father’s company, he was the last hope to keep the business going so he felt like he had no other option. He felt suffocated knowing that everyone had high expectations for him, having people constantly asking him if he was happy to know he would take over the oh-so successful business, to which he obviously smiled and nodded but deep down he felt mad, almost furious, that people only expected him to do that. No one ever asked him about football, even though everyone knew he was good and even the best in the team and could grow so much more in that field if it weren’t for people like them who only cared about status and money. That’s not who Jake wants to become, selfish and greedy.

The day came to an end, the sky had a pink and orange hue to it, creating a beautiful painting, pleasing and conforming to gaze at. You started organizing all the tools you had used, placing them in their respective place in the toolbox Heeseung had lent you. Distant chattering could be heard from the other boys playing around as they had also finished their work for the day. You were walking towards the bathroom to wash your hands when you heard someone call your name.

“Hey, y/n!” You looked back to see Sunghoon, who called you, and the rest of the guys looking at you. “Come out for dinner with us, we’re going to the barbeque place downtown.” “Um, I don’t know guys, it’s gonna get late and we have work again tomorrow…” You said, scratching the back of your neck, suddenly feeling shy, not being used to going out with people you barely knew. “Oh come on, to celebrate your first day being one of us! It’s on Heeseung tonight!” Ni-ki said patting the older man on the back, who was about to complain but quickly agreed with the younger one as he felt him pinching him. “Yeah, y/n, don’t even worry about coming late tomorrow.” Your eyes flickered between all of them until you decided to agree with them, realizing that maybe you need to loosen up a little and stop being such a pussy. You sighed, nodding your head at them “Ok, fine! But I’m not paying!” You said raising your hands. The boys cheered dramatically, making you roll your eyes but laugh nonetheless. “Anyways, I’m going home to get ready, just text me later with the address.” Everyone bid their goodbyes and you made your way back to your car, ready to go home.

As you entered your house, your mom came to greet you, kissing your cheek in the process. “Hey, dear. How was your first day at work?” she asked you, grabbing your jacket and putting it into the coat hanger at your entrance. “Oh, it actually went really well. Wasn’t expecting to work as much as I did, but I’m proud that I could do that much.” “Ah, you must be so tired, honey! Was the lunch I made enough? Oh, maybe I should’ve-” “Mom,” you said laughing “It was more than enough, don’t worry about it, ok?” you reassured her, rubbing her arms that rested on her side as she looked tense. “Anyways, they all invited me to dinner so I’m gonna shower and get ready.” You kissed her cheek and ran upstairs towards your room.

Dinner yesterday went smoothly. All your worries about not being able to get along with them were quickly thrown away when you found yourself talking with them like you’ve known them for ages. The night was filled with laughter, maybe because of the funny stories being shared or maybe it was the alcohol that everyone- except Ni-ki- had consumed. You were glad you were able to let yourself loose and enjoy the night to the max, you couldn’t remember the last time you had that much fun since you were always so busy with college and finals were kicking your ass. The last thing you remember doing that night was texting Sohee that you had gotten home safely and you had enjoyed the night.

Now you were waking up with the buzz of your alarm, opening your eyes only to close them right away when the bright sun rays hit your face. You sat up on the bed, feeling your head pound making you hiss at the strong feeling. You got up and walked to the bathroom scolding yourself to never drink on a work night again.

Driving to work today was painful, no matter how strong the medicine you took was or how much orange juice you drank, the pounding headache you got was not going away and the dark circles under your eyes also weren’t a very pleasant sight to see so you opted to wear a pair of sunglasses. You looked at the time and it marked 9:40 am, definitely not on time but no one could really blame you for being extra slow today and your mom also made sure to take a few more minutes from your time to scold you about being late out and drinking when you had work the next day.

Arriving at the shop, you saw everyone already there making you sigh, hating yourself for being the last one arriving at work. Walking inside you saw that no one was working, instead, they were all sitting at a table near the entrance, some of them laying their head down on the table and others drinking energy drinks to be able to go on with their day. “I don’t even know if it’s safe to say good morning.” you said sitting down next to them, plopping down on the chair, hissing at the quick movement that made the pounding sensation in your head stronger. No one was able to say anything so you were all sitting down in silence, looking at the cars driving by the shop. Any passer-by would think you had nothing to do when in fact there was way too much to do than any of you could.

“Remind me to never do this again, please.” Jungwon said referring to going out until late, making everyone hum in agreement. Suddenly, Heeseung gets up, clapping his hands and then rubbing them together “Let’s get to work. These cars aren’t gonna fix themselves.” Everyone groaned at the older man’s words, some complaining, saying it would be fair to take a day one, only receiving Heeseung’s glare in return. “Anyways, y/n, I know you just got here, but I really need you to do me a favour,” Heeseung said, turning to you. You stared at him through your glasses in response “Pretty please?” He said lacing his hands together, making you sigh and roll your eyes. “Oh my god, fine! What is it then?” You said putting your hand on your hip with a sigh. “I need you to go downtown to pick up a parcel at the post. It has some pieces that I need for the car I'm fixing.” You said nothing in return aside from an I’ll be back soon as you entered the car.

The drive back to the shop was awful, you were stuck in traffic for almost an hour and about to burst in anger. “If it wasn’t for Heeseung and his stupid parcel…” you said, talking to yourself. When you arrived back at the shop you were more than ready to throw hands at Heeseung, if the parcel weren’t so heavy you would be running in his direction. “I swear to God, Heeseung, if you ever, but ever make me go through all this traffic again, man, I swear on my life I won’t-” You stopped in your tracks when you saw what was in front of you. “Oh my good God, what in the good earth, I- oh my goodness.” you dropped the parcel on the floor as you approached Sunghoon who was near the entrance. “Hoon, please tell me I’m not seeing things and my eyes aren’t deceiving me.” You exclaimed, your eyes never moving away from the car in front of you. Sunghoon swore he never saw your eyes shining so brightly “Hoon, is this a freaking Ford Mustang from ‘69?” you said in a high-pitched voice as your hands made their way to your face, cupping your cheeks. It wasn’t until you heard a deep chuckle that you noticed a figure next to Sunghoon. You looked in the person’s direction and you were met with a beautiful, almost ethereal, face that was already looking at you, sporting a smirk, making you feel nervous under his strong gaze. Your eyes looked him up and down, noticing he was dressed in designer head to toe. His face was familiar to you but you couldn’t grasp any memory with his face on it.

“You like it?” he asked, nodding his head towards the car before you. You nodded at him with a hum, words suddenly stuck in your throat and you didn’t even dare to try and speak, fearing your voice would fail you. He chuckled at you, finding amusement in your shy behaviour. “You wanna touch it?” he asked raising his brow as his smirk turned into a beautiful grin. You felt your cheeks grow hotter than before and Sunghoon decided to intervene before Jake could keep going, sensing his suggestive undertone. “Ok, that’s enough for you two, geez!” he said rolling his eyes, before speaking again “Anyways, you can leave the car here and Heeseung or anyone will take care of it, you already know you’re in good hands here so no need to worry.” “Alright then, just call me when it’s done, yeah?” Jake said as he and Sunghoon dapped each other up before he left, not forgetting to wink and wave at you, to which you gave a small wave back. “Kids these days.” Sunghoon said sighing and shaking his head at you, making you frown at him. “Shut up!” you said slapping his arm as you walked past him to pick up the parcel you left on the floor.

You walked back inside the shop, finding Heeseung crouched on the floor as he cleaned some rims he just fixed. “Hey Hee, got your parcel here. Do you want me to put it somewhere or should I just leave it here?” you said as you approached his figure “Oh, you can just leave it in that chair, I’m gonna need that in a while.” he said getting up as he wiped his forehead with his arm. “By the way, Jake’s car, the one in the entrance, needs to get the left view mirror changed, he broke it while parking somewhere. So, since I'm working on this car and it’s gonna take me a while, you’re going to be the one fixing it.” Oh! That was definitely interesting and caught your attention. “Oh, sure, no problem. It shouldn’t take too long.” This was only great. Not only were you fixing one of your dream and favourite cars but you were fixing a hot guy's car.

Later that day you arrived home with a happy sigh. Even though you were feeling extra tired from the hangover and work altogether, you could only think about your new acquaintance, a hot one. It has been a long time since you’ve felt like this for someone or especially for a boy. After your most recent ex-boyfriend, you tried to focus more on yourself and your friends since he hadn’t allowed you to do so. Those were times that were long gone and you wanted to erase them from your memory as you moved on.

You had dinner with your parents and went upstairs to get ready to go to bed earlier than usual to recover those lost hours of sleep. You showered and did your usual night routine, being extra careful and allowing yourself to relax. As you sat in bed, you grabbed your phone, seeing multiple notifications, since you don’t use your phone during work, from texts from your friends and social media ones, but there was one that caught your attention. For a moment you thought you were having delusional visions, but as you clicked on it it took you directly to Jake’s Instagram profile and the top showed the Accept and Decline button. He had found his way to your profile and it had you giggling silently, making you feel like you were in high school all over again. It had been about 3 hours since he sent the request so it was safe to accept without looking like a creep. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you proceeded to answer your texts and update Sohee on the tea, so you called her.

“Sohee, I kid you not, he is so attractive, I can’t!” you heard her sigh for the nth time on the phone, feeling her eye roll through the screen. “Y/n, I’ve seen him plenty of times, and trust me, I know he is, but be careful, I heard some things about him, though.” “Don’t worry about that, it’s just a silly crush. I’ll be over it sooner or later.” Sohee sighed again and you could hear her moving around in her bed sheets. “Yeah, whatever. We’ll talk later. Heeseung is calling me.” After talking with Sohee you were left alone with your thoughts as you scrolled on your phone but you weren’t really paying any attention to any of the posts, as you were thinking about Sohee’s warning. You decided to put your phone down and go to sleep to calm the thoughts running through your mind. As you were feeling yourself fall into a slumber, you heard your phone buzz but you chose to ignore it. You turn to the other side, getting comfortable to fall asleep again but again, your phone buzzes making you sit up and grab it aggressively. You turned it on, the bright light making you squint your eyes as you turned the brightness down. You unlocked it, checking who was texting at this hour. You felt your heart pound, getting nervous, as you saw Jake had dmed you. You click on his text, not caring if it had only been seconds from his last text.

simjaeyun_: hey :) 11:37pm

simjaeyun_: ignoring me now mnh? 11:46 pm

youruser: stalking me now huh? 11:47 pm

youruser: didn’t take for the stalker type tbh 11:47 pm

Your heart started beating quicker when you saw how fast he started typing an answer.

simjaeyun_: then what type do you take me to be? 11:48 pm

youruser: well 11:48 pm

youruser: definitely the one who makes other people stalk you not the other way around. 11:48 pm

simjaeyun_: maybe you just caught my attention like that ;) 11:48 pm

youruser: oh? did i now? 11:49 pm

simjaeyun_: maybe, find it out yourself :) 11:49 pm

You looked at the texts, feeling a soft blush creeping on your cheeks as you hugged your knees to your chest. You decided to leave him on read, not really having an answer to his text but Jake himself wasn’t expecting to get one back. You looked at the ceiling, having lost all your sleep by now. You closed your eyes and sighed as you slid down your bed until you were laying down. You turned to the side, watching the moon from your window, which you usually left open since it helped you wake up. You closed your eyes, trying to sleep, as the image of the texts kept appearing in your head, keeping you awake for a while.

The next day you woke up, remembering last night's events, making you clutch your sheets closer to your chest. You sat up on the edge of the bed, as you sighed and rubbed your face with your hands, making your way to the bathroom to do your routine and maybe it would help you keep your thoughts away from him. You looked in the mirror as you brushed your teeth, glad to see your dark circles were already gone. You did your usual skincare routine and headed down to the kitchen to have breakfast, seeing your mom had made you some pancakes and a black coffee, which were placed neatly on the table where she was already eating.

“Good morning mom!” you greeted her with a smile as you sat in front of her. “Good morning, dear! Did you sleep well?” “Oh yeah, I did! I went to sleep earlier to recover from the hangover…” She sighed at your words as she gave you a warning look, reminding you of her scolding. “Is there a special occasion for you to make me breakfast?” You asked as you took a bite of pancakes. “Not really, can’t I be sweet for my daughter once in a while?” She answered and you squinted at her, knowing there was a reason behind it, she wasn’t one to do these things just because. “You came home smilier than usual. Anything special happened at work?” She asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could. You stopped your movement for less than a second but enough time for her to notice. “Um, not really, was just happy.” You said after taking a sip from your coffee and putting the mug down. “Are you sure it was just that?” She propped her elbows on the table with her hands intertwined, looking as if she was questioning you for a crime you did. “Yes, mom. I’m pretty sure.” She hummed, taking a sip from her tea. “Is that why you were squealing with Sohee on the phone last night?” You gasped at her words. “Mom! Were you eavesdropping on me?” You asked her shocked that she had heard you talking with Sohee. “Oh no, dear. You know I’m not one to do that. I just happened to be walking past your room and heard you all excited about a certain- oh what was the name?” She stopped, trying to remember “Oh! Jake! Yes, Jake. Now, you wanna tell me about that?” You blushed at her words as if you were caught doing something bad or she heard a secret of yours. “Mom! No!” You said getting up from your chair, leaving a small bit of pancake on your plate. “I’m leaving. I need to go to work. Bye, love you!” You started walking faster, rushing to the door after picking up your house and car keys.

You entered the car, thinking about the conversation with your mom, reminding yourself to be more careful when talking with Sohee on the phone. You reached the shop just on time, parking your car in your usual place, which by now, you claimed as yours. You walked inside, seeing Heeseung and Ni-ki talking about something about a car.

“Good morning guys!” you greeted as you put your lunch bag down. They both looked back at you, seeming relieved you were finally there. “Oh thank God you’re here.” Ni-ki sighed. “Yeah, what’s up?” You asked, intrigued as to what they needed you for. “So, we were discussing car designs for me to do in the car Heeseung is taking care of, but the problem is that we can’t agree on one design.” He started explaining as Heeseunf put his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes at the younger male. “So tell me. in between these which one is better?” He finished, showing pictures of different designs. You hummed in thought as you looked carefully at the pictures and the car behind them. “I think for this car these two thick stripes would fit the best, but that’s my opinion!” “See! I told you! You won’t listen to me. Y/n, he won’t agree with me, please help me.” Ni-ki said as he put his hands together in a plea. “Sorry, Hee. Gotta agree with him in this one.” Heeseung looked at you with a dumbfounded expression. “Don’t fire me?” You said shrugging your shoulders at him. The older man rolled his eyes, sighing as he finally gave in. “Fine, but only because it's two against one.” “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say hyung.” Ni-ki said leaving the area, you looked at him shrugging at him, “Kids these days.” he said under his breath in a mumble.

You grabbed your stuff from where you had previously put it and took it into the staff room. Coming back to the area, you grabbed some gloves and put them on, ready to start working on Jake’s car. Heeseung had already put it in a space for you to fix it and besides it was a box with the side view mirror to replace to broken one. You’ve never changed a mirror before, but you remember one time when your dad did when your mom hit it on the wall while she was parking the car in the garage. It wasn’t much of a hassle, it was easy and simple. You opened the car’s door and you were met with the beautiful interior, which Jake had most likely renovated into a more modern one, but still had a vintage touch to it. The car smelled like a man’s perfume, probably his own, mixed with a leathery scent that came from the beautiful black leather seats with red details. Snapping out of your daze with the car’s interior you went back to work. You started by carefully taking out the mirror’s trim cover and removing the screws that were hidden.

As you were taking out the screws and putting them in a spare box, you felt a presence coming up behind you. Looking up, you found Sunghoon looking at you as he leaned on the car door. “Hey there!” you said as you kept doing your work. “Enjoying yourself, huh?” He said with a smug smirk adorning his face, making you roll your eyes. “Go away Sunghoon.” You said but still, you had a smile on your face. “It’s nothing special.” you finished. “You can’t be saying that when you acted how you did yesterday when you saw the car, practically fangirling over it. I mean, not to mention how you were fangirling over Ja-” “Shut up!” you said looking at him. “I wasn’t, you were seeing things.” Sunghoon laughed at your behaviour. “C’mon, no need to act shy now.” He started “You know, he texted me yesterday.” “Ok? And why should i care?” You said raising a brow at him. “He was asking me, or better, begging me to give him your Instagram.” You looked away from him as you felt your cheeks heat up. “I don’t know why he would do that!” You said, pretending to be interested in those screws. “Eh, you’ll eventually find out, I guess.” He said making you look back at him. “What is that supposed to mean.” You asked suddenly interested in what he had to say. He started walking away, his back turned to you “Nothing you should worry your pretty head about.” He answered, making you tilt your head, confused at his words. You sighed as you went back to working on that mirror.

It wasn’t too long after your conversation with Sunghoon that little by little everyone started gathering in front of the staff-only door to eat lunch. You got up and joined Jungwon and Sunoo, who was engrossed in a conversation about the latest tea about someone on campus. You were so focused on observing and listening to them talk that you didn’t notice an extra someone entering the shop until Jay mentioned it.

“Jake? What are you doing here man?” That made your ears perk up, but you pretended to still be listening to the gossip you were previously listening to. “Your mirror still isn’t fixed, so no luck for you today.” Heeseung said also greeting him with the handshake their group shared. You looked at them at the mention of the mirror, so it wouldn’t look as suspicious. “Yeah, I figured. Just wanted to join you guys for lunch.” He said raising his take-out bag. You heard someone gasp, looking you saw Ni-ki looking with heart eyes at the take-out bag. “Is that for us?” He said with his boxy smile. Everyone looked at Jake with hopeful eyes. “What? No, it’s mine! And no way in hell I’m sharing this with you guys.” Jake said in a warning tone. Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes at him “You’re literally no fun.” Sunoo said giving him a judging look. Jake simply shrugged as he looked around the room until his eyes met yours, making him bite back a smirk. Sunghoon, who was watching carefully and aware of the situation, nudged you slightly when Jake looked away, making you mouth a what? at him which he only answered with a smirk.

You all moved inside the staff room, sitting around the round table. Jake was sitting across from you and you were sitting in between Sunghoon and Ni-ki. Every time you looked up you would be met with Jake’s eyes staring into you shamelessly, making you bounce your feet nervously. Your eyes drifted towards Sunghoon and you were able to see the smirk he was hiding with food while looking between you and Jake until he finally noticed you looking at him, making him raise his eyebrows at you to which you answered with a shrug as you looked back to your food. You wondered if Jake was going to talk to you anytime today. Since he arrived today he hadn’t even spoken a word to you, not even a simple Hi, making you wonder if he was only the all-talk type through social media or if he just didn’t have the guts to talk to you personally, but still, he had no problem flirting and teasing you when you guys first met.

Lunch was over and you got back to work. Jake hadn’t gone away yet, lingering around the shop, mainly around Heeseung as they talked about things you couldn’t listen to. The sudden realization that you were working on his car hit and you wondered if he was gonna approach you in a way. Snapping out of your thoughts, you went back to finish fixing the mirror, already more than halfway done. You were putting everything back in place, with the mirror already replaced, when you saw Jake walking towards you from your peripheral vision. You felt your breath hitch as your shoulders tensed the closer he got.

“I see you finally got to touch it, huh?” He said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh! Yeah, I did.” You answered with an awkward laugh, feeling your palms getting sweaty. “Like what you felt, sweetheart?” Your eyes widen at that, suddenly feeling at a loss for words. You were more than sure if any other man would’ve said that to you, you would’ve cringed right away, but not when said man looked like Jake did. “I- well-” Jake started laughing, making you feel somewhat embarrassed. “I’m just playing around. You’re not that shy through texting.” He said reminding you of how confident you may have sounded through texts. “Well, I guess it’s not the same as talking face-to-face, right?” You stated, looking up at him in the eyes. His mouth opened to say something but closed right away. “Yeah, you’re right.” He took a breath in as he straightened his posture. “Anyways, is the mirror any close to being done?” He wondered. “Oh yeah, actually I just need to test it and it’s all ready for you to take it home!” You said while smiling at him, proud that you were able to do something new quickly yet carefully. “Oh really? You were pretty quick. Can’t say I’m not impressed, though, in a positive way, of course.” You giggled at him. “Thanks, Jake. I appreciate that.” He smiled warmly at you, nodding your way as he walked away from you, leaving you alone to finish your work.

It was almost time to go home when Jake and Heeseung approached you next to Jake’s car, where you were slightly bent over, as you were touching up some scratches near the mirror area with touch-up black paint. You finished the work, smiling proudly at yourself, as you turned around to face the two boys who were watching you silently as you worked. You sighed happily at them, adjusting the oversized overalls that you wore for work. “I’m officially done!” You exclaimed as you stretched an arm towards the car. Heeseung patted Jake in the back signaling him to get him and his car home. “You can pay me later.” Heeseung said walking away, knowing if he stayed Jake would insist on paying. Jake sighed as he looked at you. “Thank you for doing this, by the way.“ He said with a smile, making you shrug. “You’re welcome, Jake. After all, it’s my job.” You answered, looking down as you kicked non-existent rocks. Jake gave you a wide grin, watching your face, appreciating the way your lashes touched your cheeks when you blinked and how you bit your lip when you were nervous. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he walked towards his car. “Tomorrow?” You tilted your head to the side but you got no response as he got in his car. The engine purred as he drove out of the garage, leaving you standing dumbfounded. “Will I ever figure him out?”

Jake got home with only one thing, or rather someone, going through his mind. As cliché as it felt for him, he couldn’t understand what was in you that made him want to stay glued to you forever. He wanted to get to know you, know what you liked and disliked, and what were your hobbies. Did you have a pet? You didn’t really look like you had one. As soon as he entered his penthouse, he made his way to his room, falling into his bed with a thud, sighing as he felt his head make contact with his fluffy pillows. He still could feel his heart thumping in his chest, quicker than it ever beat. It felt weird, a good weird. He liked the feeling. One he only ever felt with his high school crush who had rejected him in his junior year. Jake groaned out loud as his arm fell to his face, covering his eyes. “What have you done to me?”

The past week was full of work. Everyone barely interacted, focused on getting everyone’s car fixed since it’s vacation season and everyone needed their car as soon as possible. Still, one thing everyone found weird was how Jake came to visit almost every day, something that never really happened through all these years everyone had worked there. Sunghoon always made sure to point out to you that Jake was always lingering close to you, making you give him annoyed remarks. Deep down you were glad he stood close to you as you got time to know him better and to your surprise he was more interesting than you ever thought a jock would be, no offence. You two would laugh with each other for hours until Heeseung needed to scold you to go back to work, hiding his smile as he watched you two playfully fight each other. His presence made work hours go by quicker and you started enjoying his presence a little bit too much, noticing the way your heart would beat a tad bit faster when you heard him laugh at something you said.

When you were done with work Jake would take you out and grab convenience store food for you two to eat in the park. It was in those moments that you both got vulnerable with each other, sharing all of your life stories, good and bad ones. Every night you call Sohee and rant about how scared you are of catching feelings for him, even though you knew you were already in deep, and she always reassured you that you shouldn’t feel like that as it’s only natural and what has to happen, will happen. Whatever you were feeling with Jake, is something you never felt with anyone before, as cliché as it can be, but your past dating history left a huge mark on you and you had a tendency to shut people out when they got too close, until now. The boys noticed a subtle shift in the way you and Jake interacted, but still, they only observed from afar, never intruding on whatever was happening between you two. It felt kind of weird for them to see Jake behaving that way around someone who wasn’t part of his friend group or more specifically with a girl, but deep down they felt happy seeing their friend finally letting himself loosen up.

The day at the shop was going smoothly, it was a bad day of work for Heeseung. There were no clients coming up and everyone except him was sitting around playing cards or just talking to each other as he finished fixing one car. You were sat at a table with Sunoo and Sunghoon, your hands covering your ears as they kept asking questions you didn’t wanna hear and less likely answer. “Come on, y/n!” Sunoo said pulling your hands out of your ears, making you roll your eyes. “I don’t like him, ok?” You sighed, “I literally met him, like, not even two weeks ago. I don’t even know him like that.” “y/n, you know damn well it’s not like that.” Sunghoon said leaning back in his chair. “Just admit you like him!” “Like who?” The three of you looked back to find Jake walking towards you with his hands in his pockets. “No one, I don’t like anyone.” You said closing your eyes as you propped your head in your hand. Jake looked at Sunghoon, as the latter smirked at him, making you glare not-so discreetly at him. Jake sat in a free chair next to you and the two other men thought it was a good idea to stand up and walk away, leaving you two alone.

“Bad work day?” He started. “Yeah, something like that.” You sighed, playing with a paper cup in front of you. “It’s just the end of the month and most people are on vacation by now so it was expected.” Jake hummed, an idea coming up to him. “So you have nothing to do, right?” You looked at him wondering why he was asking that. “Uh, yeah, I don’t.” You answered nodding at him. He got up, extending a hand to you. “Come.” He said as he smiled and nodded his head towards his way. You hesitated in grabbing his hand and getting up as he dragged you to his car. “But, the other we need to tell-” “Don’t worry ‘bout that. We’ll be quick.” Jake said as he opened his car door for you. You looked at the car and then at him, making him nod at you, urging you to get in. Jake sat in the driver's seat with a happy sigh. He looked at him, watching as you admired his car, gently touching the leather seats, feeling the wealth in your touch. You looked around the car in awe, making him giggle at your antics. You turned to look at him with a blush and a small smile, feeling shy he caught you as you admired his expensive car. He turned the keys, making the engine purr as you felt the seats vibrate with the loud sound. “Wow!” You said with a gasp “It feels so different when you’re actually inside the car.” You looked at him as he drove out of the shop’s driveway. “Yeah, I felt that too when I first drove it.” He said with a chuckle. “Where are you taking me?” You asked curiously. “You’ll see, princess. Enjoy the ride for now.” He answered as he chose a song to play for the ride.

You looked out of your window, seeing the sun almost setting, making the sky turn into an orange explosion. The ride was silent, a comfortable silence, and you found yourselves in an empty road, no words needed to be spoken as you admired the view ahead of you. You rolled your window down, laying your head on the edge of the door. Jake looked at you, admiring your hair that flew freely with the wind and how your eyes were shining in awe and you wore a smile. He looked back to the front and he bit a smile back, failing to do so as the corners of his lips curled upwards. Jake was now driving towards a kind of abyss. He stopped the car, turning off the engine. “Is this it?” You asked making him nod at you with a smile. You both walked out of the car and sat in its hood. You gasped at the view in front of you. You could see the whole city from above. All the tall skyscrapers looked tiny and the street lights were only small dots on a canvas. The sky above showed a pink and orange painting, and the sun had almost fully set.

“Jake” he looked at you, admiring your side profile “This is beautiful.” You finished, looking at him with a big grin, making him mirror your actions. You looked back ahead as you scooted closer to him in the hood of the car, feeling your shoulder touch his. Jake smiled to himself, not daring to look your way to avoid doing something he would regret. “Thank you.” You said looking at him, seeing how his eyes slightly widened. He looked down at his feet, feeling his ears get hotter “It’s nothing really.” “How did you even find this place?” You wondered. “This is gorgeous!” Jake finally looked at you, examining your face, sensing you were asking a genuine question and not just a rhetorical one. “Well,” He started with a sigh. “I usually come here to kind of unwind a little.” He said kicking some rocks on the floor. “It just tunes me out the rest of the world. I feel the best when I’m here.”

He felt the urge to keep talking as he felt you still looking at the side of his head. “Normally when I have a big argument with my dad I just come here and let everything out. No one comes here since it’s far from the city so now it’s my comfort place and I’ve never brought anyone here except for you.” He stopped talking, looking at you, seeing you with empathetic eyes. “Thank you for sharing that with me Jake.” You rubbed his back in a comforting way “I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me all that, I know it’s not easy to deal with those kinds of problems, even if I never went through them myself. I hope you know I’m a shoulder you can lean on when you need one. You shouldn’t keep those thoughts to yourself.” Jake felt his eyes getting teary as he heard you talk. “I really appreciate that, y/n. I just feel like you give me so much of you and I never really shared something really intimate, so I thought this would feel just right.” He said holding his tears. You smiled at him, pulling his arm, grabbing it as you leaned your head on his shoulder, looking back to the view as a comfortable silence fell over you two. Jake’s head leaned in yours and he felt a soft bubble form in his chest, making him close his eyes and take a deep breath in of the fresh air that danced around both of your hairs.

The sun fully set after a while. Stars started appearing in the dark sky. “Look,” You said pointing to the sky “The first star of the night. Make a wish!” You finished as you looked at Jake. “A wish?” You nodded “Alright if you say so.” Both of you closed your eyes and put your hands together as you made your wishes. Jake opened his eyes to look at you, seeing you with your eyes closed and a giddy smile on your lips. You opened your eyes, looking at Jake only to find him already looking down at you, the summer breeze made his hair move beautifully. “What did you wish for?” he asked “Can’t tell you, it won’t come true if I do.” Jake chuckled at your answer, making you do the same. You both stared into each other eyes, not daring to look away as if you were in some trance with each other's eyes, giving you time to appreciate each other’s features. You couldn’t understand how people could view Jake as a bad being. Since the moment you both started getting closer, he was nothing but a sweetheart to you and besides that, you saw how he treated the other boys as well, always being caring with them, giving them food when one of them didn’t have enough or going as far as secretly ordering take out for Ni-ki when he had forgotten to pack his own lunch. They didn’t know him in reality. If they had seen him with your eyes they would know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone or anything purposely. They couldn’t see the sparkle in his eyes when he saw dogs playing in the park or the way his tongue would slightly poke his pouty lips when he focused on something. If only they could see him the way you do.

Your phone suddenly buzzed in your pocket, making you break the intense eye contact that seemed to last an eternity. You looked at the contact ID seeing it was your mom calling you, making you silently curse under your breath. “Hey, mom.” You turned to Jake, mouthing him a Sorry which he dismissed with a shake of his head. “Uh…” Your eyes started moving around nervously “I, uh, I’m with Jake, Mom.” You hissed, scratching the back of your neck. Your mom started going off excitedly about how she was right about him, making you roll your eyes, hoping the said man couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Um, Mom, I don’t- okay wait.” You turned to Jake with a sigh “You wanna come over for dinner?” You asked him, making him still for a moment. “Uh, sure, I mean, why not.” He answered shrugging, something you weren’t really expecting, but deep down you were kind of glad he had accepted. “Okay, he’s coming. Yeah, see you, bye Mom.” You hung up, standing up and looking at Jake. He only looked at you, not knowing what to say. “C’mon.” You pulled him off the hood “We got dinner waiting for us.”

You were driving back to the city, immersed in a conversation about various topics. “Also, I’m gonna warn you about my mom, she can be a little too much sometimes, so sorry in advance.” Jake laughed at your words. “Don’t say that. I’m pretty sure she means well.” He said looking at you. “If that makes you feel better about meeting her, then sure Jake, whatever you say.” Shortly after, Jake was pulling into your house’s driveway, making you feel nervous, the fact that he was meeting your parents finally sinking in. You don’t know why you felt like this, you two weren’t even dating. You walked to your front door and searched for the keys that were somewhere lost in your bag. Suddenly the door burst open, making you squeal in surprise as you almost tripped and if it weren’t for Jake you would’ve fallen on your butt. “Oh, what gentleman he is!” The door was fully open, revealing your mom who was now cooing at Jake. “Mom, don't.” you said in a warning tone, making her wave her hand at you dismissingly. “Oh, you must be Jake.” She said grabbing him by the arms “Come in you two.” She invited, making space for you to enter the house. “How was day, dear?” Your mom asked, making you break the mad face you were making at her with a small smile. “It was okay. We didn’t have any clients today which is not good for the shop.” “Oh, that must be really frustrating for you guys.” She said furrowing her brows in a worried way. “Anyways, let’s get to the kitchen. The food’s getting cold.” She smiled warmly at you two as she dragged you both to the kitchen. “Is dad not home?” You said with a small pout. “Oh no, he’s out for that company dinner he had. You know it.” You nodded at her letting out an Oh as you remember your father talking about it.

Jake tried to hide it, but as small as this interaction was, it was still a very domestic one. Those were the interactions he longed for but they never came to him. He felt a pang in his chest but your mom’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Give me your plate, dear. I’ll serve you.” She said smiling warmly at him, making him mirror her expression. Your mom seemed so sweet and he genuinely wanted to enjoy this small moment.

The three of you talked comfortably throughout the night. Jake was able to get those negative thoughts out of his head for a while as he interacted with you both. He loved watching you talk with your mom, seeing the way your eyes light up when she says something that makes you laugh. Just watching that made him smile, which didn’t go unnoticed by your mom. Jake saw his phone light up on the table with a text from his dad asking him where he was and another from a contact he promised himself to never answer again. This made his whole good mood disappear and he just felt like going home. He felt guilty to do this but felt the need to be alone and forget about those texts.

“Everything alright?” you asked with a worried expression, just then he noticed he had his brows pressed tightly together. “Oh um, yeah, just my dad texting me.” He said smiling at you, guilt eating him up, but deep down he wasn’t lying, just not telling the whale truth, which made him feel shitty. “It’s getting late so maybe I should go. Thank you for the meal, it was really good!” He got up, grabbing his jacket from the chair. You got up as well and followed him to your front door as your mom stayed in the kitchen cleaning up. “Hey,” You said grabbing his attention “Are you sure you’re alright? You looked pretty tense back there.” You asked in a worried tone. He sighed, nodding at you. “Yes, princess. Don’t worry about it. I’ll text you when I get home, yeah?” You nodded at him and you bid your goodbyes. Before he could leave, you grabbed his wrist. “Thank you for today, really.” You smiled widely at him, making him chuckle at you “You’re welcome, princess. Good night.” You let his hand go as you waved at him before closing the door. You turned around to see your mom leaning on the kitchen door. You held your hand up “Don’t even start, ok?” you said not wanting to have that conversation. “Dind’t day a word, honey.” She said smiling at you. “Whatever. Goodnight, Mom.” “Goodnight, dear.”

You let yourself fall into the comfort of your bed with a sigh. You grabbed your phone, seeing a notification from Jake, making you quickly tap on it.

jake <3: thank you for tonight, princess :)

jake <3: sorry for leaving so suddenly. my dad texted me and you know how it is…

you: jake you don’t need to thank me

you: we were both glad to have you eat with us and dont worry about that i totally understand

you: im gonna head to sleep now. goodnight jake :)

jake <3: goodnight princess:)

The next day at work you felt kind of uneasy. The way Jake left your house yesterday left you with an unsettling feeling. You didn’t know what his dad had texted him and you surely weren’t gonna ask him, you were in no place to do that. It was already 5:30 pm and Jake still hadn’t stopped by the shop, something unusual since he always comes by lunchtime. You didn’t want to think too much of it and tried to convince yourself that he was just busy. As you were cleaning up a car you just finished fixing, you heard footsteps coming towards you, making you look to see Heeseung and Sunghoon. “Lover boy didn’t come today, huh?” Sunghoon said making you roll your eyes before turning to look at them, now standing up from your crouching position. “He’s not my lover and you know that damn well.” you said propping your hand on your hip. “Yet!” Heeseung says with a stupid grin on his face.

“Anyways, we’re going to this party tonight and we wanted to invite you so you better be there.” the older male said. “Uh, I don’t know, guys. I’m not really-” “Not in the mood, yeah we know. Same story and it’s not working today. You are going today, no excuses.” Sunghoon paused for a while “You know, Jake’s gonna be there.” he said with a smirk. You lightly tapped your foot on the floor, knowing you didn’t really have a choice other than going and if you ended up going you would see Jake. Not that you missed him, maybe just a little bit though. “Fine, I guess I can go.” you sighed, crossing your arms “Where and when?” Heeseung gave you the details about the party, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Jake there. Even if you were still kind of sour about him not coming, you were sure he had a good reason not to, right?

You walked up to your mirror, checking yourself out one last time before leaving. You lightly rubbed your finger under your lips, cleaning a lipstick smudge. You looked at your outfit, a simple lace, black corset-like top paired with some black leather pants and black heels. The top felt a little too revealing for you, but you decided to come out of your comfort zone for once and try new things. You felt pretty. Your hair was just right, your makeup looked flawless and your outfit was tight just in the right places, flattering your silhouette. Tonight was the night and you were going to enjoy it to the fullest. Sohee had previously texted you, informing you she would also be there with Heeseung, which made you less stressed about this party. You drove to the address Heeseung had texted you, the clock showed 11:45, a reminder that you were 15 minutes late. “Typical y/n, am I right?” you mumbled to yourself when you stopped at a red light. Taking one last turn, you saw a sign with the name of the bar Hee had told you. You parked your car and walked towards the entrance, feeling the biting wind hit your skin, making you regret not taking a small coat with you. You entered the bar and it was already almost full since it was almost midnight. You passed and pushed through the crowd of people Excuses me’s and Sorry’s leaving your lips as you did so. Finally, you were able to spot a tall ash blond who could only be Heeseung and walked towards him.

“Hey and before you scold me, yes I know I��m late.” you said as you and Sohee hugged before taking a seat next to Jay. “Wouldn’t expect any different from you.” Sunghoon said making you let out Shup up to him. You looked around and saw everyone there except for one person. “Where’s Jake?” you asked still looking around, failing to notice the exchange of looks between the four of them. “He’s- Well, he is with some guys from the soccer team, yeah.” Sungoon said, a nervous smile dancing on his lips, making you tilt your head at him “Weird.” you thought out loud. “But don’t worry!” Sunoo said, making you look at him “He’ll probably be here… soon.” “Okay?” you answered, looking at Sohee who was just as confused as you were. There was an unfamiliar tension in the booth and before you could think further about it Heeseung spoke up “No more talking. Let’s get the night started and get drinks!” Everyone got up, greedy to finally get some alcohol in their systems, maybe that’s what you needed. You reached the counter and Heeseung ordered tequila shots for everyone. The shots were gone as quickly as they came and everyone was thirsting for more so Sunghoon ordered six more of the same.

You and Sohee made your way towards the dance floor full of sweating bodies. You were buzzing inside with the little alcohol in your system and the lights were making you dazed in the best way possible. It had been a long time since you and Sohee hung out like this and you were enjoying this just as much as she was. You had your arms thrown over her shoulders as she hugged your waist and you both swayed to whatever music was playing. The boys were looking at you with pure amusement on their faces, never having seen you like this but they were glad you were enjoying this night so far. Your body felt hot from the heat radiating from everyone around you. You saw couples kissing and grinding against each other and it made your mind wander to Jake and wonder if you and he were ever gonna dance like that like it was just the two of you in the room with no one to interrupt you both. You and your best friend went back to the counter to order drinks for yourselves while the boys went back to the booth.

“Can I get two Pink Whitneys with Sprite, please?” the bartender nodded at you before leaving to prepare the drinks. “Was wondering if you could still party, y/n” Sohee told you laughing. “Oh, shut up. It hasn’t been that long.” You both turned back to the counter when you heard the bartender speak. “For the pretty ladies.” He said putting the drinks in front of you, both of you mumbling Thanks in return. You closed your eyes as you savoured the drink you hadn’t tasted in a long time. “God, I forgot how much I love this.” You said taking a big sip of the pink drink. “Brings back old memories doesn’t it?” Sohee said leaning back as if she was having a flashback. Even though you were a stay-at-home person, back in the first years of college you went partying almost every night since Sohee was a social butterfly and always made sure to bring you along to whatever party she was invited to. Every time Heeseung would host a party, he made sure to have a hidden bottle of Pink Whitney in a small fridge that only he and the boys knew of for you and Sohee. You laughed at her as you tilted the cup towards her for a toast. “For old time’s sake.” She clinked her glass with yours “For old time’s sake!” she said before finishing her drink in one big gulp as she did the same.

You two got up, making your way to the booth the guys were at. Your vision was starting to blur from all the drinks you had. Only had your low alcohol tolerance to blame. You were trying to walk through the crowd when you spotted a familiar brunette in the middle of it. “Look! Jake’s there, let’s say hi!” you said pushing Sohee towards his way. The grin you had on your face started to slowly fade as your steps got slower. The closer you got to Jake the stronger the pang in your chest grew. You squeezed Sohee’s hand trying to get her attention but she had already seen enough. You two stood there watching as a girl eagerly kissed Jake’s neck, his face was hidden since he was looking opposite from where you were. “Jake?” You felt a pull on your heartstrings and a whimper left your quivering lips when Jake turned his head to the side and made eye contact with you. His face wasn’t showing any emotions previously, quickly contorted with shock as a gasp left his lips, making him immediately push the girl away. Still, Sohee was quicker to pull you away from where you were standing. She was letting out some curses on her way to the booth, something that you couldn’t hear.

When you finally reached the other boys they all were looking at you with worried expressions. Their eyes flickered between each other and you were finally able to catch on what was happening when you arrived. “You guys knew?” you said with a choked sob. None of them were saying a word, making your blood boil when you got your answer. “You all fucking knew this whole time.” you screamed, pointing your finger at them accusingly. “How long has it been going on?” Jay was quick to speak up. “It was just today.” he started. “We didn’t know she was gonna be here and I don’t think Jake knew either.” You were starting to get even more confused “What do you mean she?” you asked shaking your head. They all looked at each other not knowing what to say. “Heeseung, did you know about this?” Sohee asked her boyfriend, and he quickly shook his head no. “No, i swear. None of us knew and as he said it was probably a not-so-pleasant surprise for Jake as well.” Knowing that everyone knew who she was and they weren’t explaining it to you was leaving you irritated and you just wanted to leave. “Sohee can we just go home.” you quietly asked and she ran a hand down your back in a soothing manner. “Yeah, give me your car keys, I’ll drive.” You both turned to leave, no words were exchanged apart from a Drive safely from Heeseung.

When you sat in your car you felt like something exploded inside you as you started sobbing uncontrollably. You hid your face in your hands as you started sobbing. Sohee reached for you, holding you in her embrace. “I don’t even know why I’m crying it’s not like we had something.” you said trying to wipe your tears but they just kept coming. “Y/n, it wouldn’t take a genius to see that something was going on between you two. I can’t honestly understand why Jake would be with someone else, especially her.” “Will anyone ever tell me who she is?” you said in an annoyed tone. Sohee sighed as she sat back in the driver’s seat. “That girl was Aerin. Jake and her were in a weird situationship, kind of friends with benefits but not quite that. They had that going on for almost a year but he eventually broke it off because he finally opened his eyes and realized how much of a bitch she was, even though we were warning him since the beginning.” she paused with a sigh. “She didn’t take it very well since she had always been possessive with him but we thought she finally had gotten over it, it’s been, like, a year and something?” she turned to look at you, seeing you with your head propped in your knees. She raised her hand to cup your cheek, brushing it softly with her thumb.

“I just don’t understand why he would do this, after all that we’ve been through.” You said feeling tears coming back, pooling in your eyes. “Sohee, I let all of my guard down for him, I told him my everything and this feels like history is repeating itself, you know?” You told her as memories from your history with your ex brought you a sour feeling “Y/n, whatever happened between you and Jeno is long behind, I thought we had already talked about this.” “I am over it, Sohee! But seeing Jake do this is just bringing all those feelings back. Six months right after I opened up to Jeno I find out he was cheating on me with the girl I shouldn’t worry about and now when I finally feel like I can commit to someone again, I see Jake like that, how is that fair to me?” you said turning into a sobbing mess again. Your whole body was shaking and Sohee felt her heart shatter seeing her best friend like this.

“Y/n, I know this really isn’t the right time to say this but I’ve known Jake for as long as I’ve been dating Heeseung and I can’t understand why he is doing this. This really isn’t like him, at all.” She rubbed your back “I’m more than sure he will explain himself to you soon. This just doesn't sit right with me.” You wiped your eyes as you sniffed “I don’t want to see him anytime soon, Sohee.” She smiled sadly at you. “I know, honey, But you know it will eventually happen right? It’s inevitable.” You nodded at her, knowing she was right. “Let’s go home yeah? You can stay at mine today. Don’t want you dealing with this alone.”

Sohee drove off as you stared out the window. Millions of thoughts were running through your head and you felt like it was about to explode. Eventually, you fell asleep during the ride and only woke up when Sohee softly shook you when you arrived. You both entered her apartment, being immediately greeted by her cat who was rubbing herself in your legs. You crouched down to her level, rubbing behind her fluffy white ears, making her purr. Oh to be a cat. Sohee gave you one of her pyjamas for you to sleep in and some makeup wipes, knowing you probably wouldn’t even bother to take it off. You both slipped into her bed, sleeping together like you two would back in the day. You laid back against the headboard as she texted Heeseung to update him. Your own phone buzzed on the bedside table. You grabbed it and saw a notification that normally you would be excited to answer, but not today. You read the texts Jake had sent you.

jake <3: y/n please

jake <3: i know what it looks like but it isn’t like that

jake <3: let me explain please

jake <3: you know id never hurt you.

You dropped your phone in your lap as you rubbed your eyes with your hands, starting to sniff again. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop the tears as you sighed and leaned back against the headboard. Sohee looked at your phone and then at you, making her sigh. “Where did i go wrong? I must’ve done something really bad in my past life to deserve this.” “Y/n, cut the nonsense, you don’t deserve this, ok?” she said grabbing your arms and turning to look at her. “You’re gonna get through this with me and when you’re ready you’re gonna go back to work and maybe talk with Jake, yeah?” You took a deep breath before nodding at her. “Good. Now you’re gonna rest and tomorrow we’ll see what’s gonna happen.” She grabbed your phone and turned it off, putting it on her bedside table. She turned the light off and you let your head fall into the pillow with a sigh. You stared at the ceiling, trying to shake off all the thoughts going through your head until you felt your eyes closing on their own.

The weekend had gone by slowly. You had texted your mom after everything happened to tell her you were gonna stay at Sohee’s for a few days. All you did was mop around the house and lay in your friend’s bed all day, only getting up when you really needed to. You were sure you were sleeping more than 12 hours a day and still felt like the energy was drowning out of you. Sohee tried to get you to go out and encourage you to go to work to help you forget things but the anxiety you felt at the possibility of encountering Jake was keeping you from doing so. You knew that staying home all day and doing nothing until Sohee came back from work wasn’t gonna help you in any way and you honestly wanted to do something about it but you had no energy to do anything. You walked to the kitchen for nth time that day, placing your cereal bowl on the sink with an accidental loud thud, making you hiss. You sighed as you looked at the mess of plates and cutlery you had accumulated in the sink within just a day. “God, what am I doing.” You said talking to yourself. You stared into nothingness as you got in deep thought. Being like this wasn’t gonna take you anywhere and avoiding situations where you might meet Jake won’t either. So, you made the final decision that you were going to work tomorrow, no matter what. You looked at the clock on the kitchen’s wall and saw it was already 6:30 pm, so without any more self pity you walked to the bathroom to take a shower, determined to get back to your usual work routine. You stared at your figure in the mirror and almost apologized to yourself as you took in your messy and unkempt appearance. You entered the shower and let the warm water fall on your tense shoulders. Sighing, you let your head lean into the shower wall as your body shook with a sob when Jake filled your mind again. Had he tried texting you anymore after that night? You couldn’t really know since you had blocked him on your social media. Was he hurting the way you did? What had really happened? Maybe you were overreacting all this. You should’ve let him explain himself. Dumb y/n, so dumb.

Jake felt horrible. You really had to come near him at the wrong moment and see something that really wasn’t what it looked like. But he should’ve known the moment she texted him the night he was at your house she was serious. Why couldn’t Aerin just get over the fact they weren’t together anymore, as if they were ever actually together. In his head, it was starting to be too good to be true. As if he was ever gonna get lucky with someone like you. Of course, he had to fuck it up in any way. It’s all your fault, Jake. This was all you. Those words kept repeating themselves in his head as he laid in his bed as his whole body was filled with piercing anxiety. He didn’t know what else to do. He called Heeseung and said you still hadn’t gone to work that week.

The boys knew about the situation and Jake always tried to explain himself while he cried on the phone with any of the guys, even if they reassured him they believed him every day. He should’ve known better than to get involved with Aerin in the first place. He had always been warned about it so why did he still do it? Why couldn’t he just do anything right. The past few days were spent with Jake lying in his bed as he cried and cried for as long as he could. All the feelings he bottled up for so long left his body, making his whole self shake. When he finally was able to open up fully to you, he had it all taken away, knowing you had let your whole guard down for him. He knew you weren’t doing any better than him and that hurt him even more. Knowing he couldn’t be the one to hold you and comfort you was killing. Jake knew he couldn’t stay like this forever and all he wanted to do nothing more than reach out to you and tell you his truth but he knew he had to give you space. So he waits for as long as he needs to because he is not letting you go because of her, he wasn’t letting that happen.

You woke up at the same time as Sohee. The moment you opened your eyes you instantly felt a pang in your chest, knowing you had to go to work today. You threw your arm over your eyes as you sighed. Sohee looked at you as she rubbed her eyes to wake herself up. “Good morning.” she told you to which you only answered with a grumble making her chuckle at you. She got out of bed, opening her curtains, making you squint at the bright light invading the room. “C’mon, get up. You need to get ready.” You sighed again at her words before sitting up on the bed. After you both got ready for work, you sat down at the table as you had breakfast together. “So,” Sohee said mid-chew “are you ready for today?” You looked at her as you sipped on your coffee. “I mean, no. But as you said I can’t keep avoiding him and it’s better if we talk already than not.” You answered as your fork played with the blueberries on your plate. “You got this, yeah?” Sohee reached for your hand across the table. You inhaled as you felt your eyes water but you held yourself back. You nodded at her as you whispered a Yeah in response to her.

You left around 10 am which was the time Sohee usually left for work. As you made your way to the shop, anxiety started bubbling up in your chest, making you take deep breaths to try and keep yourself together. There’s nothing to worry about. If Jake ended up showing up at the shop you guys were just gonna talk, or maybe not. Maybe he will explain to you and assure you it was not what it looked like or maybe he wasn’t and it was exactly what it looked like. “Well, shit.” you said to yourself as you arrived at the shop. You parked your car, seeing everyone already there. You stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air breeze around you. You walked inside and there stood Heeseung and Sunghoon staring at you with warm smiles. “Hey guys!” you greeted. You walked towards them and Sunghoon pulled you into a hug, making you let out a shaky breath. “How’ve you been, dummy?” He asked, letting you go of his arms. “Well, y’know, not good. But! I’m here to change that and yes I’m going to avoid that conversation, if you don’t mind.” They nodded their heads at you, Right and Of course! were their only answers before you asked Heeseung if there was any work for you to which he assigned you to check a car’s engine and gasket.

You got right to work and you were glad you could distract yourself for most of the time. The car needed to get his gasket changed and it wasn’t an easy task so you needed to have your full focus on it. Working made the day go by faster and you barely had time to lunch as you were so immersed in the task you were assigned to do. Sometimes Ni-ki would linger around you, mostly joking around as you worked, keeping you company, which you were glad he did. If anyone had told you you would’ve ended up getting a summer job at a mechanic shop and befriending the six workers you wouldn’t believe it. But you couldn’t be more glad that you did, you had quickly made six precious friendships with six boys who were all you could ask for in a friend. As someone who never found befriending people easy, you were quite proud of yourself as you had found six treasures in only a lifetime. You knew you could always rely on them, and despite the age gap between the two younger ones, you still would trust them with your life nonetheless.

You felt sweat dripping down your forehead as you worked, making you get up from your bent-over position to wipe the sweat with your forearm, adjusting the strap from your overall that was slipping off your shoulder. “God.” You sighed loudly. Heeseung slid from underneath a car to check on you, “Everything ok?” he asked sitting up. “I guess. Just this thing is harder than I thought it would be.” You said putting your hands on your hips as you stared at the engine in thought. You knew this was gonna be hard, but one wrong move you would need to do it all over. Heeseung got up and walked to where you stood staring at the car. “I think you’re going on the right path. Nothing is looking wrong or weird so keep going.” He said patting your back “You’re doing well, you always do.” You chuckled at his words “You flatter me, Lee.” He laughed at your words “All for the best of my wor-”

His words were cut off by the roar of an engine. A familiar Ford Mustang pulled up in the driveway. Your breath stopped for a while until you felt Heeseung get his hand off your back. “I think I should go somewhere else…” You nodded at him, fully understanding why he was doing it. You pretended to go back to work, trying to convince yourself that Jake wouldn’t come over to you if you did that. You heard footsteps getting closer to you and you felt your breath pick up its pace. You got this. “Hey…” You heard the deep yet soft voice say. You looked up to see Jake smiling softly at you and you almost teared up at that. You tried to reciprocate the smile but you were sure it came out shaky. “Hi, Jake.” You said nodding at him. Your gaze drifted from his figure, trying to look at anything but him, as you fiddled with your fingers. “Nice patch!” He said chuckling, making you blush as you stared at the Care Bears patch placed upon your knee. “There was ripped so my mom put it on for me.” You said still not looking at him, making him mutter a Cute under his breath, which you almost missed. “Why are you here?” You asked, looking at his face, but you knew damn well why he was here. Jake took a shaky breath in as he leaned against the wall behind him, his own gaze now avoiding yours.

“I guess- No, I know and I need to explain myself to you.” He started, gulping his anxiety away. “What you saw that night wasn’t something anyone would expect that would happen. I mean, I should’ve had to be honest. The night I went to have dinner with you and your mother I told you I had received a text from my father. Which isn’t a lie, because I did, but you also deserved to know that Aerin had also texted me.” His eyes finally met yours with an apologetic gaze. Your face was contorted in confusion and you waited for him to explain it further. “She somehow found out that you and I had been hanging out and that there was something between us and she texted me some nonsense about knowing I still wanted and was using you as a rebound.” You stared at the ground hearing those words. “Was I a rebound to you Jake?” You asked quietly “No!” He answered with no hesitation “Of course not! And I hope you never felt that way because all I did for you was genuine.” his hand twitched, Jake wanted to reach out to you but he knew he still had further explaining to do. “Going on. That night I was supposed to go out with guys from my soccer team as well as the guys here but Aerin somehow was involved with some of the guys in the team and joined as well. The moment you started approaching me she threw herself at me and started doing whatever she was doing and before I could react and push her away you had already seen it.” His voice became shaky as he played that moment back in his head. “And I would and never will blame you for reacting the way you did. If I was in that position I would do the same, most likely.” Tears started falling from your eyes as you heard him talk.

Your chest was tight with guilt. You felt bad for what you did to him. He didn’t deserve to go through what you made him go through. You sniffed as you tried to wipe the stubborn tears that kept falling. Jake took a step closer to you, feeling his own eyes water at the sight of your miserable state. “Baby, please don’t cry.” The pet name left his lips before he could think about it but you didn’t seem to have heard it or mind it. “Jake I’m so sorry.” You said between hiccups of sobs “Please, please forgive me. I probably made you go through hell when you didn’t even do anything. I was so selfish.” Your cries got louder as you spoke and you didn’t even care if the boys could hear you. “Y/n, no! Stop apologizing. It was not your fault, ok? You aren’t the one to blame. You weren’t the one causing this, Aering was.” He said pulling you into his embrace. The knot on your chest broke as you finally felt his comforting touch and scent that you loved so much. “I would forgive you in a heartbeat if you had anything to apologize for, but you don't, you hear me?” You looked up at him, sniffling softly as you nodded at him. Jake cupped your face to wipe your tears as he smiled softly at you. “I’m sorry I made you go through all of this.” You saw the tears pooling in his eyes, making you cup his cheek.

“Are we ok now?” He asked, worry still lingering in his tone. You smiled widely at him as you furiously nodded your head “Yes! God, Jake, of course!” You said chuckling between sniffs. He laughed along with you as he stared into your eyes endearingly. Your breath calmed down as you both stared into each other eyes. None of you making a move to look away. Your eyes drifted from his eyes to his lips and you caught a glimpse of him doing the same. You don’t know who was the first to move but suddenly your lips were on his as you two share a long-awaited kiss. Your arms went around his neck as his hands were still cupping your cheeks. You leaned your head to the side to deepen the kiss. Jake let out a happy sigh into the kiss, making you smile against his lips. You both pulled away and you let your eyes look around the room to avoid his gaze. Jake laughed at you and you buried your face into his neck to hide the crimson red spreading on your cheeks. Jake pulled you off of him and held your hand as he started pushing you outside. “Let’s go.” He said nodding towards his car. “Jake I can’t I have to finish-” “Don’t worry about that. I’m pretty sure Heeseung won’t mind.” You were hesitant but still let him drag you to his car. “Ok- wait. Slow down, oh my God. Isn’t this kidnapping? Geez!” You said scowling lightly at him at the eagerness he was pushing you with. “Stop talking nonsense, silly.”

The boys finally gathered around the entrance as they heard Jake’s car leave with you both inside it. “Well, it was kinda awkward.” Jungwon said breaking the silence. Sunoo rolled his eyes, slapping the boy's arm. “What? It’s true!” He said raising his hands in surrender. Silene took over again as everyone tried to process what had just happened. “If all it takes to leave work early is to argue with my girlfriend then I’m down.” “Ni-ki, shut the fuck up.”

You were anxious for today. Even though Jake has been countless times at your house and had dinner with your parents just as much, you’ve never been at his house, let alone met his parents. But it would change today, Jake had called you today, inviting you to have dinner with his parents at his house. As much as you wanted to refuse, you knew you couldn’t, you couldn’t delay this moment any longer, sooner or later it was gonna happen and it was happening today. You didn’t know how to really feel about it. From what Jake told you, you knew his dad wasn’t the best person but you didn’t know much about his mom. You felt anxiety creeping up your body as you got ready for the night. You tried to look the most presentable you could for Jake’s parents, not wanting to leave a bad first impression.

Your phone buzzed in your bed, you picked it up and saw Jake’s text telling you he was outside. You looked at your reflection one last time before grabbing your purse and leaving. When you got outside you were met with the breathtaking sight of Jake leaning against his car, looking like he just came from a cliché teenage movie. His skin was glowing with the bright sunshine, complementing his skin colour to perfection. His full black outfit was hugging in all the right places, making him look like a runway model. Jake noticed your staring, making him laugh silently. “You know you can take a closer look, right?” His words made you roll your eyes, despite feeling your cheeks grow hot. “You’re so cocky, Jake.” You said as you walked towards him, stopping in front of him as you leaned in for a peck. Jake hummed against your lips, holding your face to kiss you deeper. You tapped his cheek and pulled away, eyeing him with a warning stare. “We have places to be, young man.” Jake sighed at your words and you both got in the car.

Throughout the car ride, Jake noticed your fidgeting hands and he knew you were nervous. He put his hand on top of yours, still looking at the road ahead of him. “There’s nothing to be worried about, y/n” He said in a quiet voice, making you look at him at the sudden words. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, looking back to the road. “I know. It’s just- I don’t even know why I’m nervous.” You answered chuckling humorlessly. Jake gave your hand a squeeze, giving you a silent reassurance. “I know that from what I say about my dad he sounds scary but he can be nice sometimes and I’m sure he will be pretty okay with you, so don’t think too much about it, yeah? Besides my mom’s gonna be there so it won’t be as bad.” You nodded and smiled at him, leaning on the center console to peck his cheek, making him smile.

Soon enough, you both reached his parent’s house. You felt your heart starting to race as soon as you stepped out of the car. Jake walked beside you, grabbing your hand, holding it tightly against his. Something in him was telling you he was nervous as well and it made you look at him with worried eyes. You both stopped at the front door, looking at each other. Jake smiled at you, nodding his head towards the door, making you take a deep breath as you nodded back at him. He rang the doorbell, the sound echoing in the loud silence as you both waited impatiently.

The door finally opened, revealing a beautiful woman. She didn’t look any older than 45, her skin was smooth with barely any wrinkles adorning it, only faint ones that marked her joyful smile. Her hair had a chestnut tone to it and the perfectly styled curls reached her shoulders. “Jake, my love.” She said as she pulled the said man into her embrace. “I’ve missed you so much!” Jake smiled as he looked at her with a grin. “Missed you too, mom.” He said lovingly pecking her forehead. “Oh, goodness. You must be y/n, I’m Sooyoung! So glad to meet you dear!” She said pulling you in a hug, making you smile at her as you felt the nerves slowly leaving your body. “Yes, I am! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” You told her, as she held your hands in her’s. “You know, Jake sounded so excited to finally introduce you to us, he would always talk about you when he called.” You heard Jake groan beside you. “Mom!” “What? I’m just saying!” She said laughing at his son “Anyways, come inside. Dinner is almost ready!” She leads you both inside the house. “Do you need help with anything?” You asked her “Oh no, dear! Don’t worry, everything’s almost done. You both wait in the leaving room while I finish it.”

Jake took you to the living room, where his father sat on the couch as he watched whatever news channel was playing. He cleared his throat, making his father loom at you both. “Hey, dad. This is y/n, my girlfriend.” Jake said introducing you to the older man. “Hi, sir. It’s nice to meet you!” You said bowing slightly at him, wiping your sweaty hands in the back of your pants. Jake’s father got up, walking towards the both of you. His straight lips formed a slight smile as he pulled you into a hug, making you let out a surprised sound. “It’s nice to see the girl my son can’t shut up about. Can’t say I’m not surprised to see my son could keep up with a girl like you.” You felt shy at his words, not really knowing what to say. “Ah, I’m sure it’s not like that.” You said rubbing your arm anxiously. He then walked to Jake, shaking hands with his son, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Hope you’ve been behaving well, son.” He said patting his son’s head. “Dad..” Jake said rolling his eyes. The three of you sat on the couch, Jake's dad’s eyes were on the TV but his focus was somewhere else.

“So,” He started. “Where did you two meet?” He asked, turning to look at you two. You looked at Jake and then at his father “We met at my workplace.” You said nodding at him. “You work?” He asked curiously. “Well, it’s a summer job, but yeah I do. Been there for about two and half months maybe?” You smiled at him, rubbing your hands back in forth on your thighs as you tried to ease the nerves. He hummed “And what do you do, may I ask?” “Dad, it’s enough questions.” Jake said but you stopped “It’s okay, Jake.” You said smiling at him. “I’m working at a mechanic shop, which I know it’s not usual as a summer job, but I enjoy it a lot.” His dad opened his mouth to speak but before he could do so, Sooyoung called everyone to the table.

You were all sat at the table peacefully, immersed in a casual conversation. “We should totally book a dinner with your parents y/n, Jake talks about how nice they are when he stays at your house. “ Jake’s mother suggested. “Yeah, I think that would be really nice. They would love it!” You told her, smiling at her as you went back to eating. You noticed Jake had been quiet most of the night, only talking when you were the topic of the conversation. It made you worried that he was behaving this way. You noticed the way his hands were trembling and you wanted nothing more than to comfort him right there and then. You put your utensils down when you finished the meal and one of your hands went to his tigh to rub it in a comforting manner. Jake’s movements faltered when he felt it. His free hand went down to where your hand was placed in his thigh and squeezed it in appreciation. You interlocked your fingers with his and his thumb started rubbing the back of your hand. Jake felt his heart warming up at your actions, looking at you as you spoke with his mother. He smiled, looking down at his empty plate as he tried to hide it.

Jake’s mom got up and walked towards the fridge. “If everyone’s finished, I made dessert!” She said as she put a homemade ice cream bowl on the table. She sat back down and the conversation went on. “y/n I almost forgot to ask! What are you studying?” Sooyung asked as she looked at you. her elbow propped on the table. “Oh, I’m majoring in computer science actually!” You answered with a smile. “I actually share a few classes with Jake.” You said looking at him with a smile, seeing him already looking at you. “Oh really! What a coincidence, isn’t it!” His mother beamed at you. Jake’s father scoffed beside his mother making you snap your head in his direction. “I’m surprised he actually attends classes.” He said looking down at his desert. Jake’s hand tightened almost painfully in your grip.

The tension in the room was thick and if you wanted you could cut it with a knife. Jake’s mother scolded him silently for speaking about it when you were present, but the man couldn’t care less. “Soccer, soccer, soccer. It’s all that goes through that head of his.” He said, finally looking up at his son, who stared at him with a stoic expression. “I work hard every day to give him a stable future and yet he doesn’t even think about pursuing that.” He said with an expression that could be read as disappointment. “Look at his brother. Working a high-paying job, a stable one, and yet, you can’t take it as an example to look up to. Do you really think soccer’s gonna take you anywhere in life?” He asked but he wasn’t really looking for an answer. Your heart felt like it could jump out of your chest with how quick it was beating. Jake’s face was emotionless but his hands were shaking as the force of his own father’s words hit him like rocks. It hurt you to see him take all this and you just couldn’t keep yourself quiet any longer

“You know,” You started “Jake’s really good at what he does best, even if it’s at soccer.” You gulped your nerves down as you continued. “If there’s something my parents never did was interfere in my future. They never once told me I should follow this or that, never. Because nothing was more important than them seeing me do something that makes me happy. If soccer is what he loves doing, then why not let him do that? I don’t know a thing about soccer or sports but if he’s known in almost every national university’s soccer team then he must be damn good at what he does. So why not support him in that? Even if it goes bad for him, which I must say I doubt, he’s going to graduate so there’s always a plan b. Have you ever considered your son’s happiness? I genuinely don’t intend to be disrespectful to you or your company, but is your business more important than your son? You have a son working in that field so why not make him take over it instead of Jake, who clearly doesn’t want to do it?”

You looked at Jake, seeing him look at you with tears pooling in his eyes, making your own eyes water. “Jake deserves nothing but to be happy. If you only could see how much he’s done then maybe you would love him a bit more.” You got up from your chair, the scraping sound made you slightly hiss. Jake understood what you were doing and did the same. “I’m so sorry about this, but I just can’t stand you seeing talk so low of your son. I hope you can reflect a little bit. Again, I’m sorry.” You turned to leave, Jake following behind you.

When the front door shut close, Jake instantly broke down, throwing himself in your embrace. His body shook with broken cries, making you screw your eyes shut as you tried to stop your tears. You held him tightly, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. “It’s alright now.” you said in a whisper, your hand coming up to tangle itself in his hair. When his cries died out Jake pulled out of your arms, looking at you. His hands cradled your face, as his eyes scanned your features. He smiled at you, making you mirror his expression. He leaned down as he pecked your lips and your hands came up to hold his that were holding your face. “I’m sorry for, you know, causing all that. I just couldn’t not do anything.” You said looking down. “Hey, don’t apologize. Thank you for that, really.” he said letting out a breath. “It’s better you saying that than me having another screaming match with my father.” He smiled sadly.

“I didn’t know you liked me that much, though.” He joked trying to lighten the mood. “Oh, c’mon Jake, seriously.” You said groaning at him, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He said laughing. “Y’know, I like you that much too.” You felt shy under his gaze, suddenly not able to look in his eyes. “Do you really?” You asked as you kicked tiny rocks on the floor. “Yes, silly. Of course I do…” Jake tensed “Even more than liking, actually.” You looked up at him when he said that, seeing him biting his lips nervously. “What?” You asked, surprised as you felt your heart race. “I- sorry I shouldn’t-” “Jake.” You cut him off, laughing at him. He stared at you wide-eyed, his cheeks flushed and his ears red.

You threw your arms over his shoulder, making a slight force to pull him closer. You smiled up at him. “I love you.” Jake almost choked in his own spit, not expecting to hear those words coming out of your mouth. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to say something. He took a deep breath and put his hands on your waist, suddenly feeling like he was in high school again, about to have his first kiss. He leaned in to kiss you, moving his head to the side to deepen it. Both of your lips moving on their own as you shared a passionate kiss. Jake pulled away before he could go further, his forehead resting against yours as he giggled, making you laugh at his behaviour. “I love you too princess.” He finally said, “So much.” He pecked your lips again, and again, and again until you pushed his chest as you laughed at him. He grinned at you, as he grabbed your hand in his. “Let’s go?” He asked and you nodded at him. You both got in the car, ready to go home as some soft tunes played from to radio.

Jake had been trying to make his house a home for a long time, but maybe home was where you were.

1K notes · View notes

wileys-russo · 8 months

Text

ignorance is bliss ficlet II l.williamson x reader

my angry cinnamon roll gf’s 🤭

feel free to read the proper full fic that this is a spin off from here

ignorance is bliss ficlet II l.williamson x reader

"did she say she wasn't coming?" lia asked again with a frown as you shrugged hopelessly, just as clueless to your girlfriends absence from training as the rest of the team, leah now almost an hour late and not answering anyone's calls.

"no she was already up and getting ready when i left, she seemed fine?" you explained, having left before your girlfriend to get a coffee with lotte who had then driven the two of you to training, leahs unusual absence causing a pit of worry to form in the bottom of your stomach.

"oh thank god here she is hold on.” you breathed a sigh of relief as her contact flashed on your screen.

“may i please be excused quickly jonas? its leah." you asked softly, wincing as you interrupted the briefing and felt everyone’s eyes watching on as you hurried out of the room, accepting the call.

"leah where the hell are you? you're late and you're never late! in fact you are always on my case about making us late to things." you rambled, stepping outside and holding the phone to your ear.

"yeah uh, i sort of…ran into some car trouble on the way there." leah replied in a strange tone of voice making you frown. "car trouble? whats happened? are you alright?" you questioned quickly with growing concern, leaning against the wall behind you as your mind raced with all the worst case scenarios.

"well..." leah trailed off and you waited patiently for an answer but there wasn't one. "well? just spit it out lee, as long as you're safe we can fix whatever happened, a car is only something material babe." you assured her softly, feeling your chest tighten with nerves at her obvious hesitation to come clean.

"no no it wasn't an accident or anything I um, well I-" leah danced around her words and you felt your patience thinning, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"isortoflostmylicensecauseigotdonespeedingagainandineedyoutocomeandpickmeup." your girlfriend word vomited so fast you couldn't make out a single word of what she was saying. "what? slower please lee." you pinched at the bridge of your nose, exhaling deeply.

"i sort of lost my license cause i got done speeding again and i need you to come and pick me up…please." leah repeated and your eyes widened as you finally understood, the silence on your side of the line causing leahs stomach to twist into knots.

"please don't be mad i know you're always onto me about it and i really think this is the thing i needed to learn my lesson but- hey are you laughing at me?" leah frowned as you doubled over, resting a hand on your knee as you were indeed laughing at the predicement.

"oi its not funny! i can't drive for three months now!" leah shouted and you could almost hear the stroppy pout which would be forming on the older girls lips.

"it is funny because i did in fact warn you of this time and time again and you never listened. i told you so!" you sung out with a grin, leah somewhat relieved you weren't upset with her but also not appreciating that your amusement was at her expense.

"too bad i wasn't there to flirt your way out of it huh?" you smiled smugly, rewarded with an annoyed huff and a half understood grumbled insult.

"sorry what was that? you're going to walk to training? wonderful i'll see you soon!" you teased, leah yelling out a hasty apology and practically begging you not hang up, something which was more than rare from your normally over confident girlfriend.

"please come get me! i'm stranded and it's really embarrassing, what if someone recognises me?" leah whined and you rolled your eyes that of course that was her biggest concern right now.

"why don't you just sit in the car then while you wait?" you sighed with a small smile, the silence on the other end telling you all you needed to know.

"oh leah....you didn't. not again!" "stop leah'ing me, you sound like my mum!" "oh i can't wait to tell your mum about this." "don't you fucking dare!"

this was not a one off occasion. leah determined to buy the most tricked out car she could had spared no expense on the bells and whistles, though one of these had time and time again meant she’d locked her keys inside the insanely posh vehicle.

"baby i warned you when you bought that stupidly expensive car that the self locking feature would bite you in the ass." "now is so not the time for an i told you so. just come and pick me up!" "come pick you up..." "right now?" "leah!" "sorry. please please please come pick me up gorgeous. i love you?"

"i'll get someone to drive me now. you know you could just get an uber leah." "what did i say about leah'ing me!" ~

"there she is." you pointed out your girlfriend with a grin as katie slowed down a little, leah sat on the curb with her hoodie pulled over her head, clearly attempting to hide herself but the glaringly obvious red and blue arsenal tracksuit did her no favors.

"she looks like that kid who runs away from home gets about five minutes down the road and calls for their parents to come pick them up!" beth laughed at your girlfriends sour expression as you pulled beside her, though you'd note that to the others in the back all pointing and teasing her.

"you had to bring a crowd?" leah grumbled, standing to her feet and crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at beth and laura in the back who were pulling faces at her.

"what’s to say other than we all just had to witness the miracle for ourselves!" katie beamed as you leaned over and whispered something quickly in her ear, the irish woman nodding subtly with a smirk.

"go on then speed demon in ya hop!" katie teased, leah reaching for the door handle as she suddenly jerked the car forward and away from her, the four of you grinning as leahs jaw tightened.

“come on leah, in we get!” laura called out much like you would encourage a dog to return to its owner, which was not lost on leah who gave the younger girl a frighteningly filthy look.

"come on woman we haven't got all day you know!" beth tapped at her wrist mocking the time as once again leah reached for the door and katie moved the car forward slightly, sending the four of you into hysterics like naughty school kids at the back of the bus.

"nah you know what fuck this! i'm walking." your girlfriend fumed, kicking at the back of katies car and storming off down the road. you were quick to unbuckle yourself, jumping out and racing off after her as the girls all called out for her to get in the car.

"baby, get in the car." you grabbed her hand, looking at her with an amused smile as the taller blonde simply glared back at you wordlessly as you wrapped yourself around her in a hug, her arms remaining stoic by her side as she refused to engage in it.

"relax the face, relax the face." you cooed sarcastically and stroked at her forehead and cheeks trying to smooth away the deep frown lines as the defender smacked your hands away but you saw a hint of a smile grace her features as you stole a quick kiss and tugged her back with you towards the car.

leahs frown deepened as she was met with slow claps and she slid in the back beside laura, flipping them all off and sinking down into her seat.

"good news mccabe. as my work wife you have now been promoted and unlocked a new daily task. driving us to training!" you grinned as the irish woman rolled her eyes playfully.

"only if you caress my thigh and hold my hand like you do with blondie darlin." katie smirked at leah through the rear view mirror as you agreed, reaching out to accept her offered hand, intertwing your digits over the middle console.

"mccabe if you'd like to ever walk again i'd suggest you not touch her, or else i may have to accidentally studs up tackle you in every single drill." leah warned seriously, katie only grinning and bringing your intertwined hands up to her mouth, kissing your knuckles as you sarcastically swooned and leah huffed.

"now now don't worry, i'm sure vivs happy to share." beth teased, holding her hand up toward leah expecting her to kiss it as the blonde simply shot her a murderous look and smacked it away.

this was going to be a long three months.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #engwnt #woso blurbs #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc x reader #awfc

974 notes · View notes

sweetestdesire · 3 months

Text

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

WARNINGS: hair pulling, extreme domination, mentions of masturbation, degrading speech, etc. 18+ readers only

PAIRING(S): Trevor Zegras x Fem!Reader

SUMMERY: in which Trevor Zegras catches Fem!Reader in a compromising position.

"Stop fighting with me! I've been given explicit instructions, and you're going on this date whether you like it or not."

Trevor groaned dramatically as Y/N tugged on his arm. "I already showered and everything, what else am I supposed to do, Y/N?"

"Um, put on a decent outfit?"

"What if I don't even want to go?"

"Too bad. You had the opportunity to back out when Mason asked you if he could set you up, and you didn't, so now you're going." She mimed dragging him down the hallway to his room. "As your best friend and roommate, I'm in charge of making sure you show up and look good."

Heavy footsteps fell on the floor as Trevor stomped after her. "As my best friend, I'd think you'd be on my side about not wanting to go."

Y/N and Trevor had been best friends since they were kids. Growing up next door to each other, they’d spent years playing basketball in his driveway in the summer or making snow forts in her yard in the winter. Even though Trevor was two years older than her, he had always let her be part of his life. He might have teased her mercilessly, but she knew he was always there for her. He had helped her with crushes, coached her through her first date, first boyfriend, and first subsequent heartbreak.

Y/N knew people thought it was strange. Here they were, early-20s, and living together platonically. She knew a good number of people assumed they would get together one day, but Trevor had never felt that way about her. It was kind of weird, at first, to bring dates back home and to know that he was across the hall from her bedroom, able to hear every little thing that happened.

Y/N let herself into Trevor’s bedroom as he trailed behind her. “Just watch. She's going to be super hot and sexy and funny. It'll be your last first date, you'll fall in love and have eight kids and tell everyone about how it was just love at first sight. And I can be cool Auntie Y/N and ride a motorcycle and buy them alcohol when they start going to parties in high school."

"You've never even been on a motorcycle."

Y/N grinned at Trevor from across his room as he stood in the doorway, head tilted in a pout. "I'll learn to ride a motorcycle.” She said.

"I don't know why you and Mason think that I need to be dating someone." He entered the room and flopped onto his bed. "Maybe I'm happy living the single life."

"At the very least, you need to get laid, Trevor." A startled noise came from his throat and she giggled as she opened his closet, searching through his clothes. "You used to have a parade of babes coming through here. Now you're all grouchy. It's clearly sexual frustration."

"That is so very wrong. Besides, not all of us need a 'parade of babes' in our rooms. Unlike you, I like to have a night off once in awhile. Rest up, you know."

Y/N snorted. "Are you calling me a slut?"

"Nah, you already know you're a slut."

They both lost it, and she threw a shirt at him playfully between giggles. "Try this on for me."

Y/N heard him shift off the bed behind her and reluctantly begin changing as she dug through his closet for a few more outfit options.

"So who is this girl, again?"

"Mason’s friend, Lauren. I've met her a couple times, she's super pretty and really sweet. Curly hair, kind of a boho-chic vibe. Lots of flowy dresses and such."

"Not exactly my type, then?"

"I thought your type was 'has boobs.'"

"I'll have you know I'm a man of discerning tastes."

"Ah yes, of course. And what is your type, then, exactly?" Y/N turned around, arms full of clothing as Trevor finished buttoning the shirt she’d thrown at him.

"You know..." Trevor trailed off. "Sporty, kind of."

"Oh, sure." Y/N rolled her eyes. "The shirt's not doing it for me. Take that off and put on this t-shirt with this shirt over top of it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And these jeans." She tossed the jeans across the bed.

"Are you going to watch me change?" His hands worked down the buttons as he spoke, eyes crinkling.

"Oh, excuse me while I preserve your modesty." Y/N turned sarcastically as he laughed.

"Gotta leave something to the imagination.” He said. "Okay, how does it look?"

Y/N turned back around and looked over Trevor. "You'll thank me tomorrow after she leaves." She stepped across the room, adjusting his shirt and helping him roll the sleeves up to his elbows. "Now, tuck the front in just a bit. Perfect."

Trevor spread his arms as she looked over him. "Presentable?"

He looked great. As her eyes moved up and down, Y/N had the thought that Trevor was far better looking than he had any right to be. His jeans fit nicely, held up by a nice belt. And the rolled-up sleeves of the shirt he had over it showed off his forearms and highlighted his large hands.

Okay, she hasn’t been entirely honest. Y/N’s entire life, she’d harbored a crush on Trevor. She’d also spent her entire life stuck being seen as, at most, a younger sister. He'd helped her through her first date and first boyfriend, but her first heartbreak had been the day she’d seen Trevor with his first girlfriend. Her second heartbreak had been the day he'd blushed, embarrassed, as his friends teased him about hanging out with her.

“She's just my friend.” Trevor had shouted. "I don't like her like that!"

That had been years earlier, though, and while Y/N had never fully gotten over her little crush on Trevor, she’d successfully moved on with her life. She’d dated casually, had a few relationships, and certainly had her share of one-night-stands parade through her bedroom in their apartment. She’d also learned how to sneak them out in the morning, much to Trevor’s chagrin. He loved to give them a hard time the next day.

But, back to that particular moment, where Trevor was standing in front of her, waiting for her review of his outfit. In that moment, Y/N felt the small rekindling of the torch she’d carried for him paired with the sadness of knowing she was sending him into the arms of some other woman. She pushed those feelings away quickly, and grinned up at him.

"You look amazing. Want me to make sure you've got bacon and eggs ready for breakfast tomorrow?”

Trevor swatted her arm playfully and she jumped, more out of surprise at the sudden feel of his hand against her skin. "You seem pretty sure she'll be coming back here."

"I would if I were her. I did a hell of a good job cleaning you up."

Trevor arched an eyebrow at her. "You would?"

"You know what I mean." She refused to let him fluster her. "Anyways, you're right. Maybe you won't come back here."

"Ouch."

"Maybe you'll end up at her place."

He scoffed. "Sure, we'll see about that."

Y/N had to urge Trevor out of the house in time to make it to his date. When he finally left, she sighed. She had met Lauren a few times and she was gorgeous, and funny, and always looked put together. She tried not to be jealous. Trevor had seen her in all manners of complete unsexiness, from being an awkward, gangly teenager to sweating buckets after working out to that very moment, in ratty yoga pants and a messy bun. Y/N was quite certain she'd be back at their place after the date.

Y/N wandered around the apartment aimlessly before flopping onto the couch, not used to the time alone. Trevor hadn't been out much since he’s gotten injured, and she had gotten used to having him around all the time. Suddenly, everything seemed incredibly quiet and lonely. Normally, Trevor and her would have dinner together, and then they’d watch an episode of something, and then maybe he'd play video games while she read a book or headed out for the night. It wasn't like they spent all their time together, but it certainly seemed that they’d gotten into a comfortable routine.

Her plans had fallen through for the evening, though, and Y/N hadn't bothered to make new ones. Her best friend from college was supposed to be back in town, but her flight had been delayed. She had been looking forward to seeing her, so was feeling particularly let down. Regardless, she decided to make the most of having the apartment to herself.

After showering and slipping into a comfy pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, Y/N popped a batch of popcorn for dinner. Cracking open a beer, she settled in on the couch, picking a movie she knew Trevor would never want to watch. While he preferred comedies or thrillers, she wanted love and drama.

It certainly wasn't planned that the movie she picked had a heart-droppingly gorgeous male lead that ended up in a panty-dampening sex scene with the equally erotic love interest. Watching the two of them paw at each other in a clandestine love affair was more than Y/N could handle. Between that and the reminder of her attraction to Trevor, she was in a state of full arousal by the time the movie ended.

Wiping her fingers after finishing her popcorn, she glanced down the hallway towards their rooms. Trevor wouldn't be back for a while. She was certainly not a beautiful, cat-like actress in a satin emerald dress about to be pounded against a bookshelf, but just for a moment, she wanted her own steamy scene. She flipped the TV off and shuffled through the apartment to the bathroom.

Trevor and Y/N each had their own private drawers in the bathroom, and she left a small bullet vibrator in hers for the occasional bathtub excursion. She dug it out quickly and made to go into her bedroom, but paused at the door. Glancing behind her, she eyed Trevor’s bedroom door. Her heart started pounding, strong enough that she could feel the pulse in her neck and hear the thundering in her ears.

"No.” Y/N said out loud. Her and Trevor had their own spaces. It was her best friend she was thinking about, and he didn't deserve something so disrespectful as her masturbating on his bed. Especially since he might be bringing someone back to fuck there.

Y/N started back into her own bedroom, but paused again, throwing another look over her shoulder at Trevor’s room. Then again, she said to herself, it would be incredibly hot. She didn't give herself another opportunity to back out. She opened his bedroom door and bolted into his room. Gingerly, she crawled onto his bed over top of the blankets, lying on her back with her head on his pillow.

A scent that was distinctly Trevor enveloped her. Whether it was his body wash or cologne or a mix of that with his own sweat left on the pillow didn't matter to her. Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling as she imagined having Trevor in the bed with her. Balancing the vibrator on her stomach, she wriggled her hips, sliding her panties and sleep shorts down at the same time and taking care to put them on the edge of the bed where she knew she’d find them again. She held the vibrator in one hand as she let the other caress her stomach. Her hand moved underneath the fitted tank top, sliding up her stomach to her breasts. She had forgone a bra, and the friction of her tank top against her hardened nipples was intoxicating.

Y/N took her hand away from her breasts, trailing it down to the pool of moisture between her legs. The excitement and nervousness of being in Trevor’s bed was more than she could handle. She worked her fingers against the slick lips of her pussy, dipping them just inside her dripping entrance, before turning her vibrator on and immediately pressing it to her clit.

A muted sigh escaped her lips as the vibrations relieved her intense arousal. Her breath came heavily, and Y/N pushed her hips forward just slightly, grinding back against the vibrator. Trevor’s pillow was soft under her head and his blanket was cool against her naked lower half. She spread her legs a bit more, her hand wandering back up to her breasts. Tweaking her nipple, she stifled a moan.

Y/N pictured Trevor towering above her. He had long been a prominent image in her masturbatory fantasies. The addition of being in his room, surrounded by his things and his scent and in his bed where he fucked his other girls... it was more than she could handle. She wanted him so badly in that moment. She wanted not just the lingering scent of cologne, but she wanted his body, to feel the heat of him against her, pushing inside of her.

The slow knot of an orgasm begin to unravel deep in her stomach, and Y/N tensed in anticipation. She adjusted the vibrator against her clit, waiting eagerly to cum. She was so close, so ready, just teetering on the edge of orgasmic bliss when she suddenly heard the apartment door bang closed.

"Hey, I'm back!" Trevor called out.

Y/N had never moved so fast in her life as in that moment, panic coursing through her body as she sat up. Her fingers were slick and she fumbled with her vibrator, barely managing to turn it off. She snatched up her sleep shorts as she bounded off the bed, peeked into the hallway quickly to make sure he hadn't started towards his room, and practically hurdled across the hallway into her own room. Panting, she tossed her vibrator onto a pile of clothes and rushed to slip her shorts back on, nearly tumbling over as she tried to maintain her balance.

"Y/N?" Trevor’s voice was at the end of the hallway.

She popped her head out of her bedroom door, plastering a smile on her face that probably made her look a little crazy. "Hey!" Her voice was too loud, too upbeat. "How'd your date go? Did Lauren come back?"

Trevor eyed her warily. "Uh, no. She's nice, but we didn't have a ton of chemistry. So much for a last first date."

"Awe, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you okay?" He frowned. "Is someone in there?"

"Nope!" A slightly obnoxious giggle bubbled out of her lips. "Just... you know, probably should have eaten a better dinner and not drank a beer. Guess I can't hold my liquor that well!"

"That's bullshit." Trevor shook his head. "You're being weird. You sure everything's okay?"

Y/N nodded, not trusting herself to speak again, as Trevor walked down the hallway and into his bedroom. Her jaw clenched as he flicked the light on.

"Okay then. I thought you'd be hounding me for details."

"Tell me everything.” Y/N said obediently. "What happened?"

"Well, she's a vegetarian, I don't know if you knew that. So we probably shouldn't have gone to a steakhouse." He took off the dress shirt as he talked to her. "Also sounds like she met some guy on vacation that she has a thing for, but he doesn't live here. Never said anything for sure, but couldn't stop talking about him."

"That sucks."

Neither of them were looking at each other, and their eyes fell on the same thing at the same time. Her stomach dropped as she realized her panties were sitting on the edge of Trevor’s bed, just as he looked confused at the misplaced scrap of pink fabric hanging off his blanket.

"Y/N, are these..." Trevor picked up her panties, frowning down at his hand. "Why are these in my room?"

She froze in horror as any number of excuses flew through her brain. They got stuck to the sheets in the wash. Haha, it's a prank, bro. None of the excuses made it out of her lips as Trevor frowned down at his bed. The blankets were just the slightest bit ruffled, and there was an indent in the pillow where her head was.

"Were you in my room?"

Y/N grasped frantically at the flimsiest of straws, hoping he would end the conversation and they would never speak of it again. "No?” She didn't know who she thought she was kidding. The panic in her voice, the flush on her cheeks and chest, and the damp pink panties in his hand were more than enough to incriminate her.

"And you're definitely not hiding someone in your room right now?" His voice was low, the sarcasm barely hidden.

Y/N’s mouth was dry as she shook her head. Trevor stepped forward, making his way into the hallway. Shaking, she took a step back into her room as he poked his head inside. He glanced around, his eyes falling on the vibrator sitting on the pile of clothes nearby.

"So you weren't fucking someone on my bed, you were masturbating on it?"

Y/N couldn't physically speak. Her throat was as frozen as the rest of her, staring at Trevor. She hoped she didn't look as terrified as she felt, but she was sure her face was pale aside from the patches of skin that she could still feel burning. Whether the burning was residual from the almost-orgasm or a new reaction to the embarrassment she was feeling, she didn't know.

"Y/N, what the fuck?"

"I'm so sorry." The words came out stuttered, barely above a hoarse whisper.

"Why would you do that?"

Tears pricked in her eyes and an invisible grip seemed to clench inside her chest. Her lips were parched and she couldn't form another sentence. Y/N shook her head, trying not to let the tears fall.

Trevor was only a few steps away, standing in her doorway, and his face softened a bit as he seemed to notice her eyes watering. "Y/N, talk to me. Tell me why."

"It's not obvious?" Her voice was strained, as Trevor’s gaze stared directly into her embarrassed soul. Her hands trembled and she balled her fingers into fists.

"You don't think you owe me an explanation?" His voice was dark again, serious.

She tried not to choke on her words, despite knowing she had just fucked up years of friendship. "Because I'm attracted to you, Trevor." The words hung between them. "And because it turned me on."

Trevor glanced down at his hand. He was still holding her panties, the fabric tight between his fingers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to relieve the dryness in her mouth. "I've had a crush on you my entire life. You said you didn't like me like that."

"When did I say that?"

"You said it to a couple of friends years ago. They were teasing you for hanging out with me."

"Y/N, I would have been maybe 15 when I said that." When she didn't respond, he sighed. "You never admitted this to me because of something I said when we were kids?"

"When else was I supposed to say it? When you had a girlfriend? When you were done sleeping with some random hook up?" Y/N finally managed to string together a sentence without stuttering, but it was short lived. "I did something stupid and rude tonight, I know that, I'm sorry. But I never wanted to say anything because you're my friend and I didn't want to make things weird."

"So you just rubbed one out on my bed, thinking that wasn't the definition of weird."

The words stung and she felt one of the tears escape from her eye. Y/N wiped a hand across her cheek hurriedly, staring at the floor.

"How often have you done this?"

"Just tonight."

"I'm supposed to believe that? This was the first time and I just happened to catch you?"

Another tear fell. "I'm telling the truth." Y/N went to wipe the second tear, but Trevor stopped her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist firmly, but not painfully. She still winced, but he released her wrist and his hand moved up to her cheek, wiping the tear out from under her eye.

"Do you know how difficult it is for me to listen to a string of guys fucking you from the other side of the hall?" His voice was a low growl.

"You had your own string of women to fuck.” Y/N spat back. Her face burned, angry at her eyes betrayal as another tear slipped down her cheek.

"None of them were you."

Y/N finally looked back up at him, unsure of what to say. He was so close, just inches away from her. When had that happened? His fingers brushed under her eye again, drying her cheek, and the distinct scent of Trevor that had enveloped her on his bed was filling her senses yet again.

"What are you saying?"

"It's not obvious?" Trevor taunted.

Y/N’s body didn't know how to react. Trevor was so close, tantalizingly close, and part of her yearned to press against him. Another part of her wanted to recoil, bury herself in her blankets, and sob at her mortification. It was like being an awkward kid again, when Trevor would tease her until she got angry and tried to storm off, only to tell her he was joking and beg her to stay.

She felt goosebumps rise on her arms as he looked down at her, waiting for her response. Y/N couldn't bring herself to speak and just shook her head, casting her eyes back down the floor.

"Awe, come on, Y/N." The mocking tone to his voice was familiar, but she still didn't know what he wanted to say. "Alright, tell me this. Did you cum on my bed?"

Y/N grimaced, her eyes slamming shut as more tears threatened to leak out. He laughed at her reaction. "Come on. Did you cum?"

"No.” She whispered.

"Why not?"

"You got home before I was done." Even shut, a tear managed to sneak out of her eye. She bowed her head, but again, Trevor’s hand came to her face and wiped the drop off her cheek. He tilted her head up slightly, and she reopened her eyes to look at him.

"All that, and you didn't even finish on my bed?"

"Trevor, please." Y/N’s voice cracked as she tried to hold in a sob. "I'm sorry. Please stop making fun of me."

"I'm just joking." His voice was low, husky, and his body was closer than ever. She could feel his breath on her face. "You have no idea how hot you look when you're embarrassed, but I’m sorry for making you cry."

"Is this happening?" Y/N finally managed to ask.

"Do you want it to happen?"

Y/N nodded. Trevor’s lips were suddenly on hers, his kiss demanding and insistent. She inhaled sharply as his tongue probed her mouth, exploring her lips. The gap between their bodies closed as his arms wrapped around her. His cock nudged against her, already straining against his pants.

A startled gasp escaped her mouth as he bit down on her lip. Y/N’s pulse quickened as his hands explored her body, brazenly groping at her breasts and deliberately rolling her hardened nipples between his fingers. Trevor chuckled against her mouth as she pushed against him, eager for more.

"Stop laughing at me.” Y/N hissed. He responded by pinching her nipple hard, eliciting a high-pitched cry from her.

"I'll laugh at you all I want.” Trevor replied.

His mouth covered hers again, and his hands traveled down her body. Without so much as a moment of hesitation, Trevor slipped his hands down the back of her shorts and cupped an ass cheek in each of his hands. He squeezed, kneading her ass as he pushed against her body, grinding his cock against her.

Teeth grazed her lips again and he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. Y/N cried out and he sucked harder before letting go. His hands squeezed her ass again, his fingers gripping her hard, before he let go and took his hands out of her shorts.

"Bed.” Trevor said simply.

"Mine or yours?"

He laughed, a wicked look crossing his face. "Yours first." A hard kiss punctuated his sentence. "I've listened to you fuck a million guys in here. Now it's my turn."

A flutter ran through her body at the implication being they’d fuck on his bed later, and another at the idea of Trevor listening to her get fucked from behind the closed door of his room. Y/N directed him to sit on the edge of her bed, then stood in front of him.

"How many times did you listen to me get fucked?" She asked.

His eyes darkened. "Enough to know I could make you cum harder and scream louder than any of them." An arm extended, reaching for her, but she stepped back.

"Were you jealous?" Y/N teased.

"Incredibly."

She bit her lip and toyed with the hem of her tank top. "Did you ever jack off listening to me?" Y/N flushed a bit, her voice going quiet again.

"Almost every time." His voice was earnest, eyes full of honesty and desire. "I imagined you getting fucked in every position you can imagine. Now, can I see if your tits are like what I pictured?"

Y/N swallowed hard, unable to think of a response. Meeting his eyes, she slid the tank top up over her head, revealing her breasts to him for the first time. It was his turn to be speechless for a moment, his eyes savoring the view of her body as she stood half-naked in front of him.

"Are they what you imagined?" She finally asked.

"Better." He reached for her again, and she moved to him like a magnet to metal.

As soon as Y/N was within reach, his hands were on her tits, and she moaned softly as he cupped her breasts in his hands. She let him fondle her for just a moment, before closing the gap between them even further by straddling his lap on the edge of the bed. She steadied herself on his shoulders as Trevor took the opportunity to dip his head down, kissing the top of her breasts.

"You missed your calling as a stripper, you know.” Trevor teased, licking between her breasts.

"Pretty sure you aren't supposed to touch the strippers.” Y/N gasped. His mouth found a nipple as his hands resumed their position on her ass, and he traced his tongue around her nipples, making her shiver. She ran her hands through his hair, holding him against her chest.

"Are you saying I should stop touching you?" He murmured.

"God, no." Y/N rolled her hips against him, and they both groaned as her pussy ground against the length of his cock. The softness of her shorts provided friction against her swollen clit, and she found herself repeating the action again and again as he ravished her breasts.

It clearly was working for Trevor, too, and his mouth left her tits as his head tilted back. Y/N wanted to be greedy; she wanted his mouth back on her nipple and his cock inside her and to cum on him again and again. But she also wanted to hear the noises Trevor would make if she put his cock into her mouth.

Y/N moved off his lap, standing between his legs as she reached down and unbuckled his belt. Trevor’s hands joined hers and he unbuttoned his jeans as she carefully unzipped them. His hips moved up just enough to let her pull his jeans down, and she dropped to her knees as she guided them down his legs.

Once his pants were off, Y/N gripped his cock through his boxers. A small grunt came from his throat as she traced her fingers up and down through the fabric. He was rigid, thick, and hot. From her position kneeling in front of him, she reached up and slipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxers. She thought briefly about going slowly, tantalizing and tenderly revealing his cock, but she was too full of fire to maintain that. Instead, she pulled them down quickly, freeing his cock in one movement.

The stiff appendage jutting out towards her was beautiful. Y/N admired his cock for a moment before flicking her tongue out to taste the pre-cum that dripped from his tip. Trevor exhaled loudly as her tongue made contact, and she took his tip into her mouth in response. Hands came to her head immediately, fingers pulling at her hair as she wasted no time sucking Trevor’s cock.

His breathing came heavily as she bobbed her head, feeling the thickness of his swollen cock filling her mouth. He was quieter than she expected at first, but that changed as he began pulling her hair harder and directing her to take his cock deeper in her throat. His tip pushed against the back of her mouth and she opened her throat as much as she could, swallowing his shaft as she reached up to cup his balls.

Trevor groaned loudly as she did, his hips thrusting forward just slightly. The sounds he was making shot waves of arousal through her body, and Y/N couldn't help but slip a hand into her shorts as she sucked his cock. Her slit was drenched and a soft, humming moan vibrated against Trevor’s dick as she touched herself.

"You look so fucking hot right now."

Y/N glanced up at him, eyes wide as her lips encircled his cock. Trevor looked back down at her, able to just see her hand in her shorts. Her fingers darted into her wet pussy quickly, and she let out another muffled moan against his cock, her eyes squeezing shut.

"Fuck." His hands tightened in her hair as she took him deep in her throat.

Y/N let him thrust into her throat a few more times before pulling back and letting him slip out of her mouth with a wet sound. “I can't wait any longer.” She gasped.

"Good." Trevor helped her up off my knees, pulling her in for another searing kiss as he pushed her shorts down.

Y/N wiggled her hips, letting them fall to the floor, and tugged at his shirt. Trevor removed it swiftly, bringing it over his head and tossing it towards the floor. They shifted onto the bed together, collapsing onto the covers as their arms wrapped around each other and their lips connected again, urgent and breathless. Trevor’s cock brushed against her bare thigh, tantalizingly close to the dripping pool between her legs.

Trevor grabbed her possessively, and he twisted her onto her back, his hands wrenching her legs apart. She half-expected him to sink into her immediately and moved to stop him so she could get a condom, but instead his head dipped down and his mouth nestled against her slit.

Gasping, Y/N arched her back slightly, and Trevor went to work eating her pussy. He lapped at her wetness greedily, his tongue licking along her slit and his mouth buried against her. Feverish moans escaped from her lips with each breath as he concentrated his ministrations on her clit. His tongue danced around her, and the agonizing ascent towards orgasm began in her stomach again. The climbing sensation built and built, the promise of cumming finally within her grasp.

Y/N glanced down at the head between her thighs. An expression of bliss filled Trevor’s face, his eyes closed beneath tousled hair as he feasted on her pussy. "Don't stop.” She begged, her fingers clutching at his hair. "I'm so close. Please, Trevor.”

Trevor could’ve stopped, could’ve continued the intense teasing he'd subjected her to since catching her masturbating on his bed. To his credit, he didn't. Instead, he sucked on her clit while pushing a finger inside her and curling it to hit her G-spot.

The effect was almost instantaneous, and her thighs clamped against Trevor’s head as she came. After such a long wait and the denial of her orgasm from earlier, it was one of the most intense she’d ever experienced. Her back arched as she ground against Trevor’s face, a blistering cry filling the room as her body shook. Heat radiated from her core as she came, writhing against Trevor.

As the heat gave way to a dreamy relief, her legs released Trevor’s head. Y/N slowly became aware of his tongue still gently lapping at her pussy, and that her hands were still entangled in his hair.

"Sorry." Y/N let go of his head, still trying to catch her breath. A gentle kiss was placed on her clit, which was still so sensitive it made her twitch. Then another kiss on top of her mound, and a third above that.

"Never, ever apologize for cumming like that." Trevor’s lips brushed against her skin as he spoke. "That was like magic."

Y/N could only groan in response, her body still overwhelmed with pleasure. He crawled up her body, a look of mock concern on his face. "Did I break you?"

Another groan, and she pulled him down to kiss her. She could taste the slight sweetness of her juice on his lips. "Fuck me.” She mumbled against his mouth.

Trevor didn't reply, just nipped at her lip one last time before pulling back and grabbing her pillow. His hands guided her to her knees and she flipped over, the pillow under her stomach as she propped herself up on her hands and knees. Second later, Trevor was behind her, the tip of his cock probing at her pussy.

"Ready?" Trevor asked, though his voice was struggling, as though he couldn't possibly wait another moment.

Y/N was more than ready. "Fuck me, Trevor.” She ordered.

He buried his cock inside her in a single thrust. Both of them made noises of relief as he finally sheathed his cock inside her, and his fingers dug into her hips as he paused there.

"Fuck, you feel amazing." His voice was husky, gasping.

In response, Y/N pushed her ass back against him. He grunted and thrust back against her, penetrating as deep as he could, and she let out a lustful breath.

"Fuck me.” She begged again.

Y/N wasn't sure how he had held back for so long. When Trevor began to fuck her, there was no stopping him. She squealed as he ravaged her pussy recklessly, shoving his length as deep as he could. The pillow beneath her was excellent forethought, as it wasn't long before her arms could barely support the force of his penetrations and she collapsed onto the bed.

Trevor wasn't having it, though. The fingers digging into her hip on one side left as he hunched over her, pounding inside of her as he reached around and grabbed her breast. Using it as leverage, he pulled her back up, almost lifting her to a full kneeling position. His other hand snaked down to her clit and he fingered it furiously as his mouth found her the back of her neck, nipping the skin there.

Y/N was at his complete mercy as he tunneled inside her, filling her as deeply and roughly as he could. She was sure the entire apartment complex could hear him making her scream. He didn't have me in that position very long, despite how amazing it felt. As gently as he could, Trevor lowered her back onto the bed, pumping inside her harder and harder until she was flat on her stomach with both his hands trapped beneath her. The motion made her aware that another orgasm was approaching, and she tried to hold still as he rubbed her clit.

"Close again.” Y/N moaned. "Shit, Trevor. I'm gonna cum again."

"Fuck, Y/N.” He gasped. "I'm close. Cum for me, baby, c’mon.”

Y/N didn’t know how he did it, whether there was a slight change in the motion of his fingers or if the pinch of her nipple triggered it, but as he ordered her to cum, she did. Trapped beneath his body, she strained against him as she burst over the edge, his cock still impaling her as she rode the waves of pleasure bubbling through her body. It was in that slight moment of blissful mindlessness that she distantly heard Trevor grunt as he came, his frenzied thrusting slowing as he finished.

Trevor’s arms grasped her tightly as his weight pinned her against the bed. Y/N could feel him softening inside her as they both tried to regain their footing in reality. When it became too much, she shifted against him.

"Can't breathe.” Y/N whispered.

"Fuck, sorry." His hands slid out from beneath her and he rolled onto his back.

Y/N drew in a deep breath and flexed her fingers and feet, the tingling sensation from the aftershocks of her orgasm slowly dispelling. Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked uncertainly at Trevor as he laid naked beside her. His head was turned towards her, studying her.

"Is this a thing now?" His voice was sleepy, but reflected the same apprehension she had.

"Do you want it to be?"

Trevor nodded, extending a hand towards her, inviting her to lay closer to him. "Do you?"

"I've wanted this for years." Y/N curled up next to him, their warm skin pressing together.

"Me, too." He laid a kiss on her hair. "Rule one, though. No masturbating on my bed without me."

"Rule two. Don't give me a reason to masturbate without you."

Trevor kissed her hair again. "I won't."

The two cleaned up and crawled back in bed together, both exhausted. As Trevor’s breathing deepened, Y/N told herself to remember to thank Lauren for being his last first date.

#trevor zegras x you #trevor zegras x y/n #trevor zegras fanfic #trevor zegras blurb #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras fluff #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x fem!reader #trevor zegras one shot #anaheim ducks

539 notes · View notes