#he reminds me of those still nights where heavy snow is falling and all you can hear is the silence of a desolate winter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astraystayyh · 1 month

Text

The snow falls, we fall apart.

summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)

warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.

a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)

winter falls masterlist.

You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.

First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.

Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.

And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.

A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.

You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.

It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.

“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.

You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.

Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.

Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.

Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.

You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.

And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.

Two weeks ago.

“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.

“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”

You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.

“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.

What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?

“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.

“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”

You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.

❁ ❁ ❁

Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.

You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.

As he is doing now. Looking at you.

“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.

“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”

“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.

“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.

“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.

“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.

Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.

“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”

“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”

Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.

Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.

You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.

What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.

You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.

You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.

And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.

But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.

“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.

“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?

“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”

“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”

Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.

You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?

You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.

You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.

And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.

“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.

“What next?”

“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.

“How are you surviving without me?”

“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.

You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.

“They’re for Yn.”

Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”

It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.

But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.

“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”

“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.

His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.

“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.

Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.

“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.

Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”

“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”

“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”

“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.

“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”

“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.

The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”

“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”

The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.

“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”

“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.

“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.

“Yes.”

“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.

“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.

“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”

“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.

“Well, run faster!”

“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.

“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure

“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.

“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”

“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.

“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.

“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.

“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”

You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”

You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.

“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.

“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.

“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.

“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”

“I understand.”

Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.

And Hyunjin loves winter.

He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.

❁ ❁ ❁

Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.

You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.

“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.

You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.

“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.

“And the cupcake?”

“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”

“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”

“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.

The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.

“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”

Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.

“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.

“In my free time.”

“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.

“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.

It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.

Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.

Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”

“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”

“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you

“I want it to stop hurting.”

“It will, with time.”

Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.

“Do you promise me?”

His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.

“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”

“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.

“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.

“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”

“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”

“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.

“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.

The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.

Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.

“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.

“As do mine.”

A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.

“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”

“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”

“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”

You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”

He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.

“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”

“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”

“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.

“It's my job,” he grins lightly.

“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”

“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”

A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.

“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”

Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.

Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.

Five days later.

hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?

yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?

hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu

if you say no i’ll freeze to death..

hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ

“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.

“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.

“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.

“You’ll see.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.

“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.

“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.

“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”

Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.

“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”

You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.

The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.

And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.

But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.

“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.

Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.

“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”

“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.

“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”

You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”

“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”

“Hyunjin!”

“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”

“I'm not coming!”

But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.

“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”

“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.

“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”

“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.

“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.

“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”

“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”

You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.

You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.

“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.

Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.

He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.

“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.

“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.

You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.

Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.

And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.

And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.

But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.

But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.

You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.

You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.

You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.

So, you want to say thank you.

You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.

“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.

“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.

“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.

“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.

“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.

“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.

“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.

“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.

“It's beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.

“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.

“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.

Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.

“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.

You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.

You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.

“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.

“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.

“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”

Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.

“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.

“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.

You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.

It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.

“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.

“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Neither did you.”

Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?

“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”

You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.

“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”

“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”

A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”

“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”

He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”

“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.

“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”

“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”

You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.

He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.

A week later.

hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you

You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.

You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.

It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.

hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch

You giggle, shaking your head before replying.

yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t

hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ

but i finished the song

wanna hear?

Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.

“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.

“I know. We are so lame.”

“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.

Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.

“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”

“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.

Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.

In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.

Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.

Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.

I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.

You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.

The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.

You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.

So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.

You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.

So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.

The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.

You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.

For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.

How could he love you?

How could you not love him?

“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.

“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.

“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.

It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”

“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”

His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.

“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.

“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Is it good?”

“It's everything to me.”

“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”

“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.

The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.

❁ ❁ ❁

It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.

On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.

On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.

But then, there’s a knock on his door.

His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.

“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.

“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.

He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.

“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.

You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.

“Hi, my Yn.”

“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.

“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.

“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.

“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.

“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.

His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.

You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.

“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.

“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.

He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.

“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.

He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.

And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.

He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.

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theupsidedownsrealestateagent · 1 year

Text

Winter in Hawkins has been brutal this year, snow was falling heavy, there was not a single soul who should be out in these conditions, which is why when Steve hears a knock on his front door he’s confused and also a tad panicked. A number of horrible thoughts plague his head as he rushes to open the door.

Swinging the door open the young man takes a shocked step back, “Erica??”

“Yeah it’s me dipshit, now can I come in or what? People are going to be pretty upset to find an incredibly wholesome child frozen on the Harrington front steps.”

Gathering his senses after a moment, Steve quickly ushers one of his adopted kids into the house. Taking her jacket and stowing her boots with the other shoes, he also grabs a blanket from the storage bench, and leads Erica to the living room. “You know we have to talk about this Sinclair right? What the hell were you doing out in a storm like this? Do your folks know where you are? Also why the hell are you here?” The questions just kept coming pouring out of a very protective and concerned Steve.

Erica avoids eye contact with him and stares out the floor, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It is a look that makes Steve’s stomach twist. Baby Sinclair was always so confident and sure of herself, there was something clearly bothering her. He finally stops verbally vomiting questions and just waits for her to start talking.

“My parents got stuck in the city due to the weather, and Lucas is bunking with the other dorks who are doing a new campaign that Dustin came up with, they didn’t even invite me to play which is bullshit by the way, I’m the most strategic player they know. And and I didn’t want to be alone Steve, this was the only place I could think of going to.” She finished her story going quiet and her eyes started glistening with unshed tears.

“Hey hey it’s okay. Listen Erica first off those little shits suck for not including you and they should know better, secondly I hate being alone too, stresses me the hell out and if you hadn’t shown up tonight I definitely would be hating life right now.” Erica nods slowly, grateful she made the decision to bike here.

Steve gets a little more information about the situation and decides to make a couple of calls as Erica gets changed into warmer clothes. He’s steeping two mugs of tea while talking to Mrs. Sinclair after he got the number to their hotel room. Steve assures the mom that Erica is safe and very welcome to spend the night. Even fibs saying he picked Erica up so the kid didn’t get an earful when she got home. The next call he makes is to Karen Wheeler’s house. Once he’s on the phone with Mike he makes the kid gather the rest of the party up to the phone, and gives a very intense lecture on including the younger girl, and the responsibility of taking care of our own. Steve takes pleasure in Max yelling at Lucas in the background. He knew there was a reason she was one of his favorites.

Erica was on the couch now wearing older sweatpants from Steve’s freshman year probably, they were still big on her but a way better option than her half solid jeans she biked in. Also wearing Steve’s swim team sweatshirt. Steve’s eyes crinkled in a smile, it was always nice to be able to spend one on one time with any of the kids, he likes that he gets to see more of their genuine personalities.

Spending time with Erica was easy and funny, she actually reminded Steve a lot of Robin. The way Erica was able to completely dunk on Steve and have it mean she loves him was verrry Robin. They talked about school, her friends, and a long list of embarrassing secrets about Lucas that Steve mentally stores to use next time Erica gets ditched.

Even though it’s easy to talk to Erica, Steve can see how tired she looks. It’s the same tired he sees in all of them, the same tired he gets after a few nights of nightmare fueled insomnia. Luckily he knows how to help, if it was anyone other than Erica he’d have to think harder, not for her though.

After a long while of talking they decide to put a movie in and just relax while staying as warm as possible. Halfway through The Princess Bride Steve offers her a huge bowl of Rocky Road. “I know it’s stupidly cold out, but if I recall correctly I have a pretty huge ice cream debt that I haven’t able to make a payment on in a long time.” He hands her the bowl and a spoon.

Erica takes the offering, a sad smile creeping on her face. “Y’know ever since Starcourt I thought that was as bad as it was ever going to get for us. Not many 10 year olds get to say they saved their friends, the world, from Russian scientists. And then spring break happened Steve, Max and Eddie almost didn’t make it out, you and Hopper have irreparable brain injuries, and Lucas and I were almost got by racist townies. I’m just so tired, and yet I haven’t been able to really sleep in months. None of us have.” Tears flowing steady now as she lets a heavy weight off her chest.

Steve grabs her small shoulders, “No one should have ever gone what we have all gone through. But here we are still standing, still breathing against every damn odd. All of us nerds, freaks, fallen cool kids, we saved the fucking world. A couple of times actually. But we did it. And honestly Erica I’d go through it another hundred times if it meant I get to have this weird little family. I love you Rick, and I promise one day we won’t be plagued by shadows, monsters, and alternate dimensions.”

Erica smiled at the nickname solely reserved for Steve. If Erica could pin point the night where sleeping came a tiny bit easier it would surely be this sleepover. In her heart Erica knew that she’d brave any winter storm for her favorite adopted brother.

#stranger things #erica stranger things #steve harrington #queer steve harrington #erica and Steve have a sibling relationship #steddie #this is my first fic in years #Steve calling Erica rick is so personal to me

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silversweetpea · 2 years

Text

Soft

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: none.

WC: 695

AN: I’m obsessed with Steven and I feel like i’m going insane refreshing the xreader tag for him so I made my own adjlfkadjsflkjsadd. Not beta read, very mushy because that’s how he makes me feel. Enjoy!

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀

It's soft, the way Steven loves you. It's in the way he plays with your fingers at night when he's procrastinating falling asleep, his dark eyes tracing your face in the low light as if committing you to memory over again despite taking the same actions every night.

It's soft in the way he stutters and stumbles over his words as he offers you his jacket after a date. There’s snow falling now that wasn’t when you entered the restaurant and it lands in his hair so kindly, like the clouds themselves are trying to be close to him. It doesn't fit quite right of course, but you let him drape it over your shoulders and when he smiles, off kilter and star struck, you smile too.

Being loved by Steven is soft in the moments that come after work. Those moments where he wanders into the living room and asks if he can lay with you on the couch. He always seems so nervous, even after all this time together, that you’ll turn him away, until you set your phone beside and open your arms to him. Steven never seems to internalize that you are just as eager for his warmth and weight against you as he is for your arms around him.

Yes, its moments like this that it hits you all over again how peaceful it is to watch the tension slowly seep from his shoulders, to feel his breath evening out as it fanned across your skin. You had teased him once that he was better than any blanket you had ever owned and you can still remember the bashful smile as he muttered an apology you quickly waved away. It was more than that though, he wasn't just a better blanket he was just…better.

You’d known love before, of course. You’d had a few partners in your time before finding your way to just the right spot at just the right time. There was your partner who had evoked the feeling of staring off to the horizon of the beach. They were the waves carrying away footprints and castles in the sand, hidden depths and unfathomable beauty that often seemed to forget about you. There was the ex that made you feel the way that warm rain on your skin did in the summer, like you were being cleansed and washed away at the same time, headphones in drowning out the calls of those warning you that you would get sick. You did get sick of course but there were those moments of peace too.

But with Steven, well it was warm fuzzy blankets and nostalgic movies and mugs of coffee and tea and hot chocolate always made just the way you like. To be loved by Steven and love him back was he feeling of comfort that came from tiny pillow forts that barely fit you and your partner and inside jokes and sleepy kisses. It was human and warm and safe. It was soft.

"Love? Everything okay?" The way that his lashes frame his eyes as he peers up at you leaves your heart lodged in you throat. There’s the subtle loosening of his arms around you, fear that he’s holding too tight probably, and you bring your hand up to his forehead in response. A light touch to his warm skin smooths the worry lines away as you smile.

“Everything is perfect.” Steven’s eyes are still trained on you like you may disappear at any moment and he hesitates.

“Are you sure? Because if I’m too heavy or you’re uncomfortable I can get up. I’d hate for you to loose feeli-” You cut him off with a soft press of your lips to his. The kiss is barely more than a brush but it made your body feel like it was sinking into a heated bath. The connection, the physical reminder that you were here in this moment with him, fond and bright and something that made you laugh ever so quietly as Steven attempted to chase your lips with his as you pulled back again.

“You’re perfect Steven. Just perfect.”

#Steven Grant x you #Steven Grant x reader #Steven Grant Fluff #Steven Grant x y/n #Steven Grant Imagines #steven grant x reader fluff #steven grant x gender neutral reader

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husbandohunter · 3 years

Text

What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

=================================

Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.

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ellsbclls · 3 years

Text

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

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littlefreya · 3 years

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Santa Baby

Summary: For over a decade, detective Walter Marshall kept a dirty little secret, thinking no one would ever find out about his past. Sadly for him, you are somewhat of a detective yourself.

Challenge prompt: the song Santa Baby.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Some sexy themes but mostly fluffy floof fluff.

A/N: This is for @toomanystoriessolittletime Christmas challenge, which I am sadly a day late with. Remind me to never sign up to challenges. I stumbled upon erotic book covers that looked a lot like Walter (this and this) so decided it’s a funny idea. I never read these books, so I am not mocking it or the artist who drew it. Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming for helping me out. Not beta’d, I own my mistakes.

Please feedback, comment, reblog if you enjoyed reading. 💖

Title: Santa Baby

It’s not that Detective Marshall was the Grinch or anything, it’s just that he couldn’t afford to be merry. With crime levels peaking during that time of the year, and sunlight being scarce, his body ran strictly on caffeine and stale doughnuts.

The temptation to spend Christmas eve sprawled on the worn-out leather sofa in his office was quite strong tonight. But even big hulking bears had their weaknesses, and as exhausted as he was, he dreaded every morning he woke up without your warm body curled up beside him.

With his energy level blinking red, he finally decided to call it a night and drive home. Heavy growling and thundering drums roared within his truck, the extreme Scandinavian black-metal he listened to served as a complete contrast to the soft snow that fell from the sky and quietly piled up on the sides of the road. Pausing at the street-light, he watched the little crystals striving to form on his windshield and melting just as quickly against the heat of the car.

For a single moment, all the terrors of the night diminished by the little flame that was the reminiscent of you - his little firefly who led him through the darkness, tender as snow and wild as fire. Accelerating just a tad, he imagined you’d be asleep by the time he’d get there, and if not, Walter hoped to at least be in your good graces.

Luckily, ther warm orange hues beaming through the windows assured him that you were still very much awake, and he couldn’t help but spare one of his rare smiles.

Muffled tunes of a familiar song played beyond the door, the bass vibrating through the polished wooden flooring and the walls. Slow and sensual like honey rolling off one’s finger, the jazzy beats filled the spacious house along with the sweetest scent of crushed peppercorn and red berries. Smiling wider, he held onto the doorframe and kicked off his heavy boots.

“Pet?” he called and followed into the living room, hearing you humming along with the lyrics.

“Santa baby, just slip a Sable under the tree for me.”

Oh, he was indeed in your good graces.

Sitting on your knees with your ankles hunched below your ass, you wore a velvety Santa hat and a sheer, red nighty finished by fake white fur that outlined your breasts. Your hands held a shiny green present over your thighs, and you gave him one of those coy looks that made him want to fall before you and pledge himself as your servant.

Instead, he crooked an eyebrow and unzipped his thick winter coat, carelessly discarding it on the floor and making his way toward you.

“Have you been an awful good girl?”

Sleeves rolled up; he crossed his muscular arms together while towering over you. His cobalt eyes drank in your sight, trying to decide what to do with you first. The scent of musky sweat mingled with dark cologne wafted over you within seconds, making your chest rise and sink in a primal instinct.

“Oh, I’m definitely going down your chimney tonight,” he growled upon your reaction to his presence and sucked in his bottom lip with growing hunger.

“At least three times,” you dared him in return and then casually lowered your gaze to the box perched on your lap.

The large man caught on the hint and carefully knelt before you. One of his hands reached to stroke his beard while his mind rummaged to figure out what surprise hid behind the shiny package.

“Got something for me over there?” he wondered with a playful beam, “I thought we’re not doing presents until tomorrow morning.”

“Just a little teaser,” you answered. Your eyes shone brighter than the large decorated tree that stood at the corner of the living room.

Being a detective, Walter could practically smell the mischief that drenched every teeny hair on your body. As usual, his naughty vixen was up to no good. It always made him laugh how bad you were in trying to surprise him, which worked in his favour. Walter hated surprises.

Intrigued, he snatched the gift from your hands and shook it against his ear for shy second before beginning to unwrap it. His eyes briefly scrutinised yours, darkening, smokey with lust while he tore at the chrome paper and absentmindedly threw pieces of green wrapping all over the living room.

You watched carefully, your cheeks rounding and filling, your teeth flashing with wickedness upon seeing the colour drain from his rugged face.

“Where…”

Walter paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. Fingers oily with sweat and knuckles turning white, dug into the object held in his hand.

“How did you find this?!”

The snort you’ve been trying to hold back for the last couple of minutes finally made its way out, followed by a fit of uncontrollable giggles that made you fall to your back with your hand held over your torso.

Walter, on the other hand, was anything but amused. He always feared the day someone would dig up his dirtiest secret.

It was more than a decade ago when he was struggling to pay his tuition to the police academy that Walter found an easy and quick way to make money. As a British immigrant who barely had friends and blended with the crowd, he made the mistake of thinking no one will ever know about his short-lived modelling career for cheesy erotic novels.

He should have known better. He might have been a professional police detective, but you had a skill for uncovering the truth.

“Where did you find this?” Walter repeated with a frown, clenching his jaw and waving the colorful book in the air.

Pausing your giggles merely for a second, you took a gander at the cover, focusing on the image of your dear husband’s open white shirt. There he was, the man you knew as a brooding, black-sweater wearing grump, lost in some green meadow with a half-naked chick. A deep dramatic gaze crisped his younger face, his nose inhaling the scent of her hair, and his hand laid flat upon her juicy rump.

Oh the drama!

You tried to speak, but all that came out of your mouth was an uncontrollable peal of chuckles. The corny title of the book didn’t help either; his fiery love rod.

Walter sulked and suddenly shuffled to hover above you, one hand snapped at your wrist before the other discarded the book onto your sternum and joined in restraining your other arm. Led purely by instinct, your legs spread to straddle his wide waist and wrapped around his muscular ass.

Staring at your strong, intimidating husband, the laughter rolling from your lips slowly died down, yet the smile was still smeared between your cheeks, especially once you felt his groin pressing into yours.

“Woman!” the big bear growled at you, “I am not going to ask you more than once, where on earth did you bloody find this?”

“The second-hand bookstore,” you answered and glanced at the book lying upon your chest, “was looking for something raunchy to read when suddenly I noticed a familiar face.” You explained and then swallowed the dryness in your throat.

“At first I thought I was hallucinating with all them Christmas carols eating into my brain, but then when I took a closer peek, I recognised my husband’s ‘fuck me’ stare.”

Walter felt a burn rising in his throat and swerving to tingle at his bristly cheeks. If there ever was a moment when he regretted a life decision, that moment was now. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from you. You were dauntless and unyielding as the ocean, one of the reasons why he was utterly in love with you.

Nostrils flaring, he tightened the grasp around your wrists and rolled his hips into yours, eliciting a small moan from your quivering lips. The thick bulge in his groin hardened at the calling of the hot, wet patch in your panties.

“Name your terms, woman.”

“You are going to read it to me,” you answered without even overthinking and gestured toward the book with your chin. “Every. night. before. bedtime. I want you to hold me in your big strong arms and read me a chapter from ‘his fiery love rod’, or else…”

“Or else?...”

The fire from the mental suddenly illuminated your face, causing dark shadows to form over your irises and the hollows below your brows. “Your friends at the MPD are going to find out about this one,” you paused, “and the 12 others that you made.”

Taken back by your words, Walter gulped, his fingers became moist around your wrists as sheer horror seeped into his mind.

“You... you know about the others?”

You nodded at him and then snaked your legs around the back of his thighs to cage him in your grasp like a fickle dryad growing her roots around a helpless wanderer. With his attention faltering, you twisted your hips and rolled the two of you so you were on top. Fingers lacing into his, you pinned him down and leered over him with cascading triumph.

“12 books, all under our Christmas tree, detective, so you better be good to me tonight and satisfy all my needs.”

Adam apple bobbing up and down, Walter watched you with a mixture of awe and agitation. There was nothing he hated more than losing control, but damn if he didn’t adore his wicked queen, especially when you were in a joyous mood, which, as he found, tended to be contagious. The moments in which the grouchy detective felt at peace were rare to non-existent. It was only in the embrace of your thighs that he thought that for a minute, everything is going to be okay.

Noticing the muscles of his jaw somewhat relax, you reached for the Christmas hat and slipped it off your head, placing it atop of his curly mess instead. Your hands held firmly onto Walter’s shoulders, and with a careful twist, you flipped the two of you over once again and shoved him down your torso while blissfully chanting.

“Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry toniiiiiiiiiiight.”

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Disclaimer: I don’t own Night Hunter/Nomis or Walter Marshall

#henry cavill #StephsChristmasWritingChallenge #walter marshall x reader #henry cavill x reader #walter marshall

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army-author · 3 years

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jungkook scenario | the alchemy of amor

❝ jungkook is the arrogant son of the duke. you’re a humble alchemist just trying to make a living. unfortunately for you, jungkook seems to have taken a strange interest in you. when a dangerous wager involving a love potion spirals out of control, you find yourself flung into the deep end of emotion, and it becomes difficult to decipher genuine attraction from magical aftereffect... ❞

➝ prompt: i’m a witch who’s been experimenting with love-potion formulas, but there’s been a bit of a mix-up, and now the love-potion has somehow ended up in your hands, and you’re drinking it, and - no, please stop!

➝ pairing: jungkook x female reader

➝ genre: fluff, fantasy au, enemies to lovers

➝ requested by anon | 15.5k words

➝ warnings: profanity, mild injury, implied smut, some characters express misogynist sentiments

➝ author’s note: i hope you enjoy it! i had a lot of fun writing it. as you can see from the word count, i got a bit carried away. i can’t help it, i love enemies to lovers!

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

You are not wont to pray, but in circumstances such as this, with your life unravelling before you in tattered ribbons, your mind recalls the goddess you so often forget. Watching in horror, your supplications come thick and fast, as Jeon Jungkook downs the phial of rose-gold potion, and with it, swallows the hours of work you had invested into those shimmering contents.

Normally, you would not be so perturbed by the wasting of a potion, even one as rare as Impetus Amor. Ingredients can always be re-bought, potions can always be re-brewed. But something about Jungkook’s cocky expression as he sets down the vial, and raises a brow at you, overwhelms you with the heat of irrational fury.

“Mighty goddess above, what is wrong with you?” you spit venom more potent than your potions. “You know very well how long that took to brew!”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough.” He smacks his lips together, “Looks like the potion doesn’t work anyway. And on top of that, it tastes bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

How does he know what dried roses and soap taste like?

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you retort through gritted teeth.

You know that the potion does work. After all the work you invested - collecting rose-petals, gold shavings, and pegasus feathers, all to be brewed on a blue moon, and then carefully distilled – there was no way that the batch of Impetus Amor was unsuccessful. But every alchemist worth their gold knows that the finicky love potion takes a few minutes to take effect after ingestion.

Which means that in a few minutes Jeon Jungkook, the man you hate most, will involuntarily fall in love with you.

How could I let this happen? You cast your mind over the unfortunate events that had led you to this low point, while you stifle a scream.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Several days ago]

It starts when one of your customers steps into your potions shop, in the town of Sientha, with a peculiar order.

She wears a red hood that covers most of her face, and clutches a purse tightly in her gloved hand. Glancing furtively around the shop, she walks over to your counter, and slips a note between the demijohns and ampuls that crowd the area where you work.

Upon unfolding her note, your eyes widen. The note reads: ‘One vial of Impetus Amor’. You focus your eyes on the client, who keeps her head down. You can just make out shapely lips and a dainty chin below the lowered hood.

“I know it’s a difficult potion to make,” she says in a hushed tone, “But I’m willing to pay whatever you need for it.”

You study her intently. Below the cloak, you can see an expensive dress, and jewellery sparkling at her neck. It’s clear that she has the means to pay. In most circumstances, you would object to the use of Impetus Amor, but it is not your responsibility to tell your customers how to use your potions. You simply get on with brewing, and ask no questions. That’s how you make a living. This case wouldn’t be any different.

“Okay,” you say, “I must warn you that it will take quite a while to make, and most of the ingredients are quite rare, so the wait may be long.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

You nod, leaning against the counter, as you tally up how much the potion will cost in ingredients and labour. When you finally name your price, the woman is silent for a moment, contemplating, before she nods, and rummages in her purse. She takes out a small brown sack, heavy with coin, which she places in front of you. Counting up the money, you nod in satisfaction. “You’re in luck. There’s a blue moon soon, and the potion should be ready not long after. Roughly five weeks,” you advise, “Come by to collect it when you’re able.”

Satisfied, the woman leaves the shop, while you gape at the sack of coins on your counter top. You hadn’t had that much money to your name in a long time.

Impetus Amor – the potion is infamously difficult to create, but you’re ready for a challenge. Spinning around to the shelf of tomes behind you, you scour the tittles until you find the one you need. You pull the tome down from its shelf, holding your breath as a fog of dust descents around you. So it begins.

✽ ✽ ✽

The first mistake you make is accepting the request from the mysterious woman who came into your shop.

Your second mistake is letting Jungkook into your shop. Or letting Jungkook anywhere near you at all.

Jungkook is the only son of the duke of Braewyth, the duchy you reside in - a hobbyist alchemist and your tormentor in his spare time. When he had first barged into your potion shop, and declared that he wanted to learn the art of alchemy, you were led to the conclusion that he was a pretentious prick. This suspicion proved to be correct, as after a few lessons from you – out of the goodness of your heart, and the impossibility of saying ‘No’ to the heir of the duchy – Jungkook believed himself to be better than you with your fifteen years of experience. He was now convinced that the two of you were rivals, and you were convinced that he was a pain in the arse.

As you work on crushing down dried rose petals for your new project, Jungkook barges into your shop once more. He doesn’t seem to know of any other way to make an entrance into your tiny business. He leans over the counter, his eyes burning on your skin as you work.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Preparing ingredients for Impetus Amor.”

His nose wrinkles as he leans back on the counter, crossing his arms over his overcoat, embroidered with the emblem of the duchy, a snow white stag on a blue shield. “Ah, the potion of love,” he muses, “I’ve heard that one’s incredibly difficult to make.”

“I know,” you grimace, as you continue to grind rose petals to a fine red dust in your stone mortar. “What of it, Mr. Jeon?”

The duke’s son gives an impartial shrug. “I’m merely stating that it’s a laborious potion to perfect. I’m surprised you’re attempting it.”

You bite down on your cheek to stop yourself from speaking indecently to Braewyth’s heir. “My customers respect me, and know that I’ll carry out any requests with the utmost care,” you cut back with thinly veiled anger.

Jungkook leans back lazily, his elbow brushing dangerously close to a decanter filled with Verum Serum, a silver truth potion you’ve been working on. “Well then, my little apothecary, why don’t we make a wager?”

You raise an eyebrow, setting down your mortar, and waiting for him to continue.

“I’m willing to bet that you won’t be able to finish the potion,” Jungkook says, “In fact, if you finish it, and it works, I’ll pay you in gold.” He grins.

“And if I can’t?” you enquire. It’s an unlikely option, but you need to know what you are dealing with. You find it difficult to refuse the offer of money, especially if it’s a loss for Jungkook, but you’re wary of the consequences on the (very low) chance that you are unsuccessful.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook raises a hand, “I know you can’t pay much gold.” Your cheeks heat up. “But if you lose, then I demand a kiss from you.”

Biting down a retort, you take a deep breath, and remind yourself that it is unacceptable to call the son of the duke a ‘Bastard’, no matter how much you want to. Instead, with your fists balling, you reply, “Very well, Mr. Jeon. But please be prepared to lose.”

His eyes glitter under your gaze, “Okay.”

You know that there is no way you can lose. Still, the very thought of admitting defeat and letting him kiss you has your blood boiling as it churns through your heart. You ought to show more respect to the son of the duke - to most a kiss from him would be an honour - but your find respect hard to muster when he does nothing but flirt with the ladies about the town of Sientha, strutting arrogantly down the streets with a different girl handing off his arm each night.

It’s Jungkook’s loss for certain. You’ll make sure of that.

✽ ✽ ✽

Despite your confidence, Jungkook does everything he can to get in your way.

The next morning you raise yourself early from your bed to head into the mountains in search of pegasus feathers. Jungkook catches you on your walk between your shop and the stables, with your satchel slung across your back, and a grenadine-coloured cloak covering your riding boots and trousers. He saunters across the cobbled street to greet you. “Look at you. Out and about. It’s not often I see you step out of the comforts of your shop.”

“Perhaps if you were up earlier, it wouldn’t be such an irregular occurrence for you,” you chide, as you make for the bridge to the east, leading out of Sientha, “I often go out in the morning to track down ingredients.”

“My apologies that I don’t know your schedule by heart, little alchemist,” Jungkook ripostes, keeping pace with you, short steps for his longer legs, “I’ll have you know that I have many duties that keep me in the Braewyth manor until later in the day.”

Uninterested, you reach the stables where your ebony mare waits, whickering in recognition when you reach her stall. You begin saddling up, annoyed by the presence of Jungkook behind you, which you try to ignore – but like a fly buzzing around an empty room, it gets too irritating too quickly. “Are you planning on following me around all day like a cur in heat?” you ask, and Jungkook smirks, clearly amused to have scratched at some deep seated vexation inside you.

“That’s no way to talk to me, little alchemist,” he reminds you, waggling a taunting finger.

You sigh, adjusting the bridle on your mare. “Please excuse me, my good sir,” you lace your voice with sarcasm, “It wan’t my intention to offend. I was simply surprised to see someone like you showing an interest in my humble activities.” You offer him a sickly sweet smile, before hoisting yourself up into your saddle.

Ignoring your mockery, Jungkook looks up at you from under your dark lashes, “Well, where are you headed today?”

You bite down on your instinctual reply, thinking better of telling him it’s none of his business. “I’m going to the mouth of the River Waye. It’s rumoured that a pegasus has nested there, and I need its feathers.”

“For the Impetus Amor?” Jungkook’s eyes gleam.

You bow your head in a nod.

“Excellent. I’d love to come with you,” Jungkook sates, “I’ve never seen a real pegasus.”

As you open your mouth, ready to deny him, he interrupts, “You offered to tutor me on alchemy after all. Ingredient collection is a vital part of the hobby.”

I never offered to tutor you, you simply thrust your cumbersome presence upon me. Before you can say any of this out loud, Jungkook is calling for one of the stable hands to saddle up one of their horses. “Mr. Jeon, need I remind you that this hobby is a source of income for some,” you’re left to respond, somewhat hopelessly, as Jungkook stares up at you in your saddle.

Your mare shifts restless, unsure why she’s still cooped in her stable.

“If it’s such a burden to earn a livelihood, then I’m sure you could find some kind husband who’d be more than happy to take care of you,” Jungkook responds, “With looks like yours, you’d never have to work another day in your life.”

Your blood boils in frustration. You bite down on your lip, watching in cold silence as the stable hand brings a chestnut stallion over to Jungkook, handing him the reins. Your horse senses your unease, and with a prick of your heels in her side, she’s all too happy to trot out of the stable and into the harsh sunshine of the winter morning.

Jungkook follows behind, his stallion’s horseshoes clacking on the cobblestones.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Jeon,” you say, controlling your tone as best you can, “I’m perfectly content making a living for myself, and am in no need of a husband.”

“And what of it?” Jungkook spurs on his horse, overtaking you as you reach the bridge out of Sientha, where the town guards immediately part, recognising the duchy crest on Jungkook’s overcoat.

As you follow over the bridge, Jungkook casts a look over his shoulder at you, “You wish to spend your whole life brewing potions, and die an old maid?”

“I know of worse fates,” you say, “I would rather live as a lowly alchemist than the chattel of some rich cretin such as yourself.”

Jungkook falls into silence, face frosty, and you wonder if your pushed things too far.

As you continue down the road, the quality of the surface worsens, with more potholes appearing the further you travel from Sientha. Fallen mute, you and Jungkook pass fields, appearing empty after the harvests of autumn.

It’s a long way to the mouth of the River Waye, which lies in the valley between two mountains, Mount Cantre and Ayn Blanch. The two peaks rise above you in the distance. As you branch off the main road onto a dirt track, you allow your mare to break into a gallop, and Jungkook urges his horse on to keep up with yours. You cast a glance over to him as he keeps stride beside you, his jaw set and his brows furrowed over dark eyes. With your gaze fixed, you almost miss the shouting, until the ruckus is directly behind you. Snapping your neck around, you see a group of Braewyth soldiers approaching on horseback. You pull on your mare’s reigns, attempting to bring her to a halt, but the soldiers are already upon you, passing by on the narrow track. Your skittish mare rears as the soldiers rush past, and you find your view turned upside down. Thrown from the saddle, you land on your rear in a soft pile of moss. You’re lucky to have nothing but your pride bruised.

Jungkook brings his horse to a halt next to you, and leaps down from his saddle, catching your spooked mare’s reigns, before she makes to bolt. Soothing the black horse with hushed murmurs, Jungkook leads her to a nearby tree, where he ties the reigns to a low hanging branch. “Are you alright?” he turns his attention back to you.

You wince, and take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Yes, I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“Good.” His voice is gruff, “Those bloody soldiers. I wonder if they realise who they just overtook. I’ve a mind to report them to my father.”

“Don’t bother,” you dust down your cape, “Everyone knows the Braewyth soldiers are bloated with pride after the last success in war.”

Jungkook snorts. “That war was three years ago. Their only responsibility now is to protect the people of the duchy, and they can’t even do that!” He heaves a sigh, eyes cast to the sky, where the harsh sun shines down from an empty winter sky. “No matter, we’re wasting time here. If you’re sure you’re alright, then we should crack on.”

You walk over to untie your mare, who has now calmed down and is happily grazing on some grass by the side of the road. Hoisting yourself into your saddle, you edge her on with a soft nudge of your heels. Ahead of you, Jungkook has already mounted his ride, patting the neck of his stallion. You’re almost in a mind to apologise to Jungkook for calling him a “cretin” earlier, but you bite back the words, pride getting in the way.

You continue the journey in silence. The path is long, and as your altitude increases, the temperature plummets. Shivering, you pull your cloak closer around you. Your mare huffs out puffs of warm breath as she trots down the winding track, weaving between the smaller hills that spread towards the Braewyth mountains. Further ahead, Jungkook is hunched down in his saddle, looking cold, but staying stubbornly silent.

At last, you come to the edge of the valley, and begin to follow the track next to the shallow section of the River Waye. The banks are padded with moss, and you spot the sleek shining bodies of carp flickering in the crystalline water.

Slowing your mare, you slip off your mount, and tie her to a barren tree at the edge of the water. Ahead of you, Jungkook, having noticed you have stopped, dismounts as well. “Are we there?” he asks.

You nod, putting a finger to your lips. With a hushed voice, you respond: “Nearly. But we need to proceed on foot. Pegasus are incredibly skittish. We’ll be quieter without the horses.”

Passing Jungkook, you follow the winding path next to the Waye, stepping on the spongy moss to silence your footsteps. The two mountains rise up on either side of you – on the left, Ayn Blanche, its peak capped with snow, and on the right, Mount Cantre, sitting squat in Ayn Blanche’s shadow. The valley in between is adorned with scree; clumps of heather dot the otherwise drab landscape.

You slow to a stop when your sharp eyes catch sight of what you were hoping for – hoof prints and loose white hairs caught on a bramble. Leaning down, you pick up a strand of hair, running your fingers over it. Course and thick, there’s no denying it. The hair from a pegasus’ mane.

“There’s a pegasus somewhere around here,” you inform Jungkook in a hushed tone, pointing out the hoof prints to him.

Staying silent, oddly obedient, Jungkook nods, eyes scanning the area.

Carefully, you make your way along the trail of hoof prints. Ahead of you, you spot an opening on the steep flank of Ayn Blanche, a few meters from the base. It appears to be the perfect spot for a pegasus nest, tucked away from the wind that normally sweeps through the valley. Walking to the base, you search for a good foothold, and begin to hoist yourself up the craggy slope to the opening.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Jungkook breaks his unofficial vow of silence.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you huff, “I’m getting up to the pegasus’ nest.”

“Isn’t that dangerous work for… well...” Jungkook trails off. Probably for the best.

“I’ve climbed my fair share of rock faces,” you assure him, “Alchemy isn’t just about sitting daintily at a table stirring tiny beakers and keeping one’s hands soft and free of callouses.”

“But won’t the pegasus be angered if you enter its nest?” Jungkook worries from below.

As you stretch to reach for a rock that juts out above you, you grunt, “You know, Mr. Jeon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were concerned for my wellbeing.”

You’re disappointed that you cannot look down to see the pout that is so evident in his voice as he retorts, “Well it wouldn’t look good if I were to go out with a young maiden, and return back with her maimed. People might talk.”

“People will always talk, regardless,” you say, pulling yourself up to the ledge at the front of the opening. “Don’t fear, Pegasus are only aggressive to those they deem to have a wicked soul. Which means I’ll be fine. But you might need to watch out.”

Before Jungkook can shoot back a reply, you turn your attention to the opening that houses the nest. The space is large, big enough for a pegasus. Peering in, you see that the nest is empty of any life, but the small cave is filled with exactly what you need – feathers caught on the rocky outcroppings. Pulling out a bottle from your satchel, you scoop up a few feathers, and preserved them in your glass. The feathers sparkle slightly in the sunshine that throws slanted rays into the cave. Satisfied with your find, you get ready to climb back down.

Just then, you hear a shout, and peer down to see Jungkook waving his hands at you from the bottom of the steep rock face. He gesticulates wildly, pointing downstream. You look in that direction, a spot the white shape of a pegasus, just before it plummets down with a splash into the Waye.

Quickly, you scramble down the rocks, and sprint to the river, where you see the water running red. An arrow is sticking from the flank of the pegasus, which raises its head above the water, straining to get up, before it flops down again. Horrified, you scan the area, trying to figure out where the arrow was fired from. It doesn’t take you long. Two poachers approach, a net swinging from their hands.

“Oi, get away from that creature,” one of them shouts upon spotting you.

“What are you going to do with it?” you ask, moving your body to block the pegasus.

“We’re going to make a fortune peddling off it’s body parts to alchemists,” the shorter of the two informs you, “Those occultists pay a hefty price for hair and feathers you know, not to mention a fresh heart, or a vial of blood.”

You grit your teeth, standing up straighter, “It’s a negative stereotype that alchemists use blood and hearts in their potions. And the hair and feathers are only useful if they’ve come from a living creature. You’re wasting your time if you think you’ll make money killing and harvesting this animal.”

The taller one laughs – an ugly sound that sends a shudder through you. “And what would you know about alchemy, wench? If I have questions about my cooking, or my laundry I’ll come to you. So how about you keep your mouth shut on things you know nothing about?”

Stifling your rage, your bite back, “I’m not letting you near this creature. Not one step further.”

“Oh, well, aren’t you just a darling bloody saint. Protecting the innocent fauna of the land. I don’t remember asking for a sermon on the morality of killing dumb animals.” Your eye catches the movement of the taller man’s hand to the hilt of his sword. “Now, I would suggest you get out of the way, before I make you get out of the way.”

You size the two men up, and swallow. You have a small dagger on your hip, usually used for cutting plant shoots. Not much use against two swords. Still, you bring your hand to your hip in anticipation, unwilling to back down.

“I order you to stop!”

You glance towards the source of the voice. Jungkook is standing behind you with his rapier raised, his stance indicating years of training in fencing. With two calculated blows he could puncture the stomachs of both poachers. The two men blanche.

Nonetheless, the shorter of the two poachers blusters on, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you two gentlemen that pegasus are considered an endangered species, and it’s a criminal offence to poach them, punishable by a good flogging in Sientha square.”

The shorter poacher swallows, his hand wavering.

The taller of the two is only all the more incited. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re not a king. Not even a prince. Just some lesser noble with a silver spoon shoved up your arse. What are you going to do, report me? We’re out in the middle of fuck-knows where, and you’re outnumbered, two to one.” He raises his sword.

“Actually, it’s two against two,” you correct him, unsheathing your dagger.

“Well that seems fair then, doesn’t it,” Jungkook purrs, “Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to punish you myself, seeing as we’re in the middle of “fuck-knows where”, as you so eloquently put it.”

The shorter of the two gulps audibly, and then turns tail and begins running in the opposite direction, slipping over the mossy rocks by the Waye’s bank.

A wiser man would have retreated, but it appears that the taller poacher is somewhat lacking in cognitive ability. With a roar, he lunges at Jungkook, who easily pirouettes out of reach, leaving the lanky man to swipe at thin air. Growling, the man rights himself, and launches at Jungkook, but the duke’s son easily parries the blow with his blade, a metallic clang echoing in the valley. The poacher stumbles back, grimacing. Seeing that he has underestimated the “lesser noble”, the poacher makes a grab for you instead.

You attempt to duck out of the way, but slip on the wet rocks, and feel a clammy hand grab around your wrist, pulling you into the hard body of the poacher. Up close, he smells of onions and beer. You struggle against him, but upon feeling cold steel at your throat, you freeze.

“Not another move,” the poacher growls, “Or this wench gets it.”

You glance at Jungkook, who stands poised, with rapier raised. An expression of fear flashes across his face, like a fleeting cloud on a sunny day, passing so fast, you could convince yourself you imagined it.

The poacher’s plot could have worked out for him, had he not underestimated your strength.

As he leers at Jungkook, you grasp at the advantage of surprise. With a sudden twist, like a striking viper, your hand – still holding the dagger - snaps up, and strikes the man on the side of the head with the hard wooden hilt. The man crumples with a screech.

You leap away. At the exact same instant, Jungkook jumps forward. You turn to see the son of the duke standing over the poacher, his rapier raised to the tall man’s stubbly throat. The poacher whimpers, with one hand clutching his face where you struck him. A trickle of blood trails down the wrinkles of his face.

“Now listen carefully,” Jungkook says, his voice low and dangerous, “I could kill you right here. But I’m choosing to spare you. I would suggest you get off your sorry arse, get up, and run away. Take your possessions, your wife and children – if you have any – and flee this duchy. Because know that you are a wanted man while you remain in the borders of Braewyth. I know your face, and soon ever guard in our troops will know it too. The punishment for poaching endangered creatures is flogging. The punishment for an attempt on the heir of the duchy’s life is the gallows. There will not be mercy the second time. Do I make myself clear?”

The man nods, slowly and carefully, his throat strained below the point of Jungkook’s rapier.

Jungkook lifts the blade. “Go.”

The poacher does not need any more prodding. Scrambling to his feet, he flees, glancing behind him every so often, as if he is scared that Jungkook will change his mind and follow after him.

Jungkook breathes a sigh, sheathing his rapier. The sweat on his neck is the only indication that he was at all shaken by the encounter. Your return your dagger to the holster on your hip, and turn your attention to the pegasus which still lies in the shallow portion of the river, breathing heavily. You carefully walk over, and inspect the damage.

There’s one arrow lodged in its side, but from the other gashes on its white coat, it appears that several other arrows hit, but subsequently fell out, leaving the creature to bleed from multiple open wounds. The pegasus lets out a distressed whinny as you approach, and makes an attempt to get up. Its legs shake, and it collapses back with a splash, too weak to run away. It has already lost a lot of blood.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, “I’m not going to hurt you.” You know the creature can’t understand you, but you hope your tone is at least soothing. The pegasus thrashes in the shallow water, but realising it is too weak to move, it resolves itself to its fate, and lays its head down.

You crouch next to it, ignoring the cold water that soaks into your boots and riding trousers. Carefully, you pull a bottle from your satchel, and uncork it. You are thankful that you often carry first aid potions around. Wafting the bottle under the pegasus’ nose, you watch as it inhales the scent of your soothing potion and relaxes. With the creature sedated, you pull the arrow from the skin, and apply pressure to staunch the flow of blood that follows. Hunting in your satchel, you pull out a second potion, filled with healing balm. Pouring the thick green liquid onto your palms, you begin massaging it onto the pegasus’ open wounds. The smell of lavender and sage emanates from the balm, covering up the bitter metallic smell of blood.

Straightening up, you back away from the pegasus. The creature tentatively stands up, taking a few hesitant steps forward. Strengthened and emboldened, the pegasus canters forward with a whicker, its large wings ruffling as it takes flight.

“What did you give it?” Jungkook asks, watching the pegasus soar towards its nest.

“A simple Salutare Decoction,” you tell him, “Made to soothe and heal wounds, and-”

“And restore vitality. Yes, I know the one,” Jungkook interrupts, “I’ve never seen it used in practice.”

You flash him a cocky smile. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re impressed by my talents, Mr. Jeon.”

The heir of the duchy grimaces, “I’ll be impressed if you can actually make the Impetus Amor.”

“Oh, you of little faith. Are you allergic to admiring anyone who isn’t yourself?”

“Don’t get too arrogant, little alchemist.” Jungkook tramps back to his horse, his back a silhouette of irritation with shoulders hunched and head lowered. “Don’t forget who saved you from those poachers, you ungrateful wench.”

You snort, walking back to your mare, “Some help you were when I had a blade held to my throat...”

“If you had been alone, you would have been slashed to ribbons,” Jungkook parries, hoisting himself into his saddle. With a dig of his heels, his stallion canters forward before you can get another word in.

By the time you’ve swung yourself into your saddle, Jungkook is far ahead, and you know there’s no way your mare can catch up with Jungkook’s brawny stallion.

Clucking at your ebony horse, you encourage her into a trot, muttering insults that Jungkook will never hear while you weave down the path back to Sientha.

✽ ✽ ✽

With the necessary ingredients, you’re finally able to start work on the Impetus Amor once you return to your shop. There’s no sign of Jungkook as you work throughout the rest of the day, and of that you are glad.

If you never see his cocky face again, it’ll be too soon for you. Yet, as you crush down thin sheets of gold into fine dust, his visage clouds your vision. Even as you watch the pegasus feathers steep in rose water, the shimmering sheen slowing leeching from the feather into the liquid, you cannot shake his sure smile and steadfast gaze from your clouded thoughts.

Dazed, you extract the feather from the liquid, leaving behind the opalescent rose water. The ingredients are ready. You simply have to wait. The next blue moon will be soon – a lucky coincidence.

Your luck is sure to run out eventually.

✽ ✽ ✽

On the night of the blue moon, once your shop is closed for the evening, you begin to prepare for the brewing of the potion. You start by getting your ingredients together, setting them up in a semicircle around your caldron. While you may have no control over your own life, you can easily command ingredients to do your bidding, controlling the brewing process and modifying as you go. The whole process is a soothing ritual for you.

At least it would be, if it weren’t for an irksome knocking coming from your door.

Sighing, you leave your ingredients by the caldron, and go to the door. You slide back the wooden latch, and outside you see -

“Jungkook?”

He stands, illuminated in a halo from the lanterns outside.

You wrinkle your nose. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet the heir of the duchy?”

Rolling your eyes, you open the door to him, “Mr. Jeon, what an honour to see you at the threshold of my humble shop. Please make yourself at home. Is that any better?”

“A little,” Jungkook steps inside your shop.

You’re already seething, and he hasn’t even been in your presence for more than a minute. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I needed your expertise on something,” Jungkook says, sauntering over to your counter, and leaning against it.

You snort. “I find it hard to believe you think anyone besides yourself has any expertise.”

“Your words sting, little alchemist,” his eyes drag across the supplies lined on the shelves of your shop, before finally coming to rest on you. “I came here for some advice. Yes, yes, take time to gloat if it makes you feel better.” He waves a dismissive hand.

The gloating wouldn’t feel so good with his dark eyes piercing yours. You swallow, and stay silent.

“I need a potion to help me stay awake,” Jungkook admits.

You raise your brows. “It’s not healthy to stay awake for long periods of time, Mr. Jeon.”

“Well of course. It’s a one-off, naturally,” he shrugs at your concerns, “I’m just a little tied up you see. I promised a lovely lady that I’d take her dancing this evening, but I also have a commitment to the duchy, and that means being in attendance at an early morning meeting tomorrow. I was quite hoping to spend some quality time with the lady tonight, if you understand my meaning.”

“Are you sure it’s not an aphrodisiac you’re after instead?” you quip.

Jungkook raises his brows in feigned surprise. “What do you take me for? Some kind of cad?”

“Are you not a cad?” You examine him skeptically, “I see you around town with a different lady each day. What conclusions am I supposed to draw?”

“Well, perhaps you’re not so wrong,” Jungkook grins, “Just don’t tell the ladies that.”

“Don’t worry. They’re all too posh to speak to me, let alone believe my accusations that Jeon Jungkook is a good for nothing bounder who only cares about the delicacies that hide beneath their petticoats and pantaloons.”

“Can you help with the potion or not?” Jungkook has grown bored of your jokes.

Stepping behind your counter, you begin to rummage around the shelves. “Luckily for you, Vigil Concoction only takes a few minutes to brew.” You grab a jar of rhodiola rosea, along with a fine iron powder, and the scales of a mermaid. Crushing the aquamarine scales to a fine dust, you mix the ingredients together with a drop of lime juice. Jungkook watches, fascinated, as you pour the ingredients into a clean caldron, and bring the concoction to a boil. The smell of brine mixed with lime cuts through the air.

Jungkook's eyes wander over to the ingredients set aside for the Impetus Amor. “I see you’re finally going to be brewing it tonight,” he nods at the ingredients.

“Yes, I was about to before you interrupted,” you say, stirring the Vigil Concoction.

“So if it’s brewed tonight, it should be ready in a few days, correct?”

You sigh, and affirm, “Correct.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait until then to see if you were actually successful.”

You wince. You had been hoping that Jungkook would forget your wager. Instead of continuing that train of thought, you change the subject. “If you don’t mind me asking, why not cancel your plans with this maiden, and attend the meeting. Any lady would be more than willing to change her plans for you.”

Jungkook sighs, “Actually, meeting with her was my father’s idea.”

You pause stirring the concoction to eye Jungkook with curiosity. “I didn’t take the duke to be the type to encourage copulation with fair damsels.”

“Wether I have sexual relations with the women does not matter,” Jungkook blushes, “My father is insistent that I find a wife.”

You splutter, and his dark eyes flash.

“Did I say something that amused you?”

“No, sorry,” you focus your attention on the potion, “It’s simply difficult to imagine you settling down with a woman.”

“What can I say. Most of the women I meet are a bore. Perfectly satisfactory in the bedroom, but useless outside of it. I struggle to hold a conversation with any of them. I need a lady with more substance if I am to wed her, not just bed her.”

“It must be such a chore being forced to spend time with all those beautiful women,” you tease, decanting the potion into a vial and corking it. Handing it across the counter to Jungkook, you warn, “Wait until it cools down before you consume it.” Your hand brushes against his as he takes the vial.

“Listen,” his voice is quieter, and despite yourself, you find you are trapped in his gaze, “I do not want you to think less of me for this conversation. When I find the right lady, I’ll settle down. I won’t be a cad. I..” he trails off, pocketing the vial. “I… well. Thank you for your help.”

You nod, unsure how to interpret his words. Taking on a professional tone, you say, “The concoction will work for about twelve hours, and will keep you alert and sleepless in that time. Once the twelve hours are up, you may find yourself dozing off quickly, so do be mindful of that.”

“Thank you.” With that, Jungkook leaves your shop. You stand in your empty store, thrown off by the unexpected distraction he caused.

Shaking your head from your hazy thoughts, you get back to the business of brewing Impetus Amor. You sit down in front of the cauldron, with enough ingredients to make several batches. You carefully measure each ingredient out, pouring them into the caldron’s black maw, while the light from the blue moon shines in through the shop window. You murmur a few words as smoke begins to rise from the caldron. The words come from an ancient civilisation, now long dead. The accent is strange and heavy on your tongue. It is the words that are the most demanding part. One wrong inflection, one stutter, and the potion’s strength will wane, or even fade completely. You’ve practiced each phrase thoroughly, just to be safe. As you stir, the liquid in the potion changes from pale translucent to an opaque pearlescent pink. A success. Working quickly, you pour the mixture into an alembic to distill.

Now all that’s left to do is wait.

✽ ✽ ✽

The days pass quicker than you expect, with nothing much to note, apart from the weekend, when a young lady wanders into your shop with a tear stained face, asking for a potion to mend a broken heart. You could have sworn you had seen the lady with her arm strung through Jungkook’s the previous day. You do not comment as you hand her a bottle of Cor Integro.

At last, the Impetus Amor is ready, and right on cue, so is Jungkook. He walks into the shop as you are bottling the love potion.

“Is that it?” His eyes flash over the contents of the glass bottle.

You nod.

“May I?” He holds out a hand, and you hesitate, before relinquishing the bottle to him.

And so concludes the list of bad decisions you made concerning Impetus Amor.

He holds it up to the light, inspecting intently. “Well, it certainly looks convincing. But I suppose we won’t actually know if it works unless we test it.”

The bad feeling forming in your stomach has arrived too late to warn you. Jungkook is already pulling out the cork, and downing the contents of the bottle.

This is how you end up with Jungkook, the one man you cannot stand, drinking your love potion. The first person he looks at will be the one he falls for. He’s looking at you.

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

“Mighty gods above, what is wrong with you? You know very well how long that took to brew!” Your attempt to restrain your tone is unsuccessful. Anger pours freely from your words.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough. Looks like the potion doesn’t even work anyway. And on top of that, it tasted bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you remind him. “In one hour, it will begin to take effect, and you will be reduced to a fawning dolt, drooling over my every move.”

“That will only happen if the potion actually works. Which it may not.” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow at you, so sure of himself it makes you want to scream. “I cannot have you selling snake oil to the people of Braewyth.”

You are physically trembling with anger. “That potion is incredibly expensive. You’ll have to pay for it.”

“Fret not, you’ll get your money… if it works.” He swivels around, and is about to make for the door, but you dash in from of him, blocking off his means of escape. “I won’t allow you to leave,” you say, “You’ll make a complete fool of yourself if you’re free to roam the streets under the influence of a love potion.”

Jungkook blinks – innocent – and then laughs, “Come now. It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes. Yes, it will be that bad,” you insist, “I’m keeping you here until I can cure you. The last thing we want is for you to cause a scandal.”

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple bobs, finally realising that you’re being serious. “What will the potion do to me?”

“You should have asked before you drank the potion.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, “It might not work. We still don’t know.” His eyes are wide, like a deer that’s spotted a hunter with an arrow aimed at its heart. “What will it do?”

“It will make you fall in love with me,” you say, “Of course. On top of that, it will cause you great physical pain any time you are not close to me. It will make you desperate for physical contact.”

Jungkook swallows thickly. “Well… let’s… uh… hope you got it wrong then, hmm?”

You frown. “I’ve half a mind to throw you out into the street to make a complete fool of yourself, screaming your love for all bystanders to hear.”

“Surely you’ve got a cure,” Jungkook pleads.

You grit your teeth. “You can’t expect me to simply fix every problem with a magical potion, Mr. Jeon. Alchemy doesn’t always work like that.”

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook blurts, “There, I said it. I’m sorry! I know I’ve cocked up. And I know I take your abilities for granted. I underestimate you all the time. I’m sorry, alright? But you have had it out for me from the moment you met me. You hated me before you even knew me. I don’t know why, but I’m sorry for that too. Now can you please stop piling on the blame and help me?” He holds up his hands, plaintive, “Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

Your shoulders slump. You want to be angry. All you feel is pity.

“Aright, Jungkook,” you concede, “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” his voice is soft.

You set the sign on your shop door to ‘Closed’, and bolt it. Then, you move across to your shelf of books. You know that one of these tomes must contain an antidote for a love potion. It’s not something you’ve made before, and you cannot remember which volume it is in, but you know it must be there. You scan the indexes, the pile of rejected tomes towering taller as you search through each book for any help it may provide.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sits on a stool by the counter, fidgeting awkwardly.

At last, in your copy of Payne and Nash’s Antidotes for Advanced Alchemy, you find a potion called Aphrodite’s Cure – an antidote for love potions and aphrodisiacs.

Your finger mechanically runs down the list, checking off each one.

Extract from a siren’s tongue

Sap from a cherry tree

Crushed topaz

You have all those items in your shop. If you believed in the goddess, you would be praising her now. Your finger stops, hovering over the brewing time, spelled out in black ink. Two hours.

“Well, Jungkook...” The duke’s son looks up at the sound of your voice. “I’ve found a cure I can brew, but it will take two hours.”

Jungkook’s hopeful expression falls. “Well, I suppose I can bear being in love with a pain in the arse like you for two hours. Even if you are… the most… the most... beautiful maiden I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leaps up from his stool.

Your heart pounds, animalistic instincts telling you to run far away.

Still you remain frozen to the spot, while Jungkook makes his way around the counter to grab at you, pulling you close. Your chest presses against his, while his hands grip your waist.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook murmurs, “Forgive me for not telling you earlier.”

Your curse silently, caught in Jungkook’s ardent gaze. Your potion had worked wonders... unfortunately. “Does this drivel normally work on the maidens you woo?” you ask, pushing him away.

He winces as you part. “Please, my dear, it hurts when you force us apart.”

You remember the side effect of Impetus Amor embodies itself as physical pain when a couple is not close to one another. Despite your disdain for Jungkook, you feel a pang of pity for him. “Okay,’ you say, “You may stay near my side. But you can’t get in my way while I work on an antidote for you.”

“But I don’t want to be cured,” Jungkook retorts, “I’m in love with you, and it feels wonderful. I never realised how good it would feel to experience true love. You truly wish to part me from this happiness?”

“Yes. You asked for this. Remember that.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My past self did not know what he was talking about. I wish to stay by your side, forever..”

“No matter what I do,” you say, “The effects will wear off in a week. I’m merely expediting the process to save you the embarrassment that will follow.”

Firmly, you move away from Jungkook, fetching a bottle of siren’s tongue extract from the top shelf behind your counter, before you dig out your crushed topaz and cherry tree sap from a cupboard. You sit down in front of your caldron and let Jungkook take a seat beside you. His hand comes to rest on your knee. You startle at his touch.

“You said I could stay close to you,” he says, “Sorry, is this too much?”

You shrug. “Do what you need to. Just don’t get in my way.” As you pour the potions into the caldron and begin stirring over a low flame, you try to ignore the heat in your body, shooting up from the spot on your leg where Jungkook’s palm rests. The ingredients begin to bubble in the caldron. You watch carefully, smelling the steam that rises, hoping to discern clues on the quality of the brew. When the scent of caramel begins to waft from the caldron, you remove it from the heat, and allow it to sit for a few minutes before you transfer it to a flask where if will sit for two hours, allowing the ingredients to cool and fully incorporate into Aphrodite’s Cure.

“Well, Jungkook, now we wait.”

He huffs, “I already told you, I don’t want to be cured.”

“Tough,” you tell him. “Eventually you will be, whether you like it or not. Then you’ll be on your own to deal with the shame that follows. I’m not helping you with that.”

He bristles. “I don’t find being in love with you shameful. Not at all. After all, you’re strong-willed, and intelligent, not to mention beautiful! You have more wit and personality than most other women I have wooed. If I were to be embarrassed at the idea of loving you, I ought to cringe at the idea of having bedded the other women.”

“Well, you shan’t be ‘bedding’ me,” you say, “You can’t get between my legs just by flashing me a favourable look.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “You wound me, my dear. You truly believe I only have carnal pleasures on my mind. Do not worry. I know you need respect and commitment before you would allow a man to crawl between the sheets with you.”

You feel your cheeks burning with a blush. “Let me guess – you wish to be the man who will show me that respect and commitment, and will crawl between the sheets with me?”

“Listen,” Jungkook diverges from your pointed question, “I know I need time to prove myself to you. I haven’t shown you my best side while I’ve been around you. I can only ask that you forgive me, and let me show you how much better I can be.”

“I’m used to the way you treat me.” You move away from Jungkook, but he grabs onto you, hands desperate.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I just need to get on with work. You may have forced me to close my shop, but that doesn’t mean I can sit and twiddle my thumbs for two hours until you’re cured.”

“But I want to sit here with you,” Jungkook whines. The potion doesn’t seem to have just struck him down with love, but also to have turned him into a pouty brat with the attitude of a spoiled toddler.

Give me strength. “Let me guess,” you say, “You want to hold me, and kiss me? Am I right?”

Jungkook’s face turns red. “You shame me my dear, for it seems you have been reading my thoughts. Forgive me, but how can I help but dream of such things, when you are so comely.”

You try not to roll your eyes. Men under the influence of Impetus Amor are intolerable.

You catch a hold of his hand, which is grabbing your right wrist, and wrench him off you. “Jungkook, I am refusing you for your own good.”

“I do not believe that to be true,” Jungkook says as you pry yourself from him, and begin to scour your shelves for any bottles that appear to be running low. The duke’s son follows you around like a lovesick puppy while you pull out a piece of parchment and begin walking along the shelves taking note of vials and containers that are running empty, so you can get fresh ingredients at the next opportunity. Your hands need to be busy. You feel hapless otherwise.

“I truly believe,” Jungkook pipes up behind you, “That even when this potion wears off, I will still be in love with you. I believe that I have been in love with you for a while.”

You snort a laugh, “You truly do amuse me, Jungkook.”

“Is it so hard to believe I could fall for you?”

You spin around to face Jungkook. He is much closer than you anticipated. A gasp breaks your lips.

“Listen, little alchemist,” his eyes bore into yours, as you step back, your spine pressing against the shelf behind you, “I’ve been trying to fight these feelings, for I know my father would not approve of a woman who is not noble-born, yet I still find myself drawn to you. I wander aimlessly to your shop, just to catch a glimpse of you, just to feel the warmth of your company. And you would scoff at this?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. The words are difficult to get past your teeth. “You’re lying. It’s just the potion talking.”

“Why would I lie?” Jungkook’s eyes are troubled, “I’ve been falling slowly, ever since I met you. I tried to push off the feelings by treating you harshly. I tried to forget them in the arms of another lover. But still… I always find myself coming back to you.” He lifts a hand, fingers gentle against your cheek. You shiver at his touch. “It’s always you, little alchemist.”

Your lips curl in amusement. “You almost convinced me Jungkook. You speak so earnestly…” You take his hand in your own, pull it away from your face, and let it drop to his side.

His eyes cloud over. “Being unable to touch you, it hurts me physically, you know.”

“I know.” A shard of sympathy embeds in your chest. “It won’t last long though, I promise. I’ll cure you soon.”

“While we wait,” Jungkook’s eyes are dark, “Could you spare me one kiss? Just to ease the pain?”

“Jungkook,” your hand goes to his chest, rising up to rest on his shoulder, “The potion worked. You lost the wager. You were only to get a kiss if you won.”

“Please,” the word falls soft from his mouth.

You stand transfixed, stuck between your shelf of potions, and Jungkook’s body. His face is mere inches from your own. A dreadful curiosity sweeps over you, one that you know you should ignore. Yet, Jungkook is here before you, eyes urgent, and you are tired of fighting him.

“One kiss,” you murmur, “That’s all I’ll allow.”

His hands find purchase on your waist as he moves closer. Your eyelids flutter shut as his breath fans your cheeks, smelling of rose and gold dust. His lips are warm as they settle on your own, mapping out your mouth. You fall captive to the sensation, and suddenly, you understand the appeal that draws countless women to Jungkook’s side. He may be a pain in the arse, but he is wonderfully skilled when it comes to kissing.

Pressed against the shelf, you give in to the affections from a man you were sure you hated. You promise yourself, as his lips part from yours, that you will wipe this feeling from your memory. Yet, even as Jungkook draws back, the ghost of his warmth haunts you.

Lost for words, you blink in the dim light of your shop, suddenly too bright after the dark of closed eyelids. Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes fixed on you. You struggle, unsure what to say. Instead of saying anything, you simply return to the chores you had assigned yourself, mechanically checking off ingredients on your piece of parchment.

At the counter, Jungkook is suspiciously silent. After a long pause, he finally asks, “What will happen to me when the effects of the potion are cured?”

You turn back to him. “You will forget most of this. It will all feel hazy, like a dream. And you’ll feel a little unwell. Headaches are normal after such strong potions take effect. Some people also suffer nausea, but that depends on one’s constitution. You’ll only suffer for an hour or so, then it should wear off.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Jungkook says gently.

You swallow, understanding, “Your feelings will depart. Whatever you are feeling for me now will be replaced with your genuine feelings, so you’ll go back to hating me I suspect.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “I don’t hate you.”

“Well then you’ll go back to mild indifference,” you say, turning back to your shelf to continue working, while Jungkook sits down at the counter, silent.

The hours drag on, with Jungkook’s eyes following your every move. Occasionally, he expresses a desire for physical contact to stop the pain. When he does so, you return to his side, and gently press your palm to his. The action seems to be enough for him.

At last, the hour glass has run through twice, and the potion is ready. You carefully decant it into a vial, and set it in front of Jungkook.

He catches your gaze, “I… I don’t want this.”

“Jungkook, please,” you press your hand to his one last time, “You need to. No matter what, the Impetus Amor will wear off. I’ll still be here when you’re cured.”

His face firms into an expression your don’t recognise, and with a resolute, swift motion, he tips the contents of the vial into his mouth in one go, swallowing with a groan. “You did not warn me that it would taste repulsive.”

“You were already reluctant to take it.”

Jungkook groans again, lowering his head so that his forehead rests on the wooden counter top, “By the goddess, I feel like death. Do you have a potion for a headache?”

“Not one caused by the after effects of Impetus Amor,” you say, “But I do have herbal tea.”

“Yes please.”

Glad to have a task to distract you, you busy yourself with boiling the water and fetching tea leaves.

From his spot at the counter, Jungkook moans, “I embarrassed myself greatly, didn’t I?”

Watching a pleasing golden red spread out from the tea leaves into the boiled water, you reply, “That depends on what you deem to be embarrassing.”

Jungkook grimaces as he lifts his head slightly, then, upon reconsideration, lowers his head again. The colour has drained from his face.

“I imagine you were acting the way you normally would around any fair lady you intended to woo. You were fine. Quite respectful, actually.”

“Please, I don’t wish to remember,” Jungkook moves his head so that his cheek now rests on the counter.

You pass a cup of fresh tea across to him, ‘That should make you feel a little better,” you say.

“I owe you a ‘thank you’,” Jungkook raises his head to blow on the steam rising from the tea cup, “And an apology as well, I fancy.”

You pause, not expecting to hear those words from him.

“I’ve been an arse,” Jungkook says.

“It’s not often you and I agree on something, Jungkook.”

He laughs wryly. “Well, I can’t deny it, can I? I wasted your time and energy today, and for that, I am sorry. From, Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth, to you, master alchemist and potions-brewer extraordinaire, as my equal, please accept my sincere apologies, and my humble gratitude.” He bows his head.

You are unsure how to react, throat tight. All you can muster is an insincere chuckle, and a feeble “No need to be so formal... If you really want to apologise you can give me the gold you promised since it would appear I won this wager.”

“Oh, right!” Jungkook digs in his pockets.

Suddenly, strangely, you feel unsure of yourself. “Listen, I was just joking. I don’t need the money. Really...”

“Nonsense,” Jungkook dumps a sack of coin on the table. “It’s yours, fair and square.” He grins at you and takes a sip of his tea. “This brew really seems to be helping.” As he downs the rest f the cup, you busy your hands with the bottles on your shelf, straightening them so they stand in a tidy row. Jungkook glances through the window of your shop, where the sky above the roofs of the town is turning gold with the setting of the sun. “I’d better head off,” he says, “My father arranged a ball for the eligible women of Braewyth to attend, and he’s hoping I’ll meet someone there. And by someone, I mean specifically Lady Antille from the province of Armestice.” He grimaces. “I’ve heard she’s a dreadful bore. Not to mention there’ll be lots of business men at the dance, hoping to make a good impression, and get funding from my father’s treasury. So overall, I have a very pleasant evening ahead of me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever find a woman you’re happy with?” you ask.

Jungkook wavers on the question, “I’m… not sure. I think I’m cursed by the fact that most noble women are not at all appealing to me.”

You shrug, “It’s all just a pantomime isn’t it? Performing the proper etiquette. Perhaps once the women have a chance to drop the pretence of politeness, you’ll get to know them for who they truly are, and you’ll realise they aren’t as bad as you think.”

“Perhaps,” he looks unconvinced, “But I doubt I’ll have the time for that. My father is hoping I’ll drop down to one knee and propose as soon as I lock eyes with the right woman.”

“Maybe Lady Antille will be the lucky one,” you say.

“The longer this goes on, the more I worry my father will simply pick a lady for me, and force me to marry.”

“I hope not.”

He nods, “Yes. So do I.” He turns for the door.

“Enjoy your evening, Jungkook.”

He pauses at the door, and turns back to look at you, with a gentle smile. “You’ve started calling me Jungkook instead of Mr. Jeon,” he notes.

“Oh, sorry,” your hand springs to your mouth, “Is it improper?”

“A little bit improper,” He smiles, “I like it.”

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Goodbye...” He looks into your eyes, sunshine bathing him from the windows, and your name is soft on his lips. Not ‘little alchemist’. Not ‘wench’. Not ‘my dear’. Just your name. A warmth spreads from your stomach through the rest of your body.

You smile as he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone with the smell of herbal tea filling the shop.

✽ ✽ ✽

As darkness descends on your shop, the sun sinking lower, a lady enters. You recognise the red hood, lowered over her eyes and nose.

“Good evening,” you welcome her as you would all other customers.

Rather than greeting you, she simply asks, “Is the Impetus Amor ready?” Her tone is hushed, despite being the sole customer in your store.

Thankful that you had the foresight to create more than one batch of the potion, you fetch it from your cupboard and place the vial on the counter top in front of her. The potion shines, pearlescent in the fading sunshine.

The lady pushes back a blonde lock from her face, and her shapely lips smile below her hood. “Wonderful. Thank you.” She tales the vial, and places it into her purse. You notice her splendid gown beneath the folds of her red cloak. Only a rich lady could afford such a potion. And such expensive silk. You sigh, despite yourself.

The lady tosses another pouch of gold onto the counter top. “I trust that you will not tell anyone of this exchange.”

You pause, wondering what she means. “All my customer’s orders are confidential,” you assure her.

She nods, satisfied, and swivels on her heel, exiting the shop. As she leaves, she bumps into an older lady who is making her way into your shop. You recognise the older lady, Myrrh, who is one of your regulars. The younger lady’s red hood slips down as she passes Myrrh, revealing a head of golden curls.

“Oh, sorry dear,” Myrrh says.

The golden haired lady bows her head, quickly pulling up her hood again. “Think nothing of it.” With that, she slips into the darkening evening.

Myrrh approaches your counter, while you retrieve her order from the shelf behind you – Fons Iuventae, for aches and pains afflicting old joints. “Well, I never realised you got such fancy clientele in your store, dear,” Myrrh observes, as she counts out her silver coins for you.

You smile, “Her appearance here surprised me as much as it did you, Myrrh.”

The older lady chuckles, ‘Imagine! Lady Antille, in this shop! The store will be the talk of the town soon, I’m sure.”

“Lady Antille?”

Myrrh gives you a strange look as she hands her coins across to you. “You didn’t recognise the Lady of Armestice?”

You shake your head.

“Ah, well now you know,” Myrrh says, “Imagine, me bumping into her like that.” She takes her bottle of Fons Iuventae and heads for the door. You follow behind her, and flip over your store sign to ‘Closed’ once she leaves. The last dregs of sunlight seep through the window. With the shop shut for the night, you go and sit behind the counter, thoughts running at a thousand miles a minute. You know that you should not concern yourself with your customer’s potion usage. After all, you simply provide. You are not responsible for the actions that follow. Yet, you cannot help but have your suspicions.

Before you realise what you are doing, you pick up a vial of Aphrodite’s Cure from yoru counter. Your body leads you to the door, grabbing your satchel, and your cloak, pulling it around you before you step out onto the cobbled street. Your feet lead you to the stable, where you quickly saddle up your mare, and spur her into the dark of night.

The road that leads out of Sientha winds down towards the large mansion where the duke of Braewyth resides. Everyone in Braewyth is familiar with the sugar white house that stands tall, behind a maze of rose bushes. As you ride towards the mansion, rain begins to pelt down, stinging at your cheeks. You continue regardless, pressing your heels into your mare’s side, encouraging her on. You push her harder than you’ve pushed her before, hurtling down the road at a frantic gallop. The mare’s breathing is hard, foam flies from her mouth. Dirt flies from her hooves, kicking up the mud washed onto the road.

Ahead of you, past the sheets of rain, you spot the lights of the Braewyth mansion. Reigning in your mare, you stop her a few paces before the gate, and tie her by one of the trees. She’s breathing heavily, and you give her a reassuring pat before you make for the gates.

A guard, who was leaning lazily against the gate, stands to attention when you approach, raising his spear. “Halt.”

“Please,” you hold up your hands to him, showing that you are unarmed, “I wish to speak with Jeon Jungkook.”

The guard squints at you through the rain. “And who might you be?”

You hesitate. “I’m his alchemy tutor.” Technically not a lie.

“I wasn’t told you would be arriving,” the guard says, “Do you have an invitation to the ball that you can show me?” He sweeps a skeptical gaze over your trousers, flecked with mud, and your fur hood, soaked with rain.

“Please, it’s urgent,” you say.

In the gloom, you see the guard raise his eyebrows.

You wrack your brain, “I have a potion for Jeon Jungkook. He asked me to deliver it to him personally before the ball began.”

“He never told me of this plan.”

Just then, by the mercy of the universe – or perhaps the goddess – Jungkook appears at the other side of the gate.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon,” the guard smiles at you gleefully, hoping to have caught you in a lie, “Have you met this wench before?”

Jungkook walks up to the gate, “Of course. Let her in at once.”

The guard’s mouth hangs open for a slit second, before he quickly corrects his expression, and bows to the heir of Braewyth. “Yes. Right away!” He opens the gate, and scurries to get out of your way.

You hurry over the threshold, and begin walking with Jungkook towards the Braewyth mansion.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asks, once you are out of earshot of the guard.

“What about you?” you say, “Do you make it a habit to walk around the garden while it’s tipping it down with rain?”

“I needed some fresh air, and I heard a commotion from the gate,” Jungkook explains, “But I really think you’re the one who ought to be explaining yourself.”

“I...” you’re unsure where to begin, “Has Lady Antille arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook says, “Now, will you please stop answering my question with more questions.”

“Sorry,” you swallow, suddenly realising how silly your reasoning will sound.

Jungkook waits, while you remain silent, walking down the path through the rose bushes.

You take a deep breath, “This may sound mad, but I have reason to believe that Lady Antille plans to use Impetus Amor on your tonight.”

Jungkook’s expression turns frosty. “You’re not jesting?”

You nod. “I could be wrong. But the lady who purchased Impetus Amor was Antille. I did not recognise her at first. I suppose it could merely be coincidence, and she is using it for someone else, but I wanted to warn you, just in case.”

Jungkook is grave. “I suppose it would make sense. After all, a marriage into the Braewyth duchy would be beneficial for the province of Armestice. The province is too small to defend itself, so would be willing to seek the protection of a more powerful duchy.” He turns his eyes to you. “Will you be able to stay here with me tonight? I must be in attendance at the ball, and avoiding Lady Antille there is out of the question. If she does try anything, will you be ready to help me?”

You nod, “I have the cure in my satchel, just in case.”

Jungkook nods, taking your hand, and leading you up the marble steps to the mansion door. “Alright, if you’re staying, then you need to get changed.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do not mean to offend, but your trousers won’t be acceptable attire for the ball.”

You swallow as you step into the house. The hallways are greater – both wider and taller - than you had anticipated, with lush white carpets that your feet sink into. You wince at the mud trailed in by your boots.

“Whyn!” Jungkook calls, and a flushed looking maid appears on cue, bowing before him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

“Can you help my lady friend? She needs to be cleaned up, and needs more appropriate attire for the ball.”

“Of course, Mr. Jeon.”

Before you can even get a word in, you are being herded down the corridor by Whyn, who appears overly eager to do Jungkook’s bidding. You’re pushed into the bathroom, and the last you see of Jungkook is his smile as Whyn closes the door on him.

The bathroom is lavish, tiled with white marble. Ornate sculptures depicting gryphons stand at each corner of the room. Steps lead down to a pool of warm water, from which steam rises, smelling of lavendar. A statue of a stag stands proudly at the centre of the water, with a beautiful woman depicted standing beside him, naked. She holds an urn above the pool, and water pours from the urn into the large bath.

Without any warning, or any chance to protest, Whyn strips you down, and pushes you to the water’s edge. “Quickly, m’am,” she urges, “The ball will be starting soon.”

Grumbling, you step down into the water. However, it’s impossible to continue complaining as the warmth envelops you, easing all the aches in your body. You sink down with a sigh, dipping your head under, and letting your hair become fully soaked.

However relaxing the bathing experience is, you know you need to get back to Jungkook quickly, so after a quick once over with soap, you reluctantly leave the embrace of the sweet smelling water.

Whyn is ready and waiting with a warm towel. She starts drying you off, and you complain that you can dry yourself, but she shushes you stubbornly. “Please, ma’m, let me do my job!”

Once your hair and body are towelled dry, Whyn helps you into the ornate dress she has picked for you. You’ve never worn a dress this fancy before, and until this point, you never understood why ladies needed maids to help them get dressed. Now, as Whyn scurries around you, lacing up your corset, and adjusting your petticoat, you understand. The dress has so many buttons, clasps, and ribbons, that it would take an eternity to dress yourself.

The maid finally helps you pull back your hair, pinning it off your face, so it curls elegantly to frame your cheeks. She steps back to admire her handiwork, allowing you to take in your full reflection in the mirror beside the bath. It’s surprising what a maid’s touch can do. You barely recognise yourself. A regal lady stares back at you from the mirror in a shimmering sapphire-coloured dress, with golden stitching around the bodice, detailing embroidered roses.

“Is it alright, m’am?” Whyn asks, “If you don’t like it, I can find another dress.”

“No, thank you, Whyn,” you smile at her, “It’s perfect.”

The girl flushes and bows her head.

You find your original clothes folded neatly in the corner of the room. You rummage in your satchel, and find your vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, tucking it under your corset for safe-keeping. You turn back to Whyn. “I’m ready.”

The maid leads you out of the bathroom down a snaking maze of corridors, until you reach a set of grand mahogany doors. She pushes the doors open for you, and indicates that you should go in.

You whisper your thanks to her again, and then walk into the ballroom. Inside, the dancing has not yet started, and the room is filled with groups of people, conversing with one another. You spot Jungkook at the far corner, by a set of wide windows that look out onto the garden, which is illuminated by lanterns. You walk over, and a smile erupts on Jungkook’s face as soon as he spots you. He steps forward to greet you.

“Whyn has done a fine job,” he says, casting an admiring glance over you.

You feel you face heat up, unsure how to respond.

“If anyone asks,” Jungkook continues, in a low voice, linking his arm through yours and leading you along the ballroom floor, “You are my personal friend. You needn’t give any more information than that.”

You nod, glancing around nervously, “Has Antille arrived?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Jungkook says. “I truly hope your fears are unjustified. But if they’re true, I want you by my side, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on wandering off alone.” Looking around the room, you notice many of the people staring at you. “Why are they looking at us?”

“Well, you are walking arm in arm with the heir of Braewyth, who’s rumoured to be in the market for a wife. People are going to be gossiping about our betrothal as we speak.”

You blush at the thought, allowing Jungkook to lead you around the room, stopping every so often to speak with groups of important sounding people.

Every so often, the door will open and someone will announce the name of the eligible young lady who has entered. The lady will smile and curtsey, and then everyone will go on about their business.

You find yourself stuck in an arduous conversion with an old noble, named Lord Chaperlet, about the effects of increased wheat tax, when the doors to the ballroom open once more, and the announcer cries, “Presenting to you, the Lady of Armestice, the honourable Antille.”

You raise onto your tiptoes to catch a glance at the lady over the heads of the crowd that has gathered.

She’s wearing a gold dress that trails across the floor like spilled champagne , her hair curled perfectly around her face. Lord Chaperlet stops wittering on about wheat tax to stare at the young Lady. “Antille truly is a beauty, is she not?” He winks at Jungkook, who gives a diplomatic chuckle, and says, “Now, now, Lord Chaperlet, what would your wife say if she overheard you?”

The older man gives a hearty laugh. Jungkook’s arm remains interlocked with yours, and shows no sign of budging. You swallow your nerves as Lady Antille approaches.

The lady pauses momentarily upon seeing you by Jungkook’s side, and a flash of ice glazes her gaze before she corrects her expression to a polite smile, and makes her way forward.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she coos, “How are you? It’s a pleasure to meet you. You look as handsome as your portraits portray you.”

Jungkook gives a courteous smile, “I’m wonderful thank you.” He takes the hand she proffers him, kissing her fingers, as is the custom when greeting noble women. “And how are you?”

“Fantastic,” Antille smiles, “Although the coach journey here was frightful! The rain was atrocious. Hence my late arrival, you see.”

“Fashionably late, I would say,” Jungkook replies, and Antille giggles behind her white-gloved hand.

You are out of your depth, silently observing this display of courtly manners.

Antille finally glances your way, in the manner one might glance across at an old dog scratching its fleas in the corner. “And who is this?”

You swallow. You may look different in your gown, but you know she has recognised you from your potions store.

Jungkook answers in your silence. “This is my personal friend.” His arm is still slung through yours. His reassuring fingers squeeze you.

“Is that so?” Antille worries her crimson bottom lip with her teeth for a second, her gaze lingering on you, sizing you up.

It’s a relief when Whyn passes with a tray of glasses filled with champagne, moving between you and Antille. “Would you like a drink?” The maid keeps her head bowed.

Antille takes a glass, and hands it to Jungkook, before taking one for herself, “Might as well enjoy oneself.” She raises her glass to Jungkook.

Jungkook brings the glass to his lips. A flash of worry sparks in your head – the only reason you are here is to stop Jungkook from ingesting any potion. Yet, Antille seems happy to drink the champagne...

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s arm.

A vague scent of rose water and crushed gold floats towards you.

Jungkook glances at you, confused, before understanding floods into his eyes.

Wracking your brain for a good excuse to leave, your hand springs to your neck, feigning surprise. “Oh, I’ve just noticed! My necklace is gone. I was wearing it when I arrived here, but now it’s gone.”

Jungkook picks up on your cue. “Perhaps it fell off in the hallway by the entrance when you took off your cloak. I’ll help you search.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Antille chimes in. “Your friend can manage by herself. After all, everyone in this ballroom is here to speak with you personally, Jungkook. People might talk if you were to leave.”

Seeing Jungkook struggling, you begin sniffing, forcing your eyes to water. “The necklace belonged to my late mother. I can’t believe I was so careless...”

Jungkook hands you a handkerchief so you can dab at your fake tears, and before Antille can say anything else, he escorts you out of the room.

Once the doors of the the ballroom close behind you, you give up your act, following Jungkook down the twisting hallways.

“This is bad,” he mutters, “I should have been more careful. And after your warned me as well!” His hand is firm on your wrist, leading you up a set of stairs, before he slips into a room and quickly bolts the door shut behind him.

You find yourself in a lavish bathroom, this one different from the one you bathed in. Cherub angels are carved into the white frosting-coloured ceiling.

“You need to stay calm,” you tell Jungkook. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jungkook grimaces, “Don’t you understand? That glass came from Whyn’s tray. Antille must have specifically asked her to spike the glass that she would then give me.”

“Maybe Whyn didn’t know what it was,” you suggest.

“Even if she didn’t, a maid shouldn’t put anything into a drink they serve. She’ll loose her job. It’s a shame, I liked her.”

“That’s not the main issue right now,” you remind him, rummaging in the folds of your dress for the vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, “You need to take this.” You hold up the glass to him.

Jungkook smiles, “I’m glad you’re so reliable.”

“I do my best.”

Jungkook makes to take the vial from you, but you pull back, “Wait. You need to take the antidote after the potion actually kicks in.”

“How will I know when that is?” Jungkook asks.

“Even if you don’t notice, I will,” you say, “You’ll start talking gibberish about how in love you are. And you’ll feel a sudden rush of emotion for the first person you looked at after you drank the potion… which was me, I think.”

“Right, of course. A rush of emotions.” He presses his lips together. “Perhaps, for the sake of clarity, I should confess something in that case...”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“The trouble is,” Jungkook continues “I believe I have already developed feelings for you.”

When you open your mouth, he holds up a hand to stop you. “Before you say anything – no, the potion hasn’t kicked in yet. I’ve felt this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to deal with these feelings, so I’ve repressed them.”

Your heart rises in a flurry of childish giddiness. You don’t know where the feelings come from, but are surprised to find that you desperately hope he is telling the truth. “Perhaps we should wait until you take the antidote, and then we’ll talk about this...”

His eyes glaze over, strange and distant, “My dear, these feelings will remain unwavering, I promise.”

You press the potion into his hands. “Drink,” you command.

He nods, uncorking the vial, and tipping the contents into his mouth. “Goddess, that tastes vile,” he groans. He sucks a breath through his teeth. With his head lowered, he takes a few seconds to recover, before he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You remain silent, not sure what to say. Your mind is still racing over Jungkook’s earlier confession. He said it wasn’t the potion causing the words to fall from his mouth. Yet, you cannot be sure. A part of you is unexpectedly sad at the though that his profession of love was simply the potion speaking.

Somehow, despite your determination to hate him, you are surprised to find that you love him.

Jungkook raises his head, eyes fixed on yours, “Without you I would have made a complete fool of myself. Not to mention, I probably would have ended up betrothed to Antille, which...” he blows out a sigh. “Let’s not dwell on that. Thank you for all your help. I know I’ve treated you poorly in the past, but you’ve still helped me regardless. That’s the sign of a good person.”

You bite down on your cheek, “Jungkook?”

“Yes?”

“What you said...” Once you start, the words keep spilling, “Before the potion kicked in. About being in love with me. Did you mean that?”

“Sorry, it was improper of me to simply dump that upon you all of a sudden,” Jungkook says, “I suppose I should have kept that to myself. I’ve tried to ignore these feelings, since my father would not approve of someone who is not noble-born. I tried to push the feelings away by treating you brusquely, by distracting myself with other women, but none of it worked.”

“So you mean?”

His gaze is inescapable, “I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Jungkook chuckles, but his tone is earnest, “Sorry, you look like a startled deer. I know it’s improper to confess without suitable courtship first, but our relationship has always been a little unconventional. Spending my time with you, I was fascinated by you. And that fascination turned into something I’ve never felt before. I’ve never been so open or honest with anyone else. You’ve seen the worst parts of me, and you’ve stuck around despite all that.” His cheeks colour, “I truly am just rambling now, please feel free to tell me to shut up.”

You’re still waiting for the part where Jungkook suddenly says, “It’s merely a jape!” His face is serious.

“Jungkook, I… I don’t know what to say...”

“Then don’t say anything, you don’t have to.”

“No, I want to, I just… the words evade me...” you bite your lip, “Your confession certainly came as a surprise, although not an unwelcome one...”

Jungkook’s eyes shine.

“I’m very happy,” you say, “I would be lying if I said I do not have similar feelings for you. I never thought it would be okay to fall in love with a noble, so I never allowed myself the liberty of even thinking...” You hesitate, “Is it really okay for me to love you?”

Jungkook nods, “Nothing would make me happier.”

“But your father?”

“It’s okay. We’ll make it work. The tradition of nobles courting nobles is ver old-fashioned anyway. I never liked it. Eventually, my father will accept whom I choose. And I choose you.”

He takes your hand, delicately bringing your fingers to his lips. The action is so simple, so gentle – a far cry from the kiss you had shared earlier – yet it feels so strangely intimate with his eyes drinking you in, while his warm mouth caresses your skin.

His lips work their way up to your wrist, then your forearm, then your shoulder, then your cheek, then grazing the side of your mouth. You let him kiss you properly, melting into his warmth, while the carved cherubs smile down at you from above.

Parting, Jungkook sighs, “I wish I could enjoy this without the after effects of Impetus Amor... My head’s killing me...”

You smile, “Don’t worry. There’ll be time for all of this later. I’m not planning on leaving your side.” You hold his hand tight in your own. “For now, let’s go to the kitchen, and see if we can find some herbal tea for you.”

✽ ✽ ✽

After a cup of strong tea, Jungkook has perked up, ready to return to the ballroom. He holds your hand in his own as you make your way down to the main hallway. You can hear string instruments harmonising to a waltz from the ballroom. The dancing seems to have started in your absence.

“I hope you’ll dance with me tonight,” Jungkook says.

“Won’t people talk if they see us together?” you ask.

“Let them,” Jungkook says. “I’ll announce our relationship when you feel ready, and not a second before.”

You smile, “In that case, I’d love to dance with you.”

As you enter the ballroom, Antille glances over at the two of you and blanches. Jungkook lets go of your hand, and walks over to her, asking if she is willing to speak with him.

Antille looks around, as if considering her escape routes, but agrees to go with Jungkook – with obvious reluctance. Jungkook draws her to the edge of the room, away from the dancing couples that glide around the ballroom floor. Where the two of them stand, you can hear their conversation well, although they are tucked away from the rest of the ball guests.

“Antille,” Jungkook says, “I know what you have attempted to do.”

Antille glowers, “Attempted to do? What are you talking about?”

Jungkook continues, “I have enough proof to have you publicly disgraced, but I am willing to let you leave with your dignity intact, so long as you never set foot in this house again.”

“Threaten me all you want,” Antille hisses, “But know that you have made an enemy of Armestice today.”

Jungkook’s face twists into a frown, “That’s not a game you want to play, Lady Antille, believe me. The duchy of Braewyth is not one to be messed with.”

Antille is pale. Her eyes fall to you, and anger flashes vividly in her irises. “I thought I made it clear that my purchase was to be kept a secret.”

Jungkook steps closer to you, “Don’t, Antille,” he warns, “Your quarrel isn’t with her.”

The lady, visibly flustered, turns on her heel towards the door. You watch as she leaves the room.

Jungkook turns his attention to you. “Please don’t worry about her. I know what Armestice is capable of, and it isn’t much. Her threats are simply to stir up fear, but she won’t act on them.”

You smile as he threads his fingers through yours, “Now, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

You are aware of the eyes boring into you from all sides as you step onto the dance floor with Jungkook, but in that instant, you don’t care. Jungkook is beside you, his eyes on your face, and a smile on his lips.

For now, that’s enough.

✽ ✽ ✽

It’s a cold morning, but the early spring sunshine is shining stubbornly despite the chill as you walk back to your shop. You have a basket of fresh herbs in your hand, picked from the mountain side.

As you turn the corner onto your street, a smile breaks across your face, recognising a familiar figure standing by your door.

You run over to Jungkook, setting down your basket of herbs, so you can freely fling both arms around him.

He grins, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Good morning.”

You unlock the shop door, and let him enter. It’s still an hour until your shop will open for business.

“How has your morning been so far?” you ask Jungkook, throwing off your cloak, and hanging it by the door.

“Good,” Jungkook says, “The new maid prepared a wonderful breakfast. Eggs and bacon and fresh bread.”

“Sounds much better than the oatmeal I had,” you say.

“Once our relationship is officially made public, you can move into the mansion with me,” Jungkook says, “Then you can have all the eggs and bacon and fresh bread you want.”

You begin sorting the freshly picked herbs into piles on the counter, while Jungkook runs an eye over the potions you have sitting out from brewing last night.

“That will be nice,” you say, “Although I will miss this old shop.”

“I’m sure we can set up a room in the mansion where you can have a workshop to continue brewing potions. People would pay well for potions brewed by the heir of Braewyth’s wife.”

You blush at the word ‘wife’, a thrill travelling through you.

Jungkook eyes some of your older equipment, “We can even get you some new tools. Some of these seem a little… rusty.”

“They’ve served me well, I’ll have you know.”

“Just a suggestion.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You grin at him, “So what did you want from me this morning? We could continue your alchemy lessons… or...”

Jungkook moves around the counter to be by your side. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer. “Well I had a few plans of my own.”

Your fingers curl through his charcoal hair. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook ducks his head down, his breath ghosting against your ear as he whispers his plan with words that make you blush scarlet. Desire pools inside you as his lips trace a path down your neck to your collar bone, “Don’t think you’re getting out of your alchemy lesson later.”

“Yes, m’am,” he grins, taking your hand in his own.

You let him lead you from your shop up the creaky stairs to your living quarters. You are happy to forget all responsibilities for the next hour, completely lost in Jungkook. You never believed a love potion could lead to true love – yet here you are, completely enveloped in Jungkook, overwhelmed by feeling. You don’t believe in the goddess but you thank her now, thank her that she decided to ruin your life by thrusting Jungkook into it.

The man you hated more than anything in the world has now become the man you love more than anything, and you couldn’t be happier for it.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it.

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 3 years

Text

Infected/Undead Boyfriend (Ryan Chen) 3 (FINALE)

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Part 1 - Part 2

Warning: some language. Long chapter ahead!

When It Rains, It Pours Part 3 (FINALE)

It was always raining in November-– or was it now December?

It was hard to tell: the rain had turned harder and harsher, solid ice and snow fell across what was desolate and overgrown lands, where the city life grew smaller, a distant reminder that they still hung in an area. The coating of snow grew harsher the more the days passed, and bitter was its storms and winds to you and your surroundings.

How you managed to get out before losing yourself was an amazement to you and those of your rescuers.

"Hey, five minutes before we depart—you good?"

You blinked lazily, back to the surrounding sounds that were not of the dead crawling and walking on the grounds, of laughter and joy that you had missed and forgotten the sounds of. You remembered where you were: the warmth of the fire spreading across your limbs as you looked up from the floor, a hand in reach for you to take.

Justin was the first and the only one you had really spoken and befriended who wasn't a relative to you, a friend you shared rum and morbid chats with when the two of you were on night duties, staring up at nothing by the sky. He was cute: brown hair and eyes, pretty smile, but he was just another hole filled.

'Okay, okay, humour me with this,' He asked you when the blizzard was raging outside of your camp, the howling winds rattling against the iron doors. 'If you could take anyone with you, in the world, where would you go and with who?'

There was only one name that came to mind that night, the lines of your face creasing as you smiled sadly. 'You'll have to let me think about that one.'

"You good, tiger?" You took his hand as he hauled you up to your feet, dusting away the snow from your worn jeans. "You seem... out of it. You can tell me, I can get someone else to do this if you're not feeling up to it."

"No, it's fine, I'll be out in five." There was a haunting, dreadful pause from Justin, observing you silently when time didn't seem to go any faster, before he nodded, heading out of the hall, his distant figure fading through the groups of crowds waiting.

You gathered your things slowly, fumbling with the leather jacket, dipping your fingers into the deep pockets, fumbling with the smooth edge of the card still occupying it. Never did it seem to lose its feel, thankfully. Get a grip on yourself. You sighed, securing your knife into your boot. Three years... three fucking years and you still mourn.

The snow had settled once you had been brave to face it, crunching satisfyingly under your boots each step you took to the stables, waiting there was Justin and a few others you didn't take time in memorising their names.

"You ready?" Justin asked, strapping more ammo into his backpack. "Help yourself to some more. Heard there's infected up north from here roaming. Potentially they could come down."

"Yeah, thanks." You grabbed a large bar, stuffing it away before paying attention to the black stead you had named Diamond. "Hey, girl. Ready to stretch those legs?"

The beauty snorted almost in reply, a genuine smile gracing your features when you had clamoured up, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the arduous journey that would take place. An hour away from the Jackson base was the Crow's Nest: the barren hub used to scout the area, to keep eye on roaming hordes.

"The snow has settled, but with it, the dead grow. Watch out for yourselves, keep close to the path and don't stray." Justin gave final warnings before you all set off, the large electric gates of the once well-known powerplant creaked open, a vast, vicious cold greeted you the moment you stepped out.

The journey left you frozen and missing the heat from indoors, reminding yourself why you had gone out in the first place was to get away from everyone, but now you had dearly missed the sweet sight of civilisation creeping back to normal. I can be back and everything will be fine. You told yourself, and you foolishly believed it.

When you finally arrived, there were little dead who had managed to get through the other side of the pen, and taking them out was no issue. The base on top was all but a cosy place: desolate, reeking of decay and too cold. When you finally reached the windows that showcased the cast white outside, did you finally breathe out in somewhat respite.

"See that out there, that's the city you came from, right?" Justin pointed out to what looked like nowhere, but even where the sky and snow met with vast starkness, there was still an outline of a desolate and barren city, broken and crumbling skyscrapers still reaching to the chilling sky.

It was miles out, you realised, but the routes out were like a maze on its own.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of going in there for fun?" You asked, the man beside you rolling his eyes exasperatedly. "You would have to be fucking insane to want to go back in there."

"Even so, what kept you sane?"

The name you so missed to say was on the tip of your tongue, memories that swept through your mind nearly brought you to tears. Maybe, in some reality, the two of you could've been that couple, living out your days in a decaying city, filled with dead, going down as the world would never miss you. But in some ways, it was for the good. You blinked the tears away before any could fall.

"Faith, a hell of a lot of it." The winter sun was dead as well as the last of those memories. "I'm done with it, done for good."

In the distance, when the snow settled quietly, a dull, thunderous cry, followed with the faint sounds of bangs going off, a chorus that never seemed to quieten, only did its cries grow louder and louder, until-

"Infected have made their way into the bunker!"

You turned with Justin in surprise, the thuds of gunshots and its chambers thudded in time with your heartbeat, rousing the adrenaline as you moved like clockwork to make your way back down, back into the darkened, gloomy hallways so narrow it barely fitted enough, but now stood with both humans and dead.

Even war has never looked like this. There were bodies already, a mixture of dead taken down and those who had fallen, bleeding to the ground in puddles, eyes frozen and bodies stiff. "Come with me down to the east wing." Justin guided you away from the onslaught, away from the crowded corridors as the two of you run further away from the noises.

"You know how many they'll be?" You rasped, trying to steady your breathing, the grip on your knife straining your fingers.

"I don't know," Justin answered. "But whatever you do, don't think recklessly. You're a strong fighter, so don't think about dying."

"I could say the same with you." You stopped when you stopped outside the double doors, slightly ajar and smeared blood wiped across the handles and door. "You ready?"

No. You thought. I don't even want to be here. "Yes."

The door was opening wider before you could realise: the noise loud and shrilled, as were the following, inhumane cries and shrieks that followed. Through the darkness of the room: the boiler room, you could see, maybe four or five dead, twitching and grotesque.

And two of them charging towards you both.

Justin made light work of the largest one, leaving you to deal with the other, all snarling and baring its mangled, blackened teeth. You reared back as it did too, causing you to collapse into the wall but not fall, supporting yourself and keeping its head from coming any closer to the flesh of your face or neck.

You struggled for what felt like forever, until you kicked it as far away from you, shoving it into Justin's grip as you charged, using your knife to lodge it into the jellied head, one final cry came before its head slumped, black blood seeping through.

"Good job," Justin let it drop against the wall. "A bit quieter would've been better though."

"Yeah, thanks though." You caught your breath, iron in your throat when you exhaled, feeling like knives stabbing you a thousand times, not helping with the cold of the room. "Shall we continue onwards?"

"We could take down the rest of these- Hey, watch out!"

You turned in time to hear the raucous grunt of something collide into the side of you, causing you to stumble, crashing into the boiler behind you, the wind knocked from you with such force, your vision dotted. "Shit!" Justin shouted from the darkness, and you could hear the struggle, gunshots and more animalistic roars. "Justin! Are you okay?"

"Go! I'll distract it!" You heard his retreating voice, the heavy footsteps follow before you had time to catch the large creature leave, a dreadful smell of mildew and rotting flesh filled your nostrils, almost making you gag.

"Fuck." You grunted to stand, head dizzy, aware that the noises and clicks were coming from the rest of the dead in the surrounding area you shared with them. "Shit!" Quickly, you picked up the blade fallen, dodging the remaining dead as you continued in a haze through to the back of the room, hopping over the wall to get through to the bunker. The sounds of the dead never faltered, sounding all around you and nowhere at all, limbs shaking, clothes drenched not with water.

I'm going to die, I'm going to die—I'm fucked, I'm fucked. You tried to keep moving, but you kept running into dead ends and parts cornered off, leading you to believe that there would be no way of escaping.

Something scampered in your peripheral, large and skinny, you braced for the worst when its shadowed body crawled around in the dark, closer and closer. You pulled your gun out, trying to steady your breathing and keep an eye on it. It didn't move like any of the other dead—perhaps a new one you weren't aware of.

You decided to try and take a shot, the bullet ricocheting off a pipe and exploding with gas, letting out and creating a thick, never-ending mist that you found hard in trying to see through. There was the sound of shoes scraping against the floor, someone running towards you and grabbing you, and you screamed, their face guarded as you tried fighting them off you, away from the floor so they wouldn't have full control over you.

Your fingers gripped the gun, reminding yourself to not let go of it, and you finally- after some struggle- kicked the creature in the stomach, letting it stumble back as you finally tried to take another shot.

In the mist that was fading slowly as you tried to focus, the legs of the figure finally appeared, a full body appearing like someone of a horror film, head turned from you as you squinted to whatever was standing in front of you, your time to take the shot faltering.

"Ryan?"

The lithe humanoid figure was as dishevelled as you could recall once he twisted his torso to look back on you. A distant memory that floated in your mind, of peace and tranquillity, it now stood in front of you as some bitter, warped illusion. He was everything you remembered of him, the same clothes but now wearing a different jacket to the one you still wore in honour, his hair seemed longer, more messy and unkempt, strands pulled out from the bun, guarding his soft, unsteady dark eyes. He looked thinner from the last, a walking apparition whose skin was washed pale and bruised black and blue, his cheeks hollowed and eyebags darkened.

"Oh, god," the grip on the trigger loosened shakily, eyes dotting with sudden tears. "It's you, isn't it? I'm not fucking dream, am I?"

The man didn't seem responsive at first, playing into the belief he was some sort of hallucination after all, but his mouth opened, a quiet voice answering. "Yes, it's me."

The noise that left your parted lips was shaky and warbled, a string of tears flowing down your cheeks when everything slowly fell apart. "Why," your words were twisted and you fumbled clumsily. "Why... why did you leave?"

He was silent, the hard struggle in understanding what he was thinking. He seems… ashamed. You thought, watching his shifting eyes. You watched the pain that didn’t seem to be hidden beyond his eyes, even when he spoke. “… You belonged with them, not me.”

“How would you know that? I—you could’ve come with me, Ryan. We’re an open community, we can help you-”

“No,” his voice was strained, his eyes more red than usual. “I can’t be fixed.” He lifted his black t-shirt, the skin bruised as his face had been, inflamed and almost maimed. “I was bitten.”

“But you didn’t turn.”

“No,” his smile was soft, downturned. “Perhaps turning would’ve been the better option. But I live with these decisions. You need people, not me.”

“Ryan,” you took a hesitant step towards him, still, the tears fell. “Do you know I still think about you? Even after all these years.”

“No,” he laughed silently, his eyes glassy and cold. “I did too. A lot.”

“Please, please come with me. I promise you, we can help you—we could fix you.”

Ryan watched, not showing signs of moving away from you as you slowly made your way to him, outreaching your hand for him to hold. Just… just to hold once more, to feel him again. How you craved it like it was a lifeline.

“I—I can’t describe how I’m feeling right now.” His words were hushed when you were close to him, feeling his breath fan against your wet cheeks. “You don’t have to describe anything,” you murmured. “Just… let it happen.”

He leant into you first, his lips were warm and memories swarmed in your mind like you were drowning. His being, his smell: so sweet and inviting, your memories were swelling and rising, bringing a feeling of levitating, back to a time when you felt loved and needed. Back in his arms in an excluded room, forgotten altogether but in each other’s arms.

When you pulled away, he leant his forehead against yours, warm and damp from cold. “I missed you so.” He muttered softly. You had so many thoughts, too many emotions that everyone argued with things they wanted to say before the other. But the same thing was in your mind, replaying over and over again.

It plagued you, as you took his hand into your own, squeezing as if your life depended on it. “Ryan, I-”

Your words were there, masked and clipped from the noise that came from in front of you, a large reverberating noise that was sharp and rung, smoke appearing as Ryan stumbled forward, allowing you to catch him. He was limp, colder than usual and not from the cold. He was shaking, muttering something in a quiet, weak voice, but you couldn’t hear him, even when you flipped him carefully, seeing his mouth open and close, you looked up in time to witness the devastated eyes of someone you wanted to forget.

“Get away from it,” Justin’s words were followed by him stepping closer between the two of you, gripping your shoulder. “You’re lucky I came in time. I heard gunshots, I got worried-”

“You shot him.” You weakly said, frozen and still holding Ryan, the grip on him still tight and there for him to know you were still holding onto him, keeping him safe.

Justin seemed as confused as he tried lifting you off the ground, “I’m trying to help you, that thing-”

“Stop it. Stop it!” You swatted his hand away sharply, reaching around to hold and stabilise Ryan, the shot to his stomach was bleeding profusely, soaking through your fingertips. “He’s dying, he’s fucking dying.”

“Hey, hey, what—” he said your name, shaking you out of the breakdown. “It’s infected—look at me, what do you mean?”

“I love him, Justin! I know him, I know him! Ryan Chen, he’s not one of them!” You were blubbering and muttering constantly before your eyes landed on Justin’s, wild and red and sore. “Help me, please, I can’t lose him again.”

Justin hesitated once more, before he urged himself forward, peeling the heavy bag from his back to bring out the gauze and wrappings, whilst you sat and remained rigid, and you wished you could’ve stayed where you had been, to begin with.

You noticed now, how quiet things could be when you were left with just your thoughts, alone in the world when you pushed so many away. Your fingers were knotted together tightly, wrung together in a tangle when you fidgeted, nothing to distract you from the unknown time ticking.

“Hey, you’re the girlfriend of “Ryan”?”

You looked up to the woman who had come through to greet you in the small waiting room, blinking away your thoughts to be back with the present. “Yeah, yes… how is he doing?”

“He just came out of surgery and is in a stable condition.” Relief was one of the emotions you were feeling, but it was hard to explain anything else at that moment. “You can go in to see him shortly.”

“Thank you.” A gentle hand pressed into your shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. “Hey, he’s gonna be okay. He seems strong.”

“He is,” you uttered sadly. “He’s a fighter.”

“Ryan! Take it easy! We’ve got all night!”

Your laughter was bubbling, easy and light, as you were led down the long path, where the trees grew in size and foliage, grew thickest, hiding your bodies as you ran beneath the moonlight. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“We’re almost there.” He was not as out of breath as you had been, but his smile was bright and blooming, skin radiant as if he was reborn. “I’m not dragging you back to get more stitches.” The two of you stopped eventually, continuing at a brisk pace until you reached the end of the hill, watching over the once city the two of you had resided in, distant yet glooming.

“It… it still looks like shit as I remember it to be.” You exhaled, looking over Ryan from your right side. “That place still holds a lot to remember, don’t you think? The outbreak, the deaths, the burning of bodies.”

“I got to meet you.”

“You did,” you squeezed his hand encouragingly. “After I fell through the ceiling. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You shared a laugh, all thoughts aside when you stared across the distance. That city did hold some darkness and pain to you, but you knew that you would get out of there, not as one, but as two.

#zombie boyfriend #zombie apocalypse #zombie apocolypse au #Modern Monsters #infected boyfriend #infected boyfriend x reader #infected monster exophilia #monster exophilia #gn reader #gn reader x male monster #monster lover #male monster #infected monster x gn reader #part 3 #finale

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thirsty-albedo-main · 3 years

Text

As the Seasons Come and Go

Kazuha x Reader

Word count: 4000

Tags: Fiends to lovers, GN!Reader, Kazuha tops, Tears, Penetrative sex, Mutual Masturbation, One sided romance, Porn with plot, Porn with feelings

Kazuha has come and gone from your teapot multiple times now. For years you have developed your feelings from strangers to the closest of friends. Now you have become completely smitten with him. But he only arrives in the peak of summer and winter, when the sun and wind are at their harshest. [Movie trailer voice] And this summer, you’ll gather up the courage to ask “Will you lay with me for the night?”

O h god this is 4000 words long u m porn with plot and feelings I guess??? Please forgive me yall.

Time and time again you find yourself watching him leave the small abode you have offered to be his sanctuary in times of hardship. Like the changing of seasons, he comes and goes from the teapot you call home, searching and wandering the landscape in hopes of finding a way to stir the masterless vision he carries from it’s deep slumber. He is inherently mysterious in his eloquence and fleeting in his presence, the act of talking with him always leaving you feeling as if a fresh breeze had come to bring your mind to attention. A wandering samurai who you happened to bump paths with on a dreary summers night has embraced your heart with both gentle winds and words. His smile is euphoric, his sadness earth shattering, and his lingering touches on your shoulders or hands before he bids you farewell yet again like fire starters in your mind and body.

“You have to go already?” you gently asked as he began putting his humble array of belongings into the small pack he carried. “Yes. The scorching sun has calmed its burning gaze for now. Since it is beginning to cool, I must travel while I still can.” His face and hair are brightened in their shade by the light of the sun as you gaze upon his form slowly peeling itself from the grassy bed he was laying in. “Can I expect a visit sooner rather than later? It IS getting pretty hot out there.” You smiled lazily as you always did while napping beside him, concealing the hope woven into your question with the playful tone you reserved for your best friend. “We’ll have to see how merciful this whimsical summer will be. I find myself in cooler nights as of late, so at least there is solace in fall coming soon.” The smile he gave you was not unlike the warm one would feel when stretching out on a sun kissed rock.

“I’ll prepare a bed and some food for you when that time comes then” You replied as your closed your eyes. You pretended to still be sleepy, but in truth, you couldn’t bear to see his back retreating from your sight.

“Thank you. Surely we will cross paths again.” was the hope he voiced.

Those words burned a hole in your heart with the same intensity as the summer heat you found yourself traveling in. Your entire being had ached at the thought of seeing him arrive in the abode you had called home again. You know that someone such as Kazuha couldn’t be restrained from the desire to roam that laid heavy in his soul. It would be wrong of you to commit the sin of tying him down when he had the desire to see new people, experience new things, and further his understanding of the beautiful world he has found himself in.

Yet the way his words held your attention, the way his voice brought solace to you, the way his body would bring you lust, all of it made you hope for more of him and his presence, his being. You would sometimes, under the influence of intense lust and unbearable longing, find yourself running your hands along your body in an effort to satiate your growing need. You mimicked his mannerisms with your hands, how he would run a palm along the small of your back while you stumbled in your climbing, the gentle curl of his fingers as he would run a hand through your hair while you would bare to him your feelings and thoughts, and how his grip felt when he held your hand for a tad longer than necessary while bidding your farewell. With the knowledge of what he does to you potent and heavy in your mind, you finally brought about the resolve needed to tell him how you felt. All of your feelings for him would come to light the next time he allowed himself to enter your domain. This was a promise you made for yourself, as selfish as it may be, you’re ready to accept whatever answer he will give.

- - -

The rain was beating heavily on your form as you wandered down the muddy path that stretched on for miles. The rain was comforting when you found yourself in the safety of a home, far from any of the damaging effects of excessive cold or water, but when you were caught out in the rain like this it only became a source of discomfort. You have forced yourself to continue on through the stormy night until you could find a suitable place to camp, that would be the only way you got proper sleep tonight you decided.. The clouds hung heavy overhead and visibility was proving difficult due to the combination of darkness and rain, yet after squinting into the distance for awhile, you finally discovered some hope for your situation. A light beaming in the darkness. A light from a home? A traveler’s camp? Anything would be fine so long as you were released from the sticky grip of the heavy rain.

Your mind was filled with conflicting thoughts as you saw where the light had come from. The rain was heavy and dreary, yet your heart felt light upon seeing a familiar samurai squatting near a small oil lamp, trying his best to put together a makeshift shelter with local branches and foliage. “Kazuha!” you called out despite the rain attempting to overpower your voice. He raised his head to look in your direction, his keep hearing coming in handy during the onslaught of noise, and he smiled when his eyes had met with yours. For a moment you had felt your face warm up despite it being cold mere moments ago. “You look drenched!” He replies to your call with mirth in his voice “The tempest has forgo its’ kindness for the both of us I see. Here, let me find a secluded spot for us, if you don’t mind me asking for shelter in return that is.”

You didn’t mind at all.

- - -

You two finally found a spot safe enough for you to bring out your teapot. With no hesitation, you found yourself welcoming Kazhua inside to dry off and relax for the rest of the night with you. The rain followed into your teapot of course, but it was a kinder rendition of the noisy forest and harsh clouds that you had just escaped. A small drizzle lingered in the air to cool landscape and the skin, its’ presence heavenly in comparison to beating rain and howling winds. Your abode was a small one. A modest bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen was all that a traveler like you needed. It was simple and having a place of your own to weather out the harsh conditions was more than enough to satisfy your basic needs. Kazuha came in by your side and the two of you laughed lightly at the urgency you two had shown previously, rain sticking wet hair to your faces and necks as reminders of what has passed. “Go ahead into the bathroom and get those wet clothes off” you stated to your travel companion as you shrugged off your cloak and hung it up on the porch. “I’ll get the fireplace ready.” Kazuha took a moment to smile with a distant glimmer in his eye at you, not moving from the spot he was in in favor of keeping an eye on you. “What?” you goaded with a smile.

“It just reminds me of when we first met. You said that to me then too, all those seasons ago.” And feeling happy with his statement, he finally wandered his way into your bathroom to change, leaving you stunned.

Archons you felt as if your heart was going to burst.

Clothes were now hanging on the backs of chairs, placed in proximity of the fireplace and it’s warmth, enough to dry but not enough to catch fire. Plates were on a small drying rack after a meal for two was prepared, the light dripping of water from their forms akin to the rain seeping off you and your companion when you entered earlier this evening. Warm and soft clothes encompass your form in a reassuring manner, reminding you that you were safe and sound, that you were home. It also reminded you that a piece of the outside world was here with you in the form of your friend Kazuha. He stretched out next to you on your floor near the fireplace, undoing his ever crooked ponytail as if to reinforce your point. It was almost like this was meant to happen, that he was meant to lay here. With you.. You had to suck in a breath of air as you realized how domestic all of this was.

Kazuha looks to you for a moment with soothing worry and slight curiosity in his eyes at your sudden intake of breath. “Something wrong? You didn’t get hurt in the rain did you?” The way his eyes light up in concern reminds you of your own fears regarding the situation you two are in, that all of this will end soon. Summer is reaching its’ ending and winter seems so impossibly out of your reach, an unrealistic time to wait before you see him again. He reaches a cruel hand to your face and takes your cheek into his palm with a tenderness that makes the burning in your skin unbearable. “What ails you, my friend? I hear your heart beating so much harder than normal.” The thread of self restraint snaps and curls its’ fibers within your being as you reach out to take his face in your hands. Your nose brushes against his own as you shift closer to him. As you slowly and carefully take his lips with your own. It is a chaste kiss that leaves as many feelings you can manifest on the corner of his lips. His eyes are wide with shock as you pull away, your face coming back into his vision red and shameful as you voice your desires.

“You’re going to be leaving soon. All of the leaves of fall will be behind us, rotting under layers of snow by the time that you and I get to meet again. Please.” You fist your hands into his cotton shirt, your vain attempt of keeping yourself composed now that the words are spilling out. “Lay with me at least once before you go-” His lips coming to take yours interrupts the pleading request you had for him. Euphoria washes over your body at the returned contact, your skin aches at the way his hands come to hold your face, how he lingers there as if he were searching for the warmth of your emotions with his fingertips alone. The kiss between the two of you rising like summers heat as you loop an arm around his shoulders, deepening this bliss by closing the proximity. His tongue comes to lick the inside of your mouth and he explores the feeling of kissing you with the vigor you could only imagine in the small fantasies you would have of him on lonesome nights.

The feeling is gone much too soon for your liking when he speaks up, breaking the kiss to do so. “I’ve waited so long, withstood so many seasons, in the hopes of kissing you with such passion one day.” He puffs out the words with a warm and blissful smile on his face, breathless from the intense kissing you two were partaking in. Your mind lags behind, caught up in the beauty he held when his eyes would crinkle with mirth, and it takes you a moment before the weight of his words come bearing down on you. “You.. you did-?” Is all you’re able to mumble out in your dumbstruck state before his mouth is on yours again, his passion encompassing your form in heated touches. The pleasure and goosebumps running over your skin leaves you with such a burning desire in not only your heart but your core as well. Knowing that if nothing else, he too wants you like this, is a revelation that leaves your mind feeling like the fog that lingers over a still pond and your body as sensitive as its’ rippling surface. Hands are running up your sides with fingernails barely scraping, causing the hairs on your body to raise in attention. Your fingers are laced in his hair and tugging softly at the strands, wringing out soft moans for you to devour with fervor. One of his legs finds itself slotted between your thighs, tempting you with its slow yet sweet pressure against your groin as it rocks back and forth.

Your hands squeeze his thighs firmly, your grip delectable and exciting to Kazuha apparently, because his hips give a small jerk forward in reply.

Archons you’ve both wanted this for far too long, haven’t you?

You’ve both become unsatisfied in your restrictive clothing, quickly doing your beth to be rid of the offending clothing in favor of feeling each other’s skin.You smooth your hands out against his back as he comes to lean over you, slotting himself in between your thighs as his trained arms come to support himself above you. “I love your being, your soul.” you hear him confess as he comes down to mouth at your ear, the words and movements sensual enough to cause you to shudder. “And I certainly love hearing every stuttering gasp and repressed moan you have given me” You mentally curse his sensitive hearing as his breath fans over your neck. “This peaceful melody you’ve given me… I hope this means I have been performing to your liking?” He mumbles into your skin before nipping it, soothing it with careful kisses in return. “Of course you’re performing well.” you mutter as you raise your hips to grind your sex against his erection, eliciting a small moan from him as revenge for his teasing words. “Or else I wouldn’t be looking like this.”

He stops his ministrations on your neck to sit up and admire your form. “And what a sight it is.” He smiles at you with genuine love in his eyes, passion and lust ever lingering, but taking a back seat to the pure admiration he holds for you. It’s enough to make your heart constrict with longing, the shutter running though your body causing you both to let out a small gasp at the stimulation on your groins. This teasing and aching are more than enough, you decide with a small huff of frustration. “Kazuha, I have some aloe vera in the bedside table, please.” You keen as you begin shuffling off your underwear. He understands your request and is quick to follow your plea as you toss the undergarment to the side. He gives a small lustful glance to you as he returns with the bottle, already ridding himself of his bottoms as he gazes upon your form.

He settles between your legs once more as he uncaps the bottle and allows the slick aloe vera to coat his fingers, running the liquid over his joints so as to warm it up before slathering it against your entrance. He puts the bottle to the side for a moment to focus his hands on the task of spreading you out, one careful finger slipping into you with trepidation. The feeling for you could only be described as erotic as you watched him begin working you, almost causing your hands to drop the bottle as you pour some aloe vera over your own fingers. He gives a small hiss in pleasure when your slicked hand wraps around him but he makes no effort to stop you from pumping his erection and coating it in your makeshift lube, causing you to smirk in content. You’ve given him this pleasure, his red and weeping head proof of your work, precum beading at the tip with every pump and his wimpers in delight every time you thumb the slit crowned on top. Taking your hand a little further, you reach to grab at his base, pressing your thumb into a particular vein when pleasure strikes up your spine and shocks you into stopping your movements. Ah, he’s scissoring you open with his fingers now. You weren’t even paying attention to him putting a second finger in with how preoccupied you were with jacking him off, but he certainly has your attention now. A small smirk lingers on his lips as you let out a shaky moan of desire. “Yes, please, Just like that..” You order as your hips coming up to voluntarily fuck yourself onto his fingers in shallow thrusts.

“Beautiful.” He coos as he slips his fingers out from your hole, the small amount of drag in the way he does so leaving your head spinning and your lower half longing for more. He gently drags your hips closer, propping your legs up on his hips while he presses the tip of his length against your hole, experimentally grinding the head against your aching entrance in hopes of testing the waters. You gently bat his arm in frustration glaring up at him with no heat to your gaze. “I’ve been longing for you, yet you still take the moment to relish in teasing me?” He chuckles and with his face sweetly red, he gives you a caste kiss on your lips. “I won’t be denying you any longer. I was just taking a moment to admire the sounds of slicked skin and the smell of heavy lust.” Of course his poetic tendencies come to light right when you are this close to having him in you. Though his head coming to stretch your hole is all that was needed for your forgiveness to be found, your steadying your breathing in an effort to make his entrance smoother.

He comes to lean over you as he slowly penetrates you, his arms on either side of your head now as his erection fills you out, the sensation leaving you shaking in his lap with goosebumps. Kazuha is not unaffected by this either if the small twitches from his erection and the shaky whines escaping his throat are anything to go by. Your slicked skin comes to meet his as you wrap your arms around his neck, readying yourself as he finally bottoms out and slots his thighs against your ass. “The pace?” He mumbles the question into your hair as he comes to hold you against him, one hand smoothing out over the back of your head while the other gently grasps your hips. “Quick.” you whine to his shoulder in desperation. “Hard so I will feel it for awhile.” So you have something to linger on while he is gone, your mind reminds you. You almost feel tears welling up as he begins thrusting into you at just the pace you asked, the pleasure taking over your body with electric shocks of arousal and need. His balls coming to smack against your ass, the heavier breathing combined with sweet moans coming from Kazuha, finally having your fantasy of your best friend sleeping with you brought to reality, it is almost too much. You rake your nails down his back in an attempt to gather more purchase, your mind blank now that you’re being pleasured like this.

He shifts his position to hit you deeper, allowing you to writhe in the euphoria of his length stretching and filling you. Your thoughts dim and your words turn to much. “Please! please, Kah-” You slur out as he keeps his intense pace. He holds you so gently, and his words are filled with praise and love as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, the fall looking so tempting as it leers ever closer. He bites into your shoulder lightly as his hips begin to stutter in their pace, rocking and grinding into you as he loses his precision. You, in your worry to make sure he’s alright, lean back just enough to get a glance of his face and the sight of him makes you clench around the wanderer. Kazuha’s face is completely a wreck, red and flushed, speckled in sweat slicked hair and, the most shocking of all, tears.

The sight of him sends you over the edge with a harsh push. Your eyes screw shut and legs spasm as you cling to him tighter, hoping he will help you weather out the intense storm that is your orgasm as it ravages your body. Your orgasm causes waves to ripple though your body, and it sends Kazuha off the edge as well after a few lagging thrusts. Your body begins to loosen its’ hold on the samurai as his cum pulses into your hole, filling you further and adding to the pleasure you feel when it begins oozing out from between your thighs. The heavy breathing and sighs of comfort linger in the air for awhile as you both take a moment to cool off from your activities. Archons, you traveled on foot all day and here you were having vigorous sex in the evening. The combination of things made you feel so, so incredibly tired while you two caught your breath.You are so spaced out from your orgasm, your body weary from never experiencing something so emotionally and physically charged as this whole evening was before.

Your eyes are barely able to stay open as Kazuha begins untangling himself from you some unknown amount of time later, his words like muffled distant conversation as you try to keep yourself awake and aware. He’s lifting you and moving you to your bedroom, you feel a cool cloth brush over your face and thighs, you feel some cool water down your throat, but all of it feels so disheartening and cruel knowing he won’t be coming back for awhile after this. You just wanted to lay with him for one night and then put the flames of this desire out for good, or at least that is what you told yourself. Sleeping the pain off seemed leagues easier than dealing with the sorrow you’ll feel if you let him pamper you, is what your mind rationalizes before you drift off to sleep.

That is to say, you were not prepared at all for what awaited you when you woke up the next morning. Despite Kazuha always getting up early and mentioning just the night before that he planned to leave, you find him cooking something in your kitchen, working hard to make something for you both to eat. When he welcomes you to the table with the warmest of smiles, you can’t help but feel gobsmacked by the fact that he is still here. With some assistance of course, he leads you to the table to eat.

“Wait you really thought I would just leave the morning after a confession and love making session like that?” He looks shocked at the explanation you shared with him over breakfast (lunch?). The sunlight drifting in through the window making you shrink in on yourself a tad, as if nature itself was putting the spotlight on you for scrutiny. “I thought…that you would head out by morning. You know the whole ‘the world and my mind will both grow dull lest I travel’ stuff and what not.” Your face red as you take another small helping of rice into your mouth in embarrassment. Kazuha gives a small smile your way as he stands up. You think he’s going to pull one of his old friendly gestures and bat you on the head for saying such things, but instead the most tender and chaste kiss is left on the corner of your mouth. You eyes look at him with shock as he pulls back to gaze at you lovingly.

“Instead of worrying about the idea of holding me back…” He takes your hands in his and runs his thumb along the back of it. “Of course. Only if you desire it. But how about we try wandering through this life together? You and I are both travelers after all-.”

You’re already hugging him, your heart elated and your soul as warm as hot summer.

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #ARI/Speaks #ARI/Kazuha

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imalwaystiredzzz · 3 years

Text

C5: Sisyphus happy. Yan Zhongli x Reader

#genshin x reader

Warning: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationships

< Sisyphus happy chapters >

Once, from a time long before records and memories were written on ink and paper, Morax walked upon vast lands rich in history, watered by tears of tragedy and love lost. He turns to an old woman who stood before her destroyed village, eyes downcast and hollow on bodies drowned by the war of an unrelenting sea and the mountain that does not bow.

Morax did not understand, maybe once when he had held a goddess’ body to his own, but to him that was one thing and this is another. This is love of a mortal that does not even know who the child that cried next door nor the man that walked past their door, this is to love a complete stranger and the love that Guizhong once had when she was still by his side.

“What must I do to learn the love of mortals?” He asks, voice devoid of emotion; genuine curiosity and the hope to understand beneath.

The old woman smiled, warm and full of wisdom as if her short years were thousands compared to the god. “To love mortals, one must sacrifice eternity and learn of the passing time. Of death and partings. The gods have forgotten that they may live long but even you have an end, it is the same thing that pains us yet we find delight in.”

He didn’t understand then, those words ring true and wise as Cloud Retainer’s advice to his ears on leading the people that he had now to care for. Even so, he still finds himself wondering, “What would Guizhong have done?”

In his heart, he knows that she would’ve understood and took a moment to explain; unlike the way time leaves nothing but confusion in its wake, only pondering and no straight answers?

Even as hundreds of years pass, when all that remains of that old woman is nothing but ashes on the soil and the land had been turned to marsh, the people traveling and settling in a mountain, and the war marching on to its bloody conclusion; Morax found that answer to be much like the dumbbell that he may never come to solve.

But once more, reminiscent of his unexamined love with the goddess had bloomed too late, fate had played him right into its hands.

Because the answer had come in the form of you- still a child, a bud in the nursery of glaze lilies under the morning sun. You and your small hands that gripped the end of his robes, with teary eyes that looked at the dying people and held these strangers hand in their last breath with as much intensity for a small comfort to let them know they did not die alone.

“Will the war end soon?” Your small voice asked him, even Mountain Shaper had not the stomach to look at a child’s plea for peace and spout lies.

“I am trying to end it, as fast as I can.”

“Then this is for you.” You reached into your pocket and gave him a dried glazed lily contained in glass, “thank you for trying though we cannot give much back.” You bow, as courtesy knowing that you had just talked to the very god that protected the lands you step on and ran back to the shack that housed the sick and injured, your parents much too busy to notice you had snuck out.

Blissfully unaware that the god of geo, gripping the gift in between his hands, amber eyes following your form and telling himself that humans have much to learn and yet they surprise him nonetheless, just like as his love used to tell him.

But even answers are confusing, much like a child who asks why is 1+1=2 and the process of it, he didn’t understand till he saw you once more. Not yet a lady but not quite the child that you used to be. Now you are the girl who provides healing, growing up to be a herbalist like your mother and no longer simply holding a basket of them for your father. Carefully, with your mortal hands you comfort the injured beyond salvation as the calamities of gods that hold much power rages on.

Surrounded by dying men of the war, miasma, curses and death lurking in the air, in his eyes you remained untouched. Unblemished, as if the air in your little bubble had been purified by innocence and unconditional love for the crowd of strangers, neither pitying them for death nor numb to their tragedy. Then for a second he thought he saw her - the glaze lilies and the goddess that he loved so much and he begins to wonder if she’s come back to him through you.

“I should thank you for treating the wounded.” He tells the man before him, the bags of herbs laying behind his form and a sigil in hand, “use this in times of need, when the people are crying and I am away, surely the adeptis are quick to answer and would not turn you away.”

“My lord, Rex Lapis, there is no need to thank us. Knowing that you protect the people is enough, we are just a family of healers who help the ones in need.” Your father was a grateful man, and he can see where you get your eyes, especially your kind heart who reaches out to those in need, not because he seeks power or his blessings.

“Even so, Liyue will remember your kindness but none more so than I, Rex Lapis.”

He does not know if you remember him nor what you did, only that when he dons a mortal face to take a walk in the calms before the storm, he finds himself wandering to your garden, mostly on cold nights where you would just sing to the lilies and watch them, with unfading enchantment, bloom.

In a distant memory of an old lover, he hears the same voice but now there stood you. Now a lady, barely a woman with your innocence and mischief.

And he knows that this is wrong, mortals are fleeting as the dust, that he can never grasp with his two hands. Wherever his heart is on anything, other than Liyue, it only ends in tragedy. And oh, how ironic of it all that if you really were his goddess that had found her way back to him, why this form? Why a mortal who is a flower that will wither compared to a mountain that does not crumble?

“It’s a beautiful song, pardon me for interrupting but may I know where you have learned it?”

“Only if you tell me what the god of earth is doing in a place like this, barely even concealed?” Playful, you smile at him playfully as if you knew all the time that he had spent staring from afar and he was not an immortal that could smite the very life out of those pretty eyes.

“The breeze carried your voice and I wondered where you had learned to entice it to your will.” He couldn’t really put a finger when it began, when your singing had lured him like a siren to the depth of the sea.

“You befriend the wind, unlike the earth, you do not command rather ask of it like a companion,” was your simple answer and he smiles like he has found something long lost. You drown him in your presence, but he is not breathless; rather he sighs filled with curiosity like a child who has more to learn from the world that he had been in for thousands of years.

You who had rekindled a reason for his actions, much like Guizhong. This love does not ruffle his heart out of his rib cage, the dust settles and it is as calm as you talking about herbs in this small patch of garden late at night and as calm as the things settle falling into place in his beloved city by the gentle waves of the sea.

“What happened to them after?” You ask your husband, the snow falls outside and you are oh so exhausted to the bone as if the cold had taken all your warmth. He smiles and brushes your cheeks that lost their flush and your skin cold as a corpse, his arms glows gold in the intricate cracks, and you know that this is a bedtime story - though not quite for the night but for the long winter.

The memory scratches at the back of your mind to be remembered, but a part of you warns that you wouldn’t like how it ends.

“According to the books, the lord of geo took his love to the heavens.” He finishes with a chuckle of the irony in it all, a kiss to your temple as your eyes drop, heavy and slumber dragging you to its clutches.

Then finally, Zhongli smiles to bid you goodnight.

He watches you sleep soundly. Sleep if humans can even call it that with the lack of breathing, as still as a corpse that had died peacefully in bed while he is left to wonder of a future that had things ended the way his winter story did.

War ensures losts. Victories demand sacrifices. And the price to pay was always his love.

Zhongli would like to believe that had you died of a natural cause: sickness, accident or of old age where he would have held your aging body, he could’ve had the strength to let you pass on.

Rex Lapis would have had your funeral handled by the esteemed WangSheng, and took your passing as another promise to meet on the other side.

But Morax knows, he could never really.

Never let you go, even after thousands of years and all that you know had returned to the soil. Even when the truths of history had been forgotten by the people and you are nothing but a distant whisper to this land, a footnote to his folklore.

Not even now, when every winter is a reminder of the way he held your cold body against his chest, “I worry about you.” You told him with a supposed to be parting smile, how pitiful must he be for a dying mortal that had not even lived half their life to worry about him.

“Why are you saying goodbye, my love? You aren’t supposed to say goodbye, not yet. It’s much too early,” He tells you with a broken laugh, the war is over like you had asked of him the first time. He is an archcon, the land is his to rule and care, and you are supposed to live many many peaceful years with him, but here you are the embers of war digs its claws in your frail body and had robbed you of life.

Why does the war take and take and take and he who fights only lose things that he keeps to heart?

He doesn’t relent, even if it means breaking the laws of nature itself.

Even when you wake in spring, and you look at him with those empty eyes and ask who he is. At Least you’re here, still there somewhere and it might take thousands of years and more, when the mountain has crumbled against time, one day he believes that you will wake again with love in your lips and warmth in your hands.

#yandere zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #geshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 6.

Summary: Ransom and you attend a wake for his great-nanna Wanetta, with the rest of his family. The knives are out, and they’re sharp…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So here it is, the penultimate chapter to this series! One more to go post this, plus an epilogue. I can’t believe it’s almost over…

Word Count: 9.5k (oops)

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 5

You'd managed to get through Christmas fairly well. The days leading up, Ransom had been a little suspiciously sneaky but you didn't give it a second thought, really. Things between you and your captor were more than amicable, they were pleasant. But, despite the cohabitation and this new found demeanour in him, Ransom wasn't above reminding you that you were still under his eye. And under his eye you were indeed, all day long. He watched you as you read, as you cooked, as you wrote in your journal. Oddly, not once showing interest in your musings but working away on his own.

Christmas morning, the two of you had spent a few lazy hours in bed, Ransom waking you with kisses over your bare skin, stripped down and tired from the evening before where he worked you over until you couldn't move, crying out his name near midnight, his breathless, tired voice telling you 'Merry Christmas' before he slept. After an easy egg and toast breakfast, the two of you were sitting around the lounge, the fire burning, the tree lit, soft music played in the background, watching a fresh layer of snow falling outside. You were reading Dickens' holiday classic, aloud while Ransom sat next to you, idling running a long index finger over your neck in slow and soft, up and down strokes, listening to you. Suddenly he'd stopped and removed the book from your hands.

"I have something for you," he said, a slight eagerness to his tone. He slipped away for a brief moment, pulling a box, intricately wrapped, clearly not by himself, from under the tree. You'd never noticed it there, not once and you wondered when he'd put it there or if he'd hidden it in the very spot this whole time.

The red leather box sat heavy in your hand as you read the gold inscription on the top. With an unsteady breath, you lifted the hinged lid and hitched your breath at what sat inside. A white gold necklace, with two interlocking rings in a signature Cartier design glistened back at you. The screw motifs which were set in ideal oval shaped rings studded with diamonds that twinkled in the light sat snuggly inside against black velvet.

You were stunned. The gesture far too expensive and in your mind inappropriate. But you also thought it was absolutely gorgeous, and you wondered how he'd come up with such an expensive idea. You'd not mentioned anything of the sort in your time together, in fact, you hadn't had jewellery on bar your ball studs in your ears now.

You looked up from the delicate piece and your eyes met expectant ones. "It's beautiful," you spoke softly. "Thank you."

"Let me put it on you," he sat next you whilst taking the box from your hands. He gently pulled it away from the box and unclasped it, settling it around your neck as you moved your hair out of the way, thin tendrils framing your face. Your robe slipped off your shoulder and you felt his soft lips against your skin, down your neck and along your shoulder. "Let me see you," he spoke softly.

You turned in his direction and you saw the way he admired the way the piece sat across your chest, the silk robe you were wearing over your barely-there nightgown gaping open. As his eyes blatantly roved down between the valley of your breasts your own flicked across his casual, lazy-Christmas morning form, his broad chest and shoulders clad in a white thermal, sweats hung low on his hips.

"Perfect," he whispered, leaning towards you.

You were not a bought woman, no; you were his victim, his roommate, his co-habitant, his lover, his partner, his... Oh for Christ's sake you could go on with the labels that did or didn't make sense, were mutual or not, had or didn't carry the weight of a proper explanation. Right now, you were going through the motions and emotions.

"I like it, a lot, thank you again," you replied as his lips grew closer to yours. "I've never had such an expensive gift before."

His lips ghosted over yours, "There's plenty more where that came from, Sweetheart."

The implication of his words had hit you like a freight train as you realised just how many more ‘occasions’ he was planning on the pair of you spending together. New Year, Easter, Spring Break, your birthday, his birthday, summer, Memorial Day. It sparked so many conflicting opinions within you that you were glad of the distraction when he moved, his fingers delicate as he undid the ties of your robe and led you down on the rug before his lips had traced a path down your body and soon he’d had you crying his name, sheer bliss coursing through your veins.

Later that day, you'd made dinner for him, a reminder of how Christmas used to be when Wanetta and his Grandmother shared the festivities. After the quiet meal, he had expected you to join him for a shower, no doubt as pay back for him going down on you earlier. When you'd respectfully declined stating you needed to wash the dishes, he sneered and sulked off. You'd made sure that when he was gone long enough, you were able to get things set up for your gift. Now was the time to show Ransom how gifts of meaning and purpose were to be given and hopefully received. Not that it was going to make a blind bit of difference to your situation, not in the grand scheme of things anyway. You'd finished cleaning and putting everything away and headed into the lounge where you stoked the fire and then made your way back into the kitchen for your supplies. The hot cocoa burning hot, the slices of bread, tongs and a small serving of butter, complete with freshly blended cinnamon sugar. You knew he would come find you when you were not waiting in the bedroom for him. If Ransom Drysdale was anything, it was a creature of expectation and habit. You'd heard him coming down the stairs, that one spot with a creak carrying his footfall. You straightened up your things, setting up the tongs and tray of treats nicely before covering them with a cloth napkin, standing between the coffee table and the fireplace, and waited on baited breath for the tirade you thought was coming. He had turned the corner, his face stern with evident hard lines, his bare chest on display, hair still wet from the shower. You could smell him as he entered the doorway, that scent that you'd soon come to realize made you heady and needy. You waved him over, a hunt of excitement to your tone, "come on, come sit." “I don’t want to sit, Sweetheart, I want you like I had you before dinner. Crying my name with you under me.” He stood just inside the doorway, with his arms folded across his chest, sweats hung low on his hips. He wore no shirt just to entice you, but you weren't giving in so easily. "I'll say your name as many times as you want, but first, I need to give you my gift." You chose then to look at him with big eyes, sincere yet seductive.

It was a stare off between the two of you, he not budging and you popping your hip out to one side as you folded your arms over your chest. He had his fun, now you wanted to enjoy something and gift giving brought you joy.

Like a child told to apologize for hitting another, he hung his head and sulked over. You could tell it pained him to obey your request. But you again saw through his facade. You knew this meant far more to him than anything he'd ever received.

But he'd never tell you that. Not that you thought anyway. “Oh stop being so you, Ransom, for just five minutes.” You snorted exasperatedly at his petulant nature. “It’s Christmas.” With a roll of his eyes that would make any toddler jealous, he took to his knees sitting on his heels. With a smirk, you joined him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, "Merry Christmas, Ransom." You pulled the napkin off the tray revealing the contents of your gift. His eyes moved over the tray, first seeing the mugs of cocoa, topped with whipped cream that was beginning to melt into the warm liquid. The tongs, the bread, the small pinch bowls of cinnamon sugar and the soft butter. With his mind occupied, you managed to grab a throw and wrap it around the two of you. He blinked, and you could see that he was fighting the smirk that was threatening to cross his handsome face. “Toast?” He finally asked and you nodded, smiling. "I couldn't go get you something, not that it mattered, so this was the next best thing." A flicker of something darkened his face, and for a moment you thought you saw regret flash in his eyes, just like the day he had marked your face but as soon as it had appeared it was gone. "Just enjoy it, even if you can't say anything about it, just...." you shrugged, "remember." That night, after the toast with cinnamon butter and cocoa from scratch were shared, he had his way with you, delightfully slow, once more by the fire, you again crying out his name and he yours, over and over again. By the time he finished, you were both boneless and breathless, his body covering yours until he rolled over and the two of you slept by the fire, wrapped up in each other's arms, the heavy throw around your naked bodies.

Christmas had been nice. Maybe, somewhat enjoyable, you'd admitted to yourself. Of course, the wrench of not seeing your family had weighed like a stone in your gut, compounded by the fact that thanks to the lie you’d been forced to tell Blanc, they thought this was your choice. That you were staying away from them because you wanted to, when nothing could be further from the truth. You missed your mom and dad goofing around over presents, still trying to tell your now well grown-up sister and you Santa had been. You ached for the usual family politics that manifested when your uncles and aunts descended for dinner. You longed for your sister to be complaining about how fat she was going to get…

"We have to go," Ransom’s deep baritone caught you completely off guard, making you jump as you stood staring out of the large French windows over the garden from the master suite.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath to centre yourself, your heart racing at the speed of light from your fright. You took a glance at yourself in the mirror above the fireplace and found yourself wishing you’d done a better job at covering up the ugly scab and green bruising on your face.

You followed Ransom in his tan coat, pin striped slacks and a black cashmere sweater as he strode from the room. You felt nervous, anxious, scared. This was the first time you were leaving the house in two months. He led you to the garage where you started walking to the SUV he'd taken you in but he stopped you short, calling out to you, "not this time, Sweetheart." He stood at the passenger door to his vintage BMW. You swallowed and walked towards the door he was holding open for you. Wordlessly, you sank into the passenger seat and reached for your belt. Pulling it across your lap, you adjusted the pencil skirt and blouse you'd tucked into so as not to wrinkle it, your soft black peacoat bluky in your seat. The car roared to life, throbbing beneath you, the hum of the engine might, in other circumstances, have excited you. But now, the only thing filling you was dread. The first time you’re out of your "castle", and it's to go to a wake, for Wanetta Thrombey.

Go figure. ***** The silence in the car was stifling. Every so often Ransom stole a glance at Y/N to find her simply staring out of the window, at one stage reaching up to wipe her eye. He didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t an idiot. Over Christmas he’d caught her numerous time completely zoned out, as if she was somewhere else, just like she had been moments before they had left. And whilst she’d done her best to keep her tears and attitude at bay, she’d been clipped with him a number of times which he’d simply let slide and instead of reminding her about her attitude, he’d pressed her to tell him what was wrong. She’d quietly admitted that she missed her family, something Ransom simply couldn’t understand, so in the spirit of their recent candid openness, he’d asked her bluntly why she needed them so much when he gave her everything she could possibly ever want. At that she had snorted, and taken great pains to explain to him that just because he failed to understand something didn’t make it any less valid of a feeling to someone else and then she’d deftly changed the subject, and he’d allowed the conversation to steer elsewhere.

And now, the first time she’d been anywhere but the inside of his house and strictly the garden for months, they were headed to spend time with his shit-head family. The irony was staggering when you considered it. He eased his beloved beemer onto the main road and pushed his foot down on the gas, weaving himself in and out of the light traffic obnoxiously fast. But he wasn’t known for his patience, he had somewhere to be and in his mind; the faster he got there the faster he could leave, keen to spend as little time with his family as possible. About halfway into the journey, Ransom felt that familiar cold feeling in his stomach as he pulled off the freeway and on to one of the smaller roads. He could drive this journey with his eyes closed but it was the first time he’d been back to the mansion since... well, since IT had all gone down. The more he thought about it, the more agitated he could feel himself getting, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the car with a force that made his knuckles white. He was jolted however, with the feeling of a hand on his arm and his head turned slightly to see Y/N looking at him. She didn’t say anything, and no sooner had he registered her touch she moved her hand dropping it back into her lap, eyes focussed downwards as his turned back to the road. He swallowed, that familiar and uncomfortable feeling of remorse once more washing over him. Despite everything he had done to her, she was still voluntarily lending him comfort.

Ten minutes later, he swung up the tree-lined driveway, his heart pounding in his chest. His jaw set hard as the mansion came into view, and low and behold his mother, standing on the front steps, a cigarette between her fingers as she exasperatedly texted on her phone. A meek voice came from the seat beside him, "its going to be okay." But he couldn't decipher if she were talking to him or herself. He cut the engine, his hands still on the wheel as he sighed and hung his head, before he turned to her. “I don’t need to warn you about trying anything do I?” He asked, ignoring her effort to placate him. "No," she replied quietly. “Good.” He reached out and gently gripped her chin between his thumb and finger, pressing as soft kiss to her lips, the action as much for him as it was for the benefit of his mother who was watching the pair of them. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” He gracefully unfolded himself from the driver’s side, shutting the door behind him and strode to the front of his car, waiting for Y/N to catch up. Her face was set, an expression he’d seen countless times before when she’d been fearful and acting under duress. He watched as she took a deep breath and drew back her shoulders whilst he reached for her hand. Obediently, she took it and together they strode towards the large wooden door, his mother watching them as they approached "You're late," Linda scoffed.

He paid her no mind and pulled Y/N along his side. “I’m sure Nanna won’t mind too much, you know, on account of her being dead.” He retorted sardonically.

You stood by his side, your eyes watching Linda and she turned her attention to you, her eyes narrowing a little, a strange expression on her features, almost as if she was sussing you out. But, as her eyes flicked to your injured cheek before they darted to Ransom who still had a possessive grip around your hand you realised with horror it wasn’t you she was suspicious of. It was the bruise on your face, more so how it had gotten there.

You cleared your throat. “Funny thing,” you gestured to it and her eyes snapped to yours, “too much Scotch and I tripped. Face first into the corner of my vanity."

Okay, so it wasn’t a complete lie…but you still felt sick to your stomach at how quickly you’d jumped to his defence.

“Sure.” Linda arched an eyebrow.

“What exactly are you getting at, Mother?” Ransom looked at her, his jaw set and Linda rolled her eyes, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Nothing really, I just find it extremely odd that you get an interview with this girl to clear your name and she ends up in your bed, only after she’s done a complete hatchet job on all of us first.” She dropped her cigarette end to the floor before she looked at him shrewdly.

“For which she published an apology.” Ransom’s voice was flat and carried an undertone of annoyance to which Linda paid no attention.

“Because you’re really the type to forgive and forget so easily.” She scoffed as Ransom gave a dramatic sigh as his mother continued, her head now turning to you. “You know, I could hardly believe it when Blanc told us you were with him, and then I saw you with my own eyes and now here you are again…“

“What do you mean, when Blanc told you?” Ransom frowned as his hand contracted almost painfully around yours, a warning no doubt to remain silent. His mother had hit the nail on the head, proving that she knew her son a lot better than you, and no doubt he, had bothered to give her credit for.

“Her disappearance was all over the news, more so because they’d linked it to that god-awful cretin of an actor, Lucas Lee.” She turned back to look at him. “But, no sooner had they done that he was cleared thanks to a cast-iron alibi and low and behold, a few weeks later Blanc turns up.” Linda raised her brows, her gaze fixed on Ransom. “I told him where to find you-“

“Gee, thanks.” Ransom drawled and she glared at him, before he rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand for her to continue.

“And obviously he did as he came back a day or so later, saying that to his surprise you-“ her eyes flicked to yours then and you swallowed “-were seemingly there, of your own accord.”

“I erm,” you fumbled on your words and felt Ransom let go of your hand, his palm warm as it now rested between your shoulder blades. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for another lie, one that this time you’d spun before and you shrugged, licking your lips. “I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I came to realize that despite my scathing feature, Ransom intrigued me. I wanted to get to know him more. One thing led to another and I figured if we kept our relationship quiet for a while, I'd save myself the spit on my face from my family and people like you.”

“People like me?” Linda arched a brow, her lips quirking up at one side. “

“I didn’t mean…” You shook your head, quickly taking a deep breath. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“A tad, but I’ve had worse.” Linda’s eyes twinkled with something that looked like amusement as she reached into her pocket for her packet of cigarettes. “But, what I don’t understand is, why let your family believe you were missing, dead even?”

“I, well, I was under a lot of pressure at work, and everything just got too much and needed to escape, from everything. Ransom told me to stay with him for a while to get some head space and I didn’t mean to cause anyone any hurt or upset and-“

You stopped dead as you felt Ransom curl his hand round the back of your neck, giving a squeeze in warning. You were rambling.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Sweetheart,” his voice was softly spoken as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “it’s none of her business.”

Linda looked at you for a moment, before she turned to her son and shrugged, popping another cigarette into her mouth. “I’ve long since given up trying to understand anything you did.”

“Well, like the judge said,” Ransom moved, his hand now on the base of your spine as he turned and guided you to the large door of the house, “not of sound mind.”

In the spacious drawing room, the rest of the family was gathered around. There were no others at the wake, Wanetta having outlived everyone she knew. You knew Ransom would offer no introductions, but that wasn’t an issue, you knew everyone anyway from your extensive research into this fucked up family. The fire burned in the background, and Ransom’s father, Richard, lounged in an arm-chair, a young woman who you presumed to be the au-pair Ransom talked about with disdain, perched on his lap. Walt was perched in another arm-chair, his wife Donna stood behind him, clutching a half drunk glass of wine, their son Jacob absent from the room. Marta and Meg were perched on the couch with Joni flitting about, a crunch from a carrot stick heard from across the room. You walked in and immediately felt the daggers in your skin as all eyes turned towards you. The knives were out and you swallowed, adjusting your sleeve, feeling Ransom's presence behind you.

“Here…” you felt Ransom’s hands gently pulling on the shoulders of your coat and he slipped it from your body, gently pressing another kiss to your cheek. You turned to look at him, offering him a small smile before he moved to hang the coat up on the stand at the far side of the room.

“Y/N, right?” Marta was the first one to speak as she stood up, and you nodded, not bothering to ask how she knew your name. It was a given she’d have read the article, and it was also a given thanks to the conversation moment’s ago with Linda, that the rest of the family had also been briefed on the fact you were ‘with’ Ransom. What clearly hadn’t’ been anticipated from the not-so-covert surprised glances that were being shared, was that he would have brought you today. “Can I get you a drink?” She continued and you smiled.

“Please, erm, a wine would be great.”

“Red or white?”

“She prefers white.” Ransom spoke and Marta’s eyes darted to his. You instantly felt his entire body language stiffen and you turned to him, the distaste evident on his face, his entire aura radiating utter disdain and bitterness.

Marta simply took a deep breath, her expression flat, but her eyes fierce as they remained in a silent stand-off.

“Can’t she speak for herself?” Meg scoffed and Ransom pulled his eyes away from Marta, turning his glare to his cousin.

“Is explaining what a lady prefers to drink considered sexist as well now or…”

“He’s right,” You jumped in quickly, smiling at Marta. “White is great, thanks.”

Marta nodded.

“Hugh?” She looked at Ransom and you blinked at the use of that name and then realised, of course, she’d once upon a time been the help. That said, you knew she was saying it simply because she wanted to, not that her status required it and there was an amused look on Ransom’s face as he turned to her.

“Beer.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself at his lack of manners, but from the expression on Marta’s face she’d been expecting it, and to be honest, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t been. Her lips curled into a sarcastic grin as she turned and headed out.

“You should try it, Donna. It’s got camomile and lavender in. I swear by it.” Your ears then picking up on a conversation between Walt, Donna and Joni and you turned your head towards them, Ransom’s arm curled round your waist, hand resting heavy on your hip. Joni bit down on the carrot stick she was holding with a flourish of her hands. “It’s my favourite thing FLAM have done.”

"You know, I'm surprised you didn't go under given you're no longer receiving Dad's money.” Walt interjected and Joni rolled her eyes.

“Shows how much attention you pay, Walt. When I released that new line of bath-bombs and candles, sales, like literally, went through the roof.”

“Bath-bombs?” Walt frowned.

“Yeah, they’re like little cakes if you will of dried soap and fragranced that you drop into a-“

“I know what they are.” Walt rolled his eyes as Marta appeared, handing you your drink which you took with a thanks. “I was commenting on the fact you said you’d launched a new line.”

“Oh, yeah.” Joni munched her carrot stick some more. “I got the idea from Gwyneth Paltrow when she released that candle scented like her vagina.” At that you choked on your drink and hastily avoided looking at anyone in the room as various groans and loud protests from the males hit your ears.

At that point Linda walked back into the room and sat down in a chair not far from where you were sat and she smoothed down her trousers before she peered up at Ransom.

“How’s the book coming along?” She asked, peering from over the top of her wine glass as she sipped from it.

“Fine.” Ransoms shrugged. “Few little blocks here and there but I’ll work through them. Granddad always told me sometimes it pays to take a step back and pause, ideas often come when you’re not expecting them.”

Linda smiled, and you were pleased to see that, for once, it appeared genuine, as if she was actually looking at her son with something more than ambivalence. And then, the moment was ruined as Meg burst out laughing.

“You’re writing a book? What’s it called? ‘Ransom’s Guide To Being An Asshole’?” She snorted and Ransom took a deep breath.

“Eat shit.”

“Original.” Meg replied drily rolling her eyes, “you know, I'm jealous of all the people that haven't met you.” She stated as her eyes turned to you. “Seriously, what the fuck do you see in him? Why on earth anyone would ever want to be in the same room with him, let alone share his bed is completely beyond me.”

“Tell me, Meg, when was the last time you got laid?” Ransom turned to her, a smirk on his face. “And your dildo doesn’t count.” “Fuck you, you fucking prick.” Meg seethed before she turned to look at you, her face angry. “You know, it must be serious if he’s bringing you here; he normally just keeps his fuck buddies on speed dial.”

“And throws the money on the mattress.” Walt mumbled.

At that, Ransom tensed and he turned his face towards his Uncle, his nostrils flaring. But before he had time to answer back, Richard let out a derisive snort and Ransom instead turned his head to his father.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Ransom shot back, “Tell me, how much do you pay the barely legal whore sat on your lap?”

“You little shit.” Richard spat as the poor woman in question shifted uncomfortably, her mouth falling open as the insult Ransom had shot at her registered.

You stood stock still, a warm and uncomfortable feeling washing over you as the family continued to bicker. You could feel a headache coming; this was becoming too much for you to cope with.

“Oh for God’s sake.” Linda groaned, almost lazily from her spot on the chair. “Is it too much to ask that one of our family deaths goes by without starting another feud?”

"Oh that's rich, coming from you!” Richard, turned to her. Linda met her ex-husband’s glare with a completely blank expression on her face, before she scoffed.

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous glasses?” She demanded, referring to the spectacles that adorned Richard’s face, the style being something you would attribute to Harry Potter.

“So I can see.”

“You never needed glasses in the entire thirty-four years we were married.” She scoffed.

“I did.” Richard shrugged, a snarky grin curling at one side of his mouth and you instantly recognised that expression as being one Ransom sported a lot. “Just preferred it when I couldn’t see your face.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open and you felt yourself bristle as you took a breath.

“Are you actually gonna let your dad say that to your mom?” You glanced up at Ransom. His head turned slowly towards you and the expression of anger on his face at being called out made your blood run cold. You recoiled a little and your eyes immediately darted to the floor.

“Sorry.” You whispered.

"This is fun," Jacob snickered as he, from out of nowhere, waltzed into the room and took a seat in the corner of the bay window, never once looking up from his phone. “Ransom once more manages to spark an argument.”

“Y/N meet Jacob, the poster child for the pro-choice movement.” Ransom gestured to the teenager in front of you who merely rolled his eyes as both Walt and Donna began to yell and hurl insults back at Ransom.

“Says the guy whose birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory.” The teen mumbled back.

“Ooh, good one, which one of your alt-right, KKK loving buddies did you learn that from?” Ransom quipped, and in a quick change of decorum, the room erupted with slander and jabs being shouted and tossed about, most of the commotion being pointed at Ransom.

It was a cacophony of noise and sound, which infiltrated your head, making your brain buzz and crackle like the wick of a dynamite stick and it was too much. After months of quiet with no one to listen or talk to bar Ransom, it was overwhelming and you felt sick.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” You mumbled, seizing the chance, as he was distracted.

You made your way into the hallway where you stood, your back leaning against the dark wooden panelling, taking huge gasps of air. Your chest hurt, your head was spinning and your legs burned but those deep breaths didn’t help. Your hand slapped against your chest, hoping to ebb the sting. Soon, lightheaded, and with a slight spin to the space around you, you felt a cool hand on your shoulder through your blouse. Your head turned and you saw a sweet pair of eyes looking at you with worry.

“Let’s get you some real air, come on,” it was Marta, coming to your aide.

She took you outside, to a covered patio, with wicker furniture and heating lamps. The rush of cold air hit your flushed skin and a different sting erupted through your lungs as the bite of winter’s breath filled you.

“Here.” The young woman handed you a tartan blanket, which you took with a grateful look, still not quite able to form any words. She helped you sit down on one of the chairs and made sure the blanket was snug around your shoulders as she took a seat opposite you.

“They’re a little overwhelming, but you get used to it,” she rubbed a small hand up and down your back.

You just looked at her, your eyes watering as you came down from your panic. You had no desire to get used to it, to any of it, but as per anything in this fucked up situation, you were no doubt going to have to, like it or not.

The breaths you took became longer, deeper, the peak of panic now steadying out leaving you feeling shaky and exposed.

“I’m sorry, that was…”

“You don’t have to apologise. With what’s happening inside, this is normal.” Marta softly smiled with a chuckle. “I’d be worried if they weren’t screaming at each other.”

“Can I ask you something?” You looked at her, speaking softly.

“Of course.” She replied, just as hushed.

“Why did you do it? Have everyone over? You don’t owe them anything.”

The former nurse rubbed her palms on her pants, “well, it’s what Wanetta wanted. She sorta came with the house and it was her last wish, for the family to come together. I think she thought after everything that happened something might have changed?” Marta shook her head at the audacity of the sound of it. “She didn’t say much more, but Allan had given me her will and that’s all it read. Things would remain the same but she wanted them here after she was cremated, for a final goodbye.”

“I admire her optimism.” You stated flatly and Marta laughed before she gave a heavy sigh, a sad smile on her face.

“Well, she loved them, not that any of them cared, not in years. The only one I ever noticed take mind of her out of want and not duty was Ransom.” She kept her eyes on yours as she spoke, genuine care coming from the sound of her. “But that was before…when he…with Harlan.”

You glanced away, not totally surprised but still a little shocked so to speak that someone else had noticed there was a little shred of humanity buried underneath all his asshole bravado. You leaned forward on your thighs, elbows resting there as your hands wrung together, a nervous habit you’d recently developed.

“Can I ask YOU something?” Marta wondered. You nodded, your stomach knotting, hoping I wasn’t what you suddenly thought it could be. “You’ve spent time with Ransom. I read your article and your apology. Do you believe all of this? The not of sound mind?” Her eyes were sorrowful but held a glare of contempt at the circumstance.

“Uh…” you started but the opening of the patio door caught both of your attentions and the man in question stepped outside, your coat in his hands.

“I was worried,” he stated, opening your coat for you as you automatically stood to receive the gesture. You had no doubt his worry was genuine, but whether it was for you or what you may or may not have revealed was another question.

“I needed some air,” you admitted, “Marta came to my rescue.”

“One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.” Ransom quipped in reference to the chaos of the family being together, chaos he narcissistically enjoyed partaking in.

You looked up at those daring blue eyes, “Mark Twain.”

He quirked a brow in agreement before his eyes flicked to Marta and then back to you. “Was I interrupting something, Sweetheart?”

There it was, that warning tone in his voice. You were on thin ice. You stuffed your hands into your peacoat pocket and shook your head.

“No.” You cleared your throat as you held his gaze. “Like I said, I just needed some air.”

As he stood there, his eyes searching hers he took a deep breath as she gazed back up at him, fear simmering within those deep globes. Ransom reached out, pulling her to him, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “As long as that’s all it was.”

Recognising his comment for what it was, half concern and half warning, she nodded against his chest. Without so much as another glance at Marta, he turned, his arm looped possessively over her shoulders as he led her back inside. He walked slowly down the hallway, stooping slightly to speak into her ear. “From now on, you don’t leave my sight, you got that?”

“Yeah, okay.” She whispered and nodded.

“Good girl,” he smiled, tipping her face up with on finger under her chin, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

*****

The next hour or so passed reasonably uneventfully. Ransom was careful to keep as much distance between him, Y/N and the rest of the assholes in the room as possible. When the buffet was served, he watched as she picked at the plate of food she had selected, not eating a terrible amount. She’d gone in on herself again, and he found himself a little disappointed if truth be told.

“We’ll leave soon.” He turned to her and she looked at him, “you’ve behaved today, I’m impressed.”

At that she rolled her eyes. “Is going back to that fucking house supposed to be a reward or something?”

At that Ransom felt a surge of anger and he glared at her, the nerve in his jaw twitching. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.” His voice was low, and a growl but to his surprise, instead of recoiling at his outward hostility and warning she simply sat up straight, her shoulders squaring and met him with a filthy look of her own.

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“Oh we already played that game.” His lip curled back in a snarl. “Several times.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Walt leaned forward a little to pick up something off one of the plates on the table by Ransom and he took a breath, his eyes still trained on Y/N before he turned to his uncle.

“Are you not dead yet?”

“Do you have to talk to everyone like that?” Joni sighed. “God, Ransom.”

“Well I thought the guys who bust his leg might have caught up with him by now, no such luck.” Ransom shrugged.

“Listen here you little shit,” Walt leaned over the table, but no sooner had he done that he suddenly began coughing on whatever food he had in his mouth.

“I’m listening.” Ransom quipped as Walt continued to splutter, Donna hastily hitting him on the back.

Jacob, who wasn’t even looking at the table, too engrossed in his phone, then spoke. “What did you eat, Dad? Wasn’t anything he gave you was it? I mean he did kill Grandpa so I wouldn’t put it past him to poison you either.”

A deadly silence spread across the room as Ransom took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on his cousin, his hand clenching into fists. Besides him, Y/N let out a shaky breath and her head turned to look at him but he didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he leaned back in his chair and when he spoke next, his voice was icy.

“Not of sound mind.”

“Yeah, we heard. Loaf of bullshit if you ask me, but then again an expensive lawyer can get you off most things these days.” Walt snarled.

“Enough!” Linda yelled, her hand smacking on the table. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Besides him, Y/N had begun to tremble, and Ransom glanced at her to see she was taking deep breaths, her chest heaving, face stony as she stared at the wall opposite, where a picture of his Nanna Wanetta was hung.

“Oh shut up Linda!” Walt turned to her. “Everyone here knows he’s guilty as sin, even you! Why the fuck he’s even here is beyond me. And as for you...” He turned to Y/N and she gave a start, her eyes flicking to him. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead as there ain’t no gold to be digging for. She got it all.” He pointed his fork at Marta and then that was it. Y/N let out a hell of frustration, standing up that quickly her chair tumbled to the ground behind her, the plate clattering to the floor by her feet.

“You think I’m with him for his money?” He glared at Walt, the entire room silent as all eyes focussed on her. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea. I’m with him because I have-“

At that Ransom’s hand shot out and curled round her wrist, his grip tight in warning and she jerked away from him, glaring down at him with a fire in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“The whole lot of you are fucked in the head.” She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life. You’re nothing but a bunch of self-entitled, narcissistic assholes. After everything you've been through, you can’t even find it in your cold dead hearts to come together honour a member of your family that died without reducing the entire event to some kind of sick, twisted game of one-upmanship. Each and every one of you are all about yourselves, and what you can do to out accomplish the other. As far as I’m concerned each one of you can fuck off and die. You disgust me."

She took a deep breath, running her hands over her face before she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

Ransom blinked, watched her leave, a slam of the door behind her. He stood there for a brief moment, processing what had just happened. He looked back to his family with a smug shrug and at that he headed quickly after Y/N, his mother's obnoxious and loudly over dramatic gasp bouncing off his back as he too slammed the front door.

****

It was your turn to stand there and act like a petulant child as you leaned against the hood of the Beemer, cares and all fucks be damned. You were tired, you were angry and God damn down right fed up with this entire family and their bullshit. You didn't even make eye contact with him as Ransom as he approached the car. You simply moved to your door, slipped in as he did and waited for him to start the car. You felt his eyes in him, heard him open his mouth to say something but rather he just took in a breath and started the engine. You sat there, your arms crossed over your chest, knees at an angle, pointed towards your door, away from him.

A rumble of a chuckle escaped his chest, "Oh Sweetheart, that was really something."

"Just drive," you spat out, turning your head to him in annoyance. Now he didn't find you amusing, this new air of confidence about you. He cleared his throat and looked at you with a stern gaze.

"Careful, Y/N," he warned, pulling around the drive to the long road before the main. You didn't care. You raised your brows as if you were silently emphasizing your demand, it was not a request, even in the slightest.

The bare trees and snow covered ground began flying by your window, clearly Ransom laying the pedal to the floor as you shook your head.

"What the hell was even the point of going today? It was blatantly obvious that they didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be there. If you wanted to mourn Wanetta, we could have done it from the confines of the prison you like to keep me in. Or was this just another shitty way for you to torture me? Huh? Was that amusing to you, Hugh, making me spend an afternoon with your fucked up family, whom you hate, when you’re keeping me from mine? God, you really are a twisted son of a bitch.”

Your tirade set his skin on fire, you could see the tinge of red flushing his skin as he white knuckled the wheel, his hand on the gear shift squeezing the hell out of it as you spoke. Then very quickly you felt your body lurch forward as he slammed on the breaks. "What the fuck did you just say?"

“What, are you deaf?” You blazed. “I asked why we were there? I mean I thought we were going to pay respects to your Great-Nanna, because stupid me actually believed that you felt something, you know, some kind of sorrow that she was gone, and I actually felt sorry for you at first when we got in there, and they were unloading all their vile little opinions and digging in at you and-“

"Now you listen to me you little bitch," he spat, cutting you off. "I didn’t ask for, nor do I need your pity. I don’t care what my family say to me, or think about me. And I certainly don’t care what they think or say about you”

“Oh my god, you are…” You shook your head, looking out of the window, taking a deep breath. “This isn’t pity, Ransom.”

“No, because that’s what it sounds like.” He seethed, his hands curling round the steering wheel.

“Of course it does.” You scoffed. “Because that’s probably all you’ve ever felt towards anyone else isn’t it? Pity, because they’re never going to be as good as you, or have the things you have. Well you might be rich in money terms but fuck, in everything else you’re a pauper. Have you ever truly empathised with someone? Like have even once fully understood what someone else feels? Their sorrow, their happiness, their joy?”

“What the fuck are you getting at?”

You sighed, considering your options. You knew what you wanted to tell him-that the fact he wasn’t loved as a child left him incapable of the simple emotions normal people met, but he was calling you out. And now, it was play it soft or rip it off like a band-aid…

And despite the feeling of foreboding washing over you, you chose the latter. You were tired of playing his mind games, tired of this whole situation. And whatever fucked up punishment he was going to inflict on you, well, it couldn’t be worse than anything he’d already done, you’d take it.

“You don't know how to be happy, or how to love Ransom, because you've never seen it. You've never experienced it. You just breeze through life thinking you can take what you want when you want, and it doesn't work like that.”

“You’re starting to really piss me off. If I wanted a therapy session, I’d pay for one.” He snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”

“See, this is what I mean!” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You just asked me to elaborate, so I did, and know because I’m saying something that you don’t like or don’t wanna hear, you’re resorting to being an asshole. Every time I think I’m getting through to you, I…” You fell silent, swallowing as he glared at you, nostrils flaring and you took a deep sigh, knowing that this was pointless. “You know what, forget it. I shouldn’t-“

“No, you clearly got something to say, so go on. Say it.”

“What, so you can punish me when we get back for pissing you off some more?”

At that his face faltered and he took a deep breath, hanging his head. When he raised it again to look at you, his face was softer and he looked out of the windscreen, licking his lips. “I’m not…gonna punish you, okay.”

“How do I know?” You whispered, shaking your head. “How can I trust that you’re not just gonna lock me back in that damned basement and come down when you want to fuck me and-“ “Because I’m not!” His voice rose. “I don’t want you down there anymore. So I’ll ask again, you think you know so much about how to love,” he framed the word with his fingers, "then tell me what you think it means.”

“Fine, you wanna know…I’ll tell you. It's going on dates, it’s fun, its surprising, it’s feeling like you can’t breathe if the person you are in love with leaves you. It’s not about owning them or breaking them or how much you buy a person or throwing money at them, it’s showing them you know how they are, that you understand what they appreciate and what they need and what they want, a lot of times without being told.” You took a deep breath, watching his face, his expression never faltering. “Love is something that can't always be explained. It's that feeling of family, of having your person. Someone your heart and soul changes for, grows with. Love is a mother's hug or kiss goodnight, a father's ball landing in your mitt with a joyful laugh and smile. Love isn't forced or taken. It's given and received. It's...."

"Fresh hot cocoa on a rainy day when you have nothing left in a world that hates you,” he spoke softly, and when you realized what he'd said it stopped your thoughts cold. Did that mean what you thought it meant? That he loved you?

You were lost for words, but before you could protest and tell him he was wrong, he sighed and looked at you.

“You asked me before why I brought you today. That’s why. Because they hate me. And you make me feel fucking safe around those pieces of shit.” Your breath caught in your throat whilst your mind raced for how to respond. The tension and suspense filled the air about the two of you. You stared at him, his eyes soft, expectant, darting over your features with a bouncing worry. The reaction time between his words and your next move was merely a minute but you had quickly found a way to capitalize on this moment. You threw your belt off and kicked your heels off in the process, moving over the gear shift and the centre console into his lap, the center seam of your skirt tearing as you straddled him. "Wha...." his words were cut off by your lips on his, your palms over his softly shaven face, fingertips sliding into the hair behind his ears. Immediately, your tongue slipped deep inside his mouth, lolling around with his. His hands found your waist and gave you a squeeze. You came to your knees as best you could in the small space and continued to kiss him while trying to inch your skirt higher. He'd guessed what you were trying to do and you felt his hands move from your waist to the tops of your thighs, fingers trailing down quickly to the hem of your skirt, lifting it to above the curve of your ass where it bunched. He didn’t ask or question your sudden burst of confidence or seeming desire, just as you’d banked on, instead he was quite happy to go with it, as usual always ready to fuck you any which way he could. Your hands trailed over the soft material of his sweater and down to the end of it, where it met the top of his slacks. You lifted the clothing slightly to ghost over his skin causing him to flinch before your finger tips found the button and zip of his flies. That maddeningly smug smirk spread across his face and your lips crashed back to his, a furious clash of teeth and tongue, your hands still fumbling with his pants. He was half hard before you even got him free, no doubt from the heated exchange the two of you had to get to here. As you palmed his girth in your hand, your brain switched from playing him to wanton need, a basic primal instinct of desperation to release the toxic stress your body held. His big hand and thick fingers trailed over your hip, your ass, down your thigh and finally cupped your heat and a deep ferrral growl emitted from his chest as he'd realized you'd worn nothing under that skirt. He dipped two fingers inside you straight away and you cried out, "fuck" as your body bent back away from him, keening at the feeling. “Fuck, baby, you’ve had nothing on under here all day?” His fingers curled inside of you and you groaned, your head rolling back as your hips pushed forward, thrusting against his hand. You couldn't use your words, you looked down at him with your pupils blown and your bottom lip between your teeth. You gave him a squeeze instead and he quickly lurched you into the steering wheel with his chest, his fingers falling away and both hands tearing your blouse open, buttons flying that will never be found. His nose tucked between the valley of your breasts and he inhaled between your fleshy mounds, his tongue dipping against the underside of your thin bra. His hands each palming an ass cheek and squeezing so hard, it delightfully stung. With what little space the two of you had to move, Ransom pulled you down into his lap, the need to feel you wrapped around him dangerously feral. It took no time for that single motion to get his head then every inch of his shaft deep inside you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he ground out. He didn't care the mess she would make or the way he'd cum so hard he'd leak out of her, no, he wanted to fuck her senseless and that's exactly what he'd do. His heels cemented themselves into the footwell of the car as his hips jutted upward, her body curling in on him. “Harder, please Ransom.” Her voice croaked as she begged him and with a growl that was animalistic his hips picked up their pace as he rutted up into her quickly and harshly. His mouth devoured the tops of her breasts, nipping at her nipples through the material of the lace that covered them while her fingers scratched at the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. In contrast to the cold winter conditions outside, the air inside his beloved car was now hot, fast steaming up the windows, drops of condensation trickling down towards the door sill a perfect mirror image of the sweat that was now sliding down the hollow of her throat and beading on his brow. He could feel her walls begin to squeeze him tighter and tighter with each thrust. His hands curled round her hips, pulling her down onto him as he leaned back, raising his ass off the seat slightly, spearing up into her as deep as he could. "Ransom," you started to shake senselessly, you were crashing fast and hard and there was no slowing down. "Fuck, baby, just like that," you'd heard him say over the blood that rushed to your ears, deafening you, as you came, gripping him like a vice. Your body gave way as your hands sought purchase to ground yourself from entirely collapsing, finding the lapel of his camel coat, white knuckling it with one hand while the other slapped against the damp window which felt like melting ice against your heated palm. A noise burst from your mouth, a half scream, half choked wail, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever made before and you opened your eyes to see Ransom’s icy blue’s locked onto yours, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. His voracious pace continued until the end when he came with a primal growl, his hips raising off the seat far enough to jolt your head against the roof of the car. You felt him fill you, the warmth of his seed settling deep inside, and then some. The air was heavy with the sound of panting as the pair of you came down from the intensity of the moment, The both of you desperately trying to breathe despite the humidity. Your hands curled over Ransom's shoulders as he sagged back in the seat, his hands smoothing up the outside of your thighs. You swallowed hard as his eyes focused on yours. You leaned forward and kissed him slowly, softly, his mouth and body languidly responding. Pulling back slightly, you kept your forehead pressed to his, and took a deep breath before you went straight in for the kill, the reason you’d instigated this entire fuck, to capitalise once more on a seeming chink in his armour. "You said you feel safe with me." He stilled underneath you, his hands gentle as they now rest on your hips and his eyes locked onto yours, widening as he realised his admission. "Do you want me to feel safe with you? To trust you?" You continued, not giving him a moment to deny it. He nodded slowly in reply. "Prove it," you stated. "How?" His voice was croaky as he cleared his throat, a slight frown furrowed his brow. "I want to see my family again." He looked at you, and you kept your eyes locked on his, a challenge to him to make good on his word, gambling on him actually wanting you to trust him as he had taken great pains to demonstrate through various means over the past few weeks. This was it, the moment where you would find out exactly what he truly wanted- someone to love and trust him, or someone to fear and obey him. He let out a slow breath through his nose and his eyes flicked over your shoulder before they returned to yours and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod. But a nod nonetheless. “Okay.”

**** Part 7

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