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evergone · 3 months

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Lonely

Theodore Nott x Legilimens! reader

Warnings: Swearing.

Description: The reader has no friends until destiny (in the form of a boy named Theodore Nott) does everything to make her feel like she belongs.

In your first year, you were put in a dorm by yourself. You heard so many times that this was a gift — a sign of your good fortune, Professor Trelawney said — as everyone else in your year group had to share with someone else, but you, the introvert you were, were left to your own devices. Despite these assumptions, you quickly discovered that sharing a dorm was central to establishing friendships, and you spent the vast majority of your high school life friendless and alone.

At times, your boredom and your loneliness were so all-encompassing that you would read the minds of the first years who you knew wouldn’t be capable of sensing the imposition upon their thoughts. None of them thought of much. The boys were preoccupied with daydreams of girls and music (most of them were very into hip-hop as was the popular culture of the nineties), and the girls were nearly all stressing about parties and school work.

You were as much at ease with your situation as one could possibly be. You were of the mindset that if there was nothing you could do about it, why bother? Everyone had their cliques, their friends, and you were just the one to be left out. Your only goal was to get through the remaining year, then you would leave school, rent a house somewhere obscure, become a writer or an archaeologist or something else fun, and start your life over again. But it appeared that destiny had other plans.

Destiny, that supreme, omniscient, omnipotent concept that dwindled above and twisted within the interactions of all peoples, came to you in a free period you were spending in the library. The period before had been Charms, but that was of no consequence, neither was the fact that you had no more classes until later that night when you would make the journey to the Astronomy tower. You were sitting at a desk in the far left corner of the library, tucked between the pages of a number of books written by Z-named authors of some incredibly niche portion of history when Madam Pince’s high-pitched and troubled voice disturbed your rather unproductive attempts to finish your homework.

Ever bored, and hardly ever entertained, you leant to the side to see around the long bookcase. To your surprise, your eyes immediately met with a pair of blue ones. The irises were mere spots lost in the oceans of colour and they darted between you and Madam Pince, desperate for assistance. Behind those eyes, you could hear his mind asking for your help. If you was slightly smarter, you would’ve avoided this person’s gaze altogether and returned to your work.

“Madam Pince,” you said before allowing yourself a moment to think, and the frustrated librarian’s head turned to you in owl-like frustration, “Is everything okay?”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice an angry whisper, “Mr Nott should be in class, instead, he’s here violating my books!”

You glanced at the owner of the eyes. The green lining of his robe told you he was from your house, so you knew him even if only from afar. He hung out with the big group of your housemates most of the time, but you’d observed that he often sat by himself in the common room and the others intruded on his personal time. He was tall — probably six feet or so — and thin, with hair that was darker than blond, but most definitely not as dark as some of his friends’ hair. In the traditional sense, he was handsome, but you’d heard him speak in class before, and his voice bore an awkward intonation as if to speak was to curse which made him seem almost as nerdy as yourself. Despite this, every movement he made seemed elegant no matter his emotion, this was so inherent of a feature that even in that moment — when he was so clearly itching to turn and run — he was like a swan. His name was Theodore Nott, and you’d never spoken to him before.

“He’s supposed to be helping me with my homework,” you blurted out and Madam Pince quirked a pencilled-on eyebrow, “You know I’m terrible with, uh, Ancient Runes.” You both had that class together.

“Yeah,” nodded Theo as he stepped around her and stood by your side, “The professor said it was okay, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“As am I,” she frowned, “Tell her not to let this happen again.”

“Yes, Madam.”

With an irritated hum, she left the two of you alone. Theo turned to face you once she was out of earshot, and let out a sigh of relief before sitting down on the edge of the desk you were at.

“You’re in Slytherin,” he said obviously, “What year?”

You sucked in a breath of air, “Sixth. Yours.”

“Oh.”

His brain exploded with a million thoughts at once, his conscious and subconscious fighting for dominance. You could hear the embarrassment as he reprimanded himself for not knowing, and the confusion as he searched his memories for some sign that he had, in fact, seen you before.

“We have Potions together, and Astronomy, and Divination, and Ancient Runes, and… most of our classes, actually.” You shrugged without a care.

Theo cringed, “Sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you before.”

“I don’t really make my presence known,” you said, “So don’t worry about it.”

“I’m Theodore Nott,” he introduced himself, hand outstretched towards you, “What’s your name? I don’t want to make the same mistake next time.”

“Y/n L/n,” you said and shook his hand. It was soft and had no callouses at all.

“I best be off, I’m missing Arithmancy.”

“Boring.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled and left the library.

Over the course of that afternoon, you were unable to tear your mind away from Theo, and none of your homework was completed as a result. You didn’t go to dinner in the Great Hall. Your mind was much too preoccupied to eat.

At eleven-thirty, your alarm sounded, and you washed your face in preparation for Astronomy. Professor Sinistra demanded that all her students wore their uniforms for her classes, even if said classes were at midnight, but there wasn’t a single person who ever did that other than Hermione Granger. Everyone else tended to pull their robes overtop their pyjamas and call it a day, yourself included.

The lesson wasn’t all that interesting as Sinistra had the class chart some stars for the whole hour. However, you barely managed to get anything done because you were so distracted by Theo who was sitting peacefully at the opposite side of the tower amongst his friends. Including Theo, there were five of them (you didn’t include Crabbe and Goyle, who you always thought were less friends than goons, or Millicent Bulstrode or Tracey Davis, both of whom you knew were periodically hated by the others). Two girls, three boys.

Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, and finally, Theo. At seventeen, his hair was a mostly consistent length of woody brown curls that sat fluffily on his head — if anything it was maybe a bit shorter on the sides. His eyebrows were thick as they always were, and in that particular Astronomy lesson, they were hard pressed against the tips of his long eyelashes that seemed almost too feminine to belong to him. By far the most intriguing and attractive aspect of Theo was, of course, the prominent mole on his left cheek that stole your attention away from a tight-lipped smile he had thrown your way.

Your immediate reaction was to blush and avert your eyes, but upon glancing back and noticing he was still staring, you offered him a short wave. He nodded in response before turning to Draco and saying something too far away for you to hear.

The next morning, or, perhaps, later that morning is the right expression, you went to breakfast in the Great Hall. Not having eaten dinner the night prior had left you so completely starving. You could’ve eaten a pegasus. You sat down on the edge of the Slytherin table by yourself, and loaded a plate with two eggs, about five slices of bacon (it very well could have been more, your memory isn’t perfect), a piece of toast, and a spoonful of baked beans.

“Where are all your friends?”

You looked up to see Theo standing over you chewing on the end of a breadstick.

“Why do you ask?” you questioned.

“Because you’re sitting here by yourself and it looks a bit pathetic, L/n,” laughed Theo teasingly.

“I don’t really have any friends.”

“Oh,” said Theo, “Sorry I asked.”

You shrugged, and as he glanced to the middle of the table you shoved as much of the baked beans into your mouth as possible, and quickly swallowed them. Merlin’s beard, you were so embarrassed.

“Give me a sec,” he said absentmindedly and you almost thought to use your Legilimency on him, “I’ll be right back.”

He placed his breadstick in front of you as if it were a deposit meant to reassure you that he’d be back, but you weren’t fazed either way. You watched as he jogged over to his group of friends and started chatting with them, but never sat down. With his right hand, he motioned back at you, and you glanced away as the rest of them turned to get a good look at you. Suddenly, you were concerned about how well your makeup was applied, and if your uniform looked good, and if there was still too much food on your plate. And then, all of them stood up with their plates, and followed Theo over to sit around you.

Most of them sat on the other side of the table, but Theo sat next to you, and Blaise by his other side. He introduced you to everyone: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, himself (“but you know me already,” he’d joked).

“It’s crazy to think we don’t know you despite being in the same house as you for the past six years,” said Daphne and Pansy elbowed her in the waist, sending her a death glare.

“Excuse her,” Pansy smiled awkwardly, “She’s a bitch.”

Your ears tickled at the word. You weren’t used to people calling those they were friends with such vulgar names… You weren’t used to the idea of friends at all.

Draco started rattling off about half-bloods and “that darn Potter,” spurring his friends into a rather heated conversation. They laughed and cackled loudly at each other, entirely easy around you as if it didn’t matter at all that they didn’t know you.

“Is this okay?” Theo asked you in a whisper once the group had moved on to another topic of conversation.

“Yes, this is nice,” you responded with a blush over your cheeks as you tried not to smile, “I don’t remember the last time I spoke to so many people.”

Theo’s eyes softened, glazed with a thin layer of water that informed you of his empathy. He felt your loneliness as if it was his own. The image of a young version of himself locked in his bedroom, wailing for his long deceased mother, flashed in his memories and seeped into your brain. An involuntary consequence of your extraordinary Legilimency talent.

When Saturday finally arrived, you slept in the whole morning. You only awoke at the sound of a knock on your door followed by a series of laughter at ten o’clock. You rolled out of bed, and for a moment stopped in horror of your hair in front of the mirror to quickly tie it up, and then opened the door.

You were surprised to see Pansy and Daphne there, but even more so when Daphne asked, “It’s Hogsmeade day, why aren’t you ready?”

“Huh?” You said, squinting at the light of the hallway.

“Theo sent us up to grab you, get some clothes on and let’s go,” said Pansy as she pushed past you and slipped into your room, Daphne hot on her heel, “Merlin’s beard, there’s absolutely nothing in here.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got it all to myself,” you muttered.

“Oh, that’s got to be terribly boring,” said Pansy.

Both of the girls made themselves at home as they rummaged through your drawers looking for something nice to wear. They were both dressed very well themselves, and it made you a little self-conscious to think they were going to see all your cheap clothes.

Pansy threw a sheer white shirt you didn’t know you had and a pair of bootleg jeans onto your bed while Daphne kicked over some matching joggers and a big white handbag you’d stolen from your mother.

“It is terribly boring,” you said.

As the three of you descended the stairs (after you got dressed, of course), you could already hear the sounds of masculine voices teetering on yelling at one another. One of them you knew to be Theo’s, and while you weren’t particularly familiar with them, you were inclined to assume the other two voices were Draco and Blaise. At the bottom step out of the girls’ dormitory hallway, you were proven correct when you saw them bickering like old men at a weekend golf tournament.

Draco was the first to notice the three of you, and his grey eyes lit up at the sight, “L/n, come settle an argument for us.”

You walked to join the small group and stood beside Theo, your handbag held meekly between your fingers, the nails of which had magenta paint flaking off them.

“Your mate Theo here—” Draco gestured to him with an uninterested hand, and you nearly laughed at the idea that Theo was your mate more than he was any of the others’— “Thinks that we ought to have a Legilimens registry like we have for Animagi. Frankly, I think it’s absolutely blasphemous that we even have one for Animagi; let them run wild, I say! What are your thoughts? Don’t mind the coincidental pun.”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit biased in this conversation,” you spoke quietly.

“How do you mean?”

The faces of the group stared at you with raised brows, and eyes that glistened with interest, and you were red from the attention.

“Well, I’m a Legilimens,” you admitted, “So, I’d have to disagree with you, Theo, for my own sake.”

“Are you really?” Theo asked to break the silence, and you nodded shyly.

“That’s so cool!” Daphne all but squealed, “What number am I thinking of?”

“Seven.”

She brightened with delight, and slapped Pansy’s arm, encouraging her to try your magic out like a little game. Pansy did just that, and you ended up going around the whole group, describing what they were thinking of. Eight. Twelve. Bakery. Seven. And Theo was questioning why you weren’t already on the way to Hogsmeade.

With that final thought, they grew disillusioned by the game, and you began the walk to Hogsmeade.

You’d never been into town with other people before, not that you went much at all. You usually stayed in your room, or wandered the halls, towering over the first and second years who weren’t allowed to go on weekend Hogsmeade trips yet. But there you were, forming one kink in a string of knots engaging in stimulating conversation about the current condition of the world, and even boring conversation about the homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts which, to you, seemed so thrilling even if only for the fact that it was verbal discourse in some form. You’d forgotten what it was to converse with others.

“Is there anywhere you need to go once we get there?” said Theo once you were nearing the end of the path and closing in on the town.

“I would have been awake before Daphne and Pansy got to my room if I planned to go anywhere today,” you joked and he smiled, “If you don’t mind, I might just go wherever you go.”

All he offered in response was a hum, and it left you thinking that you’d somehow made the air around you awkward. You’d later come to learn that he was just like that, never much of a talker if he thought the situation didn’t call for it.

Almost instantly after you passed sign that read ‘Welcome to Hogsmeade,’ the group dispersed, and Theo and yourself were left to do as you pleased.

Your companion, it seemed, didn’t have much he wanted to do either, so he led you to the Three Broomsticks. Kindly, he offered to pay for a butterbeer or two, but you didn’t think you were close enough for that, so you humbly told him it was alright. You sat in relative silence until our drinks arrived when Theo struck up some conversation.

“What have you been doing all these years by yourself, L/n?” He asked.

“I don’t know… Stuff…”

Theo laughed, and you laughed along with him. Your mind was frazzled by the alcohol, which kept refilling itself as you chatted on, and every so often you found thoughts that didn’t belong to you creeping into your mind, but you couldn’t place who they belonged to. It was just the odd word — sad, or pretty, or damned, or Y/n.

“Nott, are you and Malfoy good friends?” You asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“You seem to argue quite a bit.”

“He’s just like that,” said Theo, “Likes to start shit for no reason, that one.”

You giggled, and he grinned happily. Another person’s thoughts seeped into yours once again, that time a full sentence: ‘I love her laugh.’

The bell that hung over the entrance to the Three Broomsticks jingled, and though you couldn’t see it behind you, you watched as Theo’s expression morphed into one of guilt. You turned over your shoulder, and made out the figures of the four people who had come with you. Each of them were wearing a disappointed look on their faces.

“What in the name of Merlin are you two doing?” asked Pansy, her tone equal parts concerned and amused.

“Nothing,” said Theo.

“Yeah, if ‘nothing’ is code for drinking all day,” said Blaise, “Snape’s gonna have your asses for this.”

The others guided yourself and Theo back to the castle. Your hand was attached to Pansy’s forearm, Theo’s arm was slung over Draco’s shoulder. By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, You were sober enough to move on your own, and thus, started your way up to your dorm.

“Where are you going?” Theo asked curiously. He was far away enough that you couldn’t smell his breath which stunk like the vomit he’d expelled from his body halfway through the walk back.

“My room,” you said.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head and then closed his eyes from the dizziness. “It’s sleepover night. You have to come to our dorm, I made room for you on my bed.”

“I used to sleep there because he’s got the best mattress out of the three of them, but we figured you might prefer to sleep beside him than Blaise,” Daphne explained.

“Oh,” you breathed, “Do I need to contribute anything?”

You hadn’t had a sleepover before. You didn’t know the proper protocol. You assumed one would need to bring at least their pyjamas and a pillow, maybe some sweets of some kind to share. But Theo shook his head, and you were in the boys’ room before you knew what was happening.

The boys’ dorm room was the opposite of yours. So exquisitely full, and intricately messy. The three beds were all the same size as yours with dark green bed hangings, and each about a metre apart.

Closest to the door and to their small shared bathroom was Theo’s bed. On the right, beside the door to the bathroom, he had a tower of books that acted as a wall. His sheets were black, but his pillows and blanket cover were a dark oceanic blue-green. There wasn’t much room, but you spied a large mess under his bed which you assumed was what he’d removed from the bed to make space. On his bedside table sat a small lamp that provided the only light in the room before Daphne declared it was far too ‘dark and gloomy’ and turned on the central light.

On the floor, directly under the light, there was a large medieval-style rug that bore our house crest, and the others sat on it lazily, ushering you over.

“I need a smoke,” said Draco, and he walked over to the window where the ashtray was.

“Me too,” said Theo as he also moved to the window, “You want one, L/n?”

“I’ve never smoked before.”

“Then I shouldn’t get you in the habit,” he smiled, “It is such a terrible habit to have. Costs more than it’s worth.”

He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Draco, and they both lit them with their wands.

“Does it taste nice?” You asked.

“Not particularly,” said Theo.

“Why do you do it then?”

“You’re so curious, L/n,” Draco teased.

Theo playfully slapped him on the chest, “Leave her alone,” he said, and then turned to you, “I’m an addict.”

“That’s got to be bad for your lungs, Nott,” you frowned, suddenly concerned.

“Don’t you worry about him,” said Pansy, a knowing smirk on her lips that told you she was well aware you’d continue worrying.

The night went on much shorter than you wished for it to. You’d hoped, perhaps too eagerly, that none of you would ever sleep. Far too much did you enjoy being awake with those people who you’d met too late in yout life. You were truly happy to have met them because for all the simple joys you’d managed to discover in your time alone, none were half as happy as those grand joys you found with them

You all took turns getting changed in the small bathroom (Theo lent you a shirt to wear), then you all slid into our respective beds. You were nervous about sleeping beside Theo because, in truth, you didn’t really know him. But he placed a pillow between you, and only faced you for a moment — a moment in which there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher, a moment in which you attempted to read his mind all too late — and then he kissed his fingers, and he touched them to your head, and he turned the other way.

“Did you sleep well?” Theo said once he noticed you were awake the next morning.

��I’ve never slept beside someone before,” you explained nervously, “I think it was a decent experience. I hope I didn’t move around too much.”

“Not at all, L/n,” he said.

A hum escaped your mouth, and you were acutely aware that Theo was watching you as you stared up at the roof of his room. Painted on it, Sistine Chapel-style, was a beautiful lush green forest.

“L/n. It’s so formal to call you by your surname.” Theo let out a disapproving tut.

“I call you by yours?” You said as you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“You’re the only one who does.”

“It’s your name!” You raised your voice slightly before lowering it again so as to not wake any of the others up. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Theo,” he said, “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“And what false-name shall I bear, then?”

He chuckled quietly as he finally sat up. He raised his long arms in a stretch that exposed the bottom of his stomach and his V-line, and you glanced away until he returned his arms down to a cross in front of his chest. You took notice of his hair, which was awfully messy in the morning, and you thought he should get his hands on a bonnet to take care of it, but then you thought he probably shouldn’t. A silk pillow would’ve done him wonders, though.

“A nickname for Y/n,” said Theo, “How about Y/n/n?”

“I suppose that will do,” you said as nonchalantly as possible, but inside you were screaming with excitement. A nickname! You’d never had a nickname before.

“Oh, you suppose, do you?” he teased.

Your amused smile betrayed your insincere attempt at a pout, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Don’t let anyone else call you Y/n/n, alright?” said Theo, and you crossed your brows in question, “I want it to be just an us-thing. They can call you your full name at most.”

He was extraordinarily bossy. But it was sweet. Heartwarming, even.

“Wait, but if everyone calls you Theo, I want something just for us, too!” You blushed at how overly familiar that sounded, but Theo’s rosy cheeks filled you with conviction. “How about Teddy?”

Giddily, he smiled at you, “Say it to me in a sentence.”

You frowned, but obeyed, “I like being your friend, Teddy. — How was that?” He nodded happily, “You say one for mine, now.”

He thought for a moment, trying to decide on a sentence to say.

“Read my mind, Y/n/n.”

Always, he had to boss you around. But, again, you really didn’t care. It was just nice to have someone to boss you around. To think that only at the beginning of that week, you had no friends at all… Now you had so many, and all thanks to destiny. All thanks to your Teddy.

A breath, and then you forced your way into his mind. There was a picture there waiting for you, a memory from Monday. A memory of you, except, you seemed to glow. You’d seen yourself in a million mirrors and memories over the course of your life, but never had you looked so beautiful. And then, there were words.

“I’d like to go on a date with you, Y/n/n.”

Your eyes snapped open as you left his thoughts to belong to him alone.

“What?” You asked, your ears red.

“I think you’re absolutely brilliant, Y/n/n. Please, go on a date with me?” Theo smiled.

He inched closer until your noses touched and you could barely tell each others’ features apart. Each of you were just blurs of colour.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Teddy.”

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copperbadge · 2 years

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I have long suspected that the owners of the rental-only apartment building across from my living room have been telling their renters that their floor-to-ceiling glass external walls are tinted and that nobody can see in. I believe I have confirmed my theory this week.

Now, it’s possible that the Nice Lesbians who previously lived on the floor below just liked wearing sports bras without shirts and Captain Underpants who lives above them likes cooking in his boxer briefs.

But Ikea Showroom Guy, who lives above Captain Underpants and whose apartment looks like he owns one (1) personal belonging that didn’t come new from Ikea and that is a skateboard, clearly believes he can’t be seen. A few days ago I passed my living room windows on the way to the kitchen to eat breakfast and found him sitting crosslegged in his giant papasan chair facing his floor to ceiling glass walls, completely naked, eating cereal.

I mean, congratulations, sir, you look great, but I may need to revisit the idea I had to hang a sign in my window announcing “Your windows aren’t tinted.” Technically the building doesn’t allow signs and it could really start a shitstorm and like, I don’t wanna shame Captain Underpants, who seems genuinely unselfconscious about his boxer-briefs, but these people deserve to know the truth.

#chicago

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tarotwithavi · 9 months

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Random messages for you from your future lover/future spouse

18+ messages in some piles

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

These pictures belong to their rightful owners.

Masterlist

Paid services

Pile 1

"I want to bite your neck and leave my mark there"

"I love the way you walk"

"you look absolutely gorgeous from behind"

"God really took his sweet time creating the masterpiece in front of me"

"I want to worship every part of your body"

"all the lonely nights were worth waiting for you"

"In your arms, I have found my home."

"With you, love is not just a destination but a beautiful journey"

"I will buy you every book you like, but there's a price you must pay"

"In a world of billions, you're the only that makes time stand still"

"The darkness inside me is really to consume you, however I am scared of the consequences"

"If you had any idea about what I want to do to you, you wouldn't be standing here challenging me"

"I want to know everything about you, your likes, dislikes, what makes you happy, what makes you sad, every fucking thing"

"Your whispered desires set my soul on fire"

Pile 2

"You think you can run away from me love?"

"I crave you, I desire you, I want you. In. every. way."

"I love the way you look right now. You don't need to change anything"

"You're flawless. People who find flaws in you are blind"

"tie your hair up. Show me your neck"

"Your presence lights up my darkest night"

"You can literally sell me poison and I will buy that in gallons from you"

"Your acne scars correspond to the craters on the moon. They make you even more beautiful to me"

"You look so f-able in my hoodie"

"You can be my black cat and I can be your golden retriever"

"I will never force my beliefs on you"

"You look magical in that dress"

"I don't want other guys to be close to you, to touch you, I know it's selfish but it's something I can't help but feel. You make you go crazy over you"

"You're like a Siren, alluring me with your voice, enchanting me with your appearance and making me want to do things that are not so pure"

Pile 3

"You are so pure so innocent. I feel like I will taint you with my darkness"

"Some things are better as secrets"

"Do. Not. Provoke Me. You'll not be able to handle it"

"I am not that type of person who dreams of getting married on the first date. But something about makes me feel I should wife you up, like right now.

"I want to see a mini you or/and mini merunning around in our house"

"Do you mind if I ruin your lipstick right now?"

"can you see hearts floating around above my head? No? *Gets heart shaped balloons from God knows where, puts them above their head* Can you see them now?

"With you, even the simplest moments become cherished memories"

"I crave the taste of your lips and the touch of your skin, you are my sweetest addiction"

"With you, time flies by like a shooting star, leaving behind a trail of cherished memories"

"Don't leave me. I have loved you too much to be separated from you.

"You make flowers bloom in my heart just from the thought of you"

Pile 4

"I will work hard for you. I will work hard for us"

"To be honest I will let you step on me"

"Our future is so bright together mama"

"In your arms, time loses its meaning, and all that matters is our love."

"How long do you want me to wait for you? 1 month? 6 months? 1 year? 5 years? A decade? I will wait for you if it means that I can be with you even for a minute"

"I will never judge you for your past. We all make mistakes and it's fine. As long as you don't repeat the same mistake"

"You feel like chopping off your hair? Go ahead, do it. I bet on my left nut you will look good in every hairstyle"

"What makes you think that I wouldn't eat your snacks? Am I not human? Or Do I not have taste buds"

"In the heat of our passion, time fades away, leaving only the intoxicating blend of our souls"

"Your touch ignites a fire within me, and I crave the taste of your lips on mine"

"Baby I am preying on you tonight, hunt you down, eat you alive"

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aajjks · 1 month

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Darkest Hour: Prisioner (m)

synopsis. Who was really the prisoner? Him who was behind bars? Or you? Who couldn’t even escape him, even now

pairing: yan!prisoner!jk x fem!gf reader.

warnings: YÂNDÈRÈ MÄTÜRÊ, DÄRK, öbsëssïön, STÖCKHÖLM SYNDRÖMÈ, ünhëälthy öbsëssïön, pôsessïvènèss, côntrôl, gúïlt trïppïng.

note. FEEDBACK IS NEEDED! ENJOY.

I DO NOT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOUR IRL, THIS DOES NOT REPRESENT JUNGKOOK OR BTS IRL. DO NOT ROMANTACISE THIS BEHAVIOUR.

[GIF NOT MINE, IT BELONG TO OWNER, CREDITS TO THEM]

Your heart aches looking at him, his backis facing you as he is sitting on the old dirty bed, was he blankly staring at the walls? The walls that were the same thick grey stone as the dwellings of the region,

But instead of a wide window with a flower box there was a mean barred opening with thick metal bars and no glass. The weight on your chest was heavy. As your gaze travelled further, you felt suffocated.

The prison cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind. It was all an inmate could do to feel the cool walls, but even they were smooth.

pity, regret, guilt, frustration. The emotions embraced you like a second skin. In the time period of six months, this was your third visit. But this visit felt heavy.

This time... you had come here with a purpose. This time... without the overwhelming urge to see him.

This time with the urge to end this madness for once and all.

It was like this was written in the stars above to occur. your heart felt like someone had put thousands of bricks onto it. You were feeling guilty for what you were about to do.

This was just the weight of the guilt for your next step that would change yours and his life forever..

Maybe for the worst. This needed to be done nonetheless, you needed to overcome this incessant throb in your heart, you wanted it to stop, it wouldn’t.

But you needed to Do this for once, and all you need to end this.

And you will even though it’s not going to end so smoothly.

You knew it wouldn’t. You weren’t hoping for it. Because, after all. You were the reason why he was here in the first place.

You were reason behind your lovers imprisonment. “J-Jungkook. It’s Y/N..” your fingers wrap themselves around the metal bars, the voice from your throat barely managed to escape.

But he heard it.

The culprit turned around to look at you, and your heart skipped a beat, clenching tightly inside your chest. “Y-Y/N! M-My Princess!”

With teary eyes, you watched your lover as he jumped out of the bed and with shaking steps he came closer to the metal bars as much as he could. His long slender fingers wrapped around the bars tightly, you could only see his face barely. But the tattoos on his fingers made you recognize him. The ink on his knuckles being his only signature that could help you identify him in the dark hour.

“Y-Y/N! You’re finally here!” Hearing his voice in a tone so vulnerable made your heart break, you could tell that he was trying to hold back a sob. Jungkook tried his best to at least be able to hold your hands in his but was unable to because of the steel cuffs that held them captive, and the wall of the bars between him and you.

“Y-Yes Jungkook..” you finally look up to see him and your heart almost exploded in surprise. “Jungkook?! You’re cuffed?” To say you were surprised would sum it up. Your eyes widened to see that.

Only silence was your answer in return. Your heart was turning inside of your rib cage. You knew what this meant really well. Gripping on the rusty bars, you looked at him with your eyebrows farrowed and jaw clenched. “Y-You tried to escape,” horror took over you.

jungkook lowered his head, the darkness covering his face. You could only see his dark curly locks. “I-I just m-missed you.” Jungkooks shoulders were shaking, his voice breaking, tears falling. “Look at me jungkook...”

The crying man lifted his head up to look at you with glossy eyes and a red nose. “I-I love you Y/N.... I cant bear to live without you a-anymore. This squared box is starting to feel so suffocating... I want to be with you again Y/N... I can’t live without you..”

His words tugged at your heartstrings. The weight on your heart felt even heavier. He loved you so damn much and you were being so selfish. He killed him for you.

You were the reason.

“Y/N... there’s not a day where I do not shiver from the thoughts of you forgetting about me... or finding someone else. I cry day and night, only in your name... you’re my everything, baby.” Jungkooks gaze was holding so many unsaid emotions in them. His eyes were swimming in longing.

“I-I can’t bear to lose you.” Jungkook confessed, his voice was breaking constantly, coming closer to the bars, he cried. “I love you so damn much, princess. I can do anything to be with you.” The way he was speaking these words was starting to get passionate.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Jungkook cooed at you, while you cried softly. “No Y/N.. my sweetheart, don’t cry please..”

Seeing you like this broke Jungkooks heart into a million pieces. He wanted to see you happy always,

But with him only.

The way his heart was thumping inside of his chest made it very clear that jungkook’s plan was working. “I-I love you too Jungkook..” the way you called out his name made his eyes almost roll back to head in pleasure. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you, princess.” Jungkook had to be careful with the each word that escaped his mouth, his effect on you couldn’t falter.

He wouldn’t let it..

Waiting for your response was even more frustrating than when he was caught the day for murdering that cop, the handcuffs were the only witness for his crime, in front of you.

“Y-Yes jungkook I will... I’ll always wait for you. I love you.”

Oh... how happy just was he feeling... jungkook wanted to jump upside down. He still had you wrapped around his fingers. “My princess! Fuck I love you so fucking much... no one can love you as much as me.. didn’t I prove that to you?” His tone had transitioned from dark, gloomy to excited like a child getting his favorite food.

“My dad will get me out soon- baby just wait for me will you? I only stayed here just so I could redeem myself- my father has contacted our family’s lawyer.”

The psychotic man chuckled like a maniac. You just gave him a smile, of course- he’s connected. They practically own this country.

“Fuck,” he cursed, licking his bottom lip.

“baby I love you more than anything in this world... and you know it.” Jungkook presses his face against the bars.

You smiled at him again in way that he felt for a moment that he was at the gates of the heaven. Even he actually deserved to burn in the deep, agonizing flames of hell.

“I’ll be out soon Y/N, I promise. Wait for me...”

And you know that he will.

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circeyoru · 2 months

Text

Unwanted Soul _ Part 2 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 — Part 2 (here) — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

You were supposed to wish for Alastor’s defeat, supposed to revel in Alastor’s humiliation. But no, the last moment, when it came down to it, you appeared before the first man and leader of the exterminations out of a tornado of blank pages. You stared down at Adam while Alastor recovered behind you, ears pinned

As much as Alastor’s devotion and twisted love disgusted and caused you to constantly shiver from, you didn’t exactly see an issue since he wasn’t directly harming you or making your life unbearing to the point of wanting to off yourself like the times in your life above. You’d never admit, but you liked having Alastor around and the fact that you have his soul now, made you even more willing to keep him around

Pages flew around you while you held your opened notebook in one hand while your dominate hand held onto your quill. You have always loved the way the feather moves whenever you write. While Adam taunted Alastor for being protected by someone insignificant, you scribbed over the blank page and summoned your angelic weapons, firing it mercily at Adam without stopping

Rare rage of Adam harming Alastor and fear of Alastor’s disappearance became your drive to act. You wouldn’t have acted if it weren’t for the fact that Alastor, an Overlord and The Radio Demon, was willing to spend so long with little ol’ you and even go as far as to give you his soul

You couldn’t just stand idly by while Alastor was going to actually die by your orders. Sure you like the idea of redemption for demons, but you aren’t going to do it yourself, nor will you let what’s considered yours to be taken away by something you hardly care for

“Oh, my dear, how I’d love to be at least standing side by side with your love for that hobby you consume yourself with.” Alastor had once said, long long before he gave you his soul “As if that could happen.” You had once said aloud, thinking in your heart that you’d die before ever letting a physical person or sinner this close to you again. “You can keep dreaming.” “In my dreams, we are something much more, darling.” Alastor cooed close to you, putting down one of your favourite dishes you hardly have the time or energy to buy or make yourself. His grin grew as you inspected it before delightfully partaking in it with a hum of satisfaction. “I do think I can make it into a reality. Just give me some time.” You glare back at him, turning away from him with your food in hand. Your face heated up a bit, as did the tip of your ears. You’d never admit to him, he has a way with words, and sometimes your heartstrings

Out of your blinded rage and fear, as well as your sudden adrenaline, you failed to keep track of the pages used for your conjuring until you were trying to rip the hardcover of your notebook. You paused, as did your attack on Adam

As if karma was playing a hand to laugh in your face, Adam attacked you head on in your moment of disbelief and shock. Having your powers and energy exhausted, you took the hit head on. A deep gash appearing from one shoulder blade diagonally down to your side, you dropped your notebook cover and quill as you fell to your knees, spatting out blood

“I’m ending this broadcast!” Alastor roared as he traveled through the shadows to you, his shadow grabbing your abandoned belongings before he brought you to safety. The taunting laugh of Adam ringing in your ears as darkness swallowed you up while warmth covered a side of you

You didn’t know where you were, but you were positive Alastor was bringing you to safety even when he himself was in a bad shape. You let yourself hang limb in his arms, feeling more and more tired. You once told him you like having a relationship like Ciel and Sebastian’s but a bit different, you can imagine that’s why Alastor was acting the way he was afterwards

When you told him you’re fine and just a bit tired. He held back snapping at you, his hold on you even tighter. He wants you healed, he needs you healed. You can’t leave him. You just can’t. Why were you there in the first place, he would have been able to deal with it and proved to you he was strong. Can’t you see he was willing to do anything to return back to your side?

Red doesn’t suit you. No. You were much lovelier in the comforts of your home, where you were safe and happy with that entertainment you love. He was content with just being by your side and being the only one you interact with. He found you and you found him. It was as simple as that, it was going to be you and him

When Alastor made it back to his radio tower, though destroyed and sat at the bottom of a hill, he leaned you against his chest, holding you with one arm while his other searched through his drawers. Finally taking out a few pages with one word on them. They were all gifts from you to him should be be injured, he was glad he never had to use it

He placed the pages over your wound and watched as they faded out and turned to sparks, the majority of the wound slowly disappeared with time and he covered you with his coat. When you were healed, he hugged you close, too tight as you’d whisper to him

Yet he didn’t loosen his grip on you. Your eyes opened, albeit still droopy from the lack of energy and immense tiredness all over your system. You raised a hand and patted the back of his head, you hummed softly, just as you did before when he was being healed for his wounds

“I’m not leaving you, darling. Never.” Alastor spoke as his body shook, you barely registered his words as your eyes threatened to close. “If you threaten to destroy my soul, I’ll lock you in my staff and keep you there with me. I’m not losing you, dear Pager. I won’t allow it.”

You somewhat nodded, Alastor had always been overly protective and obsessive with your health, wellbeing, and mostly safety. He’d say the darkest things he’d do to you to get you shaking, you’re used to it, it was his way of caring. As pitiful and sad as it is, no one had care like this for you

Your eyes closed as you gave him his order, “Alastor, I’m removing that no seeing me rule.” You muttered, positive he heard every word even with the lack of responses. “You know, I’ve missed your cooking. Your presence in my apartment. I’ve missed you.”

You remember a tightening hug before you fell into a deep slumber

“Darling. You’re unusually free today.” Alastor remarked as his eyes follow you strolling back and front the living room to the hallway where your bedroom and other rooms were. “Yeah, well, I watched and read all I wanted.” You complained, “Now I’m just walking around to remember if I missed anything.” You paused in your pacing and went over to Alastor’s side. “What are you making this time?” “Some cookies, dear, you said you have been craving some and the shops were out of them. So why not make some instead?” Alastor laughed as he continued to mix the mixture till it was well done. You glanced to the baking book in front of him, then back at his smiling face that you had grown accustom to already. Even that grin smile that scared the living daylights out of you, especially when he was waking you up from your sleep. “But I can’t finish this much.” “You can merely throw it in the trash, my dear.” Alastor stated easily. “But you’re making it with so much care.” You looked down at the dough that had formed, ignoring the way Alastor was staring at you. Your shorter height was definitely an advantage here. “I don’t want to throw away something you made with your time and energy. Considering your cooking, I think your baking would be nice too.” Alastor laughed, wrapping a hand around you to pull you close. You had flinched, but then relaxed a bit. “Dearest dear, your praise is too much. However, if you can’t finish it, there’s no use in keep them when they turn bad.” “Then we can share it with the neighbo—” “My doe.” You heard the static grew, feeling Alastor’s grip on you tightened but not enough to give you a bruise or a wound. “This treat is made for you and not for those sickening souls. I rather burn them to ash than let another taste these.” You sighed, somewhat expecting this already. “Why not compromise? You dislike sweets and I dislike that deer meat, uh.. Venison? That you love. I’ll try your dish and you eat these cookies with me. Sounds fair?” Seeing Alastor eying you with narrowed eyes, you rolled your eyes and shrugged off the loosen hold, “I’ll also make the cookies with you, since I got nothing to do at the moment.” That seemed to spark something in Alastor as his smile turned genuine. “Now how can I refuse such an attractive offer.” You looked away, pushing down that bubbly feeling as you kept a straight face while you spoke softly, “If you left me like you would when you’re already healed.” At that, Alastor took your hands in his, bringing you to the living room as his shadows shifting away any furniture in the way and twirled you around. A sudden darker toned soundtrack playing, presumably from his staff with a microphone on top. His silence to your comment was unusual, usually he’d be laughing it off or denying it. Now he was just being unusually quiet. The dark track that was play wasn’t helping the way you felt unnerved and a bit chilly. His twirling and dancing changed to a slow sway as the music transition to that of a classical piece. Finally, he spoke, “My darling Pager. If I give you my soul, will you believe in my devotion and love for you?” Your head snapped up from looking at his chest, you wanted to shout at him for suggesting such a thing, but your shock was grounded when you saw the smile on Alastor’s face. By now you had known, even while he’s smiling, he wasn’t always ‘happy’ or in power. It was like a mask for him, a mask you’d see through. You looked away, having tried to get out of his grip but he held you with an iron grip. “Don’t joke about that. Soon, you’ll be back out, doing your Overlord things and being the feared Radio Demon like you love.” “And leave a precious soul like you behind with no one to care for? Never, my dear. Perhaps in your nightmares.”

When the hotel was newly rebuilt, Alastor had his appearance, holding tightly on his staff that contained you from inside. He didn’t let anyone near his staff and by extension, you. He kept up appearance even though Charlie and a few others were asking what transpired on the hotel roof when he was battling Adam. They saw your powers, but at least they didn’t see you

“A little magic trick to confuse that rascal angel. It seems I underestimate the man.” Alastor answered, shocking others that he admitted to his fault. Especially Husk who was suspicious of his change in attitude. “Now, may I pick my room? I would love to redecorate, if that’s alright with you.”

Charlie nodded along, telling Alastor of his new radio tower as well. He ignored how it was opposite to Lucifer’s but there was more pressing matters. He took up another room nearby, that would be yours, and reconstructed your bedroom down to the letter. When everything was done, he laid you down on the bed, still asleep

Alastor would read to you while you were still in your slumber, when he takes a pause from his reading, he’d check your wound to see if you were healing and not dying. When he wasn’t in the room, he’d leave behind his shadow and staff to play those anime you love so much. As much as he wanted to play with your unique technological devices, he had no idea who to operate them and he didn’t want to mess up your stuff

While this wasn’t new, you sleeping for longer periods of time to heal and replenish your energy due to over-exhausting your powers, this was the first time you were heavily wounded and by holy powers no less. He doesn’t know what to do and he wasn’t going to risk others knowing he had someone sleeping in a spare room that he took up

“Wow. So this is who you’ve been talking too. No wonder you were more talkative than usual.” Lucifer stood over your slumbering form with his hands behind his back. Alastor immediately had his black tentacles pushing Lucifer away from you and at a wall farthest from you as he summoned a barrier around you. “Protective too!” Lucifer remarked, unaffected by the situation. “Should have known our dear Page Demon here is more capable of gaining allies.” “Get out.” Alastor growled a warning “I bet you don’t know how to wake sleeping beauty up.” Lucifer taunted, “I mean, this slumber and your pathetic desperate self is amusing and all, but I can’t let the Page Demon die.” Alastor’s mind was racing. Die? You were dying? But the wound was, is, healing. You were looking better and better with ecah day. He didn’t even feel his bond with you weakening. “What do you mean?” Lucifer shrugged off the tentacles and pushed them away, twirling his staff before planting it in front of him and leaning against it, “Our dear Page Demon here was once my informant, you know? Got a lot of secrets and knowledge you can never imagine, but I respect the quitting and gave a wonderful apartment and money so there’s a comfortable life, see?”

That’s how you were never worried about money or the fact that your apartment was the only one this big and well off, compared to the others around your place. Not to mention you were in such a secluded spot in the Pride Ring that not many demons knew who he was nor do they care. You were even more showy with your powers to conjure angelic weapons too

The King of Hell gave Alastor the hint to drown you in knowledge so you could soak up energy, you were a unique one, the both of them agreed. But at this point, Alastor was willing to try anything to save you from death and leaving him

What the two did was this. Build a barrier around the bed, making it like a tank, then they worn out pages from various books and documents. The finale was dumping them all over you like a heavy blanket. You were literally drowning in pages now. It would be ridiculous to anyone that walked in on this

“Okay, now all we need is blood.” Lucifer nodded at the handy work. “You want to be the one to do it or…” “Ha! Is that still a question?” Alastor glared at Lucifer’s suggestion “Well, I mean. If Page Demon here takes my blood, there’s gonna be immunity built up. But, your call I guess.”

In the end, both of them dripped blood onto the countless pages around you. It was almost like a breathtaking art piece to admire. According to Lucifer, it’ll take a while. As for how he knew about this method, he was informed about it from you it seems

While Alastor was offended that you didn’t tell him, he understood that it was because you have yet to meet them then. Even so, he can’t deny that you still had your guard up around him even after he gave you his soul to command. It was that element of a duel personality you had that intrigued him

You were lazy and simplistic, yes. You have a mundane life that will bore him to death yet you hate bored yourself. Then there was your keen and observant self, like a flip side of you, or a darker side of you. Though it was rare for him to see, you were very possessive of your belongings and would rather destroy them yourself than have someone else take it from you. There was so much contradictory in your case that interested him so, too much that he fallen too badly for you

He knew the present you to a T. But he never knew the you before him, your history was something you kept close to yourself. Even more so when it came to your human life. All he know was that you were extremely against forming connections with people and that was a knowledge he loved learning about. Only when it was applied on others and not him

Still, he didn’t care. It was you that saved him and given him what he lacked. He wished the two of you met earlier, then again, he might have tried to take you as one of the many souls under him or taken you to torture for his broadcast. So he was fine with the way things were

“Darling…” Alastor’s breath was caught by an invisible force, he felt himself frozen on the spot while the door closed behind him “Alastor.” You spoke, though your speech a bit slurred and your glaze was a bit jumpy and fuzzy, you were awake. “This looks like my room, but I’m positive it’s not.”

No words were exchanged as Alastor lunged at you, hugging onto you so tightly. Your eyes widened, barely having the time to catch his form while the pages flew all over the place from his actions. This scene was familiar, he was hugging you this tightly before you entered your slumber mode. You hugged him back, ignoring the way your face was in his chest

Time stilled and so did the two of you. While Alastor was hugging the living daylights out of you, your memories replayed itself, as did your realization to your feelings for the red demon. You came to terms with it, you really did. How ironic when you were the one judging the characters in the stories you read and watch

“Alastor, I’m back.”

“Welcome back, my dearest love.”

Note: Wa la~ Done! Hope it is to your liking guys! I added a bit of other moments and extra end, cause just the battle scene was not enough and there was more to write! (I'm too lazy to separately post them, there's that)

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

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#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

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kiwisbell · 16 days

Text

helen ; chapter four

nowhere to run

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the capture.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tommy gets stuck with the babysitting gig, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, joel in a church, violence against pastors, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, Big Angst, we're getting there though, the smut returns, fingering, conflicting emotions, kidnapping, Angry!Joel, cliffhanger (oopsie daisy), the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 9k a/n: fucking hell. i'm so sorry for how long it took me to bring this chapter to you, friends! my thesis sucked all the life from me and i had to go on a quick trip to the underworld and back to get it back again. thank you so much to my baby @cavillscurls for beta reading and as always being the biggest goddamn help throughout the process. below is the moodboard that mya made for this chapter and the reason i'm her no. 1 lovergirl. prev | next

When he was young, he fed stray dogs on the street.

He would steal sandwiches, pluck out the meat to gnaw on himself, and toss the bread onto the pavement. He would sit back on his haunches just like them and lick his chops when he was finished. Being a runner earned him good money, but it was hard to find jobs that would take a scrawny eight-year-old with dirt on his nose. His memories of those days are far away, foggy around the edges, but he still smells the eye-watering prickle of trash, cigarette smoke, wet fur of the dogs. He still remembers the moist scratch of soaked-through denim after a night sleeping outside in the rain, the bone-deep chill that lasted for days in winter.

One night, a Sunday in July, a hand stretched out toward him. He had not eaten in days, and he’d begun to feel the stretch of his skin around his ribs. A skeleton haunting the wrong body. The face is blurred now, but he remembers the hand. Long-fingered and a little wrinkled, a bracelet dangling from the bluish vein-ringed wrist, a charm in the shape of a cross.

The hand brought him from his bed of ratty blankets and old newspapers to a giant cathedral. The bold lettering above the grand doors read The Sisters of Saint Eustace. Joel had been too small, too weak, to reach up and touch the golden words, but they were tarnished with age and buffed around the edges. He looked up at the owner of the hand—the hand which then lowered onto his shoulder, collarbones protruding, and squeezed just hard enough to sting.

He felt the warm soak of the daytime breeze on his face.

“You must come inside with me,” said the woman. He remembers that the hand belonged to a woman. There was a black hood around her head that made her appear as wraithlike as death itself.

The Creation of Adam was immortalised on the north wall. It was the first thing he saw when he walked inside.

“I can’t go inside,” he said.

“And why not?”

He turned his head away from the image of Adam and God, whom he did not know at the time, and could never have hoped to know. How could he, after all, when God had never appeared to him? Then, God was only a man, frail and old, reaching out a wrinkled hand. Why should the weak ask for aid from the strong?

“The dogs need someone to feed them,” he said.

He still does not know God. He does not suspect he ever will. But there’s a warm, soft palm encasing the skin and muscle over his heart, irradiating down to the bone. There’s an intermittent puff of air on the back of his neck, slow and ticklish, the way snow melts. The dog that still lives in the core of him shows its belly.

You’ve moved closer in the night, your soft skin warming his back where your shirt rides up. You breathe silently, catlike, as measured as the rise and fall of the winter sun. He listens for a while, his chest pushing out to match you. As he settles into the new rhythm, he feels for a moment as if it’s all been a dream. As if he never lost you, never lied.

His name leaves your sleeping mouth and his heart ceases altogether. It’s the breathless sound of need, of a desire he supposes you’ve forgotten. In your sleep, some stale withered flower blooms under a fresh rainfall, and he wonders what you’re dreaming about.

Before Joel put his mouth between your legs for the first time, you had forgotten what pleasure tasted like.

It was July, sweltering, and you were draped across the sofa with his head in your lap. It was date night, and his turn to choose the movie: some god-awful karate action film that was a sequel to a sequel to a sequel and so on, infinitely repeating. Neither of you were paying attention to the exchange of staged punches. You were occupying yourself with threading your fingers through Joel’s hair, and he’d taken to toying with the little bow that held up the waistband of your shorts. You watched him pull the strings until they unfurled only to tie them again with one hand. The white noise of on-screen blows lulled you into a gentle doze as you both lay idle.

“Joel.”

“Hm,” he said, the scratch of his beard tickling your belly.

“The door,” you said. “Someone’s knocking.”

“Hm,” he said again, his questioning pitch the only indication he was truly listening.

“You should probably get it.”

His sleep-soaked eyes fluttered shut, his lashes brushing your skin. He gently squeezed your hip. “I’m just fine here.”

“What if I told you I had a surprise for you? And what if I told you I worked very hard to find your surprise?” you cooed.

Joel blinked up at you. “You got me somethin’?”

Your heart swelled. “Yeah, I did. Come on, cowboy.”

Outside, Tommy lounged against the hood of the surprise as you guided Joel outside, your fingers over his eyes.

“I don't like bein’ blind,” he grumbled. “Can't you just tell me?”

“How about I show you?”

You lifted your hands. For a moment, Joel blinked, his eyes adjusting to the blazing light of the sunset, and his lips parted at the sight before him.

“Jesus,” he said under his breath. “You… got me a car?”

“It's not just a car. Boss Mustang 429,” you said sheepishly. “1969. You know, the one you never shut up about. I thought this might help.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and you watched him swallow it. “How…”

“Tommy called me a while back. He'd sourced it from another garage; it was bound for the dump, but I wanted to surprise you by fixing it up. So… surprise.”

Tommy tossed the keys to Joel, who caught them without even looking. “Your girl can get her hands dirty. Helped me fix up the whole damn thing.”

You tried to gauge his reaction, the slight hollow in his throat where he seemed to store the falling sunlight, a faint sheen of sweat turning him gold. Your heart plummeted into your stomach when he didn't say a word.

“It's too soon.”

His head whipped around, his brows curving up in the middle. “What?”

You wetted your lips, panic closing your throat in at all sides. “I know we haven't been dating long, but… I don't know, I couldn't pass up the chance. But now I know it's too soon. I shouldn't have presumed—”

Faintly, he shook his head, his eyes darting across your face as if he were trying to trace it, and closed the distance between you. You gasped as he slanted his mouth over yours, his hands cradling your face, old paper and salt and your perfume. You threw your arms around his neck, a buoy for the drowning man whose arms wound around your waist and pulled you so close he could disappear altogether. Maybe he was trying to. Selfishly, you would let him.

Tommy grumbled something—“You’re welcome, asshole,” probably—and his own car roared to life as it pulled away.

The car keys jingled in the bowl in your foyer as Joel tossed them blindly behind him, his heel shutting the front door. He kissed you like you were a fever he needed to burn out, and you felt the match strike where his hand curled its heavy weight around your neck.

“What time do you fly out?” he grumbled against your mouth.

“Not until morning,” you said breathlessly, watching him drop to his knees in front of you, taking your little shorts with him. Your chest heaved at the sight of your Joel, made humble at your feet, pressing his searing-hot lips to the bare skin of your belly. “Joel…”

“Nobody,” he said, his voice the velvety drag of night, “is like you. Not a goddamn soul.”

The admission caught in your throat the way a web ensnares dewdrops. The intricate folds of your brain would forever carry the imprint of the words—words no one else had ever said.

A starving artist, an old teacher of yours had said, remembers every kind word said about their art. They eat from them when there's no other food in the house.

“You're it for me,” he told you. “There's nothing else.”

You wake slowly, serenely, a yawning ache blossoming in the core of you.

Maybe that's why, even now, you cannot forget the way he touched you that night. You still recall every thumbprint, every stroke of his tongue, every soft cry into the otherwise empty room.

The fact is that nobody can love you the way Joel Miller does. Not even when his love hurts more than anything else.

He's watching you now. His eyes are half-open but alert, instinct pulling him closer to your side of the bed. Or, maybe you're the one who’s crawled closer to him.

“Joel…”

He doesn’t speak, but you feel the pads of his fingers on your belly, the soft fabric of your shirt bunching over his bruised knuckles, and his eyes shutter at the touch alone, a worn sinner.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers, and it's chipped porcelain, the sound of his voice.

A part of you wants to cry, to let the pressure build until it crests, to feel the salt settle in the pores at the sight of him so close, so open. But you've shed your tears and he’s slept in your bed, and now his fingers brush the hem of your panties, not begging entrance, but asking, wondering—

You say so weakly, “I need you to touch me,” and he nods because he knows, because he's Joel, because your body has not become foreign to him even if you've made your heart a stranger.

You shiver as his hand dips beneath the cotton, two fingers sliding through the gathering wetness between your legs. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, black as the sky, his bicep flexing as he parts your folds with his fingers. Absently, possessed, you sling your leg up over his hip to spread your thighs.

The shockwave brings you down as he slides his middle finger inside you, sinking to the knuckle. The gasp that leaves your mouth feels like inhaling glass. You cup the back of his neck for purchase, tugging the little curls at his scalp, and watch as he bares his teeth.

“That's it, baby,” he says brokenly, the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit as you writhe. Back in his arms, your heart thunders in your chest, the ache of his absence ringing in each rib like the aftershocks of a blow. He pumps his fingers inside you, curling up against the spot he knows as intimately as his own hand, studying your face as if he has become the artist and you the muse. For a moment, you think you see the reflection of your face in the whites of his eyes, and you’re overcome with a shudder that compresses your spine.

He’s too close. Too far away. Your hand curls around the scruff of his neck, a misbehaved dog. You’ve let him in, it’s too late, too soon, and you’ve assumed all the blood he’s spilled, taken it inside your body with the press of his fingertips past your begging entrance.

You hate that your body still sings for him, that your eyes cannot shutter, that you cannot shuck the curtains closed despite all he’s done. You hate that his eyes still hold the sorrow you’d seen in him since that very first night, and you hate that you existed so happily, so blindly, with him, in spite of the arid darkness that has always lingered just under the brown you thought you knew so well.

But he’s always known you, and that may be what hurts the most.

He’s always been keenly aware of your moods, your tastes, your body, and he plays you now like a pipe, lending his body to yours in supplication. Your heart aches as you let him inside, some feeble breach of contract, as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing was a lie.

He slides his fingers from you and spreads them before your eyes, the sight of the slick webbing eliciting a gasp you can barely hear. He licks his fingers clean and dips them back between your bodies, circling your clit with a renewed fervour.

“Fuck.” Your eyelids droop, your stomach tightens, and the glint of Joel’s bared teeth is that of a wolf’s in the dark. “I’m… fuck, I’m…”

“I know,” he says, “I know,” and you wish he wouldn’t.

The rhythmic, meticulous path of his fingers is nothing like the desperate writhing of your hips, the feverish grinding, the cries. Prey caught in a trap, you grasp the iron bars of his shoulders tight and beg for mercy.

And it feels so good, so right, that it slashes open your heart and spills the blood. The cold bite of his wedding ring bumps up against your opening as you blossom, brittle as a new bud, his fingers pumping in, out, in—

“Oh, God,” you whimper, burying your face in his throat, sinking into the familiar warmth.

Joel grunts, his nose sliding across your temple. “C’mon, baby girl, c’mon… I’ve got you… Can feel it…”

Normally, you would lick and bite and kiss the sweet, humid skin of his throat until you came, soft as dough in his arms. There’s a steel edge to the way you come now, fingers stiffly prickling his scalp, eyes bleeding tears into the crook of his neck. It feels good—good to slash at the bars that cage you in, good to weep over the loss of some willpower you let dissolve.

He doesn’t stop until he’s wrung every drop, inhaling the cloying smell of soiled linen and sticky perfume and saltwater. He closes his eyes against your temple and you can feel the caress of his lashes—wet, like yours.

His lips always carried the faint bitter bite of black coffee, and he always said yours tasted sweet. Like goddamn honey, he’d whispered into your throat the first night you let him inside, and you’d laughed—maybe the graze of his mouth was ticklish, or maybe you thought it was funny: the idea that you could be so sweet.

Now, you’re splintering as your eyes flicker down to his mouth, plush lips moist but split from the blow of an enemy. If you kissed him now, he would only feel a sharp sting. If you kissed him now, you’d let the blood win out. You would only hurt him and yourself alike.

“What are we doing, Joel?”

His eyes shimmer in the dark, his palm tentatively cradling the crown of your head. The hollow of his throat deepens, and you hold your breath.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be,” says Joel. “If you want me just to use me, then use me. You can have me whenever you want. I just wanna be someone you need—even if you don’t need me the way you used to.”

The sob lurches out of your throat, your forehead dropping to his as the climax burns out, smoke from a snuffed candle.

When you can breathe again, you push yourself upright and cross the room to gather your toiletries. “I’m not going to use you. I never should have done this.”

“Stop.” Joel grunts as he stands, apparently forgetting about his wounded ankle. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Joel, let’s just—”

“I don't want it to be like this,” he says. “I don’t want it to hurt when I touch you.”

“It doesn't,” you whisper, hugging your bag to your chest along with a bundle of clothes. “That's what scares me.”

His brows curve upward in the middle and you're overcome by the need to fix your eyes to the floor. “Baby, please… Please just look at me.”

You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and pin him with your gaze. “I feel like I’m mourning a marriage that didn't even end,” you tell him, and Joel lurches forward as if he means to grab the words in mid-air.

“And maybe we did lose it,” you say softly, though the words sting on the way out of your mouth. “But maybe that's… good. I don't want a relationship based on lies, Joel. I don’t want to wake up every morning next to the man I love and wonder what he’s still keeping from me.”

Joel lowers himself into the chair by the table like a weight is tied to his chest. He's still shirtless, his wound bleeding through the gauze around his arm, but he's staring at you. Suffocating you.

Twisting his wedding band around his finger, he says, “If there's even the smallest chance that you really could still love me… that this ain't over, even though I’ve done everything wrong by you… I’m gonna fight for it.”

Not everything, you want to say. Not everything, or I wouldn't be so hurt right now. It’s funny that the words won't take shape—wraithlike as the black ink snaking up and down his back. “I know you will.”

“And if you want all the truth I‘ve got, even if it's bloody, I’ll give it to you.” He leans forward, muscles flexing under inked skin. “You’re my everything. Nothin’ about that has changed. Not one goddamn thing.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, the tang of iron flooding into your mouth. “It’s not just about the lies,” you say, dropping into the chair across from him. “You've put me on a pedestal. You may be strong and you may know how to fight, and everyone in the world may know your name, but… I don't think I can survive being all that you breathe for. Not if it leads to this.”

He remembers waking up each morning in the orphanage, sunlight turning technicolour through stained glass images of praying hands. He’d always thought the sun was so strong, gathering pieces of itself just to wake half the world, reviving dead plants, rattling the bones that stirred dead in the earth. He’d put his fingers through the many colours just to watch them dance. He’d wiggle his digits and remember he was alive.

He watched you walk down the long aisle toward him in a white dress, a bouquet of daisies in your hands, the sun carving your path. His hand flexed at his side like it did on those long-gone mornings, and he briefly doubted he’d be able to touch you at all—like you’d disappear, smoke curling around the contours of his fingers, a dream.

“My heart hurts, Joel,” you say brokenly, your palm flattening against your chest. “I’m not as strong as you are. I’m just a girl who married the man she loved. One day, you're going to realise that I don't bleed gold. I’m not a deity. I’m not someone you go to war over. I’m not fucking perfect, and if you keep treating me like I am, you’re only going to be disappointed.”

Joel just watches the tears fall, somewhat enraptured by the way they linger like dew on your lashes, until you blink them away and they cascade down the curve of your cheek. He wonders if this is how it feels to be the painter, desperate to capture even a brushstroke of the subject in front of him. He used to watch you paint for hours, holed up in your studio, covered in splotches of oils he would later take his time to wash away. The colours would curl around the drain, a snake poised to strike, and he’d kiss you, his canvas, tasting the poison of paint at the corner of your mouth.

He’s made something dark of the light that grew inside you. He’s tainted your image with the blood he’s shed, and every one of the thousand cuts has struck true. He thought he was protecting you.

He was only hurting you.

“I just wanted to have you. And you wanted to forget.” Your eyes no longer meet his, tracing the lifelines in the oak table back and forth. “So where do we go from here?”

There’s a troubled tic in his brow, punctuating the feverish flitting of his eyes between each of yours, always restless. “You think I fell in love with you because I thought you were invincible?”

You lift your head, the whites of your eyes gleaming. Joel brings his chair closer to yours, and you don’t make a move to pull away.

“I fell in love with you because you’re human,” he says. “Because you’re kind. Because you have a heart bigger than any I’ve seen. Because you’re funny, and talented, and you love to make art, and when you find something you love, you give your soul to it. I love you because you’re an angry drunk and you hate mornings and you’re so fuckin’ frustrating when you won’t give up. I fell in love with you because you were the only person who’s ever taken a real shot at lovin’ me.”

Your bottom lip quivers and he wants to coax the heavy ache from your very soul, venom from the wound.

“You are my everything, baby. You are. And I know it ain't healthy, but I don't care. If that means I see you as a god, fine. You think I can stop lovin’ you the way I do? I can’t. But I never once thought you were perfect. Perfect people don’t fall in love with men like me.”

You laugh a little, but it’s taut, stuck in the back of your throat.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’m not even sure I want that. But I do want to be the kind of man you’re willing to love again. You’re my best friend, and I’ll do whatever it takes, you hear me? I’m not givin’ up.”

You sniffle, your quivering hands folded into one another atop the table. He wants to reach out and touch you, pull you back into his gravity, smell your perfume. He wants to do a thousand other things he does not deserve.

“You’ve killed Manuel’s son,” you say quietly. “There’s still a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “And he’s gonna pull it.”

You shake your head, lips parted around words you choose not to say. Instead, you look away, and he feels he's lost something he'd been holding.

“Do what you need to do,” you say, and every syllable cuts him along the bias of the bone.

He has known your hurt, your anger, your sadness. Something in an artist’s heart has never seen a day of peace, you told him once. He thought it was a joke; he may have even laughed.

I loved you.

Joel swallows. “I need you—”

“—to stay here.” The corner of your mouth pulls up despite your sombre tone. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a knock at the door before he can open his mouth to reply. You stay apprehensively glued to your seat as Joel peers through the peephole only to unlatch the chain on the door.

“Anyone see you come in?” he asks Tommy.

“I’m sure plenty of people saw me, brother. But they can’t do anything, now, can they?”

A muscle in Joel’s jaw feathers. “You bring everything?”

Tommy scoffs, gesturing toward the bags weighing down his arms. “Everything on your fuckin’ mile-long list? Yeah. You gonna let me in?”

Joel ushers him inside and triple-checks the hallway to make sure nobody is lurking nearby. Your voice brightens by a fraction and it feels like an electric shock tingling at his fingertips.

“Tommy.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He squeezes your shoulder and drops the bags at your feet. “You hangin’ in there?”

Joel watches from the shadows of the hall, his heart leaden at the sight of you smiling for someone else. He’ll do anything to earn that. He’ll forsake all he has, all he is. He’ll crawl on his hands and knees all the way back through hell; he already knows the way.

“Brought your supplies,” says Tommy, kneeling at your feet and opening the bags. Your brows knit together at the sight of your oils from home, your brushes, your pallets long ago stained with colour. “Heard you were feeling inspired.”

Your gaze lifts to Joel, eyes narrowed. “Is that right?”

He’s sheepish, ducking his head. “Just… thought you might be goin’ crazy, stuck in here.”

“That's not why I’m going crazy,” you grumble.

Tommy chuckles. “Well, if anything’s missin’, it's his fault. Most of your canvases were destroyed, but these are all good.”

Your heart feels a little lighter now that you can smell the tangy, cloying scent of your paints and run your fingers over the bristle of your brushes. You give Tommy’s hand a pulse, your thank-you barely snaking past the lump in your throat. “Tell Maria I said hi.”

He gives you a knowing look. “I’m holdin’ you to your promise, y’know. You still have to paint the nursery.”

You cast your eyes toward Joel, who leans against the wall in the dark corridor. “Yeah,” you say softly, stripped to the bone by the way he watches you, unblinking. “I don't break my promises.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, and the gleam of his wedding ring lingers in your periphery long after you've torn your gaze away.

“Tommy’s gonna stay with you,” says Joel, “while I take care of the rest.”

The rest. Of course. “Why now?”

“He just killed Cabrera’s son,” says Tommy. “And we don't want to risk anyone comin’ around, lookin’ for revenge.”

“But you said no business can be conducted here.”

“For enough money, a person will break any rule.”

“That kind of undermines the entire concept of your entire Underworld, doesn't it?” you say. “Rules aren't really rules.”

“But there are consequences,” says Tommy. “Just… if you’ve got enough money, you can hide from ‘em for a while.”

“Until they hunt you down,” you utter, looking across the room at Joel. His silence feels like hot hands on your bare skin. You turn back to Tommy. “What about Maria?”

“She's with her mom this weekend,” says Tommy. “Won't even notice I left the house. You need someone to model, I’m your guy.”

“No,” says Joel.

“I didn’t mean I’d get naked,” says Tommy.

Joel clips Tommy’s shoulder on his way to you, and his brother takes the hint to make himself scarce, disappearing into the bathroom. Joel kneels at your feet and places his hand on your calf. The weight of it is warm, carrying words he has no time left to give.

“This will be over soon,” he says, and he sounds so sure that you almost believe it.

“And then what, Joel?”

He sets his jaw. There's little of the predator, of the boogeyman, in his eyes. All that rich brown betrays now is a quiet resolve. A promise.

“Home,” says your husband. “We’ll make another.”

You squeeze your eyes shut only to open them again and find the hand that rests on your skin. He's bruised, bloodied, and violent, but he does not squeeze or press. He never once has. You wonder idly how often he's put those hands on your body while thinking of a time he'd taken the life of another.

“And what if we can’t?” you ask him.

The first time you'd unveiled a piece to him—the first piece you'd ever painted of you and him, together—Joel had instinctively touched the supple blue skin beneath the woman’s breast, as quickly as a nurse finds a vein.

“She’s blue,” he said. “Is that… how you feel? Like you’re… blue?”

“Blue doesn't just mean sadness,” you told him. “It could almost mean serenity. Stability.”

He looked at you, puzzled, for a while, his hand still extended, pressed to the barely-dry canvas. “Where I grew up,” he said, “I was never really taught anything besides black and white.”

“Colours are different that way,” you said. “They mean a thousand things to a thousand people. They can all look at the same painting and feel something unique.” You gave him a wry smile. “You look at a painting of us having sex and see sadness. I’m trying not to read into it.”

He chuckled. “You should know that's not true. And I like the way you think.”

“You never told me what you think about the painting,” you said playfully. “Do you like it?”

Joel’s hand travelled from the woman’s breast to her hand as if pondering the wash of blues that coloured her skin. Her fingers, intertwined with her lover’s, squeezed down on him—a lifeline.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It's the way I feel when you touch me,” you said. “Like I’m falling apart and coming together at the same time.”

Joel tentatively reaches for your hand and turns it over in your lap, palm to the ceiling. “If you decide a home isn't what you want with me,” he says, tracing your lifeline, “then that’s all right. But I just… I want to know if—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, pressure accumulating behind the inner corners of your eyes. Joel meets your gaze and it takes all you have to suppress the shudder at the feeling of his thumb making its ghostly pilgrimage across your palm. “Don't ask me yet. Please.”

He bows his head and his hand slips from yours, and you choke on the memory of a love uncompromising, effortless, simplistic.

“Just come back alive,” you tell him. “Come back to me, okay?”

Joel rises to his feet, and a kiss plants its roots at your hairline. “Always.”

“When he said to watch me, I don't think he meant the whole time.”

Beside you, Tommy clears his throat, averting his gaze to the floor. “Sorry. Just… it’s impressive, what you do.”

You’re still outlining the tangled limbs of the man and woman, their bodies disappearing into one another, each line indistinguishable from the next. “Well, if it helps, I don't know how cars work.”

He laughs. “Yeah, all right.”

You set down your pencil, casting a glance out the window. Outside, the stars wink down at you. “Will he be okay?” you say softly.

Tommy sighs. Now that he no longer needs to hide the fact that it isn't his brother doing the books, the sting of the reminder rings in your chest with the sound of his binder closing.

“I don't blame you, y’know,” he says, “for stayin’ pissed at him.”

“Good,” you reply, “because he's an idiot.”

“Yeah, that's one thing that's never gonna change.” Tommy leans back in the chair, taking a swig from his beer. “I tried to tell him he was makin’ a mistake. He's a stubborn bastard.”

“He is,” you say, frowning at the curl you've drawn over your subject’s forehead. He looks back at you, brow furrowed, one eye visible, the other blending with hers. It's gruesome, in a way: the frenetic lines, the frantic way their fingers dimple one another’s flesh. “But I can be stubborn, too.”

Tommy leans forward, studying the beginnings of your sketch. “I know he's made mistakes, and Christ knows I’m crazy for defending my dumbass brother. But if you knew how much he loved you…”

“Tommy,” you cut in, setting down your pencil. “Loving me isn’t the problem.” The outline of the bodies on your canvas blur as your eyes burn with tears. “I wonder if he ever really left—in his heart, I mean.”

Tommy’s voice is quiet. He’s twirling a small switchblade in his hand. “All he's ever wanted is peace.”

You cast your eyes toward the ceiling to stop the tears from spilling over, or to find some answer spelled in stars you cannot see. “Then why couldn't he just stay out?” you whisper. “Why did he have to come back?”

“You know, when we were kids, Joel would take all my beatings,” says Tommy, flicking out the blade. It glimmers in a way that catches the light as easily as a flame on kindling. “He'd say everything was his fault when it was really me who knocked over a shitty old vase or vandalised a fresco. And he'd just fuckin’ grin and bear it because that's who he is.”

He’d just been a kid. Just a kid who wanted to protect his little brother, who took every beating, who grew up in a faith he never had faith in.

The fragile wobble in your voice betrays the steel wall of your back. “He let me fall in love with him, Tommy. He let me give my soul to him.”

He ducks his head, folding the blade back into its wooden hilt. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly.

“And Maria?” You let out an airy laugh. “How did she react when you told her about all this?”

He doesn't meet your eye, and you feel your stomach turn over as he sets the blade on the table, bringing his hand over his jaw.

“Oh,” you say.

“We all do things we’re not proud of. Anyway, I had it easier,” he says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just a mechanic.”

“And my husband’s a killer, right?”

Tommy sighs. “I know you shouldn't take my word for it. But he does want peace. And he came back because he didn't see another choice.”

On the canvas, the man holds the woman close, pulling her tight to his chest, as if he knows she's about to fall. “I hate it,” you say softly, “knowing he's felt so much pain, and I can't make it better. I hate that this is something he needs to figure out himself, Tommy. I hate that I can't be the person he thinks I am.”

“I think you don't give yourself enough credit.” When you turn to face him, Tommy puts the switchblade in your open palm. Your fingers reflexively close around it, and it's cool to the touch. Smooth. The grain in the wood looks like the wriggling lifelines in a human hand. “You made him leave this life. You got him to care enough to make a real one, and you didn't even know it.”

You flick open the switchblade. “This is beautiful.”

“Gave it to me for safekeeping when he retired,” says Tommy. “It was the prize for completing his first job.”

You frown at your reflection, angling the knife up and down. “How old was he?”

Tommy covers the blade with his hand and retracts it. “Keep it,” he says. “It never belonged to me.”

You try to push it toward him, suddenly repulsed. You've heard from his own mouth about the lives he's taken, but the thought of your Joel holding the very same weapon, sinking it into flesh, slicing through the strings that hold a person together, makes your fingers tremble. “It doesn't belong to me either, Tommy.”

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I think you’d know what to do with it better than me.”

You swallow hard. “A man declares war because he wants peace.” Your thumb slides along the smooth edge of the hilt before you hide it inside your bag. “I can't pretend to understand what you both went through, Tommy. But know that I’m glad you found a good life. And know that if you break Maria’s heart, I’ll make you swallow paint.”

Tommy nods sombrely. “I’ll tip the can myself. We're thinking green for the nursery.”

“Green is good.” You give him a conciliatory smile.

“Joel’s a good man,” he says. “He's just… misguided.”

“Are you a man of God, Tommy?”

He laughs. “I don't think anyone who came out of that place alive still believes there's a God. If only the Sisters could see us now.”

“I hope they never do,” you tell him. “I hope they never get the satisfaction of knowing they hurt him.”

“I don't think they’d be much satisfied,” says Tommy, “if they knew he'd found peace after all.”

Hours unfold. The canvas sits untouched as you and Tommy sit next to one another, the moon outside slowly enveloped by clouds. The silver silhouette casts a halo through the grey, and you think of your Joel, alone on his warpath, bloodying the ring on his finger. You think of your name on his back, nestled above the praying hands, and the pit of restlessness yawns wide open.

“He should be back by now.”

Tommy rubs his palms over his thighs, a behaviour you've noticed in Joel. “Yeah, he should.”

“But he'll be okay,” you say, a minute warble colouring your voice, “right?”

“He's Joel,” is all he gives you in return.

Your fingers twist themselves into knots in your lap until the jab of a car horn outside jolts you back to life. “Tommy,” you rasp, wetting your lips. “Go find him.”

He nods, standing abruptly from his chair and yanking his coat free from the hook by the door. “He’ll kill me for leavin’ you alone,” he says.

“We both know he needs you,” you say, turning your head to watch the moon peek out from behind the sheet of grey. “Just bring my husband back.”

There's a distinct sensation that erupts across the skin of a nonbeliever who crosses the threshold of a church. It begins in the floorboards, where the soul of a supposed Christ lingers, and radiates up through the soles of the feet, through the knees, until it circles the brain, persistent as a murder of crows. You don't belong here.

The little church is nothing extravagant, which Joel has to find a little funny. Five rows of pews on either side, a basin of holy water next to the pulpit, a smattering of devotees kneeling on the padded seats in front of them. He swallows the burn and approaches the pastor.

“My son,” says the man, spreading his arms wide as if welcoming Joel back from a pilgrimage. “Welcome. What troubles your heart today?”

Joel pulls the Benelli from his canvas bag and blows out the pastor’s kneecap.

His deafening roar echoes off the domed ceiling and reverberates through the stained-glass paintings of the Virgin Mary. “Fuck!” cries the pastor, scrambling backward with a hand covering his bloodied leg. “Fucking cunt, fucking asshole, vete a la mierda! What the fuck is your problem?”

Joel turns and fires another two shots at the guards on the balcony. One of them tumbles over the edge. The kneeling figures flee the scene, some screaming, some praying.

“Donde esta Cabrera?” Joel growls, bunching the pastor’s white collar in his bloodstained fist. When he doesn't reply, Joel applies pressure to the wound in his knee between his thumb and forefinger. “Habla.”

“Fuck!” he howls. “He isn't here. Hijo de puta, he's not here!”

“Fine,” says Joel, hauling the man upright with little regard for his obliterated knee. “Then we're takin’ a little field trip.”

Joel knew many of Cabrera’s secrets during his time working for the bastard. He would have changed the codes to the vault, but it’s the same nonetheless. Joel shoves the pastor down the winding staircase and aims the barrel of the shotgun between his eyes.

“Open the vault.”

“Manuel will kill me,” pleads the pastor.

Joel lifts a brow. “You see me cryin’?”

A pale, trembling hand rises to the keypad and types in the code. Inside the vault, two women are counting piles of cash behind the counter. Joel gestures toward the door with his shotgun. “Ladies,” he greets, “out.”

They scurry out of the vault with their hands in the air. Inside the small concrete cell, safes are embedded in the walls, twice Joel’s height, one of them unlocked and brimming with neatly piled heaps of bound bills and documents. Joel reaches up and unlatches a shelf, watching the avalanche of blood money cascade onto the floor around his feet. With one hand, he produces a lighter from his pocket and flicks on the flame. It ignites the piles of cash and papers as Joel walks out, leaving the wounded pastor on the floor.

A whisper goes up in flames behind his back. “El espectro.”

At the aggressive slam of car doors, Joel climbs the staircase to the balcony and looks over the rear exit. Outside, Manuel Cabrera and his men cross the concrete toward the church. Joel curses, ejecting the shell from his shotgun and inserting a new clip. The stained glass crumbles with the first shot as he puts a bullet in a bodyguard’s head. The shouts flutter toward the sky in the ensuing panic. Joel hears Manuel cry out his orders: Around the back. You two, flank him. The bastard’s here; go fucking kill him.

The smell of smoke begins to stick to his throat as he takes another shot. The sound of dress shoes clatters, echoing, across the floorboards below him. “Goddamn it,” he growls. He’ll be flushed out before long if he doesn't move. Joel checks his clip, fruitlessly searches the body on the balcony for more ammunition, and kicks him over the edge. The resounding thud of his corpse against the pews is somewhat gratifying. Cabrera’s men crowd the dead man, which gives Joel just enough time to descend the staircase and shoulder open the back door. The parking lot teems with Cabrera’s army ants, creeping around parked cars as they search for the boogeyman.

One of the bodyguards ducks behind a Range Rover, and Joel bares his teeth, the wolf at the hunt. He shoots out the front tires, which deflates the car just enough to give him a glimpse of the man’s head. He takes the shot.

“Puta!” someone cries. Joel ducks as a shot pings off the front bumper of the Cadillac next to him, and he briefly takes stock of his ammunition. Fuck. He would have really liked to keep the fucking high ground. Now, he's as trapped as they are. Rats in a maze of shiny new cars.

Joel peeks around the corner and feels the heat of a bullet seat through the sleeve of his jacket. He shoulders the sting of the new wound and rounds the corner, raising his weapon and firing. He counts another two, three, five dead, and the moist air begins to cling to the back of his neck, sweat lining his collar, blood soaking his sleeve. He calls Cabrera’s name. He calls again.

“Let's end this,” he growls. “Come out, and I’ll spare the rest of them.”

An explosion nearby sets him off-kilter, rattling the earth beneath him. The church goes up easily, flames licking the sky, sirens blaring several blocks over, the steady eruption of chaos like golden nectar in his mouth. Joel rises to his feet and continues his charge.

He calls Cabrera’s name again. He thinks of your body, prone and cold on the floor, reaching for him. He thinks of that night and imagines himself saving you before any of it happened. He imagines turning out of the restaurant that very first night, retreating into the darkness where it was comfortable and you were safe.

No—he'd gone to the light. He’d let it all topple, and he'd do it again. This world is not where he belongs. You are what the word has led him to. All the gospel and the hymnals and the nights spent praying on his knees to a false god led him to your soft, supple side, not to the jagged edges of this unforgiving Underworld.

He calls Cabrera’s name again, but he hears the roar of the engine too late. The circle of vehicles crowds him, claustrophobic, and it's Manuel Cabrera who steps out.

He looks the same as he did eight years ago, when Joel approached him and asked to be released from his contract, if not a little more grey. He's dressed in an Italian suit and his shoes are unscuffed. His hair is combed back and his eyes are sunken into his face.

Something strikes Joel in the back of his head, and he sees the Creation of Adam on the north wall of the orphanage, the wrinkled old hand, the stray dogs.

The starchy scent of the canvas sack jolts him awake. Someone yanks it up over his head, and he blinks in the harsh light of day.

He's in a giant empty warehouse. Light filters through the broken glass windows high above their heads, shards and empty bullet casings and cigarette butts crunching underfoot. Judging from the scuffling of feet around him, ten or so men surround him where he sits in an old folding chair, bound by the wrists. He feels a throbbing ache in his skull and winces. You’ll give him hell for this.

“It’s good to see you, Joel,” says the silhouette sitting across from him, flanked by two more shadows. Joel blinks them into focus. “It’s been a long time.”

The edges soften until he can see the whites of the eyes, the cool detached gaze, the glimmer of a silver watch. “Manuel,” says Joel. “¿Cómo está su hijo?”

A huff of air is all he gets in reply. Manuel sheds his long coat and leans forward on his elbows. “You know, Joel, my son was a fucking moron.”

“I could've told you that,” says Joel, “and I would've saved you a lot of breath.”

“My son,” growls Manuel, “was a moron, but he was my son. I told him as much—told him there was nothing he could do, not when Joel Miller was hunting him down. And when I asked him what he had done to warrant the boogeyman’s vengeance, he said it was because of a girl.”

Manuel rubs his hand over his stubbled jaw, laughing like the situation is amusing. “Well, that’s good for you, Joel. Good to finally find something you care about, to find a reason. I see you're putting your retirement to good use. Fighting for your very own Helen of Troy.”

Joel says nothing, studying the manic glint in Cabrera’s eye. He recalls that same look from the night he asked to leave, placing his gun on the desk between them.

“I want out,” he said.

“Out?” said Cabrera. “And why, Joel, would you ever want out?”

“Because I’m done here,” he said. “I'm done in this world and I’m done with you.”

Joel wonders if Cabrera had been waiting for that exact moment: for Joel Miller, the ghost in the corner of the Underworld’s bedroom, to step forward and give Manuel Cabrera the opportunity he needed to rise to the very top.

“Very well,” he said after a long silence. “But I want you to consider whether your freedom is worth what I’m about to ask of you. It will not be easy.”

“It’s worth it,” said Joel. “Now tell me what I need to do.”

Cabrera sits across from Joel the same way he did eight years ago, the same insidious gleam in those black eyes, smiling smugly without moving his face at all.

“You've changed,” he says. “You’re softer, Joel. That wedding ring must've done a number on my killer.”

“Maybe I never stopped bein’ a killer,” says Joel.

“Maybe not. But the difference is that now, you have a reason to keep living.” Cabrera has the gall to feign remorse as he shrugs his shoulders. “You took my son from me, Joel. You understand how this world works.”

Joel kicks out his leg instinctively, baring his teeth at Cabrera like a caged dog. Two henchmen clap down on his shoulders and abruptly pull him backward in the chair. The rope around his wrists chafe.

“When I signed that contract,” he growled, “I had nothing to live for. Nobody to love. Until the day she showed up in my life. She gave me a word to follow that wasn’t yours or your God’s.” His mouth hardly fits around the name. Yours has always felt softer on his tongue. “Trust that Emiliano deserved worse than the death I gave him.”

“A woman above God,” Cabrera utters under his breath, rubbing his palms over his thighs before he rises to his feet and grabs Joel by the hair at the scruff of his neck. Joel winces at the prickling sensation erupting across his scalp. Cabrera’s breath stinks of weed. “El espectro,” he says mockingly. “The fuckin’ boogeyman. You're not so scary like this.”

Cabrera forces Joel to look up at him. The pressure accumulates behind his nose, painful enough to make his eyes water. “You burned my church down, Joel,” says his captor. “Money is replaceable, sure, but the leverage I had on this city… Hijo de puta. Just for a fuckin’ girl, Joel?”

Joel can't help but sneer. “Yeah, I enjoyed that part.”

It earns him a blow across the jaw, and he relishes the electric lash that wriggles down his side. Cabrera lets go of his hair and gestures with a glance to his men before he turns away, plucking his coat from the chair.

“Manuel.”

He watches Cabrera consider it: to indulge Joel, or to let him rot.

The first hit he executed on Cabrera’s behalf earned him just ten thousand. Then thirty-something, having long ago left the Sisters, the hard wooden floors worn with the pressure of so many kneeling bodies, the Marines, and the sound of warfare, Joel didn’t have many places to stay. He took the red money, earned from the body and probably the pockets of a dead senator, and rented a place.

Nighttime in the city didn't mean quiet, not outside nor in. That night, Joel sat on the side of his bed in a cockroach-infested Brooklyn apartment whose walls smelled of cigarette smoke, and he put his face in his hands. Leaving one war only to enter another, Cabrera told him, is just the way of life. You, Joel, are a killer.

But that can’t be all, he thinks now, his hands bound and his blood singing in his heart. He wonders if you're asleep by now, if you've taken to his side of the bed like you used to, if you've stretched your hand across the linen for a taste of the memory of that love-like-sunlight.

It's your blood, he realises, that courses through him. Your blood that tastes sweet as ichor, your blood that runs in his blue-green veins. It's your blood he hears whispering to him when the dreams go black as pitch and he cannot hope to breathe.

The last contract he took for Cabrera earned him no prize but his freedom. Nothing but the smell of your perfume and your warm body tucked neatly into his every night and the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands could have satisfied him. He was not just a killer. He’d proven it. He’d lived it in eight years of gentle mornings, kissing you awake starting at the roots of your hair, and he’d loved it as much as they all had tried to make him love a God that never loved him.

He’d never forgotten how to kill. But he hasn't forgotten how to love, either. That, he figured out all on his own.

“All I wanted was peace. And your son took that from me.” Joel lifts his head to watch Cabrera: the way his spine stiffens, the way his eyes narrow minutely. “He killed my peace and so I killed him. So you can either pull your contract,” Joel says, feeling the snarl pull at his vocal cords like jagged claws as his voice begins to rise, “or you can die screaming like your bastard son.”

He barely lurches forward in the chair before a plastic bag is shucked over his head, suctioned tight around his throat. Two men hold him down as Joel struggles against his bonds, gasping against the cool plastic. He's overpowered, hands wrenching his shoulders back against the chair. He kicks out for leverage, but his strength is waning, and the brief high of losing consciousness brings him back to you.

He took you to Greece for your honeymoon—or, rather, you took him. You were more travelled, more comfortable in the bright spots of the world, more settled in the spotlight. He thinks about how the sun adorned your skin like sequins, how eyes followed you everywhere you went, how you would see him frowning at all the attention and quietly take his hand.

They don't exist, you would tell him. You're all mine now, Joel Miller. And it’s just you and me.

Maybe there's a scrap of truth to fate. He's always been yours, long before he ever knew your face.

He basks in the sunlight on the beach for the time being. You wore his sunglasses when yours broke. You let him apply your sunscreen and you tucked your head into his shoulder on the luxurious chair. You fell asleep with your hand on his chest. Joel spent an hour studying the band around your ring finger.

Maybe Greece was a dream. Maybe the sun was a trick of the light and the clouds were smoke and the sky was black and the memory dwindles to a pinprick and he's grasping onto the image, your smile, your laugh, bells and perfume and a candle set at the foot of a golden statue—

“Stop.”

“Stop,” says a voice, and the air comes rushing back in. Joel wheezes, blinking hard to clear the spots or maybe to preserve the picture. But you're gone, slipping softly away as the brush of your knuckle over his cheek, and Joel is alive again.

“Tommy?”

His brother doesn't look at him, but Joel sees the brief shimmer of gunmetal hidden in his waistband.

He can feel the bruises blooming in a circle of fire around his throat. You’ll really be furious with him.

Joel watches his brother pull the handgun and feels the ropes cut into the tender skin of his wrists, helpless as he feels now. “What in the hell…”

“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel.

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller au #john wick au

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mcyt-hc-writing · 6 months

Text

The Artificial Structures of Minecraft: An Attempted Chronology

Artificial structures in Minecraft range from the modern to the ancient. What structures are newer and which are older? It's hard to say. But here are my thoughts:

Modern - These structures are in use and new ones are likely being actively created

Villages: Actively inhabited by villagers

Woodland mansions: Actively inhabited by illagers

Pillager outposts: Actively inhabited by pillagers

Witch huts: Actively inhabited by witches

Igloos: No indication of owners, but the captive villager is still alive

Player-made structures: Self-explanatory

*Abandoned villages: Not actively in use, but new ones are likely being created

Recent - Not known to be in use, but have few signs of decay or geological changes

Abandoned villages: Explained above

Mineshafts: No signs of decay, despite wooden structures decaying easily

Desert wells: Cannot be proved to be in use, but have no signs of decay

Ocean monuments: No signs of decay, built after change in water levels (ref. ocean ruins)

End cities: No signs of decay, though in the end this may be hard to determine

*Shipwrecks: Some shipwrecks have few signs of decay or burial, indicating they are likely recent, especially given how fast wood can decay in water

*Ancient city illager structures: Structures in ancient cities made of dark oak wood and blue wool, appearing to be made by illagers. Illagers are active in the world, so it is likely that the structures are recent

Old - Structure shows signs of overgrowth or being partially buried, but no significant structural decay or changes in local geography

Jungle temples: Overgrown but structure and redstone intact

Desert pyramids: May be buried, and the secret room is entirely buried, but they are still near the surface and show little signs of decay

Dungeons/monster rooms: Cobblestone is overgrown bu structure is otherwise intact

*Shipwrecks: More decayed or buried shipwrecks likely belong in this category

Decayed - Structure has decayed or been damaged, but intact segments maintain integrity. Unclear if these are actually older than the previous category or if they were simply more prone to damage due to being larger

Strongholds: Have some cracked and overgrown bricks, and structures may have gaps. However, other than the gaps, rooms retain their shape and may even contain intact furnishings

Nether fortresses: Some bridges may be broken, but the rest of the structures have no obvious rubble or even cracks

Ancient - Structure is entirely decayed. Massive structural damage. Indications of geographic shifts since construction

Bastion remnants: Despite active habitation, they are in ruins. Some parts of the structures resemble natural caves more than artificial construction

Ruined portals: Wrecked and broken structures, often buried or flooded. Crying obsidian appears to be in an advanced stage of decay

Ancient cities: A majority of structures are in ruins. It is unclear if cities are supposed to be buried deep underground with little to no connection to the surface

Ocean ruins: In ruins. Some contain eggs of extinct animals. Evidently built before a sea level rise

Trail ruins: Likely the oldest artificial structures in the game. Almost entirely buried, with no structural integrity remaining

Conclusions:

Piglin civilization was ancient. Considering how ruined bastion remnants are, in comparison with nether fortresses, it seems unlikely that they competed with the fortress builders at the height of their civilization. It is likely that the fortress builders arrived in the nether only after the piglins had regressed to tribalism. If we assume Minecraft Legends to be canon, this likely means that fortresses (and strongholds, by extension) did not exist in the time period of Minecraft Legends

The advanced decay of ruined portals seems to indicate their extreme antiquity. Combined with their peculiar generation (generating nether terrain in the overworld, but not vice-versa) it seems likely that they are also from the Minecraft Legends time period - this makes a great deal of sense in my opinion, considering how they work in that game

Trail ruins indicate that villager civilization is likely just as old, if not older, than piglin civilization. This is consistent with Minecraft Legends, but the difference in architecture indicates that villagers may have been responsible for a lot of different kinds of structures

Nether fortresses and strongholds have similar levels of decay, indicating they may be from the same time period. This makes sense considering the ender eye crafting recipe

It is likely that the treasure maps in shipwrecks were obtained from ocean ruins

Igloos are likely owned by illagers

Abandoned mineshafts were likely made by villagers - badlands mineshafts may have been made by illagers, as they share their wood type with other illager structures

It is likely that the magic of totems of undying is related to the magic of golden apples. They have similar colours, illagers are the most likely to be responsible for igloos (where they experiment with golden apples and reversing death), they likely have mineshafts in badlands (where they find lots of gold), and they seem to have an interest in ancient cities (the best place in the game to find enchanted golden apples)

#minecraft #minecraft lore

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daytaker · 3 months

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Hi! I'd Like to request something for obey me. So MC is an Artist Like Semi realistic or so and then they draw the brothers and themself all together Like some Kind of Family Photo for maybe a sweet gesture to appriciat them, what would the reaction be?

First of all, that's adorable. Second of all, yes, absolutely.

Everyone

The immediate question on everyone's mind is where it should be put. The suggestions are fairly predictable. Beel wants it in the kitchen. Satan wants it in the library. Belphie wants it in the observatory. Asmo thinks it should go in his bathroom, and he acts amazed when his brothers disagree.

You'll probably be the one to suggest making some copies of it if they like it so much. That way they can all have one. The brothers all like this idea, so you head off to the Devildom equivalent of a FedEx store and make some quick copies for everybody.

Eventually, the original work will find pride of place above the fireplace, where everyone will get plenty of time to admire it, including guests. The brothers are all very proud to explain to them that they have a very close friend who's an artist, thank you, and they made that piece of artwork up there for them, for free, because they love them all so much. What do you mean it's too small for that big of a space? Clearly you don't understand art, they'll tell the guest. Satan smirks; Levi rolls his eyes; Asmo whispers something to Mammon and they both start snickering. Real mean girl energy.

Lucifer

It's proved to be more or less impossible to get a photograph with himself and all six of his brothers, so this is an immediate hit with him. Plus, you're in it, which makes it even more valuable. He wonders why he didn't commission a painted family portrait earlier. It just hadn't crossed his mind, he supposes.

He'll buy a very nice and expensive frame for the picture and have it professionally mounted on a backboard. Only a museum quality display will do.

He enjoys looking at the artwork now and then and mentally noting all the details he likes. You captured Mammon's smug smile perfectly, and somehow Levi looks happy, but still like himself. Of course, his favorite part of the picture (along with you, of course) is himself. He thinks he looks very dignified, and he appreciates that you placed him in the center; the true patriarch of the family. Besides that (though he wouldn't bring it up unprompted), he thinks you made him look very handsome, and he likes the idea that you see him that way.

Mammon

You put him next to you?! I mean, of course you did! He's your number one demon, right? Obviously he belongs right next to you! He'll point out his positioning in the picture to his brothers often enough that they've gotten past feeling annoyed about it and just tease him for simping so openly.

He thinks it looks a little bit like you're smiling at him in the picture. You're not. You're staring into the 'camera', just like everyone else. But he tells himself that. He has another copy of the picture made where he cropped out everyone besides the two of you. He keeps it in his sock drawer so he can pull it out when he's by himself and admire it. Lucifer has walked in on him lying on his back and holding it up, staring wistfully at the picture, often enough that he can tell by how quiet it is when Mammon is either sleeping or staring at that goddamn picture of his again.

Speaking of extra copies, he also made some more to try and sell at RAD, but, shockingly, cheap copies of a picture of someone else's family didn't sell well. Diavolo bought one though, as did Simeon. Yeah, maybe it wasn't exactly ethical to try and capitalize on your artwork, but, well, come on, he's in it, and you gave it to him, so that kind of makes him the owner of it, right...?

Leviathan

He's pretty sure he's not breathing right now. That's... That's how he looks? To you? He looks....amazing....!! Look at his smile! His jawline! His glossy hair! His cheeks, touched with color---!!! You must think he's... like....... Ugh, it's stupid, like, who even cares? Nobody, that's who. Nobody except him. He cares. And he wishes his stomach would settle down a little bit before lunch explodes onto the rug. So he'll just take his copy of the painting, clutch it to his chest, and giggle to himself as he slinks off to his room while everyone else stands admiring the painting on the mantlepiece.

Now, to really study this thing. He lies in his bathtub and squints at the painting. He realizes, to his dismay, that all his brothers look extra hot in this thing too. Hrmm... But, whatever! The important part is that he looks amazing! His eyes are shining, his skin looks healthy and smooth, and.... well.... he doesn't look like somebody it'd be weird for you to be into, maybe. Maybe? Possibly.

He's pretty shy around you for a few days after you give them all the picture. He's not really sure how he's supposed to react around someone who thinks he's... h....ha-ha....handsome...???? And not just that, but the look on his face! Does he make faces like that in real life? Does he make faces like that in front of you?

He spends a good chunk of time in front of the mirror trying to imitate the look from the painting, but he can't quite get it right. He always ends up crumbling into a pathetic, groaning, blushing little creep and fleeing the bathroom. He hates himself. But he can cheer himself up with the knowledge that you definitely don't hate him, right? How could you draw someone you hated looking like... like....?!?

Satan

Knowing Satan is someone who admires art in general, you were most nervous about him seeing it. He has a tendency to be fairly blunt and honest, and you really hoped he'd just appreciate the thought behind the picture without subjecting it to any kind of critical analysis.

But of course he did it anyway. He'd expressed his appreciation just like his brothers had when you first gave it to them, but you'd often see him standing in front of the fireplace staring up at the picture with a hand to his chin after that.

Satan's initial thought, after the excitement over the gift and how cute and nervous you looked giving it to them all, is that the composition of the piece, while not particularly original, has definite visual appeal. While he doesn't particularly enjoy Lucifer's position in the middle, he understands why you put him there, both artistically and psychologically. Lucifer dominates almost any group he's in with his annoyingly hefty self-confidence. His ego is smeared all over the picture, but that's not your fault. That's just Lucifer, being awful and ruining things, like he always does.

When he finally gives some attention to how he looks in the painting, he's pleasantly surprised. He looks refreshingly like himself, but also like he's meant to be there, with everybody else. He can also tell you spent some time on his eyes. They look lovely. If you ever want to paint them again, he'd be happy to model for you. What, shy all of a sudden?

Asmodeus

Well, obviously he's the real star of the artwork. It's as if he's glowing, washing out his brothers with his effervescent presence on the canvas! Clearly, you know your art. Never mind he's the only one who seems to quite see the picture in that way.

He has his copy of the painting framed and hung up in his bathroom, where he thought the original should have been put all along. Now he never feels like he's alone in the tub! Every once in a while, he'll talk to the artwork while he takes a bath. Just to amuse himself. But when you go back to the human world, 'every once in a while' becomes 'almost every day'.

He has a theory that if someone stares into the eyes of Painting Asmo too deeply for too long, they'll fall in love with him. The painting version of him, that is. He knows that's silly, so he keeps it to himself, but he can't stop himself from imagining you mesmerized by your own painting of him, bewitched by the very eyes you painted...

Beel

Honestly, Beel is just happy you made a picture including him, his brothers, and you. You put him right beside Belphie with an arm slung around his shoulders. He's smiling more in the picture than he normally does in real life, but that doesn't bother him at all. He wants to look happy in this kind of painting.

He taped his copy of the picture to the refrigerator door. Everyone appreciates this, not just Beel, though he definitely sees it the most often. After you go home, he says good morning to you every day when he first heads to the fridge. It's a nice way to feel like you're still around.

Belphie

Wow... He looks adorable here. And you didn't include him drooling like his brothers always do when they draw him. Though it really isn't fair to compare this to the "drawings" his brothers have made to make fun of each other. Idiots...

You put him right next to Beel. That makes him smile. And he looks...like he's happy to be there. Maybe not grinning like a doofus, but like this is his family, and he's pretty okay with it.

He keeps his copy of the picture taped to his bedpost so he can look at it whenever he feels lonely, especially after your year in the Devildom comes to an end.

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theysaidhush · 10 months

Text

The cat from across the garden.

Alt. Title -> Under the Weeping Willow

-> CatHybrid!Jungwon x CatHybrid!Shy!Reader, slight Jake x Reader and Jay x Jungwon

-> Jungwon was pleased with his life, until he saw you, the cat from across the garden.

-> Fluffy fluff, PoorStudent!Jake is kinda a bad owner but I swear he treats you like a princess, Lovesick!Jungwon is a menace, Rich!Jay agenda, Smut (p in v, unprotected sex, Jungwon is mounting you and it's hot, fingering, Breeding Kink, cream pie, slight nipple play, Reader goes into sub-space, even tho it feels like it's not dub-con)

-> Shoutout to my ♡ anonie that I love so much, to p1h-delulu (I'm sure it's the wrong name but you know who you are) for liking every single post that I post (duh) and to @adaamazing who asked to be tagged ! Almost forgot my moots @unh0ly-dr3am3r silly me ugh ! Feedback is appreciated 💝

Jungwon loved being an indoor cat. In 2023, hybrids had the right to be as independent as any human. They went to university, worked, owned their own apartments. But not Jungwon. Like some hybrids, he was said to belong to his owner. With a contract, a signature and a commitment to take good care of the hybrid, and so on. Kind of like an adopted child who stayed at home even after coming of age. What need did he have to go out and interact with people ? Why would he go to work or study when he was fed, housed and showered with affection in his master's apartment ? Ah, seriously. He loved living a life of ease.

"Jungwon, gotta go, see you !"

"See you tonight !" he nodded and smiled at his owner, Jay, a young American with whom he'd been at the side for almost four years now, and who never failed to provide for his needs. Jay patted him on the head before leaving. He huffed and rolled his eyes at the sight of his disappearing friend. He kept asking himself why he always had to leave him alone like that. The young boy looked around, lost in thought, exploring all the possibilities open to him. He could go and steal from the fridge, tear up his master's white sheets just to annoy him, or watch TV. All these proposals sounded tempting, but Jungwon would be content to read the mangas that had thoughtfully been placed at his disposal. There was even the latest volume of Jujutsu Kaisen !

So that's what he did, stretching out in the comfortable bed he shared with his master, tail wagging lazily as his big almond eyes scanned the panels of the book. The surrounding heat should have been stifling; summer was around the corner, after all. Jungwon was unable to stop smiling, rolling left and right, perfectly content with the life he was leading, purring in the sheets. But as his eyelids grew heavy, the urge to sleep all too much, Jungwon rose from the bed, leaving everything in a mess, and headed for the balcony of their quite spacious apartment, fists clenched as he rubbed his eyes, crinkled by the heaviness of his eyelids, fatigue almost driving him into the door of the small exterior.

The balcony wasn't very big, but it wasn't small either. Jungwon, 1.74 m tall, could lie down on it. The safety barrier, a thick plate of glass that allowed him to see what was going on in the identical balcony some 150 meters from theirs, wasn't very high either. Standing up, it reached just above his waist. In fact, if he leaned over too far, he risked falling into the small shared garden downstairs. The layout of their apartment was quite practical. They lived in a one-storey building with only two apartments. The one downstairs had been vacant for some time. Opposite, on the other hand, the only thing he could see was the almost identical building just across the street, if it wasn't for the fact that this one was much smaller. Jay had once told him that the layout was almost the same, except that both apartments were smaller. Add to that the lovely shared garden in the middle of both houses. In the tenants' contract, it was stipulated that the garden was shared between the four apartments, but the cat had never seen anyone venture into it. On several occasions, though rarely, he had seen a boy going in. But in those moments he was between sleep and consciousness, so his memories were a little hazy. Not that he really cared.

Yawning, he slumped onto his back on the long gray cushion that lined the balcony floor and spread his arms and legs, letting the warmth of the sun warm him. But suddenly, his ears twitched by their own volition. A sound had reached them. Incessant, repetitive, but above all annoying, since all he wanted to do was sleep. Sitting cross-legged on his cushion, tail wagging rapidly from annoyance, Jungwon's gaze scanned the surroundings. It was usually silent. It had only taken him two weeks' vacation with Jay for these birds to have the good sense to come back and bother him ? This thought made him realize that his scent was no longer lingering on the balcony. He'd have to remedy that, but first he'd have to chase those birds away. His pupils narrowed to a fine slit, ready to show his pretty fangs to any bird that dared sabotage his nap.

He leaned over a little and swept his gaze across the garden, looking for the culprit, but finding none. Gradually, his eyes made their way up the opposite building, and at last, they settled on a silhouette. How strange, Jungwon couldn't remember having a neighbor. Frowning, he detailed the figure with a critical eye, then his eyes opened wide at the sight of the source of the noise. Jungwon had excellent eyesight, so this figure seemed to be sitting right in front of him. His eyes followed the movements of the brush the person was holding in her pretty, slender fingers, then settled on the subject of those ministrations. A magnificent bushy tail, pale gray but shiny, and seemingly unconditionally soft. Jungwon wanted to slip his fingers into it. He looked up to see who owned it, and was greeted by the sight of a young woman, no older than himself, her ears folded back on her skull, a persistent pout on her lovely features.

Jungwon tilted his head, curious. She didn't seem in a good mood. She didn't look pleasant. What if she was trying to assert her territorial rights ? Was he destined to have to fight her every time he came out on the balcony for a good time ? Ah, that was out of the question. Jungwon loved lying in the sun, napping to the chirping of the birds, watching the clouds pass overhead, grooming himself. He didn't want it to change, he liked his every habit, he liked his routine, he didn't like what was unexpected and unpredictable. So he was about to hiss, curling his lips and flattening his ears against his skull, when suddenly the girl across the garden lifted her head.

The first thing the cat noticed was the pout that adorned his face. Her lip was pouting and her cheeks were puffed up like a hamster's. Jungwon was surprised to find her…cute ? He couldn't stop his face from returning to normal and his eyes from widening, forming two black beads as his pupils dilated, showing his curiosity. His new neighbor's ears perked up in turn and her face changed, adopting a startled look. She didn't know she had a neighbor either, apparently. Jungwon's sharp gaze didn't miss the way her pretty tail twitched under his fingers, or the way she flinched, sitting back on her haunches in case she needed to leave in a hurry. She tilted her head, curious, before leaning forward a little and smiling softly, greeting Jungwon with a shy wave of her hand. As soon as she had done so, she moved away on her hands and knees, her gaze never leaving his, before speeding off once she was near the glass door of her balcony.

Jungwon suddenly felt as if he couldn't see properly. In the past, his colorful world could keep him lost in thought for hours on end. His vision had no limits; it didn't stop at the sky or the stars. Now, however, he felt as if someone had put a cardboard box around his head. That he could only see in front of him, see that famous balcony, that tail sticking out of the wall, wagging from time to time, its owner peeking out from time to time to see if her new neighbor had left.

Jungwon felt as if all he wanted, wished for, was her. He wanted to hug her, stroke her hair, see that pout again, groom her and bask in the sun with her. His favorite color now was the fur on her tail, pale gray. Everything he'd found interesting before no longer made sense. Knocking glasses off Jay's counter, hiding his shoes, it was all futile now. She was the only thing that made sense. He was lovesick.

"Jakey !" you rushed to the door, leaving your hiding place behind the wall, near the French windows, to greet your best friend and owner. Your situation was similar to Jungwon's, but your characters were very different. And unlike the cat across the garden, you didn't have the luxury of living in a big apartment, nor did you have the luxury of breaking things because you knew Jake couldn't afford to replace them. So you were docile and gentle, always clamoring for his attention when he came home from his long days at work.

"Baby ! How was your day ? Did you nap in the sun ? I left the balcony doors open." he asked as he dropped his bag to the floor, opening his arms wide for you to step inside.

You threw yourself into his arms, savoring his embrace as you rubbed your head affectionately against his. You couldn't respond as a heavy purr escaped you in a continuous rhythm, making Jake smile as he swayed from one foot to the other, making you twirl left and right.

"Baby, I'm sorry, I'm really tired. I'll go take a shower and I'll meet you in bed okay ?"

Your purring suddenly stopped and, gradually, you loosened your grip around Jake's neck. For a minute, you just stared at the ground, searching for the right words to say, but finally decided not to spoil his evening. Your owner was doing his best to make sure you had a roof over your head and enough food on the table, so you couldn't ask too much from him, right ? It was bad enough that he was a student, but he'd also decided to take you with him when he left Australia, not wanting to be separated from you. So he had two mouths to feed, courses to attend and revise, and a job where he had to do his best for fear of being replaced by someone else who needed the work just as much as he did.

But you ? You did little more tan make him draw on his reserves and make him buy you clothes and accessories every time he went out. Well, you didn't ask him to, he just went gaga on you and couldn't help but buying the clothes in the shop front because he thought that it would look good on you. You had nothing to complain about. You had no right to wish he'd sit beside you on the balcony on a sunny afternoon and brush your tail; you had no right to ask him to spend an entire evening cuddling you, rubbing behind your ears, when he woke up early the next morning. You had no right to demand that he take care of you; that was selfish of you. You could do as you did today, do it yourself and grumble. Just like you did last week when you moved into that new apartment. So you pushed that ugly feeling of envy to the back of your mind and looked up, a little smile on your lips, gentle and understanding, and you nodded.

"Thanks Baby." Jake kissed your forehead, kicked off his shoes, grabbed his bag and then made a bee-line toward your shared bedroom, missing the way your ears had drooped the instant he'd disappeared from your sight, tail dangling.

D-1

The next afternoon, the call of the heat was far too tempting. You were bored out of your mind in your little studio, there was no TV or console, and Jake had taken his computer with him. You were doomed to roll around in your shared bed, count the number of fake glow-in-the-dark stars you'd stuck to the ceiling for the hundred and twenty-third time since you'd moved in, or talk to your pet stuffed animal. But the sun's rays streaming through the slippery doors and across the floor looked comforting. You were sure that underneath you could fall asleep until Jake returned. But being the shy cat that you were, you didn't want to see that imposing cat across the garden again. When you moved in, you were sure you smelled another hybrid. That was him. The cat from the apartment directly in front of you.

Sighing, you slumped full-length onto your stomach, caressing with your fingertips the faded piece of carpet that Jake had wanted to put under the bed for some reason you didn't yet know. Your tail hanging off the bed suddenly caught your attention. Since you'd moved in, its color had faded and it was much less soft than before. It was your pride and joy, and you loved to stroke it or curl up around it in winter, it was so comfortable and silky. Jake was also very fond of your tail; he often said that he met a lot of hybrids at university, but none of them had a tail as pretty as yours. Huffing, you sat up on the bed, perfectly proud of the idea that had just crossed your mind: you were going to brush yourself and give some color back to your pile of fur. Maybe then Jake would cuddle you again instead of slouching off to sleep like a starfish.

Nodding, a big smile on your face, you stood up and walked over to the drawer Jake had emptied so you could put your beauty products in. You could count them on the five fingers of your hand, but the gesture and the intention had made you so happy that Jake didn't even have the heart to feel guilty about not being able to give you what you wanted or needed. But as your gaze wandered to the corner of the drawer where you usually put your brush, you found it empty. Devoid of your favorite beauty tool. Then you were struck by the realization that you'd left it on the balcony yesterday.

Dejected, you let yourself fall to the floor, glancing from time to time at the parquet floor by the glass doors, which was brilliantly lit by the sun's warm rays. Ah, you really wanted to take a nap on the balcony now. You took your courage in both hands and slowly, like a cat approaching its prey, moved towards the door without ever leaving your place on the floor, crawling on your hands and knees, your tail wagging nervously behind you. The sun's reflection prevented you from seeing properly outside, so, with a hesitant hand, you took hold of the handle and gently slid the door open, leaving it wide enough for you to pass through, but also to close it quickly if necessary.

Your palms rested on the concrete that made up your balcony and you sighed with contentment at the sensation of warmth beneath your fingers. It was so comforting. You looked up at the balcony on the opposite side and were only half-surprised to see that the long cushion used as a mattress was occupied. So you hesitated, your knee stopping mid-air, unsure whether to simply pick up your brush or bask in the sun, minding your own business. What a dilemma.

Jungwon, who had been sitting here for a good hour, hadn't taken his eyes off your balcony even once. He'd been waiting for you to come out so he could see you again. You had been haunting his thoughts since yesterday. He'd been distant all evening, staring into nothingness as he was thinking about you. He hadn't gone to ask Jay for his "Welcome home bitch" caress, hadn't replied when Jay pointed out with amusement that he'd behaved like a good kitten today, and hadn't once hissed at him. What had really alarmed the American, however, was when Jungwon came to bed, pupils dilated, still lost in thought, and started kneading his stomach while demanding scratching. But Jay wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Just because his cat, who was independent and usually fell asleep grumbling when he tried to pet him, was now accepting his caresses, didn't mean he should panic.

In short, Jungwon had been waiting for you since last night. So when the glass door gently slid open and let him catch a glimpse of you, he couldn't help the purr that resonated in the hollow of his throat. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you raised your head, freezing, waiting to see what his next move would be. And Jungwon knew exactly what to do at that moment. At least, his instincts knew, and what else could he do but listen to his instincts.

He tried to look as small as possible and laid down on his back, watching you as your silhouette appeared upside down to him, a loud purr escaping from his throat. You didn't look convinced, but Jungwon knew that you no longer perceived him as a threat, at least for the time being. He also knew that his smell and the sound of his purring had reached your ears, since the pheromones you unconsciously let escape from your body told him you were relaxed. However, even as you tiptoed towards your brush, you remained seated by the door, ready to leave at the slightest sign of aggression on his part. With a slow, repetitive gesture, you began to brush your fur, glancing from time to time at a completely relaxed and enamored Jungown, lying on his bed, watching you repeat the same gesture tirelessly. What a great day.

D-3

"Jay !" Jungwon smiled, rushing into his eldest's arms, hugging him affectionately while purring loudly.

Jay didn't know what to say, what to do. He recoiled and couldn't stop his face from twisting into a concerned grimace. In all the years he'd known and lived with Jungwon, the cat had never given him such a warm welcome. It was fascinating. And frightening.

Trying to act as if nothing had happened, Jay awkwardly returned Jungwon's embrace, not being usually the affectionate type. But he couldn't very well push him away when, for the first, or rather second time in almost five years, Jungwon was demonstrating affection for him. Admittedly, it was an unexpected change, but also a welcomed one. For three days, his cat hadn't broken anything, raided the fridge or torn up his sheets. Whatever had happened to him, it must surely have been something positive.

Jay finally managed to detach himself from the young man and set about removing his shoes, when he suddenly froze. No. There was nothing normal about this behavior. He shouldn't be happy about it. The heat of Jungwon had already passed, and the next heat was still a long way off. It was selfish of him to be content and satisfied with the actions of his otherwise distant cat. Something was going on with Jungwon if he suddenly acted all lovey-dovey with him.

The American sat down on the sofa and didn't even need to call out for his cat, since the latter had followed close behind and was now laying with its head in his lap, its tail wagging lazily on the edge of the sofa. Jay took a deep breath and began mindlessly stroking Jungwon's black ears, hesitating several times before finally asking, "Jungwon, are you feeling…good ? Not sick or anything ?"

Jungwon turned his head towards his owner so that his face faced his, tilting his head in disbelief. For a few brief seconds, Jay saw this glint of malice and something akin to disdain, an expression with which he was very familiar because of his cat. But he also saw that it had come and gone, while Jungwon, curious, shook his head to indicate that he didn't feel weird.

"Did something happen today ?"

Despite the way Jungwon had dismissed this question by shaking his head, Jay knew instantly that something had happened. Jungwon had smiled stupidly and his pupils had dilated in a way the boy had never seen before. His gaze had become distant, almost dreamy, and then the black cat had ended the discussion by lying on his side, towards the French windows leading to their little balcony, his purring doubling in strength. Ah, Jay now had two problems: he couldn't move since his cat had taken up residence on him, and on top of that he was acting strangely. Ah, what a perfect day.

D-4

"Jakey ? Jakey ! Jake !"

"What ?!" The Australian boy snapped, his head turning in your direction, a frown on his face. He'd dropped his pen and pushed his chair back from his little desk at breakneck speed, causing you to take three steps backwards, looking guilty, ears folded back against your skull. He exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair, restraining the urge to tear up his course sheets that he'd been staring at all evening. The whole three weeks, in fact. "What do you want ? What do you need ?"

"I-" You stammered, standing in front of him like a child being scolded. Your tail wagged nervously behind you and you began to play with the edges of your sweater. Under the pressure of his gaze, your cheeks flushed, embarrassed. "Nothing, just filling silly… 'M sorry…"

Jake huffed as he returned to his desk. He really wanted to give you all the love you deserved, but right now, if he wanted to be able to give you what you wanted and more, the last thing he needed was to repeat his year. He wasn't to be distracted by your adorable pout, let alone spend thirty minutes playing with you, even if you brought him your toys as you had done over the past few days. He couldn't afford it; he had to be the responsible one for the sake of your future. Even if it meant letting you down a little. You were a cat, you were also independent, right ?

You frowned not in anger but in frustration. For the past few days, you'd had this irrepressible urge to make yourself heard by Jake. You wanted him to listen to you, to see you, to cuddle you, to love you. But you tried so hard to push those feelings deep into your heart, knowing full well that you couldn't be a distraction for him. And yet, a little voice inside your head kept urging you to meow until he paid attention to you.

You stood behind Jake for a few minutes, part of you hoping that maybe he'd turn around and give you a hug, or let you rest your head in his lap while he worked, but none of that happened. Not even after ten minutes. Not even after thirty minutes. Or an hour. You were still standing behind him, your feet and body begging you to move, to sit, your limbs tingling, indicating that you were becoming numb. And that's what you were becoming. Numb.

"Oh my God yes finally !" Jake sighed with a mixture of joy and fatigue, big dark circles under his eyes and finished cups of coffee stacked next to his laptop. He'd spent hours on this project and was very pleased with it. He wouldn't have to work this weekend and could concentrate fully on his barista job. He might even be able to work overtime to buy you that new console game you'd been talking about after seeing the advert on TV. Yes, that's what he was going to do.

Happy and pleased with his idea, he turned to the faded sofa in the middle of the room to tell you of his genius, "Baby !" But you weren't there. You weren't lying on your stomach, snuggled under a soft comforter, reading your favorite book for the third time. Confused, he scanned his apartment, looking for your silhouette. You sometimes liked to lie on the floor when it was too hot. But you weren't there. But your favorite ball, the one you loved to play catch with Jake, was. Miserable, alone, in the middle of the dimly lit living room. The same one you'd brought him earlier in the evening.

Jake's eyes widened and he had what seemed like one last burst of caffeine, allowing it to remind him of how he'd rejected you hours before. "Oh shit shit shit." Slipping a hand nervously through his hair, he scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair with the force with which he'd stood up. "Baby com'here !" His calls fell on deaf ears and no sound reached him. He didn't have to look for you, since his apartment consisted of just three rooms. The bathroom, which also served as a toilet, the small living room where only a desk, a commode and a sofa could fit, and his bedroom, which consisted of a wall cupboard and a large double bed. He made his way into your room, silently hoping that you were sleeping peacefully, cuddling your tail. But the sight that greeted him was far different from the scene he'd imagined. You were awake, and you weren't in bed. You were sitting in front of the French window that led to the little balcony that Jake didn't like all that much. You, on the other hand, loved to groom yourself there in the afternoons, when the sun was at its zenith, rocking you in its comforting warmth.

He ignored this strange situation, which should have set him thinking, and only glanced outside through the closed window, oblivious to the faint night-light lit in the opposite building. He stroked your head and you gasped, raising your big dilated eyes to him. Ah, Jake felt so loved. Smiling, albeit tiredly, he lifted you into his arms, closing the window curtain with a quick tug, again oblivious to the way your ears had briefly folded.

"I'm sorry Baby, I'm just trying to do something nice for the both of us, didn't mean to snap at you like that." He set you down on the bed then slumped over you, blowing playfully on your face to see your face contort into the little grimace he loved so much.

You fidgeted, trying to push his face away from yours so he'd stop tickling you by rubbing his face against yours. You didn't hold a grudge and loved him so much that you couldn't bear to stay angry with him for more than a few minutes. Scratch that, you'd never been angry with him. "It's 'kay Jakey."

A few minutes passed as he stroked your hair affectionately, then he stood up and undressed, keeping only his boxers on, before snuggling up to you, whispering in the hollow of your ear, "I love you Baby, hope you know it."

And you smiled, rubbing your head against his cheek, wrapping your arms around his torso and your tail around his leg before whispering "I love you too Jakey..." between two purrs.

D-7

It was time for Jungwon to come and perch on the balcony, watching you brush or bask in the sun. It was a routine, an unspoken thing between the two of you. One would always wait for the other, lie down or sit on the balcony, ears perked up and eyes fixed on the opposite window, watching for the slightest movement. This time Jungwon had arrived much earlier, somewhere around eleven a.m., impatiently waiting for you to come and sit on the floor of your balcony. As usual, you opened the balcony when the sun was high in the sky and sat gracefully on the floor, which incidentally didn't look at all comfortable for something as precious and beautiful as you. Well, that was just Jungwon's opinion.

The black cat knew that you didn't live alone, and many clues told him that you were in the same situation as he was. There was a good chance that you were living at someone's expense, Jungwon was even sure of it, he had seen the same male silhouette several times when he sat in front of the balcony window late at night. With the night and the lack of light, he hadn't been able to clearly make out the person taking care of you, but from the way your bushy, radiant tail had dulled, he was sure this person was an idiot. Jay would have taken better care of you and never let you sit on the floor, even if it meant covering their whole apartment with carpet or rugs that were far too luxurious.

Pushing those ideas out of his mind, hiding those scenes he'd imagined, the ones where he'd carry you off and lock you in his room, grooming and pampering you for hours on end, he did what he did best in your presence, looking into your eyes with such admiration and purity that his owner would have been almost disgusted. A few times, you'd lift your gaze from your tail and dare to meet his eyes, but immediately your cheeks would flush and you'd decide that the sky was far too beautiful to ignore today. But a few minutes later you looked at him again, a few seconds longer, before avoiding his gaze. But Jungwon was satisfied with just those few seconds. He was sure that, in time, you'd finally be able to look him in the eye just as he looked at you, and you'd see the way he'd blink slowly, or make himself smaller, rolling onto his back, presenting you his favorite stuffed toy.

But he was already satisfied with the progress he'd made that week. For the first two days, you confined yourself to sitting on the edge of the door, making it clear that you didn't trust him. Even when you stared at a fixed point behind him, pretending to look at him so as not to appear intimidated, your face forming a pout that was meant to be frightening, Jungwon couldn't help finding you beautiful and adorable. You sat there all afternoon, staring at this fixed point. On the third day, you decided to ignore him, but this time you brought back your brush, which by the way seemed to be damaged. You didn't give him a single glance, but Jungwon was satisfied to see you sitting far enough away from the door, closer to the glass barrier that prevented you from falling into the green grass below your feet. And since then, you'd always settled into your usual place, leaning against the wall, watching the birds fly overhead or stroking your tail again, tirelessly.

It was a habit that Jungwon had initially found beautiful and cute, but now he couldn't help but feel worried. A strange feeling bubbled up inside him, his instincts screaming at him to stop your tireless gesture. After all, despite the time you spent brushing your appendage, Jungwon had noticed that it wasn't looking any better. On the contrary, the color of your tail was fading a little more every day, and so was the amount of hair. What worried him most was your left ear, which seemed to be losing a little more hair every day. The cat had noticed your annoying habit of vigorously scratching your ear when you were lost in thought, or when your ears suddenly twitched. You scratched your ears nervously before hurriedly getting up and leaving the balcony. Jungwon wouldn't see you again until the following day.

Lying on his stomach, sighing with contentment, not once taking his eyes off you, Jungwon suddenly had an idea when he saw you fidgeting on the spot, readjusting your position. He suddenly stood up, catching your eye and your curious gaze, before rushing into the apartment.

The instant he disappeared, you sat bolt upright, startled. A million thoughts raced through your mind. Had you been too hostile ? Not welcoming enough ? Hadn't you shown him that his presence soothed you ? Were you not good company ? A strangled cry akin to a distressed mewl almost escaped your throat, but you held it back, almost choking. You crawled forward, approaching the barrier, putting a hand on it, about to stand up, when he suddenly reappeared, a laptop that would surely cost Jake three rents in hand. Oh, your neighbor across the street must have had a wealthy owner. You shrank a little at the information, suddenly feeling ashamed of your financial situation. But before you could even back away from your spot by the railing, the big, almond eyes of the cat across the street turned to you and lit up like a child's eyes at Christmas.

Faintly, almost indistinctly, you heard a low growl. You flinched, preparing to be spat on for breaking an unspoken rule. But slowly and surely, your brain associated the noise with something very familiar. The same sound that emanated from your throat when Jake gave you attention. The boy across the street had come up to the glass, almost glued his face to it, and was purring. He was happy, just to see you come within a few centimeters even when you were meters away made him happy. Although Jungwon noticed immediately, his heart doing pirouettes, the biggest of smiles on his face, it had taken you ten minutes or so to understand and hear that there wasn't just a rumble in the air. Unconsciously, in response to his joy and soothing signals, you too began to purr. You hadn't purred for two days now. It felt good.

D-9

"Baby ! Did you ordered something ?"

Jake's voice snapped you out of your staring duel with Jungwon, and you pouted and scratched your ear at the satisfied, almost mocking look on the boy's face. Shyly, you gave him a little wave and a little smile, letting your tail slide along the glass plate before rising lazily from the floor. Whereas a few days before you'd jumped up to greet the Australian, this time you'd hesitated. You turned around a few times, took two steps back and then one forward, then went inside for good, closing the door behind you.

Jungwon noticed this hesitation and couldn't help smiling smugly, knowing that you'd almost rather stay with him than go back to your guardian. He'd made enormous progress of which he was not just a little proud, and so had had almost no qualms about tracing your curves with his eyes when you'd stood up. His gaze lingered on the curve of your hips. Wide hips and chunky thighs. Able to bear children, survive through pregnancy and give her a litter of kittens.

What ? What !

Jungwon's face paled and he suddenly buried his head in his cushion, muffling his cry at the desperate thought which just crossed his mind unexpectedly. He couldn't understand why he'd suddenly thought of that, he wasn't in heat and he wasn't about to have it. He felt a sudden urge to cuddle, so he went inside to pester Jay to come home.

Jake had asked the question before he'd even entered the house. As he returned from a particularly quiet day, ready to be greeted by your warm arms and soothing purrs, the young man had found a package outside the front door downstairs. Last time he checked, you and he were the only tenants in this building, which was far too shabby to have any other inhabitants, so this package could only be for you. It was a rather large box, and after checking that it wasn't a joke by looking left and right and looking at the address, which surprisingly matched his floor, Jake realized that a note had been added in the delivery instructions.

"For the cat..? What the-"

The Australian had been creeped out at first. Was someone stalking you, his sweet baby ? He had to ask you first before jumping to conclusions. So he'd gone upstairs and called you. But when he turned the doorknob and entered the apartment, he thought for a moment that his lunch was about to go down his throat. You weren't there, behind the door, waiting for him. You weren't waiting for him.

"Jakey..?" You'd asked in a way he knew wasn't a question. You knew he was there, but you hadn't waited for him. Why ?

"Baby ? Everything's all right ? Feeling good ? Not too hot ?" he said dropping the heavy box on the floor to check your temperature.

You leaned in his hand affectionately, humming. He exhaled, relieved, and fail to miss that the usual purring sound wasn't emanating from your throat. And hadn't for a few days.

"There's a box, I think it's for you. Did you ordered something ?"

Horrified, you opened your mouth and eyes wide. You couldn't afford to order something without asking Jake's advice when he was working day and night to provide for you. "No, I swear I didn't Jakey !" You clasped your hands around his, big round eyes looking at his worriedly.

"It's fine baby I'm not scolding you. Well, I think it's for you though so open it and tell me what it is, yeah ? I'll go make some ramens."

You nodded, eyeing the box more than a little warily, taking small steps towards it, nudging it with the tip of your finger before crouching down beside it and looking at it from side to side. You sat cross-legged, your tail wagging lazily behind you, before finally deciding to open it, finding a chisel lying around in the commode to cut off the large piece of scotch tape. After struggling for some minutes, you finally managed to pull out the huge, heavy piece of plastic contained in the box. Just as you were about to rip it open, a sheet of paper fell, landing only a few centimetres from you.

You tilted your head, curious, then picked up the piece of paper, seeing that it was just a blank sheet. Shrugging, you were about to throw it away, only to notice black ink on the back. Turning the paper over, you saw that a message had been typed on the computer.

'A queen-sized fluffy cushion for a glamorous princess. -Jungwon'

You'd never heard or read that name before. But you knew who had sent you the package. Your instincts were screaming it, your heart was singing it and your head was repeating it. He'd probably given you something you couldn't afford, something you and Jake could never afford, but that didn't matter to you right now. What mattered to you was that you could finally put a name to the face you saw every day. You could finally call by a first name the person who reassured and comforted you every day.

"Jungwon. Jungwon… Jungwonnie…"

"Well ? What is it ?" Jake returned to you, two bowls of noodles in hand, and set them down on the small coffee table in the living room.

In your haste, you found yourself hiding the sweet note behind you, discreetly sliding it under the sofa. Immediately, a feeling of guilt grabbed you by the throat and made you nauseous, your stomach churning at the mere idea that you'd just hidden something from your owner, from Jake, your best friend. You smiled hesitantly, wishing his fatigue would make your smile believable, before opening the large laminated package in the middle of the living room. Immediately, an atrophied cousin stretched out to its full length, swelling with every passing minute under your two startled gazes. The cushion was as fluffy as you could wish for, but above all, it was huge. Very huge.

"Wow, that's impressive." Jake said, bewildered at the mere sight. He leaned over the pillow and rested his hand on it, then his eyes opened wide at the sensation of the soft, squishy material beneath his fingers. He felt as if the pillow were enveloping his hand, beckoning him to sleep on it, or to rest on it without moving for hours. "Even though it's nice and obviously super expensive, it's not ours, we should send it back." Jake concludes with a shrug, already preparing to repack the package as best he can.

But that's without counting on your quick reflexes and 'soften Jake' skills. You threw yourself into his arms, burrowed in and affectionately rubbed your head in his neck. Your big, bright eyes looked up at him, pleading. "No ! I like it ! Can we keep it ?"

"Baby, it's not ours, someone must be looking for it…"

"It says for the cat ! Must be for me, right ?" you whined cutely, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Jake's cheeks flushed and he felt his body and mind playing tricks on him. When did you get so cute ? When did you grow up so much ? Since when did you know how to use your charms ? "Baby, it means that some creep is looking at you." He cup your face, looking into your eyes, worried, "You'd tell me if someone was making you feel uncomfortable, right ?"

"Sure Jakey !" you purred, batting your eyelashes and smiling cutely. You innocently pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips before continuing "But I really, really like it ! Just this once ? Pretty please ?"

Jake hugged you tightly, hiding his blush in the crook of your neck, hoping you couldn't feel his heart beating faster, threatening to escape his chest. He mumbled, "Just this once…", and you squealed out of pure joy, purring loudly while throwing yourself into your new bed, rolling in it.

"I love you Baby."

"Oh this is so fun !"

Jake felt his insides twist and his eyebrows furrow. You always responded to his 'I love you's. Since you were just babies, you always responded, and sometimes you were even eager to be the first to say it. The Australian felt confused but most of all hurt, didn't you love him anymore ? Figuring you probably hadn't heard him, he repeated himself, raising his tone slightly, "Baby, I said I love you."

"Hmm ? Oh, I love you to Jake !"

Yeah, you just hadn't heard him.

D-12

"Peek-a-boo!"

Jungwon heard you giggled from across the garden and smiled, proud of himself for being able to make you laugh like that. He hid behind the glass door again, waited a moment, waiting for your breath to stop for a few seconds, as it did every time he disappeared, then emerged from behind the door with a leap, faking claws and growling playfully.

"Rawr !" you said back, imitating him, but not in a moronic or infantile way, but rather amused, perhaps even mocking. But the black cat would gladly be the target of your mockery if it meant hearing your laughter over and over again. He thought he could be satisfied with seeing you lying in that cushion he'd chosen for you, and he had been. For about five minutes. He'd seen you looking up at him with your big round eyes, then you'd blinked slowly, then stretched out full length in his present, presenting your belly to the sky and to him. Jungwon was no longer satisfied. At that moment he had decided to give you the world and more.

So, what was supposed to be just one bed, had turned into a brand new brush made from the softest, most hybrid-friendly materials, then a new range of coat care products, which you diligently applied every night so that Jungwon would see that you cherished and cared for what he was offering you, to indicate to him that you accepted his advances. And this morning you'd received a ton of clothes, luxurious brands or not, cute, black, pink, tracksuits, sweaters, skirts. But Jake hadn't seen any of it, at least not yet. You knew it annoyed him that he didn't know where all these gifts had come from, since they were obviously for you, but he was far too busy with his studies and work to investigate seriously.

All these gifts were accompanied by cute notes written on the computer or appearing on the delivery instructions. You kept them carefully between a pile of your clothes, and tried to imagine Jungwon's voice, which you'd only heard a few times before. His voice was light and comforting, like a sea breeze in midsummer, and you wished you could hear it again and again, but unfortunately you both spent your time absorbing the sun's rays or playing in silence.

'Kitten must take care of herself to be the prettiest cat. -Jungwon' 'Your tail looks ravishing, just like you... -Jungwon' 'Saw this skirt and thought aout you, you'll be the prettiest kitten in it ! -Jungwon'

It was feeding your ego, making you feel better about yourself. And spending days just lying in the sun, knowing that Jungwon was right next door, was probably the most relaxing part of your daily routine. And yet, a hollow in your heart seemed to grow with each passing day. Your heart had room for many, of course, but that also meant that Jungwon was no substitute for Jake. And every day he neglected you was a day your mood worsened. He'd probably noticed that you'd stopped coming to say hello and just waited for him in the living room, that you smiled without any real zest when he stroked your ears. Although, on Jake's part, maybe he hadn't noticed any of that.

"Oh, hi ?"

A very familiar voice startled you and you turned at full speed towards the balcony doors, Jake's silhouette awkwardly holding onto them, trying not to step on your bed. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at the cat in front of him, he was looking at Jungwon. And Jungwon was looking at him. Just when he thought he'd be angry and probably hiss at your owner, Jungwon surprised himself by saying nothing. He simply tilted his head left and right, examining the newcomer up and down.

"Thought I heard you laugh so I came here to check because I don't know what happened to our living room. But I think-" he looked at your big round and surprised eyes and then at the black cat in front of you, then his gaze fell on the same cushion you had, and he had a revelation. "I think I know who your secret admirer is, now…"

Jake nervously ran his fingers through his hair, not even sure why he was nervous, then sighed heavily. "Hum, excuse me, are you the one sending us all those stuffs..?"

Silence answered him and your gaze kept alternating between Jungwon and Jake, both silently looking into each other's eyes before Jake let out an embarrassed laugh. Jungwon didn't really know what to say: should he tell him the truth ? Lie ? He felt a little intimidated too, the man beside you was so handsome, with a pretty nose, high palmettes and a sharp jaw. But he didn't want you to get into trouble so he nodded silently, cautiously, tail wagging rapidly behind him, anticipating what was going to happen next.

"Okay~…" Jake nodded, dragging the 'o'. He recognized some of those quirks and habits the black cat had that you had yourself. And from the comfort in which he himself was ensconced, he was probably an indoor cat, like you. "You're kinda cute y'know ?" Jake said as a matter of fact, nodding to himself.

Well, Jungwon wasn't expecting that. He hid his blushing cheeks behind his much too large sleeves, annoyed at the male laughter that escaped from your owner. It was cute, Jungwon shouldn't find it cute.

"I'm Jake by the way. Bold of me to assume this but…can I talk to your- hum…caretaker? Don't wanna sound rude."

Jungwon contemplated his options. He could lie and play the card of the independent hybrid deeply revolted by his words just so he could blow him off. Or, he could get into your owner's good graces so he could woo you without fear of him interfering. Both options seemed equally tempting. Finally, he opened his mouth, speaking just loud enough for you to hear. "He's not here, he's working."

"Do you know when he'll come back?"

"In an hour or so."

"Okay, see ya then." Jake nodded, patting your head to gain back your attention. It was painful watching you gawk at the boy in front of both of you like this, with so much care and adoration. Now that he saw you looking at someone else in this way, Jake realized that it had been a few days since he'd seen that look in your eyes when he came home. Was the cat the reason ? An ugly and unfamiliar green feeling crept up his throat and choked him, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth at the sudden realization that you no longer found interest in him since you'd found another playmate. "Come on Baby let's go home."

Jungwon's ears perked up even more at the nickname Jake had for you. Oh, he knew you were kind and sweet, but hearing Jake call you that only confirmed his certainty. Even though he'd abandoned you for days, you still tolerated him calling you by that affectionate nickname. You were adorable. Jay, for less, would already have had to redo his dressing room because of his anger.

But you ? You were so nice and pliant. So 'Baby' material. Jungwon was sure you would be too, behind closed doors. That you'd bend over for him, call him and meow his name like a cat in heat, waiting for him to take care of you and fill you with his kittens. He knew you'd take whatever he gave you without ever complaining, wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, let it be in the shower or in the kitchen. He knew you'd let him fuck you in your new bed so both your smells would soak up and mingle, that you'd let him cover you and spread his cum all over your body so everyone would know you belonged to him. And that then you'd lick his dick clean with both your cum before pushing your hips towards his again, demanding more, always more, whining and whimpering to be filled with something, anything. Yeah you were a Baby, but above all you were his Kitten, his breedable Kitten. You would carry his kittens so well.

"Hi ?"

"Hi ! I'm sorry I know it's late but I really really need to talk to you. Can you get down ?" Jake asked awkwardly and hurriedly. A morbid silence answered him and he facepalmed, electing that he'd forgotten the most important piece of information. "I'm your not so new neighbor by the way."

"…I'm coming."

Jake waited a few moments outside the building similar to his own, enjoying the welcome coolness of a spring's night, when suddenly the front door opened, the sound of flip-flops reaching his ears, making him turn around.

"Oh bro you're handsome !" Jake gasped, one hand in front of his mouth, looking his neighbor up and down. He wasn't much more dressed up than that, just a gray T-shirt and black shorts, with Nike flip-flops. And yet, his fine features and discreet but prominent muscles were enough to make Jake think that his profession was modeling.

The latter arched an eyebrow, not in the least impressed, as if he received this compliment every day, and waited patiently for the young man in front of him to recover from his emotions.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I'm Jake." Jake said, extending his hand toward the boy in front of him, who gave it a firm, deft shake.

"You have a bit of an accent ?" Jay asked, recognizing an accent he couldn't put a name to. He wasn't used to running into people who spoke English this well in South Korea outside of the workplace.

"Oh I'm Australian, moved here and here in Korea, and then-" he pointed to the apartment parallel to his own, "here. Been a while actually, but I didn't know I had neighbors until, well, two hours ago."

"Yeah sorry. Should have introduced ourselves properly but no one told me new people would move in. Are you with your girlfriend ? Or boyfriend, not judging or something. Or single ?"

Jake tilted his head, confused by the sudden question, but still kept a friendly smile and replied, "No, she's my- wait it feels weird to say it like that but I can't find a better explanation at the moment. I'm with my cat hybrid."

"You have a cat hybrid ?" Jay's hitherto almost bored gaze seemed to light up a little, genuinely interested in this new information. "Me too." he smiled, thinking about what Jungwon could be doing at the moment.

"Well, I kinda know. Thought you knew that there was a cat in front of your house too…?" Jake said almost hesitantly, gauging his reaction before dropping the bomb. Clearly he didn't seem to know what was going on between their two cats. "That's why I'm here actually…"

"What ? Did something happened ? This brat spend half his day on the balcony and the other half in my arms, surprisingly. He can be a bit rude at times, did he offended her ?"

"Oh no he's a sweetheart ! It's just that- Hum, your cat is-" Jake stuttered, biting his lower lips in order to hide his embarrassment. What he was about to say was weird, he knew it. And he hated the fact that it was their first time meeting each other, it somehow made it worse. "Well, he's showering mine in gifts. Clothes, selfcare products, books..."

"He's what now ?"

"He's treating my girl. Thought it was some random fan who thought that she was pretty, but turned out your cat was the fan."

"Oh." Jay honestly didn't know what to say. He felt embarrassed, his face had paled even though he was still cool and composed. His cat was spending lavishly on the new neighbor's cat. The American had expected a lot, but certainly not this.

"Don't get me wrong, it's not a problem. I mean, for us, don't know about you. Or it wasn't. Because he shopped some pretty good clothes actually, for my girl, and she's overjoyed and all ! But our apartment is way too small and I can barely step in the living room without walking on a new book or a new package. I'm sorry, you'll have to tell him to stop sending those, otherwise we'll have to donate them."

"Oh gosh this is so embarrassing."

"Nah bro we good don't worry, my cat is pretty shy and all, she never talk to anyone, but I think she's really good friend with yours. It was pretty cute honestly."

"Is she ? That's sweet then. But I'm still sorry, I'll go and talk some sense into him."

"Okay. Well, have a good night, sorry that we have to met like that."

"Me too."

Jay stood in the same spot, pondering his life choices. You definitely had to have something to do with Jungwon's sudden change in behavior, and you had to be as sweet as Jake claimed if Jungwon had stopped breaking his glasses overnight. Now he was curious. Watching Jake's silhouette as he prepared to disappear into the shabby building that served as an apartment complex, Jay made up his mind and ran after him, holding the door behind the Australian.

"Sorry ! I'm Jay, came from America."

Jake turned and smiled brilliantly at the boy in front of him, greeting him with an awkward wave of the hand, clearly pleased with the initiative Jay had taken.

"Can we exchange phone numbers ?"

"Yeah, sure Jay."

"Who are you texting ? And why are you giving me the cold shoulder ?" Jungwon whined, wiggling on the couch to be closer to his owner.

Jay hummed and suddenly laughed, as if what he'd just seen was the funniest thing ever. Jungwon frowned, annoyed at being ignored. Two weeks earlier he wouldn't have cared, but now he felt an urge to knock the glass off the table to get the American's attention.

"Jay~!"

Jay sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly annoyed at his cat's antics. "I'm texting our neighbor."

The cat's ears perked up at the mention of the apartment opposite theirs, curious as to how and why Jay had decided to keep talking to your owner. It wasn't in his nature to want to make friends with people. He wasn't an introvert, but he didn't like being around a lot of people either. "The one from the apartment in front of ours ?"

"Well, he's the only neighbor we have." Jay answered, rolling his eyes. He knew he was being petty but he couldn't help it after the stunt Jungwon pulled. "Actually, let's talk about them." Jay frowned and put his phone down on the coffee table, resting his chin on his joined hands, looking at the younger man with a sharp gaze. The latter looked at him, round-eyed, confused and alarmed at his friend's sudden change of attitude, and fidgeted awkwardly in place, his tail wagging nervously at his side. "When were you planning to tell me about those…presents ? Or about the cat across the garden."

"Oh."

"Oh, in fact. Jake told me that their apartment is full of presents, they can barely walk in there."

"I was just taking care of her ! She seemed really uncomfortable and annoyed in there."

"Jungwon, she has an owner ! Don't you understand ? It's not our job to take care of her needs !"

"Now you're being selfish." Jungwon scoffed, rolling his eyes and getting up from the couch, ready to ignore what Jay had to say.

"Oh no I'm not done wit you-" Jay stood up in turn and decided to follow him around the apartment. "I don't give a fuck about you spending my money or whatever. I care that you did not said a single thing to me or her owner !"

"Blah, blah, blah!" Jungwon shook his head, making it clear to Jay that he wasn't listening or caring about what Jay had to say.

Jay clenched his fists and took deep breaths to calm the anger boiling inside him. He didn't want to say something he'd regret later and risk betraying the trust his mischevious cat had in him. So he decided that leaving to think things over was the best thing to do. "Oh wanna act like a child ? I'll treat you like one then."

Jungwon turned abruptly, a plea on the tip of his lips as he watched the American leave, but his ego got the better of him. He exhaled heavily and went off to perch on his mezzanine, trying to get some sleep.

D-13

The next day, when you woke up groggy, an unbearable headache made it hard to breathe without feeling a burning in your nostrils. The lights seemed too bright even though Jake had taken care to keep the curtains closed, and your senses were in overdrive. Especially your sense of smell, which, between Jake's scent and yours around you, managed to discern another odor. Acrid and bitter, unpleasant and almost suffocating despite the little you inhaled. But above all, a familiar smell. One you'd learned to recognize with your eyes closed, that of Jungwon. Except now it was laced with notes of anger and pain, and it made you want to jump over the balcony to go find him and make him feel better. It didn't matter how.

You stood up and quickly washed your face, then quickly headed for the French window without even eating. You couldn't wait to see him sitting on the other side, so maybe you could comfort him ? But the sight that greeted you left you perplexed, but above all hurt, sad and alone. Opposite you, the cushion on which Jungwon used to rest and nap was missing. Only the cold concrete graced you from its sight, as well as that of the white electric shutter, closed completely. Maybe it was too early. Maybe he was just having a bad dream. But all the same, the sight of his missing pillow gave you a feeling of anxiety that almost made you nauseous.

You fetched your alarm clock and set it down in front of you, sat cross-legged and waited patiently for Jungwon to open the glass doors and greet you with a smile, tired perhaps, but a smile all the same. But it didn't happen. As you stood motionless, staring at the doors, hoping to see the person you were waiting for, the world around you continued to turn. Gradually, the refreshing breeze had turned to stifling heat as the sun continued to race across the sky. 9:30 a.m. soon became 11:30 a.m. , and then 1:30 p.m. , and then 3:30 p.m. . The sun was at its peak and your lips were beginning to chafe from lack of hydration. A dull ache in your head made your eyes heavy, but you managed to keep awake by clumsily scratching your right ear, ignoring the sensation of warm liquid running down them as you scratched for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. In the meantime, you'd spent the whole day tirelessly brushing your tail, ignoring the clumps of hair accumulating at your feet.

As your eyelids grew heavy, a piercing pain running up and down your head, a sudden movement opposite caught your attention. You winced at the sensation of your right ear twitching, but your eyes didn't move once from the repetitive movement opposite. In fact, it wasn't a movement, just a noise. Since this morning you'd been hearing faint sounds from the other side, too well muffled by the glass for you to make out, but this one was loud. Louder and louder, in fact. As if someone were banging on glass, over and over again. A high-pitched screeching noise made your eye twitch, but you leaned forward anyway, hopeful. You were sure it was Jungwon.

"Jung-…" you murmured softly, your voice cracking from lack of hydration and speech - you'd been mute for a whole day after all, hadn't uttered so much as a sound. Saying that syllable felt like a mouse had lodged itself in your throat and was trying to claw its way out. It was a dull, burning pain, heightened by the feeling of discomfort you'd been feeling for an hour now. And yet, you did your best to pronounce his name.

"Jung- Jung...won..."

It was the first time you'd ever called him. You wished it had been under different circumstances, but every time the opportunity arose and he stood in front of you, that word stuck in the hollow of your throat and your face flushed as if someone had whispered the worst obscenities to you. But this time it was different. Even though, as before, you felt the word was stuck in the back of your throat, you forced yourself to get it out. It was just a sound, two syllables, a pathetic whimper, but it was enough to make the drumming in front of you intensify.

"Jungwon..?"

"Jungwon ?"

"Jungwon !"

You'd spent the afternoon meowing his name, but never got an answer. You leaned over the balcony, almost fell over, but never stopped calling his name over and over again. At some point, you lost consciousness and your fragile figure sprawled out in your cushion, your eyelids half-open, murmuring the name of the boy across the garden.

It was 6 p.m. and Jay had barely parked his car in front of his apartment when a bad feeling already gripped his gut. In fact, he could only have had a bad feeling when he saw his belongings spread out on the dirty street floor, the window of his apartment wide open. Furious, he climbed the stairs four at a time, eager to give a piece of his mind to Jungwon.

Jay slowly opened the door to his apartment and a scene of war unfolded before his eyes. Slowly, he entered his apartment and his eye twitched at the sound of shattering glass beneath his feet. Lowering his gaze, he found the equivalent of his entire dinner service on his floor, shattered into thousands of pieces, scattered all over his apartment. Moving on, he found his sofa ripped open, his pillows torn to shreds, his curtains slashed and his chairs overturned. Whereas he'd been angry, now he felt more worried than anything else. Sure, Jungwon would break a glass or two when he was upset, but he'd never turned his apartment upside down like that, let alone thrown his stuff out of the window.

Walking briskly to his cat's room, he wasn't surprised to find him snuggled up in his fur comforter on top of the mezzanine, his back to the door. Hesitantly, he entered the room, but stopped short at the sound that greeted him as soon as he stepped inside. Jungwon was growling. His cat was growling at him. It was the first time this had ever happened and it was frightening. Not because he was afraid of what Jungwon might do to him, but rather because he was afraid their relationship was reaching a point of no return.

The American took small steps backwards, gently so as not to upset his friend, any thoughts of scolding him gone with the sigh he'd let escape once out of the room.

"Oh gosh…" he sighed, massaging his temples before grabbing his phone, making a call.

As he slumped into what was left of his couch, completely overwhelmed by the events, his attention was drawn to a strange and albeit slightly horrifying sight.

"Clinique Inter-species hello ! How can I help you ?"

Jay didn't even notice the other voice on the other end of the line and stood up cautiously, approaching the crime scene. Then, in a flash, everything connected in his head. The way Jungwon had acted today. it was all his fault, he'd reacted badly to the news yesterday and made an impulsive decision that put you all in a difficult situation.

"Hello ?"

"Yes ! Good evening, excuse me, I'd like to make an appointment as soon as possible for a cat hybrid please."

"Ah… I'm afraid you won't have an appointment for another week. Could I have your name and the name of the hybrid ?"

"Park Jongseong, the hybrid's name is Yang Jungwon."

"Oh Mister Park ! We have room tomorrow morning if you want it ?"

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

Jay didn't wait for the hostess's reply before hanging up, a grimace on his face at the way she'd completely changed her attitude at the mention of his first name. Money could work miracles. But he couldn't dwell on that insignificant detail. Not when the French window leading to the balcony had multiple cracks in it, one of his gold trophies laying next to it on the ground. Everything made sense now.

You felt yourself being shaken back and forth before a strange sensation made you feel as if you were floating. Your limbs and tail dangled lethargically, and you were now sure that someone was carrying you. Far too woozy to open your eyes, you still felt your eyelids twitch at the bright light that seemed to be right in front of you. You wished you could curl up in a ball in the sheets beneath you to hide and mope in silence, but even lifting a finger seemed too much effort.

Soon enough, your senses awoke to the sound of hurried footsteps left and right, then a cool sensation on your forehead made you sigh with contentment. Delicately, you felt a cold cloth drape over your face, bringing a welcome coolness, and you couldn't help but lean into the sensation, a frown still on your face.

"Come on, I know you're there, wake up !"

You blinked once, twice, weakly before finally opening your eyes once your vision adjusted to your surroundings. Above you, Jake's terrified face greeted you and you couldn't help but let out a confused squeak. Why did he look so worried ?

His arms engulfed you and you inhaled deeply, your nose curling up at the pungent scent Jake's distress was emitting. But you didn't have the heart to push him away after seeing his eyes glistening with tears. He may never have been around, but you loved him all the same. He was your Jake.

"What's happening Jake ?" you voice came out horse and you coughed, gulping your saliva in order to quench your thirst.

Delicately, the Australian put you in a sitting position and rushed into the kitchen to bring you a large bottle of water. He sat down beside you on your bed and, having opened the bottle, brought it to your lips with one hand, the other resting behind your neck, supporting your head.

"Drink."

You could have protested and sulked, but Jake's tone, one you'd never heard before - demanding and commanding, left you no choice but to tentatively open your lips, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he helped you drink. You'd needed to get sick and dehydrated to realize that your best friend was handsome. From the features of his face to the way he frowned, or his long, thin, veined fingers, he truly was a work of art despite being a broke and single student.

Your cheeks reddened at these thoughts and you couldn't help wanting to pull your head away from his grip, whimpering like a child for him to let you go. But Jake was having none of it, "Drink or I'll force you."

Pouting, you gulped the water that flowed into your mouth, an adorable pout on your face that made a smile escape Jake despite his concern, "There you go, that's my good girl."

You almost spat all the water in your mouth or choked with it, ears folded over your skull as you did whenever you felt particularly shy or embarrassed. This caught Jake's attention and he couldn't help but open his mouth wide, horrified at the sight of the red wound on your right ear, the bloody scratch marks, the bare, red, irritated skin. Yet you seemed oblivious to what had happened to you as you simply stared at him from behind your sleeves, eyes squinting and cheeks flushed.

"What..?"

"Nothing ! You should go to sleep, rest, we'll talk about this tomorrow."

"I don't want to talk about it…" you said like a grumpy cat, laying and showing your back to your friend.

He poked your ribs, making you stifle a laugh, before saying playfully, "Now you're just being bratty. Aren't you my good girl anymore ?"

There was a pregnant silence and Jake wondered if he'd gone too far in his teasing. Maybe you were really angry with him ? Maybe he'd done something to make you feel uncomfortable ? But that thought vanished the instant you turned, sheepishly, and nestled your face in his belly, whispering, "'M still your good girl…"

"I know baby, I love you."

"..."

"I said I love you."

"I know."

Later that night, Jake felt too anxious to sleep. He was trying to figure out when events had taken such a turn, how and why you'd gotten to the point where you'd only said 'I know' when he'd told you he loved you. He'd even let a few tears escape as he disinfected your wound, aware that this first-aid kit was the only thing he could provide when it came to care. He'd let a few tears escape because he knew that your financial situation wouldn't allow him to take you to the doctor. He had replayed the events of the last few weeks in his head and suddenly everything seemed to make a lot more sense. He'd needed you to get sick for him to realize how much he'd neglected you. He was ashamed of himself and of what lack of money had made him. He'd rather eat bread all through college than have to leave you so alone again.

Resolving to quit one of his part-time jobs, he still went to a forum that had advised him many times in the past, hoping that this time again these people could help him.

'Hi everyone. I'm having some problems with my cat hybrid. We've been living together for years now and she's very sweet and affectionate. Recently I've had to work twice as hard to support us so I've not been around too much. I honestly thought that was why she had become so distant. In fact, for several days now, she's been meeting a hybrid cat on the balcony. I think they spend hours there doing and saying who knows what to each other. Recently, I learned that he was the source of many of the gifts we received at home. I wondered if her behavior had anything to do with this boy ?'

He didn't have to wait long for many people to reply, as it turned out that some answers were more useful than others. Some couldn't help but gush over how it was 'cute' while some extremists criticized Jake for being your owner, saying that hybrids had as many rights as humans. But when people actually came up with an answer to his question, it always turned out to be the same one. One that made the Australian's blood boil as it scrolled before his eyes again and again-

D-14

"He's in love."

"Pardon ?"

Jay had no experience or knowledge of hybrids. In fact, he only knew what he needed to know to take care of Jungwon. And even then, he knew what he needed to know to take care of Jungwon's specific needs. And yet, he couldn't help but doubt the doctor's verdict. The verdict from someone who'd studied for years, who'd devoted part of his life to studying hybrids of every size, of every species. Was her cat in love ?

"He's in love, it's as simple as that." the doctor said in a tone of finality, perfectly sure of himself, closing the file dedicated to Jungwon once he'd finished jotting down his diagnosis. Stirring the pot, he continued, smiling, "In fact, I don't think I even need to be a doctor to say that. It's pretty obvious from what you're telling me."

"No but- He-…"

"He can fall in love too, you know ?" The doctor said in a soft voice, a smile that was meant to be comforting on his face. "I know it must feel weird, you've grown up with him and- well, I won't make any assumptions or judgments about the nature of your relationship, but it must feel weird to realize that your little hybrid has grown up and detached himself from you to the point of falling in love with another person, right ?"

Jay remained silent. He didn't think the diagnosis would affect him so much. Nor that the idea of Jungwon in love with someone would give him that feeling, the feeling of being helpless, devoid of words or control over the situation. Then again, he kind of doubted it. No, he knew it. But he didn't want to admit that his little cat had grown so much.

"I suggest you organize a meet up between him and her. Honestly, I can't help feeling concerned about this cat's health. What happened yesterday must have taken a tole on her too. Each person reacts differently."

"So that's it ? The prescription is a meet up between them ?"

"I could tell you the things you want to hear, that it's only temporary, giving you happy pills and suggesting you to prevent him from seeing that girl so you can pretend everything's fine. But here we're acting in the interests of the hybrids and, rarely when the situation arises, their eventual owner. I know you both well enough to know that's not what you want, isn't it Mr.Park ?"

"Right. I'm sorry. Thank you doc."

Jay bowed to the doctor, thanking him again. A silent thank you for helping him think more clearly. He knew he was being selfish, and perhaps if it had been any other doctor who simply gave his client what they wanted, this situation would have ended badly for everyone. Sighing, he headed for the door, accompanied by Jungwon's attending physician, who opened the door for him and shook his hand firmly, wishing him not to see him again any time soon.

Jay looked up from the floor and was greeted by the piercing, grumpy gaze of his cat, causing him to roll his eyes. He was immune to that gaze, but that didn't stop Jungwon from continuing to look at him that way.

"Bye Jungwon ! Can't wait to hear more about her !"

Jungwon bowed in the direction of the man in the white coat, ignoring the burning sensation at the tip of his ears. He turned quickly and left the corridor with a mechanical, embarrassed gait, causing the doctor to laugh and call his next patient.

Jay didn't arrive at the car until a few minutes after Jungwon, sighing as he slumped into the driver's seat. The silence in the car was heavy, Jungwon looking out over the parking lot, brows furrowed and eyes squinting, as Jay recalled his discussion with the doctor. A meet up. He had to organize a meet up. And as fate would have it. As he reached for his phone to send Jake a message, his screen lit up on its own, displaying the Australian's contact alongside a short message.

'Hey hope I'm not disturbing you ?' -Jake 'No, I was about to send you a message' -Jay 'Oh lol' -Jake 'Was thinking' -Jake 'Maybe we could make them meet ?' -Jake

Jay held back his laughter, trying not to attract his cat's sullen mood. Fate really did have a way of doing things.

'Loool, came back from the doc and he said Jungwon needed to meet your girl, was about to text you.' -Jay 'Why were you at the doc ? Is he fine ? 😧' -Jake

'Yeah don't worry.' -Jay 'I was concerned about his behavior, he broke everything in my apartment and tried to break the balcony's window.' -Jay 'Damn 🫢' -Jake 'Ikr' -Jay 'Turns out he was mad because he couldn't see his little girl friend aka your hybrid.' -Jay 'He must really like her lol' -Jake 'Doc said he's in love.' -Jay 'Damn' -Jake 'It's cute 🥰' -Jake

'Hmm' -Jay 'You think you can be in the garden by the time we come back home ?' -Jay 'Wait' -Jake 'We're allowed in there ?!' -Jake 'Didn't you read the lease ?' -Jay 'I did' -Jake 'Not 🫥' -Jake 'Well, now you know.' -Jay 'You can enter through the little wooden gate, it's always open.' -Jay 'On it bro 🫡 ' -Jake 'Thanks bro' -Jay

"What are we waiting for?" Jungwon huffed, eyeing Jay up and down, frowning at the sight of his friend smiling at his phone.

Jay turned and put his phone down beside him, shaking his head before putting on his seatbelt and starting the car. He knew he was being petty by not answering Jungwon, but he couldn't help thinking back to the damage the cat had done to his apartment and having a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He wouldn't try to ease the tension, even if the journey to their apartment was long. In fact, it was a good thirty-minute drive from the city center, as the two neighboring buildings stuck out like a sore thumb in the countryside around Seoul. No neighbors around, just the two of them. Well, just the four of you now.

"Come on Baby, we'll go out and breath some fresh air." Jake said as he lay down next to you, huffing at the feel and comfort of his bed. If he could, he would have used his weekend to lounge around his apartment, carrying you like a baby koala wherever he went, playing with you and kissing your face. But your condition was worrying, and although he had no desire to, he knew that the only cure for your malaise might well be the cat across the garden. He was jealous, it's true. To the point of tucking your tiny figure under one of his oversized sweaters and repeating dozens of times that he loved you between two smoochies on the cheeks. But he always wanted what was best for you.

"Where are we going..?" you asked, yawning like the tired kitty that you were. You felt the urge to just lay on the balcony and sunbath while waiting for Jungwon to come out. It'd been two days since you'd seen him, and you felt as if with every passing minute a gaping hole in your stomach was getting bigger and bigger. You felt empty. So you didn't even know what state you'd be in if Jake wasn't by your side.

"The garden." Jake said, beaming as he took a cap, putting it on his head before turning right and left, looking for his keys.

"The one under the balcony ?" It had caught your eye. That famous garden that separated you from Jungwon had always caught your eye. The grass was just the right height for you to feel like rolling around and lying in it for hours, and pretty flowers lined the poor, dull, moth-eaten wooden fence that connected the two buildings. You didn't know you were allowed to go there.

"Yup." he nodded, patting the pockets of his jacket, still looking for his keys, growing more frustrated with each passing second. "Have you seen my keys ?"

You looked up from the shoes you were putting on and scanned the room, searching your memory to see where he'd lost his keyring. Again. "In the trophy."

He tilted his head, confused as to why he would have put them there but went anyway, trusting your memory. Again. A big smile stretched his lips as he found his keyring and came over to kiss your forehead, hugging you. He loved being extra clingy with you. "Thank you Baby. What would I do without you ?" And the thought crossed his mind. What would he do without you ? Where would he be ? He remembered that there had been times in his life, hard, testing and challenging, when your cute face and comforting cuddles had gotten him out of a lot of trouble. He was the caring, respectful person he is today, partly thanks to you. So what would he do if you decided to be independent and leave him for someone else ? For that cat ?

"Jake?"

He didn't want to overthink it, but the simple fact that you no longer cuddled him before bed, that you no longer wanted to play with him, that you no longer said I love you to him, and especially that you no longer called him by that nickname you'd first called him with when you were still just kids made him feel abandoned. But he knew he was only reaping what he had sown. He'd abandoned and neglected you, you had every right to do so too.

"Jake, should we head outside?"

And yet you never raised your voice at him, never cried your woes to anyone who would listen, and you were patient, oh so patient even though sometimes Jake lost patience with himself. You were sweet, adorable, innocent. So corruptible that he wanted to tuck you under his arms and protect you from the world. But you were a woman, not the baby he cradled in his arms anymore.

"Yeah, let's go."

You went down the stairs and out through the front door, since the only way into the garden was through the gate onto the main street. Well, rather than a street, it was the only road leading to your poor apartment complex. As you walked at your own pace, Jake kept the conversation going. Finally, it wasn't long before you arrived in front of the verdant garden. The door was already open, the latch rusted to the point of falling off when Jake pushed open the little door.

"Nice ! It's actually quite pretty." Jake said as he took the first step, smiling brightly as his gaze fell on every little thing that stood out in the garden, especially the pretty weeping willow that stood between the two buildings, at the other end of the entrance, close to the fence that overlooked a huge field and a forest not far away. It was charming. As he was about to go and explore the garden, he felt your small hand grip his, lacing your fingers. He turned around big rond and heart shaped eyes, and felt his heart filling up with joy and love at your cuteness overload. You were looking at him with your doe eyes, wiggling, one of your hand playing with the hem of the sweater that Jake gave you as your cheeks were reddening because of embarrassment.

"I wanna explore with you..." you pout, getting closer to him and hugging his arm.

That one sentence was enough to make all the negative thoughts lingering in his mind go away and make his heart leap out of his chest. Even after everything that had happened, he was reassured to know that he was still the person you turned to when you were looking for a feeling of security. He was happy and glad to be your safe place and hoped to remain so for as long as you wanted.

"Of course Baby let's go, I'll follow you wherever you wanna go."

So you began your little tour, gently pulling Jake by the hand so he'd follow close behind. You hadn't been out for three weeks because you didn't feel like it, but the sensation of the grass tickling your calves gave you a serotonin boost. Your heart filled with joy at the sight of life around you, insects flying and birds singing. You couldn't help but crouch down to look at the flowers every time you passed a pretty bush. There were flowers of every color and kind, and you were surprised to see that they were so pretty and, above all, in such good condition, since it had been days since it had rained and the sun had been beating down hard. Normally, they would have dried out. But they were strong and radiant.

Jake held back a laugh and quickly grabbed his phone, taking a picture of you encouraging flowers without context. He knew you loved flowers, and you were taking particularly good care of a drooping plant he'd given you a few months ago. It had grown surprisingly well, perhaps because you said good morning to it every morning and good night every evening, under his amused gaze.

Humming, you continued on your way, soon losing yourself under the mass of Weeping Willow vines, taking Jake with you. You felt as if you'd arrived in a new world. The tree was so imposing that the shade it provided beneath it had managed to keep a certain coolness in the hollows of its branches. The branches weren't very high, either. In fact, you could easily climb them with a minimum of effort. Which you wouldn't do, because you weren't keen on soiling your clothes in order to get a better perch. Your balcony was good enough.

"Oh, it's really cool here. I can picture two chairs just right here." Jake said excitedly, pointing at a random place near the trunk. "Sipping lemonade and enjoying the weather-" He then kissed your knuckles then your cheek, grinning, "-and your company."

You fought the blush that crept up your neck, deciding to ignore him and his feeble protest. But suddenly, a noise caught your attention. A creak you'd heard a few minutes before. Then the sound of footsteps muffled by the greenery. You immediately hid behind Jake, relying on his broad shoulders to protect you from whoever was coming in here even though you were literally in the middle of nowhere. Normally, you'd have been able to discern a scent, telling you at least the nature of the person in front of you, but the smell of the flowers was far too stifling.

Jake, on the other hand, didn't seem surprised at all. Even though you couldn't see him, you were sure that a huge smile was gracing his face as warmth and joy emanated from his body in waves, reassuring and comforting. If Jake wasn't worried, you wouldn't be either; you trusted him with your eyes closed.

"Hey bro !"

Still confused, you followed Jake out of the shadows, the world lighting up once more as the sunlight made you squint.

"Hey, sorry we're a bit late." an unfamiliar voice said, deep and almost professional. You now knew it was a man. Probably one of Jake's friends.

"It's fine ! She wanted to explore anyway. Come say hi Baby."

Eyes round as two marbles, you looked up from his back to his head and saw him smiling brilliantly at you, silently encouraging you to take a step forward by moving slightly to the side. You hesitated a little, but took your courage in both hands and stepped forward, remaining at your owner's side.

"Hi..."

You hadn't once looked up from the ground and weren't even sure he'd heard you, your voice was so small. But you didn't miss the way he cooed before trying to hide his chuckle between two coughs.

"Told you she's shy." Jake giggled, hugging you from behind ans resting his head on your shoulder before kissing your cheek and whispering softly "You did great Baby, I'm so proud of you."

You loved it when Jake praised you. Especially after those two grueling weeks when you'd barely been around each other. You felt the impact of his words on you was multiplied by a hundred. Your brain was mushy and fuzzy and butterflies were fluttering in your stomach. You couldn't help the sidelong glance you gave him, your eyes filled with love and respect.

But suddenly, a loud noise caught your attention. A sharp exhalation and a deep inhalation, a low rambling and a soft purring. As if in slow motion, you turned your gaze to the man who had entered the garden but, to your surprise, two people were standing in front of you. The one furthest forward stood out for his height, yet he might as well not have been there, for you didn't even spare him a glance. No, your gaze was fixed on the person behind him. Your gaze flew over the boy's raven locks and pointed ears, gliding down his face, stopping on his beautiful almond-shaped eyes, his pretty pointed nose and prominent cheekbones, before continuing its descent down his torso and stopping on his tail, just as black as his hair, watching the lazy movements it made, swaying left and right.

"Hmm, well... Surprise ?"

You gasp and challenge yourself from Jake's embrace so you can hide behind him, your eyes protruding over the Australian's shoulder, fixed on the slim silhouette of the cat in front of you. But you weren't afraid. Oh no. You felt a shiver of excitement run through you and you felt so joyful that you were convinced that the adrenalin coursing through your body would enable you to run a marathon. With flushed cheeks and blown pupils, you watched as he suddenly froze, surely trying not to make any sudden movements. The silence was heavy, no one daring to speak, not even Jake or Jay, who were busy looking at the cat in front of them. In fact, Jake was strongly restraining himself from pouncing on the smaller boy, engulfing him in his arms and stroking his tail. He was a cuddle bug, that's where you got your clinginess from.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Jungwon headed for the Weeping Willow, walking past you both while your gaze never wavered from him even for a second. He had completely ignored you, spreading the branches so that he could hide among the tree's foliage, far from your three inquisitive and curious gazes. And now mouths agape. Well, Jake and Jay were the only ones who were stunned. He didn't want to put pressure on you and give you time, even though he was eager to approach you. You could tell by the way his pupils were completely dilated as he walked past you, discreetly sniffing your scent, fingers twitching with irrepressible desire.

"This brat-"

"-It's fine don't worry ! She'll come to him whenever she's ready. Should we sit and talk ?" Jake prompted, a sweatdrop on his forehead. He could tell where Jungwon got his character from. At least the little he'd seen of it. Sighing, Jay nodded and followed you as your friend guided you to a remote corner from the tree, having to gently pull you by the hand to get you to move from your spot.

Jungwon had been patiently waiting for at least an hour. He was convinced he'd done the right thing. He didn't want to corner you and wanted you to feel at ease. Surprisingly, this situation left him with a feeling of déjà vu. Like that first time he'd seen you, sitting on the balcony, letting the world enjoy your beauty, gracing him with your sight, even from a distance. You'd gone off to hide like a frightened kitten and never stopped looking at him from behind the wall like a curious kitten. Just like today. Then he'd have to clench his fists and teeth to stop himself from pouncing on you and covering you with his scent, from squeezing you and purring in the hollow of your ears and telling you how cute and pretty you were, how he couldn't wait to be able to touch you. Everywhere.

A sudden movement caught his attention and he fought the urge to sit straight. He couldn't see you, but he knew it was you. That any moment now your adorable face would emerge from between the leaves. So he closed his eyes and waited patiently. He didn't see you, but he heard your breathing grow short, heard the sound of your hands and knees on the cool grass as you slowly approached him. You took one more step every two minutes, and soon enough Jungwon felt you beside him. So close. Your scent filled his senses and you were all he could think about. You, pretty you, darling and cutie you. The only distraction in his world.

"They left- Wanted to eat-"

The information registered briefly in his skull. He vaguely remembered hearing the sound of an engine. But the only thing he wanted to hear was your voice. Sweet voice. Soft voice, whispering and stuttering.

Honestly, if asked, Jungwon would say he didn't know what had come over him. Because from one minute to the next, he'd jerked upright, causing you to squeal and fall backwards. You turned and tried to run away, but a firm grip on your pretty tail prevented you from taking another step away from him. You turned, lips curled as you did your best to hiss at the other cat. But he was having none of it.

As soon as the sound left your mouth, he bent you over, him on top of you, and bit the back of your neck, sinking his little fangs into your flesh as he pushed his pelvis into yours. He didn't know what was happening to him, he just knew it was the right thing to do. He had to subdue you, show you that he was in charge and that this garden belonged to him, that you belonged to him. All of you. His ears were on the lookout for every sound and whimper that escaped your mouth. You were short of breath and jerking vehemently beneath him, clawing at the ground as his two hands held your wrists close to your head.

"Jung- Jungwon !"

"Ah~…" The boy couldn't help but groan at the sound of your name in his mouth. So cute, calling for help to the same exact person who was submitting you. He couldn't get enough of hearing your voice, especially if it sounded so pretty when he was bending you over in front of him. He couldn't help thrusting his hips against yours, rubbing against your bottom as he watched your legs bend under his will, watching that sweater bathed in your owner's scent ride up your thighs, briefly letting him catch a glimpse of your underwear. "Won't you be nice and listen Kitten ? Huh ? Would you do that for me ?"

You didn't answer and instead decided to fight harder, trying to turn the situation around. You felt so vulnerable, so small, and you loved every second of it. But was life without a bit of spices ? Jungwon disagreed. He didn't need spices in his life. He could add some himself, hell, he was the spices. And he'd make you understand, even if it meant leaving dozens of fang marks in the skin of your neck. It was his instinct, after all. So he leaned over and bit you once more, nipping at your skin between his lips. And it seemed he'd hit the right spot as you suddenly stopped moving, your hitherto small pupils dilated and your ears drooped, a low purring emanating from you. Unconsciously your body leaned towards his, your pelvis pressing against his, occasionally shifting against his now hard on.

"Good kitten ! You're such a good kitten !" Jungwon moaned softly in your ear again and again as he was idly rutting his cock on your ass, panting ever so slightly while praising you. He'd succeeded in submitting you to him. You belonged to him. His sweet and cute kitten. His mind was fuzzy, head empty, filled with thoughts of you. Thinking about what he should do next. And then he came to the realization that you were just here, under him, presenting so willingly, not saying a thing and purring as he was mounting you. He could bred you now. You wanted it.

And oh yes you wanted it. You so wanted it. At least, a part of you wanted it. The same part who accepted that he was stronger than you, kept on telling you that he would take care of you. The same part that made you notice how he bent over you, keeping you pinned to the ground while taking care not to crush you, the one that made you notice how he licked your wound carefully, lovingly, a small and pitiful whine escaping from his lips at the sight of your bruised ear. The one that made you notice the way he gently and slowly pushed his hips against yours. You were lost into sub-space, literally, and only wanted to please him. You knew he would take good care of you.

"Want me to breed you ? Please, lemme breed you I beg you. I'll make you feel so good, please, huh ?"

"Wanna be nice..."

"What was that ?"

" Wa-Wanna be nice for you, will you breed me ? Pretty please ? Gon' be the nicest kitten ever !"

Jungwon lost it. You were so cute he almost felt guilty ruining you like that. But who else could make you feel good ? Your owner ? No, even if he used every word of love he wanted to call you, you always went back to see him through the balcony window. He was your priority, your referent, the person you were turning to, pushing your hips against, begging for him to fill you up. He began to lick the juncture between your neck and your collarbone before leaving open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder, where the far too large sweater fell loosely.

"Wanna mark you up Kitten, can I ?"

"No! Jake- Don't wan' Jakey to see-"

But it fell on deef ears as the mere mention of the Australian had been enough to piss him off, to make him jealous. He bit your shoulder, leaving two little holes in your skin, making you whimper and complain before licking the two glistening red beads.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, tastes so good, your skin is so soft."

Convinced you wouldn't try to escape, he released your wrist and began to massage your thigh, taking in all the sensations you were procuring him, welcoming them with open arms. His hand moved gently up your thigh, stopping somewhere near your clothed core in order to push your legs apart with a surprisingly strong grip. You arch your back even more, pushing again your hips into his, your tail frantically waving form side to side because of the constant attention your body was receiving.

It all felt unreal, his dick poking your back, his tongue swiping across your skin and his warm hands massaging you, worshipping you as if you were a goddess made of the finest porcelain. You felt loved. Every bit of you, every single nerves were buzzing with apprehension, wondering what he would do next, where his hands would lay, what part of your body would be stroked by his warm and wet tongue. Neediness was overflowing from your body, drenching him in your scent. Aroused, horny.

And you didn't have to wait any longer for his hand to rest on the area where you were suffering the most, where you needed him the most.

"Yes yes yes ! Right here please please please." you moaned desperately, pushing your clothed cunt into his hand, feeling his finger dig into your panties.

"You're so wet… Can feel it through your panties-" he inhaled deeply, his hips pushing against yours on their own as he stifled a moan in the hollow of your neck. "-you're gon' take me so well Kitten…"

You nodded eagerly, fist clutching around a mop of grass, ass pressing against his bulge trying to put something inside of you, anything. Your eyes were misty, your senses alert, the only thing in your world, in your bubble, was Jungwon. Pretty boy from across the garden, nice and sweet indoor cat who grabbed your heart and hid it between his fingers, keeping it warm for rainy days. But now you wanted something else on his fingers.

And he was ready to give you what you wanted and more. So he lifted himself off you for just a few seconds and pulled your sweatshirt up to the middle of your back, his eyes far too lost on your face, drinking in the expressions he wore, this time choosing to ignore the delicious view below. The curve of your buttocks, so pretty in your underwear, pressed right up against his crotch. But that wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. No, your panties were in excess. So with a swift gesture he pulled them down, letting your body feel the coolness of the outside. The wind seemed far too cold against your folds, warm, dripping with juices.

Jungwon was trying as hard as he could to slow down or stop the rhythm of his hips against yours. After all, he had to keep his seed for you, be careful not to lose a single drop, everything had to be inside. With a hand trembling with excitement, he slid his fingers along your folds, gathering all your slick before pushing two inside your hole without even warning you, and not just at the entrance. He pushed them in as far as he could, until his palm was pressed against your pulsing clit. Until you wiggled beneath him, a babbling mess.

"Ngh- Too deep !"

"No, need my Kitten to be ready to take me, right ? You can take it."

You hesitated, briefly trying to stand up only to be pushed back by his torso against yours. He peppered your cheek with kisses, occasionally nibbling at your ear as he was pressing his length against you harder. A silent warning.

"You're gon' be good for me, right ? Want to please me ? I want to please you."

"Yes, want to make you feel good…" you let out in a broken whimper, tears welling up your eyes at how overwhelmed you felt. "Gon' be a good kitten for Jungwon."

And with that, he began to move his fingers in and out of your vagina, in rhythm with the movements of his pelvis. He could feel everything. The warmth of your pussy around his fingers, how warm, spongy and good it felt. His eyes almost rolled back into his skull at the sensation of your walls tightening around him. Your body was so ready for him that his fingers slid effortlessly in and out, your juices dripping on his other fingers, making a mess on his hands. No that he minded. He just wanted to lick it all off, taste the treasure emanating from your private parts and get drunk on it. But the control he had over his body was almost non-existent at that moment.

As your moans gained in intensity, just as a strange sensation seemed to have lodged itself in your belly, he hastily withdrew his fingers from your core. A cry left your mouth so he kissed your head, reassuring you, before pulling down his jogging pants and boxers, just enough for his dick to come out, standing in all its glory. Hard, red, ready and leaking. Those low quality porn and his right hand could never replace you, even if he was surely going to masturbate at the memory of what was going to happen.

You felt his hard and dripping cock on your bare ass and you failed to contain your moan. It was heavy and warm, you just knew it would feel so good inside of you. He grabbed his length and reached between your legs, starting to desperately rub his cock between your folds so that it was drowned in your juices. Slippy and wet so it wouldn't hurt you when going inside. But Jungwon doubted he needed to do that, he was confident he could go straight in without risking hurting you. It was just that little voice in his head telling him to touch you more, to make the moment and the pleasure last. And he'd almost have cum if he hadn't grabbed the base of his cock, squeezing it tightly to keep it from spilling his fluids onto your thighs, biting his lip so hard he'd almost bleed.

"Can I put it in ? Please please."

"Please !"

He exhaled and pressed the tip at your entrance, pushing experimentally, penetrating you only a few centimeters before retracting. His breath was heavy and his palms sweaty, and the cat side of his DNA kept telling him only one thing. Mount… Mount. Mount ! So he did. He mounted you, pushing his dick deep inside you while biting your neck once again, frowning as he was focusing on knocking you up, on filling you with his kittens.

"Thank you, thank you thank you so much!"

He was too a babbling mess. But unlike you, he was present and aware of what he was doing. You ? You were vaguely aware and okay with what was going on, too lost into the subspace to protest or talk anymore. Every word and phrase that tried to come out of your mouth was muffled by your cries of pleasure, your moans just stuck in your throat, begging to be said. And yet, one word wasn't affected by your mutism. You were moaning it again and again.

"Jungwon, Jung-Jungwon-"

"I'm right here. Just- Tryin' to hold myself back."

"Don't ! Going- Gonna take it all ! F'you !"

You were so unfair to him. While he was trying to respect you and your body, you gave yourself the right to be so hot underneath him, driving him to temptation, to ruin you. The kitten whose eyes he hadn't been able to take his eyes off these last few weeks. The one who always smiled shyly at him from his balcony on the other side of the garden. The one who had occupied his thoughts, driving him mad. But if you gave him the right, then he was going to give you back to your owner tainted black and dirtied with his semen.

He didn't even try to pretend to be nice or gentle. You said it yourself, he didn't need to hold back. So he began a merciless rhythm, pounding your flesh hard and fast, drowning in the pleasure he was feeling. He felt like his dick was suffocating in your pussy. Your walls gripped him deliciously hard and your heat made him burn from the inside out. A burning passion alongside his burning love for you, pushing him to go ever harder, ever faster, practically lying on top of you as his feet planted into the ground to get better control over his frantic pace. He felt like he was going crazy, pussydrunk even, even though he always laughed at some of his friends who spent their time talking about sex. He didn't understand its appeal, not even after masturbating. But having you there, underneath him, singing his praises as your body welcomed him in the best way possible, introduced him to a whole new world. He didn't care about sex. What he wouldn't shut up about now was sex with you. And yet, he was far too respectful to talk about this to anyone.

Growling into the back of your neck as he felt his high approaching, his hand covered in your slick, previously resting on your hip, caressed your stomach with his fingertips before finding your bra. He whined, pushing it upward and his warm and wet finger found your nipple, toying with it, rolling it between his finger and tugging at it before he grabbed your whole breast and started to grop it as if it were a stress ball. You gasp and the frenetic movements of your tail redoubled in intensity, the tip of it tickling Jungwon's bare hip. With the minimum of control he had over his tail, he managed to intertwine it with yours in a gesture of pure affection that made you weep softly as your heart overflowed with joy.

All these emotions were bothering you, and you didn't know what to do with yourself. Your mind wandered, dwelling first on the feel of his fingers on your chest, then on his mouth, which had not once stopped nibbling at your skin, before focusing on the sensation in your gut. Like a water balloon that kept swelling as more water was added, fueled by the sensation of his dick rearranging your insides, by the obscene noise your slick and his precum made every time his pelvis met your buttocks in a languorous, precise hip movement. And the position ? You might as well be eating grass, you didn't care if it meant he could have you and you could have him.

"Tiny pussy, dripping for me, so good so so good."

"All for you~!"

"Thank you thank you- Gonna fill you up with my kittens, want' be the prettiest mom ever ? The mother of my kittens ?"

"Yes, please..."

"Don't spill a single drop of it."

On that phrase you felt your insides being painted white, his dick shooting ropes and ropes of his cum into your hole. It was warm and made you feel good, full, dazed in a haze as he was firmly pressing his pelvis on your cunt, wanting everything to be inside. Even fully in he gave one last thrust who made you see the stars as you came undone around his dick, sucking his sperms in as your walls were convulsing and you were mewling, nails dug in the soil to keep you a minimum grounded. He moaned in your ear before affectionately chomping on it, a wide although timid smile on his face.

He waited for your labored breathing to calm before gently withdrawing from you, making you whimper at the overstimulation. "I know, I'm sorry." Carefully, he laid you on your back and straightened on his knees, looking you up and down, trying to burn that image into his retinas. Your face was flushed and your ears folded against your skull, your gaze distant and your eyes heart-shaped. Your sweater was pulled up to your navel, giving him a magnificent view of your ruined and glistening pussy, dripping with your mixed cum, lower lips red and puffy because of how he abused them while slamming his hips into yours. Your pantie was hanging somewhere near your knees and your chest was heaving up and down as you were trying to catch your breath. Soft skin glistening with your sweat, so tempting.

Gently, he pulled up your pantie, putting then back on you, and his hands slid under your cloth in order to put your bra back on too. Frowning, he focused, trying to see what was out of the ordinary. The bite marks he'd left on you were barely visible, he'd made sure his canines didn't inflict a hole bigger than a needle, so your neck was safe. Nothing was out of the ordinary except your totally lost and distant gaze and your flushed cheeks. Oh, wait, there was a little cum on your thigh. With his fingertips he cleaned your skin as best he could before bringing the mixture to his lips and devouring it whole, moaning at the taste of your cum on his taste buds. Voilà ! He could return you as good as new to this 'Jake', the only proof of your intercourse lodged deep in your womb and accumulated in your panties.

He pulled up his stockings in turn and, purring, lay down beside you, occasionally licking your damaged ear while nudging his head on yours. In turn, you snuggled up to him and sighed with contentment, falling asleep in the shade of the Willow, in a warmth that was bearable by his side.

A few minutes later, while you were both asleep against each other, your tails entwined affectionately, Jay and Jake returned from their little escapade with bags of food in their hands, chatting loudly. Jake was pleased to know that despite his cold and distant exterior Jay was in fact a really good person who always had something interesting to say. He hoped to become good friends with him, to discover that side of his personality that made him laugh loudly and swear accidentally in the middle of the street - and maybe also to cuddle Jungwon, he was adorable.

So when their eyes roamed the garden in search of you and they didn't see you, they both knew that their friendship could blossom like your love on that balcony. Sitting down, they lowered the volume of their voices and began their meal, getting to know each other.

D-36

"Come on mate, come down come down, need you right now…" Jake pressed his finger on the intercom button again and again while mumbling, hoping his message would reach his friend's ears faster.

He was in distress. He was praying for the ground to open up beneath his feet or for someone to tell him it was all a bad joke. A nightmare he'd wake up from any minute, be greeted by your pretty face against his chest, eyes blinking idly, mouth opening wide as you're yawning.

"Jake ?"

The Australian turned at full speed towards Jay, who had just emerged from the garage adjacent to his building, and rushed towards him, eyes lost and hands shaking, laughing nervously.

"You're good ? You're a bit pale, wanna go-"

"-My cat's pregnant. Jungwon is the father."

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jungwon smut #jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon hard hours #jungwon x you

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jubileemon · 13 days

Text

Understanding Husk

A "husk" means a shell or a protective outer cover. This fits his character well since he's shown to be a husk of a man. More specifically, he's a former overlord who lost his power.

Husk in the "Pilot" was a lot more grumpy than he is in the show proper, losing his temper at Alastor and not hesitating to show his disinterest in anything going on as long as it doesn't concern him. When he sees just who has yanked him away from his card game, all he can do is exasperatedly ask Alastor what he wants with him this time. Seeing as Alastor is a constant reminder of how his gambling ended up costing him his status as an Overlord, it's easy to understand why he'd be upset at having to bend to the Radio Demon's will.

In the series, it's established he's still a jerk, but it's evident he cares, and his temper isn't as volatile and often warranted. In the beginning, Husk made it no secret that he was forced to stay at the hotel because of his ties to Alastor and would gladly get as far away as he could if able to. Behind his grumpy exterior, Husk is actually very patient and it takes a lot to make him legitimately angry.

He does his job as a bartender competently, but Husk is fairly blunt about the fact he's only participating in the group's shenanigans because he simply can't be bothered to protest. He does join bonding activities but departs once it's no longer enjoyable for him, after Vaggie decided to literally throw everyone into the middle of a turf war as part of her trust exercises. Thankfully, he grows out of this a bit as the series goes on and grows to care about the staff and guests.

Husk has his own issues and is pretty much apathetic to almost everything out of pessimism. But he still has the most common sense out of the cast and he's the most emotionally intelligent and self-aware, even serving as an advisor to the others at the right times when he's not bitterly accepting his circumstances. The hotel's owner is the only cheerful idealist demon princess who just wants to see the good in everyone, one investor is a maniac who wants to get entertainment out of watching the chaos, the other investor is the owner's neglectful, depressed father (and also the literal King of Hell), the manager is bossy and threatens people with weapons at the slightest provocation, and the cleaning lady is a neatfreak with a thing for "bad boys". Then there's Husk wanting nothing to do with their escapades. He's also a lot more hostile towards Alastor and Angel after they touch him multiple times.

It should be noted that Alastor lets Husk get away with flipping him off. But the moment Husk brings up the fact that Alastor's own soul belongs to someone else within earshot of the Radio Demon, Alastor can barely restrain himself to threatening to tear Husk's soul apart and broadcast his screams for all to hear if he ever says that again. By the end of the encounter, Husk is a shivering, terrified wreck and Alastor couldn't care less.

As the bartender, Husk knows how to listen to people and knows exactly what kind of problems that all the residents of the hotel are going through, and while he would rather let them solve their own problems, he isn't exactly above giving them some pretty solid, if very brutally honest. While it was unnecessarily rude to bring up the Hotel residents' flaws, Husk was accurate about every one of them as Charlie's desperate to help others but doesn't confront her own issues, Vaggie judges others because she hates herself, Sir Pentious is a lonely Sinner who watches people in their sleep, and Angel puts on an act that he's happy about his porn star job but is really miserable.

Husk was always cynical and crass, but he's also an old Sinner with a tender heart. With Angel however, he tends to be a lot more irritable. While it initially looks to be because of Angel constantly flirting with him, it's because he hates how hard Angel acts out to hide how miserable he actually is, considering him a "phony" in a self-destructive spiral. He eventually realizes he and Angel are the same, despite their differences. They're both self-destructive addicts since Husk is a gambling addict, while Angel is addicted to sex and drugs who sold their souls to an abusive Overlord. And both of them have descended even further into their addiction and adopted outwardly cynical, cruel personas as a coping mechanism.

Husk getting through to Angel Dust in the manner he does makes a considerable amount of sense when it's taken into account that the first step to overcoming drug addiction is usually getting the addict to acknowledge they even have a problem. Angel hasn't been able to get better despite having some genuine interest because he's been utterly refusing to admit he has a problem to fix, the moment he does his mood drastically improves as does his motivation.

In "Welcome To Heaven", Husk saw Cherri as a bad influence on Angel's path of redemption and advised her not to get high during their night out. He even defends Angel from Cherri's criticism about how the hotel was changing him. Of course Husk wants what's best for Angel, but unlike Cherri who thinks that feeding into Angel's addictive tendencies are the best way to treat his depression and that living up to the hotel's standards is only making his life more difficult, Husk encourages Angel to stick with the self-improvement he's learned from the hotel and not fall back into his old ways since Angel's trying to get into Heaven.

When Vaggie leaves to find out how angels can be killed, she tells Angel, Sir Pentious, Husk and Niffty that she knows they didn't sign up to be the first targets of the angels, so she wouldn't blame them if they left. Of course, when she and Charlie return, they find that all of them have stayed and fortified the hotel.

Husk even admitted that he doesn't want to look for new drinking buddies and being nice to both Angel and Pentious is a demonstration of the massive character development he's undergone over the course of the show. In the beginning, he was grouchy towards everyone and hated even being in the hotel, but now he's willing to risk his life to defend it and the other residents.

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nariism · 8 months

Text

i loved you on a moonlit summer night

pair. diluc ragnvindr x gn!reader

content: tooth-rotting fluff, love at first sight, allusions to reincarnation but no actual instances of reincarnation

synopsis. diluc knows that he doesn't belong in mondstadt anymore. he doesn't belong anywhere— no place to truly call home and nothing in this world but vengeance in his heart. but on a wintery day on dragonspine, he finds his salvation: a box of cecelias, a fire seelie, and the owner of the best flower shop in the city.

wc. 8.4k

a/n: thank you to my beautiful @hyomagiri for beta reading, helping edit and hyping this fic up to the max. i ended up feeling confident enough to post this because of her, three cheers for ellie i love you to the moon and back <3

WINTER

It wasn’t his fault. How was he supposed to know that buried beneath blankets of snow and sheets of ice, there would be Cecelias?

Fire seelies are usually reliable with a bounty of treasure waiting at the end of their path. He isn't sure why it led him here, to some inconspicuous pile of snow which he hastily melted without realizing there was something precious hidden within.

The mistake doesn’t register with Diluc until the sweet scent of flowers and ash and burning wood wafts under his nose. He blinks in confusion at the pile, perfectly burnt to a crisp and resting at the tip of his boots.

Boxed up flowers? What are they doing out in the middle of the mountain?

He remembers then, a story someone once told him— he can't put a name to the voice but it echoes in the hollow chambers of his heart:

"Did you know that you can preserve the freshness of flowers? All you have to do is box them up nice and tight and store them in the snow."

It's an interesting tidbit of information. He can't for the life of him remember where he heard it from, though.

Wind howls in his ears, powdery snow from over the horizon plowing down the mountainside and into his face. It doesn't deter him from examining the scene. The fire seelie floats just above his shoulder, quiet now as it looks at the pile.

He’s entirely distracted by the sight, unsure of what to make of the strange discovery, until he hears the crunch of snow behind him. With the Fatui lingering around the foot of the mountain, he expects to whip around and face an enemy. He even braces himself to be knocked off his feet by a wild boar.

Instead, his sudden movement frightens you and makes you stumble back until you fall flat onto the ground.

There’s a long pause of silence that stuffs the air, neither you nor him tearing your eyes away from each other. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, so still that it looks like you've succumbed to the frozen climate of the mountain. He breathes a slow sigh of relief when a wavering exhale leaves your lips in the form of a puff of cloudy air.

The heart resting in his chest stirs. An ancient dull ache, thrumming in the depths of his body as he looks at you in surprise.

Again, there's a voice in his ear. This time, he recognizes it as his father:

"Your mother? I fell in love at first sight."

Growing up, he never quite understood that string of words. First sight? How could someone fall in love at first sight?

Diluc Ragnvindr is a million things, but romantic is not one of them. Love at first sight is a silly fairytale that parents tell their children to tuck them into bed. It's something that could never exist in such a cruel world, plagued by monsters and evil.

It's easy for him to close his heart off to the idea of something as ridiculous as love at first sight, despite the way his eyes haven't left yours. And he's painfully aware of the way you're looking at him too, but he does his best to ignore your gawking.

Maybe he's catching a cold. He doesn't feel well all of the sudden.

Your gaze drifts to the pile of ash just behind him and you sigh, putting your head into your hands wet from snow.

"You found my seelie," you murmur, sounding very unimpressed. He blinks at you until you continue, "Those were important, you know. They were for a very special occasion."

Diluc takes in your form, clothes thin and unfit for the snowy conditions of Dragonspine. Even without the chilly altitude of the mountain, this winter in general was particularly bitter. He almost wants to scold you for dressing so thoughtlessly, even though he doesn't know your name.

"My apologies. I will reimburse you whatever the cost, and more."

"It's... not about that," you tell him from your place on the ground, still not looking at him. You seem stressed. His heart squeezes terribly.

"Not about what?"

"Mora."

He falls silent, so quiet that you finally peer up at him wondering whether or not he's even still standing there. And he is, regarding you with a thoughtful expression. His presence is so unnoticeable despite being right in front of you that it makes your skin crawl.

"How can I make it up to you?" He asks, extending his hand for you to take. Your clothes are soaked through already, cold and frozen from the subzero temperature. It doesn't help soothe his worries that he can feel a storm coming. He should get you out of here as soon as possible.

You huff, allowing him to drag you to your feet. It's then that you realize how warm he is, almost hot to the touch. The faint glimmer of a Vision dangles on his hip. Your eyes flicker back to his and he nearly jolts out of his skin.

"Don't worry about it. It's alright," you tell him though you sound disingenuous about it. You're obviously distracted, probably wondering how to explain to your client that their expensive flowers ended up as a pile of ash.

"It was my mistake. Please, let me know if there's anything at all I can do," he replies earnestly.

"Really, it's fine," you sound slightly exasperated by his stubbornness. If it were anyone ordinary, they would have taken your mercy and left you to freeze on the mountain without a second thought.

Diluc Ragnvindr is no ordinary man.

It takes him a moment to realize his hand is still gripping yours rather tightly. He recoils with an awkward cough.

“What are you doing out here in the mountains?” He asks. It dawns on him then what a stupid question it is, since you’ve obviously come to collect your frozen flowers. You tell him anyways:

"I buried some flowers further up the mountain a few days ago," you sigh, "not sure if I can find them anymore, though. That's why I've been following this little one around."

You scratch under the seelie's chin. Well, where you would imagine its chin to be, at least. It seems thrilled by the affection.

"It's going to storm soon. You should head back down the mountain and try again later."

"It's urgent," you insist, ready to brush past him and continue the trek up.

He stops you with your wrist in his hand. "Then please, let me accompany you to the top of the mountain. It isn't safe with the Fatui lingering around. It's the least I could do."

You eye him hesitantly, but then your shoulders relax and you sigh again. "Okay, okay. We should hurry and get out of here, then."

He wordlessly follows you up the trail, watching your movements carefully. While you don't seem suspicious, he can never be too sure when it comes to the Fatui. Save for the rustling of pine trees and the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots, empty silence fills the air.

It drives him crazy. So crazy that he decides to speak.

"What's your name?"

The name that leaves your lips makes him smile. He can only think that it really does suit you.

"My name is–"

"Diluc. Diluc Ragnvindr, right?"

Heat creeps up to his cheeks. Of course you know who he is. He's the most famous person in all of Mondstadt, for Archon's sake.

"I've seen you around the city," you quickly explain, awkwardly fumbling over your words. "And at festivals and such."

Before he can dwell too much on it, your seelie chirps— once, twice, three times as it dives into the snow and slowly melts it away. You suddenly halt in your steps, crouching down to sift through the remainder. An exhale of relief leaves you when you dig out a box, intact and frozen to the touch.

He looks on in curiosity. Your hand brushes the snow off the top of the box and you open it, revealing another couple dozen Cecelias.

"Thank goodness..." and your seelie seems to agree, because it dances around your head with a pleased noise.

You're too busy admiring the flowers to realize the snow has kicked up. He's too busy admiring you to notice, either. It isn't until the seelie dips in front of your face with a panicked garble that you finally tear your eyes away from your box of flowers.

"It started to snow..."

Diluc's gaze drifts from you to the darkening sky. It's much too late to make your way down the mountain. In his time in Snezhnaya he learned one very important rule of surviving the cold: you can't outrun snow.

Your seelie leads you to a small cave in a section of rock, covered in starsilver and crystalflies. There isn't any kindling to make a fire, and he isn't willing to brave this type of storm just for some wood.

Diluc shrugs his coat off his shoulders and wraps it around your shoulders in a single motion. Heat envelops you, warmer than the fire seelie that guided you through the mountains. It’s a warmth that fills you from the pit of your stomach all the way to the tips of your fingers.

The seelie floats between you, trying to do its best to keep the both of you in its light.

It's comfortable and quiet for a while— not a peep from either of you as you listen to the howling of wind and snow outside.

How did Diluc ever end up here?

Bad luck, karma, anything that would explain why he ended up snowed in atop Dragonspine with you— anything at all other than it was in the stars' design that he be with you right here and now. Fate mocks him.

Even worse, there's a voice in his head telling him that this is exactly where he needs to be right now. He's getting a migraine.

Diluc watches you sift through the remaining ashes of the burnt box, trying to see if there's anything you can salvage. Unfortunately, Diluc's Pyro vision was only good for combat and keeping you warm at this moment.

"I'm... really sorry," he says again, looking away sheepishly. He can't bear to look at the disappointment furrowing in your brows.

The sound of a sigh echoes in the cave, and he finally manages to look at you. To his surprise, you're only staring back at him with soft eyes: no contempt, no anger, no disappointment. It makes his heart sink, not only with guilt, but also because there's just something so sweet about you that it makes him want to hold you closer.

"It's okay. At least a majority of them survived. It'll be plenty."

"If you don't mind me asking, what were they for?"

"A bouquet for a wedding. The bride specifically asked for Cecelias, since it was the first bouquet he ever gifted her," there's a fondness on your face that makes him snort. You look at him funny. "What? It's romantic."

"They're just flowers. What's so sentimental about that?"

"They're not just flowers," you frown, scooting a little closer into his side to soak up more of his heat. The fire seelie's light flickers against your face. "Cecelias only grow in extremely windy places. They're illustrious and elegant, even after growing in such harsh conditions. Isn't that just..." you smile at him, slow and warm. "It's beautiful."

Diluc considers your explanation for a moment, tugging his coat around your shoulders tighter. "I suppose so."

"You suppose?" You laugh. "My my, I didn't know Diluc Ragnvindr was so down-to-earth when it comes to romance."

Your laugh is doing terrible things to him. There's something about it that reminds him of the days he spent wandering the Winery as a boy with Kaeya in tow. The nights he would spend catching crystalflies. Times long since passed. He suddenly aches to be back among the grapevines.

"I don't indulge in that sort of thing."

He never could, so long as there was something ugly and bitter and tainted in his heart.

"You've never fallen in love?"

"Not once."

Love like that doesn't exist. Not in a world like this.

He repeats what he believed was true, chants the mantra in his head until he's dizzy as if trying to convince himself that he isn't already lost in you. The warm orange glow of the seelie dances in your eyes, lights up your smile in a way that makes his stomach turn.

I fell in love at first sight. They were words that he couldn't understand until today.

"Is that so?" You muse, slotting your head in the space between his jaw and shoulder. He doesn’t move away. "You're an unusual man, Diluc."

"Maybe I am."

But he knows that the moment he met you, everything was about to change. You don't even dignify him with a glance as you say it:

"Let's fall in love, then."

The demand is simple and he's absolutely positive you're joking. Something in his soul tugs anyway. He swears one thing at that moment: someway, somehow, he'll make it all up to you.

You are, after all, the first person to remind him of home in a long time. Every aspect of you is so comforting and familiar, even if he can't quite place his finger on it yet.

You reach out to pet your seelie, even though you know your hand will phase through it. "You sure did lead me to some strange treasure, hm?"

It trills happily with a little twirl.

Diluc meets you in winter, in the valley between the peaks of Dragonspine. He meets you, and it smells of burnt wood and ash and Cecelias. It's so cold that you can't feel your fingers but you're smiling in the afterglow of a seelie nonetheless, and so is he.

SPRING

He learns that you own the little flower shop at the edge of Mondstadt, just within the front gates of the city.

You're teaching a young girl, Flora, how to nurture them. And he finds it a little endearing, the way you're so gentle not only with Flora but with the flowers you're showing her: daisies and tulips and Windwheel Asters, all of which are in season right now.

Diluc recognizes you when you open back up for spring, surrounded by boxes stuffed with fresh bouquets. You seem to be in a rush getting organized, holding a stack of boxes instead of taking them one by one and clumsily scattering them around so you can go through them.

He stops you by stepping in front of you, two hands on either side of the stack to steady them as you stumble to a halt.

"Diluc?" You peer from around the boxes. He can only see your curious eyes from this angle. He laughs.

"Sorry to interrupt you when you're so busy. Do you need help?"

"Well–" you do a little hop to straighten up the boxes in your arms, "–it would be nice to have an extra set of hands getting everything ready for the Windblume Festival." You contemplate his offer for a brief moment, then ultimately decide against it. "But I would hate to steal you away from your other responsibilities. You're helping with the festival too, right?"

"I owe you one. Think of this as a favour from a friend," he refutes stubbornly.

"I'm sure many would be missing the help of Diluc Ragnvindr," you tease, shifting around so that your body tilts toward him.

It's then that he can finally look at you fully, with a soft orange apron tied around your waist and Windwheel Asters in your hair to match.

One day, you would go on and explain to him that it was sort of like advertising, and that showing off how nice the blooms look as an accessory brought in a lot of business. Right now all it does is render him breathless.

"They can afford to miss me.” He can't help the smile that creeps its way onto his face at the sight of you— he feels silly about it too, like some lovesick little boy.

You hand off the boxes into Diluc's arms. "Can they? I heard you were supplying all of the wine for the festival. That's a tall order," you giggle, bending down to grab another two boxes of flowers.

"It's... manageable," he answers, making a mental note to himself to buy Adelinde dinner some time as a thank you. "What about you? What are all these boxes for?"

"We're holding a flower gifting service in the plaza, on the night of the big party." He looks at you curiously as you continue, "You can send someone you care for a flower or two, or you can send them anonymously if you just wanted to make someone's day!"

"Sounds..."

You smile knowingly. "Romantic?"

Diluc places the boxes down on the ground and pries the lids off, revealing more and more ready-to-bloom flowers. "Yeah. Romantic," he sighs.

"These will all be in full bloom in time for the festival.” You lean down behind him where he's crouched down, until your chin is nearly resting on his shoulder. He's sure his breath hitches so loud that you can hear it.

The following weeks entail complete mayhem. With the end of spring rapidly approaching, excitement buzzes throughout the city. Notably, he overhears many talking about your business and the new flower gifting service.

The Windblume Festival is a special time for Diluc. His father used to take him and Kaeya as children, back when the world was a little happier. On the night of the festival, he stands at the booth contemplating. Unlike a majority of the citizens of Mondstadt, he has not a clue who to give a flower to. Flora frowns.

"Um, mister, are you ever going to write a name down?"

The quill halts just above the piece of paper. "I don't have to sign my name, do I?"

"You can send it as a secret."

Diluc looks up from where he's bent over, observing you from a few feet away. You're conversing with some ladies who are interested in your bouquets. It was a good business idea to do something like this.

He only meant to support your idea as a friend. Now he's conflicted on whether or not he should dare to write your name.

You look absolutely radiant tonight with magical crystal chunks strewn about your hair and a crown of flowers circling your head. He isn't sure he's ever seen someone so beautiful.

He finally decides. When you turn back around to give him your attention, he's gone.

He's sure that will be the end of it, and that after tonight your brief and strange relationship with him will come to an end. But then you come bounding up to him just as he's about to head out.

"Look! A flower!" You exclaim, shoving it into his face. He's pleased that you like the one he picked out for you.

"Yes, I see that. It's nice."

"Nice? Nice?! It's adorable! I've never gotten one before."

He looks at you funny. "Never?"

"Nope," you laugh sheepishly. "I don't really get out much. Too busy running the shop."

He takes the flower from your hands and tucks it just behind your ear, adding it amongst the crown of Asters surrounding you like a halo.

"It suits you.”

"Does it?" You ask him quietly.

His heart beats furiously. How could he ever steel himself when you have such a big smile on your face, adorned with flowers and gemstones?

"Will you dance with me?" The question leaves him before he can stop it. You look at him in wonder, with his fingers brushing the hair from your face. Whatever evil overtakes him in that moment, he'll have to thank later, because without hesitation you're dragging him into the middle of the plaza with glee.

You come to learn that he isn't exactly what you'd call an elegant dancer. He only knows movements that he learned at banquets held by his family— basic steps born from obligation.

"I thought you'd be better at this," you tease, allowing him to pull you along by the waist.

"I don't dance," he huffs. "I haven't in a long time."

"We should dance together more, then."

Diluc sighs, but there's a tiny smile spreading across his face. "I guess we should."

"This flower... do you know what it represents?" You gesture to the bloom tucked behind your ear. He shakes his head and you continue, "It means everlasting love."

He laughs at the irony.

"I see. How... fetching."

"I wonder who it was," you smile to yourself. He thinks you look breathtaking.

Diluc's lips curl at your joy. He twirls you under his arm once, twice, then pulls you back into his body as he considers your words.

"Yes, I wonder who," he mutters with an amused expression that you just barely miss. And he knows exactly who, but he's not sure if he could handle seeing you melt into a lovestruck puddle at his admission.

Diluc dances with you in spring, under the warm glow of lanterns and the taste of grape juice staining his tongue. He dances with you, and it smells of the Windwheel Asters that crown your head and mint jelly on your breath.

He tugs you a little closer, just because.

SUMMER

If you were to ask Diluc how he felt about these big "charity" events, he would scoff in your face and lecture you about how they were nothing more than money traps set up by the Knights of Favonius.

He would say it purely out of spite, of course, mostly because he knows Jean is too kindhearted to allow for such shady business. Openly, at least.

His distaste for the Knights and all they stand for are not hidden deep in his heart. He sneers when there's a casualty— mocks their inefficiency at any given opportunity.

You never knew him to be such a bitter man when it came to the Knights. Diluc was good at keeping up his polite and indifferent charade to their practices.

It wasn't until the beginning of summer when you realized his loathing. It was their own incompetence that led a horde of slimes directly into the city, nearly smashing your little shop to bits.

You've never seen him so furious.

Outwardly, he was simply curt with them. He had only a few choice words lined up when they apologized with their heads hung low, watching them with his arms crossed over his chest.

Inwardly, you could see the anger swimming in his eyes.

That was three weeks ago. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth to think that just three weeks ago, they were leading danger straight into your shop and now here they are, asking you to donate to their cause.

"You're sulking," you tell him from across the table. He immediately sits up straight, jaw relaxing.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know," you smile at him, moving one of your pawns forward, "I think the Knights are happy you're here. Relieved, at the very least, that you don't seem mad at them anymore."

He only frowns whilst knocking your pawn over with a bishop. "I wasn't mad at them."

"You were. Even I could tell."

"They almost got you hurt."

"Almost," you remind him with a small huff. "They were just slimes! No harm no foul."

You make a fatal move, but he doesn't even gloat because he's too busy cursing out the Knights in his head.

"I just find it in poor taste that they would ask for your hard-earned Mora after endangering you like that." He shrugs you off nonchalantly, as if you can't see the fire blazing in his eyes at the mere thought of it.

You blink at the chessboard as he checkmates you, slumping back in your seat with a tiny pout. "Once again, you've bested me."

"It seems I have," he says, lips finally twitching up into a small smile.

"Don't you ever get tired of beating me at this game? I sure do."

"That's a shame. Same time tomorrow?"

He watches with a laugh as you grumble in irritation. You can't help but notice how quiet it is, even over the chatter of the people in the plaza. There's something off about him today.

It's clear that he doesn't want to be here, volunteering his time to the Knights for a cause he has no faith in. It was a favour for Jean, he told you, to which you mused that he owed a lot of friends favours.

To be a noble in Mondstadt, and especially the wealthiest, Diluc is obligated to attend all sorts of gatherings he detests. You can see it written all over his face.

"Hey," you call out to him softly, leaning over the table. Your voice is a hush as you tell him: "Let's get out of here."

He glances around. "I'm expected to be here, you know?” He laughs once more, though he seems to be considering your offer. He decides to indulge you. "Where would you like to go?"

You think for a moment, brows furrowed. He watches the minute twitch of your lips, the creases of your smile; everything about you is so alive and beautiful.

Then, you point. You point high, with a breathless giggle.

"There," you say, gesturing toward the giant statue of Barbatos, "let's go up there."

He almost flat out rejects you, wanting to scold you about how dangerous it would be and that, for someone without a vision, you sure do have the gall to even suggest it.

But then he sees the excitement twinkling in your eyes, which are already scrunched up from how big your smile is. How could he refuse?

Diluc ends up trailing behind you, inconspicuously hugging his coat close to his body. You don't realize why until you're standing at the feet of the statue.

You gasp at the bottle of wine tucked into his coat. "Did you steal that?"

"The Winery provided all of this. I would hardly consider it stealing," he chuckles.

You nudge him with your elbow, a grin on your face as you accept the bottle into your hands. "I didn't know you were so sly, Diluc."

"I used to do this all the time when I was a kid."

"Steal wine bottles?" You look at him with wide eyes and an impressed smile.

"The maids forbade me from drinking at the Winery's banquets. Try telling a thirteen year old boy not to do something, see what happens," he huffs in amusement.

"You don't even like wine," you remind him. Diluc only hums in response, grabbing it and stuffing it back into his coat as he takes his first leap up the stone.

"Consider it a gift.” He twists around so he can look down at you where you stand, watching him with a mixture of fascination and horror.

His hand extends to yours. For as many times in this life as he is willing to offer it, you would take it.

He helps haul you up to the very top, barely breaking a sweat as he watches you climb beside him. After all, he withstood countless adversaries in his time in Snezhnaya: climbed mountains as tall as the sky with nothing but his claymore.

When you ask how he's so calm about this, he only tells you that he used to climb to the roof of the manor when he was a boy.

He had a lot of secrets kept caged up in his body, you realized many months ago. Diluc was never too vocal about his time before he returned to Mondstadt.

You do remember, however, that at the banquet they threw for him to celebrate his return home, he seemed cold and indifferent to the warm welcome. In fact, it was like his mind was entirely elsewhere. You can picture the day well— it was the largest order of flowers you'd ever received after all.

You're glad he's settled back into Mondstadt, at least. You just never thought you'd have a chance to actually meet him.

He watches as you nervously teeter over to the edge of the statue, peering down with a nervous gulp. You relax when his hands steady you, gently guiding you to sit down in a more safe position.

"I've never been so high up off the ground!" You cry out toward the city, feet dangling over the edge of the Archon's hands.

"It's nice, isn't it? Much different than the kind of heights you feel on Dragonspine."

You take in a long breath of fresh air, as if savouring the wind at this height. "It's pretty.” You finally conclude. There's a dreamy sigh on your lips that makes him laugh.

He uncorks the bottle he lugged up with him, passing it over to you. Instead of taking it, your head tilts back and he takes the opportunity to pour the wine past your lips himself.

Silence festers between you two as he pours the sweet alcohol into your mouth, all rational thought being carried away by the wind.

He isn't sure how long you stay that way: shoulders touching, hair blowing, and feet dangling in the air. For someone who wanted to climb the statue to see the city, you sure are being shameless in your staring directly at him.

You're looking at him in a way that makes him melt— eyes so laser focused and crinkling with your smile. You look at him like he's the only person in the world. Right now, he might really be that important. His heart swells in his chest.

"What is it?" Speak your mind. Let me hear all your crazy thoughts.

"You came all the way up here with me. You came up here. With me."

You emphasize your point by extending your arms out to your sides, feeling the breeze wash over you.

He knows what’s coming next. You love clichés. And he doesn't stop you, for some reason, when you open your mouth again just as he predicted.

"I think I'm falling for you."

"I would hope not. We're pretty high up in the air."

You swat his arm with a huff, face turning a little more serious. "I mean it!"

Diluc grows quiet, looking out toward the city. His home. The place he grew up, and the place he'll spend the rest of his days. The distant sound of people chattering, water flowing from the fountain, music playing: all sounds he's grown so familiar with and yet—

"I love you."

—he never thought it could be so beautiful until he climbed up here with you.

"You love a lot of things," he muses.

"Like what?"

He looks at you softly. "Like Cecelias. Mondstadt hashbrowns for breakfast. And you say you hate the cold but I know you love it up in Dragonspine— think it looks so pretty with all the snow."

You nod, mulling over his statement before asking: "What else?"

"I know you love that orange apron; Flora's mother sewed it for you herself, didn't she? And you love Anemo slimes, think they're the cutest thing in the world even though I've seen them explode in your face multiple times before."

You're listening to him intently, watching his lips as he lists off all the things he knows about you. And he's been going for so long that you have to wonder if you've really only known him for eight months.

"You love Starfell Lake and making wishes while you blow away Dandelion seeds. You love fire seelies and tea imported from Liyue and going to charity events like this even though you don't owe the Knights any of your time."

Another silence settles between you.

"So I'm a romantic. Even then, you still won't accept that I love you?" You ask him quietly.

He hesitates only for a moment, but you still catch it. "I won't."

"What is it with you and your cynicism about romance?"

"It's not like I don't believe love exists—" He’s looking at you right now, after all: living, breathing proof that Diluc could love something. "—I just... it's not for me."

"Not for you?" You repeat back to him in disbelief. "Love is beautiful, you know. You don't even want to give it a chance?"

You're looking at him earnestly, both hands pressed against the stone of the statue beneath you as you twist to stare him down.

"It's complicated," he murmurs, tearing his eyes away from yours. In his peripherals, he can still see you facing him. He doesn't dare look at you again for the sake of his own resolve.

Love was always a messy emotion for Diluc. To love was to trust completely, to be vulnerable and open. But he's been betrayed one too many times for his heart not to ache at the idea of falling in love so willingly.

It terrifies him— to have someone holding his heart in their hands with the chance that they could crush it into dust with the snap of their fingers.

Diluc was alone for many years in the northern region of Snezhnaya. He's good at being lonely. It's a part of the air he breathes, something engraved deep into his bones, terrible and grim and consuming his flesh until he's nothing.

He hadn't even realized he had grown accustomed to it. Not until he met you. Not until you stole his heart at first sight. Not until you made him understand all those times his father would speak of his mother once she was gone. It was always easier to be alone until he met you, and suddenly you came along and flipped the whole world onto its head.

Now Diluc can't be alone— he was losing the ability to sit in solitary silence without his thoughts screaming in his ears. He was constantly thinking about you. And it was always distracting things, like wondering when he would see your smile next, or when you would ever dance with him again.

Your head falls against his shoulder, hair tickling under his chin as you rest there. As if it were a remnant of eons past, his lips find the crown of your head reflexively. And you don't pull away by any means, allowing him to be affectionate the only way he can and accepting him as he comes.

The words don't need to be said anymore. He already knows. It's a story rewritten a million times over, buried somewhere deep in his soul.

He decides that maybe, just once in this life, it would be okay to take the risk. If it was you, he would be alright.

His arm comes around your waist protectively, pulling you closer into his body as if you'd disappear with the wind if he let go. He holds you there quietly, listening to your soft murmurs.

Diluc Ragnvindr deserves to be loved, is what you're telling him.

And despite the scars littering his body and the chains wrapped around his heart, he allows himself to believe it.

Diluc loves you in the summer, in the hands of the Anemo Archon. He loves you, and it smells of Dandelion Wine and the lingering scent of sweet flowers in your hair and all the things that make him dream of you.

For the first time since he returned to Mondstadt, he doesn't feel alone.

AUTUMN

It's the anniversary.

Diluc remembers the day too well— the smell of blood and flesh and how cold a corpse is. Sometimes it's all he can think about.

He cried when his father passed, as all boys would. Then, a fire replaced the hollow sadness in his heart, something fierce and dangerous and unhinged.

Fierce and dangerous and unhinged. Descriptors that he would consider second nature to him behind closed doors of the Tavern and hidden in the grapevines of the Winery. No one would ever know the real Diluc Ragnvindr, hellbent on vengeance since he was only a boy crying at his father's grave.

It wasn't until you came along that he felt something new blooming within him— something like beautiful flowers and a heartbeat slow and steady as waves on the shore, a yearning so powerful that it displaced the ugly bitterness in his heart.

Nowadays, Diluc felt like a confusing mixture of both light and darkness— treading the thin line that separated him from living in the moment with you, and seeking revenge for the past.

He doesn't realize the conflict within him has been bubbling into a raging fire, tearing him in half from the inside out, until today.

He talked to you about his father once, over a plate of sugar-frosted slime and Liyue imported jasmine tea. It was a day like any other, with you seated across from him having an afternoon snack.

My father liked sugar-frosted slime, he told you. It was the first time he'd ever let it be known that Crepus was on his mind, ever so present. A ghost haunting him. You didn't think much of it. Diluc seemed perfectly content living through his memories.

It was coincidence that brought you here on the exact day the world lost Crepus. Or, perhaps, the nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you to get out of bed and come here.

Your son is a wonderful man, is what you first whispered to the grave. And then you couldn't stop the words from pouring out of you, rambling on and on about how he raised a good boy, and how Diluc had taken your heart the moment you laid eyes on him.

He finds you sitting there in the rain with a sad excuse for an umbrella popped up above your head. His father's grave is adorned with flowers of all kinds— a respect that no one had ever paid him before.

You don't realize how much you move him with such a simple act. He had long since lost faith both in the Knights and the citizens that once looked up to his father so much; after all, it was only he and Kaeya who ever came around to visit.

It's not until he crumbles to his knees beside you that you even notice his tears, your smile fading as he looks at you in confusion.

You're not sure you've ever seen Diluc cry before.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, head tilting into your palm when you reach forward to wipe his tears with your thumb.

"Saying hello," you respond as if it's the obvious answer.

"You... huh?"

"It would be rude to fall in love with you without at least introducing myself first."

"You didn't have to do—" Diluc gestures to the grave, "—all this."

You smile. "I wanted to.” And the truth is as simple as that.

You were too good for this world. Something beautiful in a place where only ugliness lives. He almost hates how much hope you give him.

The world was always black and white for Diluc. Recently, he's been finding it hard to distinguish the two.

There was right and there was wrong and there you were teetering between them, balancing hope and despair. It scared him to think of all the ways he could lose you, how he could one day end up bringing flowers to a grave with your name on it just as you did for his father.

What's the point of love if all it ends with is hurt?

He's sniffling, trying to chew on his bottom lip to distract himself from the ache in his chest. You notice his sudden quietness, turning to look at him.

"Hey.” Your voice is soft, as if he would shatter if you even spoke to him wrong right now. He might. "It's just me. It's okay."

"I don't cry. I hate crying," he admits through his tears.

He can't remember when he had cried last. Was it the day he came home? Or was it longer, like during those lonely nights spent hiding away in the mountains? The only vivid memory he has with tears staining his cheeks was the day his father died.

"You don't have to be ashamed of crying," you tell him, using your thumbs to wipe his lashes. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I'm Diluc Ragnvindr. I'm not supposed to cry."

"You're Diluc Ragnvindr," you repeat back slowly, pulling his head toward you and cradling it against your shoulder. "You're human. What's wrong with that?"

Diluc doesn't feel human. He hasn't felt human in a long time. He's been something more like a ghost wandering around the places he used to love. Memories tainted by hatred and grief, it was as if he would never find beauty in this world again.

"I'm not," he breathes. "I'm not anything."

You pry him off of you. He blinks at you through his tears.

"Do you really believe that?"

He goes quiet, only staring at you as he soaks in your earnest eyes.

"I don't know what I am. I don't know what to do in this world anymore."

He's a mess of emotions— he almost wishes he were back in Snezhnaya where everything made sense. Where his entire existence was built up of seeking retribution. To a time when he knew where he belonged.

Diluc Ragnvindr only ever knew revenge. Only ever knew how to inflict pain. Only ever knew how to break kneecaps and hide in shadows and keep his lonely body warm with his Pyro vision.

He doesn't know love. He doesn't know how to do it without fighting the fire burning in his stomach when he grieves—

"You're just Diluc. Do you ever need to be anything more than that?"

—or maybe he hasn't given it the chance it deserves. The chance he deserves.

He realizes then, what love must be. What kept him up at night, the feeling raging in his chest:

There was no corner of Teyvat he could ever call home without you anymore. He belonged here, with you.

And accompanied with this realization is something that he hasn't felt in many years. Peace. A stillness in his body and the calm in his mind which was usually racing with contemplation— something he never thought he would feel again.

And it's because of you. Only you. It would only ever be because of your love.

"Would you accept me as I am?"

You smile. "I always have."

"You don't know who I am. The things I've done."

"Are they that bad?"

"Awful."

You hum in thought, thumb mindlessly brushing his cheek back and forth. "We have all the time in the world for you to explain," you add with another soft smile, "I believe you have your reasons. I believe in you."

He laughs, exhales shaky. "You're insane."

"Am I? But I think you're falling for me anyways."

So what if he is? He can't find a single reason wrong with it anymore.

The rain has started to let up, the world around him lighting up with warm sun. And you look so radiant like this, surrounded by the fog brought in by the storm and shining in sweet sunlight.

"Do you think we have your father’s approval?"

He doesn't have to answer that. Not when you're already leaning in closer to him.

The diminishing pitter-patter of rain against your shabby umbrella fills his ears. You're so close that he swears he can hear your heart thundering in your chest.

Diluc has always been brave; he was a terrible troublemaker of a child that grew into a body too big for a boy— some part of him that he kept locked away for the sake of living his life as his father would have wanted. If he wanted to lead an empire of a business, he would need to grow up eventually.

He's always been brave, but he was still too much of a coward to stop using his father as a way out. Because he knows Crepus would have wanted Diluc to find happiness, not vengeance.

It's about time he stopped being afraid.

"I think he wants me to tell you something."

"And what's that?" You smile.

"That in this life—" he breathes, "—in this and the next and the one after until the stars of Teyvat run out, I will love you."

You snicker. He can feel it rumbling in his own chest. "How romantic," you tease with his breath in your lungs.

He shuts you up with his mouth.

Diluc kisses you in autumn, with the golden leaves of change. Diluc kisses you warm and sweet and long. He can't remember what was filling his senses at that moment. Your bodies were too close for him to care.

WINTER

Winter was always a bothersome season.

Even in his days away from Mondstadt, in all the time he spent roaming the north, he never quite grew accustomed to the freezing temperatures and harsh weather.

When Diluc left for Snezhnaya, he left his childhood behind, too. He abandoned who he was on the doorstep of his manor, put all his funds into the hands of Adelinde with no intent of returning, and left in the middle of the night without a word.

Half of him expected to die. The other half expected to not return by choice.

For the first few months he spent adjusting to the northern climate, he tucked himself away in a hidden cavern away from the Capital where the Tsaritsa resided. He was in no condition to battle, let alone challenge a god.

He spent many days stealthily hunting down lower ranking Fatui— people that no one would miss. At eighteen years old he had enough blood on his hands to guarantee Celestia's smiting. Blood that, as he learned, does not wash off.

He had to teach himself how to travel through thick snow. Through blizzards and hail and subzero temperatures nothing alike to those felt on Dragonspine.

And when he finally returned home, battle worn and hardened and cold, he couldn't stand the snow. Every crunch under his boots reminded him of the times he had to lug around his greatsword through treacherous enemy lines. Even the sound put him on edge for incoming attacks.

It wasn't like he was ever particularly fond of the cold but for a long time, as a boy, he would simply tolerate it. He had his Pyro vision, after all, and it never truly caused him any harm.

When Kaeya received his Cryo vision, things took a turn.

The cold represented nothing but death for Diluc. It was pain and grief and sorrow— loss in magnitudes indescribable to anyone else. It was bloodshed, the terrible stench of flesh, metal on metal. It was homesickness.

There was nothing poetic or beautiful about it. It only reminded him of all the things he had lost.

He would roll his eyes when Venti sang about the first snowfall of the season. His Pyro vision would glow until the ice melted around him. It's impractical, he told you when you first met and he was guiding you back down the mountain. It doesn't do any good except make you slip and fall.

Diluc remembers quite vividly how you snorted at that. And, like always, you went on to say things that would make his head spin. Find beauty in life even where you think it doesn't exist.

He didn't heed your advice all too much, instead grumbling about how his claymore was getting heavy and that he wanted to get back to the Winery as soon as possible.

But then he found that it was hard to ignore your words. Especially when you were showing him exactly how to do it— popping frozen grapes into his mouth that were somehow a little sweeter; mixing him hot cocoa the way your mother taught you; throwing snowballs at him from behind trees and thinking you've won until he nails you straight in the face in retaliation.

Winter always brought a smile to your face. And how could he not smile when you are?

The best part of it all was that the cold made you cling to him a little closer. A little tighter. So close that he swears he can hear your heart beating in his own ears, savouring his warmth unlike anyone he'd ever met before.

"My personal fire seelie," you joked once. He pinched your cheek until you slapped his hand away and buried your face back into his chest.

Diluc is pretty certain that he hasn't been this happy in a long time. Not since before his father passed, at least. Even with the nervous sigh that leaves him, you're urging him forward.

"I can't believe you never learned how to skate!"

"It's... not something noble families would have approved of."

"But you have this whole lake in your backyard!" You gawk. He only stifles a laugh, stumbling clumsily into your arms. You catch him as if you'd done it a thousand times before.

"Show me how it's done."

"It's like dancing," you say with an encouraging grin, pulling him along with you slowly. You're half right. Some aspects of it do remind him of a warm spring night, with music playing and your laughter in his ears. On the other hand, he can't seem to keep his skates straight.

"The ice won't fall through, right?" He murmurs anxiously, nodding at the Pyro vision hung on his belt.

"If it does, I'll save you!"

"I don't think you'd be able to carry me up from the water," he deadpans.

"I'd save you," you insist.

"Really?"

"Yes, really! For as many times as you need me to save you, I will."

And you did save him. Though, that statement is better left unspoken for the sake of the heat rising to his cheeks. Instead, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you," he whispers into your skin.

Find beauty in life. Another set of words he never thought he would understand. But he's staring at beauty right in its face and it smells like Cecelias. Dances like a shooting star. Loves unconditionally.

Diluc always loathed winter, until you redefined it into a thing he missed dearly—

Home.

crossposted to ao3!

🏷️ @rintosei hi babe its up <3

#— whispers in the wind ✧#seriously thank you to ellie #everyone go give her a big hug she deserves the world #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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zoeykallus · 1 month

Note

Hi, Zoey! Are your requests open? I had an idea after watching Kenobi.

There’s a scene in Kenobi where the Inquisitors show up to a market place in search of Jedi. They throw a knife at the shop owner knowing that the Jedi hiding among the patrons will stop the knife from harming him. It would be interesting to see that with Hunter.

Maybe Hunter and Cid’s bartender have a relationship. Bartender was weary of the clones at first but warmed up to them and liked Hunter. They just started dating when Inquisitors show up. They use the knife trick on someone (maybe even Omega) and bartender is forced to expose themselves as a former Jedi.

I’d love to see how Hunter would react to that.

oh oh oh oh... I got something in my head!

*Running in circles*

I actually had a scene like this in my head for a while now, I put the whole batch in there but focus on Hunter as a love interest.

Hunter x Jedi/Reader - One-Shot - The Things We Do For Love

Warnings: Angst/Canon Typical Violence/Blood/Fluff

No one knows about your past with the Jedi order. You are forced to drop your cover, when you try to save Hunter's life.

_______

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_______

It's strange, life after Order 66 - hiding, pretending to be someone else. And it doesn't get any easier every day as you'd hoped, at least not at first. Cid's Bar, that's where you ended up at some point. You work behind the counter. You serve all kinds of strange clientele. Cid's Bar is like a meeting place for all kinds of scum in the Galaxy. Life has changed, a lot. Priorities change. The code after you've lived so long is nowhere near as important as surviving and belonging somewhere so you're not completely alone in this universe. But you can't open up to anyone, not exactly the most decent people come and go here. So you keep a low profile. You even flirt here and there to keep up appearances, but at the same time, you keep everyone at a distance. And then, to make matters worse, these clones turn up. Automatically, every alarm sounds inside you. Order 66 flares up in your memory, sharp and painful. It takes so much willpower to stay calm, to not let anything get to you, so much trauma hangs in every thought of clones. No one knows who you are, no one even suspects that you were part of the Jedi Order.

And yet these men surprise you, especially one of them who leads the group. He is so thoughtful, so serious. Hunter always seems to be lost in thought, trying to keep everything under control, to ensure safety. He rarely leans back and really takes a breath. He's almost always worried and tense, you can feel it in the Force. But eventually, he thaws out, you somehow strike up a conversation, and you quickly learn how much depth and kindness lie beneath that brooding, skeptical exterior. Hunter can even be funny, very observant and above all else, he's decent, probably one of the most decent people to ever come and go in this bar. You catch yourself admiring him. Your eyes meet more and more often, you talk to each other more often, even flirt. But this flirting is different, it's not fake, it feels real, exciting and for you, with your past, completely new and almost reckless. You are both obviously interested in each other, just as you are both shy and cautious in a certain way. Weeks, even months go by before your hands touch for the first time, and he asks you out.

You can see it in his face, he can hardly believe it himself, hidden behind his smile is a nervous boy who is incredibly afraid of being rejected by you. The big, brooding leader has a great weakness, you. Of course, you say yes, you can hardly resist this special man, clone soldier or not, Hunter has so much good in him, he attracts you like a magnet, not to mention his good, bold looks do the rest.

It starts like any other evening. More or less. After your first date, Hunter usually comes into the bar smiling, automatically seeking your gaze as soon as he walks through the door. You can't help it, you smile back every time, accompanied by a warm tingling in your stomach, warmth rising in your cheeks and ears.

But something is different today. There is a presence in the room, dark, determined, hard as stone, surrounded by sharp edges. You sense this presence in the Force, its intransigence. You look around in alarm. The bar is a little busier today, your gaze wanders more or less inconspicuously around the room. Then you see him. You meet cold eyes, eyes as blue as sapphires, their gaze steely and sharp, so intense that you automatically lower your own gaze and distractedly clean a glass. But you know this person has already noticed you. Right now you're feverishly thinking about your next steps and how to get out of here alive without putting anyone in danger. Hunter frowns worriedly, watching you. He can tell something is wrong. Tech is talking to him, but he is focused on you right now. He leaves the table where he was sitting with his brothers and is about to come over to you when he hears a voice say clearly and distinctly, not shouting but loud enough, "CT 9901"

You feel hot and cold, a shiver runs down your spine, you're sure Hunter feels the same way, you can see it on his face. All the heads at the Bad Batch table look up in surprise, shock and alarm. Hunter turns to the voice that seems to be coming from one of the other tables a few meters away. A man suddenly stands up, slowly, unhurriedly, confidently. Like a predator who is sure of his prey, who has no reason to be afraid, no need to hurry. Neither you nor Hunter like the body language. What surprises you, however, is that this man, in his strange, dark uniform, is not looking for you as you expected, but obviously for Hunter and presumably his brothers. "All 99ers in one room, this must be my lucky day. And not only that, I feel like I'm getting a little something extra on top of that," the somber stranger says, his voice deep and clear, almost melodic.

The room falls silent, as if the presence of this man demands it. With a confident little smile, the man pulls a knife from his belt, the first movement is slow, almost sluggish, but the throw comes so suddenly that you barely have time to react. It has become so quiet in the bar that you could hear a pin drop. But when the blade suddenly seems to stop in mid-air barely a centimeter from Hunter's eye, a murmur goes through the room. You're sure you can hear someone whispering the word Jedi.

Hunter only lets out a quiet, "What the hell", he can't help but stare at the blade for a moment. He should be dead, he realizes, that vibro blade should have drilled into his skull, but there it is, hovering right in front of his face. Out of the corner of his eye he sees your outstretched hand, your concentrated gaze, and he begins to understand. You stopped the blade from killing him, you stopped it in its tracks. The stranger's cool voice draws you both back to him. "I knew I sensed a Jedi in the room, and I knew you couldn't resist to show yourself" In the next moment everything happens very quickly, there is no time to think, to process, to make plans. The man reaches out his hand, and you feel his grip on you in the force. You are swept over the bar counter, with a pull on your body, trough the force, knocking over two tables on your way to the floor. Everything around you happens in a haze, you hear Hunter cursing angrily, blaster shots, the distinctive buzz of an awakening lightsaber, screams from the other patrons. A red glow fills the room. The smell of burned flesh.

Your left side hurts. You landed hard on the tables when the Sith Force-wrenched you over the counter, maybe you cracked a few ribs. There are shards on the surrounding floor from the glasses that went down. As you try to pick yourself up, you accidentally reach in and cut your right palm. The pain is sharp, clear and distinct, bringing you back to reality from your surprise. You jump to your feet, skillfully, supported by the force that flows through and envelops you. It's been a long time since you've used the Force and your abilities in this way, but it's as if you've never let it out of your fingers, the lightsaber sliding into your hand, its blade glowing blue with its characteristic hum. Blood runs down the hilt of your weapon from the open cut on your hand, it burns, but you ignore the pain. You feel Hunter's gaze, he is still confused. He knows what you are now, but he certainly hasn't processed the news yet. At the moment, you all have other things to worry about. Did the Sith come alone? Are there Stormtroopers waiting for you outside the bar?

You concentrate on the force, on the intentions of your opponent. Everything you feel emanating from him is sharp, dark, glowing hot. He is driven by rage, and the moment your lightsabers cross, you feel all the hatred in his attacks, which are admittedly much stronger than you expected. You've never fought a real Sith before. The first touch of your lightsabers is like an electric shock, an incredibly hard impact, a wave of fury that seems to roll over you from your opponent. The hilt of your weapon is slippery with your own blood, you have to grab it hastily with both hands so that the sword doesn't slip from your grasp or your opponent will decapitate you. For a moment, Hunter's concern penetrates your perception, but you shut him out and have to concentrate. A quick exchange of blows follows, attack, parry, retreat, attack, parry... The handle of your weapon becomes increasingly slippery with your own blood. Then it happens, another hard blow, you parry, the impact of the blades causes your weapon to slip away.

You hear Hunter yell out, hear the shock in his voice, the terror in that simple word, "No!" His blaster lies on the ground, sliced in half by the Sith's blade. Hunter has pulled his knife from his belt in a split second, lunging in the Sith's direction. The blade of your attacker hovers just in front of your neck, you hold the Sith and his weapon in this position with all the strength you can muster with body and force. Your heart races, adrenaline flows through your body. There are only millimeters between your life and death. Millimeters before the red lightsaber could sever your head from your shoulders. Hunter reaches an arm around the Sith's neck and jabs his knife into his side. The sergeant's voice is dark and smoky as he rasps, "Not on my watch"

The red lightsaber goes out and falls to the ground. Hunter kicks it aside, away from the Sith's hands, and lets the mortally wounded attacker slide to the ground. You see Hunter's chest rise and fall, still electrified, while your adrenaline suddenly subsides and your hands begin to tremble a little. You concentrate on the force, your center, and banish the trembling from your limbs. With a sigh, you look at the man on the ground, who is taking his last breaths, his cold, sapphire eyes still looking up at you with hatred, but there is also reluctance in them, surprise, defiance. Echo kneels down next to him, feels his pulse. "Quite dead," he says dryly, and with a glance at your extinguished lightsaber, he asks, "Care to explain?" "Take it easy, Echo. I guess it's obvious why we're only finding out now, it would have been dangerous to reveal the truth," Hunter says calmly and steps closer, carefully grabbing your hand and looking at the cut.

"That needs stitching," Tech says with a sideways glance and adds, "I can do it when we get to the Marauder, we should get out of here, more will come" The others lead the way, Hunter and you follow at a slight distance. You can't quite believe it yet. CF99 accepts you into their midst, no ifs, no questions, yet. Admittedly, Echo is still a little skeptical, but he always is. But you're part of it now, you're no longer alone. The thought spikes a feeling of euphoria in you. "Looks like Clone Force 99 has its own Jedi now," Hunter says with a wry smile. You crack a smile, liking the idea, forgetting for a moment your bleeding hand and the drops of blood that fall to the ground and on your tunic. Crosshair, who is walking ahead of you, casts a jaunty glance over his shoulder and says dryly, "Just don't expect me to follow your orders, General." He says it with a wink, even if his words sound a little hostile, he is friendly to you, you sense his intentions in the Force.

You say quietly, "I wasn't going to give you orders, you have a working system as a group, I wouldn't dream of changing it" The Sniper laughs softly, "Clever Jedi" Hunter drops back a little, and you do the same, sensing that he has something to say to you. After a little while, on your way to the Marauder, he says seriously, "You gave up your cover to save my life, thank you" You chuckle and say softly, "The things we do for love" Hunter listens in surprise and asks, "So our dates aren't part of your cover?" You've opened up to him in the force, feeling his pulse, the tingling under his skin as if it were your own. "I would never play with your feelings, not even as a cover," you say seriously. Hunter breathes a sigh of relief and asks, "So nothing will change between us?" "I'd like us to continue our relationship and see where it takes us," you reply with a warm smile. You feel his relief, his affection, and you breathe a sigh of relief as well.

"That's what I want too," he says, carefully grabbing your hand and taking another look at the wound. "That looks really bad," he says, frowning. Wrecker comes rushing up and murmurs, "Now hurry up, or our Jedi will bleed to death!" Impatiently, he grabs you and lifts you off your feet to carry you to the Marauder. You make a small, startled noise. "Wrecker," Hunter says softly, admonishing. "What? The little Jedi got hurt!" Wrecker returns unperturbed and carries you to the Marauder. "It's just a cut on my hand," you say, waving it off. "It's bleeding a lot," Tech comments as Wrecker sets you down next to him and points at your stained tunic. Tech already has medical supplies ready, including a needle and thread, but first Echo cleans the wound. You grit your teeth, because the cleaning stings a lot. Echo says knowingly, "Don't worry, it'll be done in a minute"

Wrecker asks curiously, "Is the Jedi officially with us now?" Hunter sits down opposite you and watches as your wound is taken care of, he says, "I think so" "But I'm not really a Jedi anymore. There is no longer a Jedi order and I haven't been following the code for a while now, at least not to the letter," Hunter's eyes meet yours at the last words. Your heart beats faster as a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "We're not really regular clones either, we're not really soldiers anymore," Tech says lightly. Crosshair sticks a toothpick in his mouth and mutters, "Welcome to the defect squad, I have a feeling you'll fit in perfectly here"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

________

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

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ghostbeam · 1 year

Text

swore i could feel you through the walls | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Dabi knows that he can’t leave you now. You belong to him, and he belongs to you, and the stars knew before either of you did. And Dabi can’t argue with fate, or destiny, or pure dumb luck, not that he wants to. He pulls your comforter up over his body. He’ll be here when you come home to him. In a place made for staying, Dabi thinks he will.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is an idea that has been bouncing around my head for like. Literal years ajsjsjsjs It’s always kind of been more of a horror idea and then I fanficified it and now it’s this! This was kind of a process and I rewrote and replanned and went over this over and over again but I think it is at a place that I am mildly happy with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea and I’m honestly a little insecure about it but fuck it!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoy<3 (title from Chinese satellite by Phoebe bridgers) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, yandere!dabi, stalking, Dabi hides in readers house without her knowledge, some paranoia, psychological abuse, slight yandere!reader, mentions of somnophillia but no actual instances of it, violence, non-consensual voyeurism (Dabi watches reader masturbate), unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, marking, biting (shoulder, neck), painplay, one mention of carving names into skin with no instance of it, mentions of blood (reader bites dabi’s neck and draws blood), use of good girl, mutual obsession

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe.

Dabi runs from the low-ranked hero, surprisingly fast on his tail as the distance between the two becomes smaller and smaller. With his lungs burning, his skin irritated from quirk use, and the lack of help from his peers, Dabi realizes that he needs to find a way to lose the ice quirk user that is quickly gaining on him.

Turning down a narrow alleyway, he’s disappointed to find that it’s a dead end. He pauses to catch his breath, keeping himself tucked tightly against the shadowy wall. Dabi surveys his surroundings, finding nothing but garbage before he looks up. He’s against an apartment building, he realizes, looking at the lights in the windows above him.

All windows are lit except one.

Dabi doesn’t have the time to wonder about the owner, shaking his head and forcing himself up the fire escape, preparing himself to use his quirk if it comes down to it. He breaks the lock on the darkened window and shuffles inside. He falls over a stack of books that sits underneath the window, freezing on the floor as he listens for any movement throughout the walls. When he hears nothing, he stands from the floor and closes the window, creeping down the hall in search of the other rooms. There’s one bathroom and a bedroom with no one inside, and relief rushes over Dabi as he feels his shoulders relax.

Assuming you won’t be home for a while, Dabi makes his way back to the main room, turns the light on, and heads for the kitchen. He looks through your fridge for something to eat, pulling out a Tupperware of leftovers that he heats in the microwave. As he waits for the seconds to pass, he looks around the apartment.

It sets in, then, how lived in the place is, shelves full of books, records and DVDs, art and photos against the walls, leaving almost no space for the blankness underneath. The kitchen is pink, he realizes, looking around and eyeing the various knickknacks shaped like mushrooms or kittens, unique magnets hang a mess of papers on the fridge beside post-it notes of reminders.

He wants to hate it. It’s a complete mess, chaotic even, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s intrigued now. He ignores the beeping of the microwave and steps away from the kitchen, observing the various pictures on the walls. It’s not difficult to find the owner of the apartment, the face showing up in a multitude of snapshots. Your face.

As he looks at the walls, he finds himself stuck on you, the curve of your jaw, your lips, your eyes. You make his heart beat in his chest, excitement bubbling at the realization that he is standing in your home, in your space, right in the middle of your entire life.

You’re beautiful. He feels his stomach drop.

The more he explores, the more he seems to like you. The Sargent print on your wall, the Rilke in your bookshelf, the numerous albums in your collection that he knows nothing about. He flips through the pages of your books, smiling at your annotations, the ink between the pages, and the tiny star you draw next to your favorite passages. He runs his fingers across the words over and over again, committing them to memory, the need to love the things you love burning in his chest.

It’s not enough, he realizes, looking through just this room. He stalks down the hallway and turns the light to your bedroom on. And oh, how content he feels in here, a room clearly much more personal than the one out there. It’s a bit of a mess, with clothes on the floor and the bed like you’d changed out of many different outfits before leaving. The full-length mirror against your wall is peppered with postcards and pictures from magazines and those same post-it notes: call mom, pay the phone bill, need more cotton pads. So, you’re forgetful. Dabi smiles at the knowledge.

There are string lights of stars hanging on your ceiling and lamps in the shape of flowers on your bedside table. Your bed is unmade and you have sheets with scatters of constellations on them. Your affinity for stars makes him smile, one more thing he’s found in common with you.

It shocks him how interested he is in you, in all of the things that make up your little life. But the more he explores, the more he’s sure you’re made for him.

He looks through your closet, through your dresser, stuck rummaging through your underwear drawer. Every set of lingerie you have is some variation of blue, and Dabi can’t help but feel as though it’s for him. It’s all for him, your things, you. Fate, or the universe, or luck itself is on his side. He pockets a pair of panties that closely resembles his eyes before turning to your desk. More post-it notes are stuck to the surface, and there’s a notebook that he reaches for before your wall catches his eye. There are more photos, haphazardly taped up and not at all as organized as your living room, but he can tell they’re important to you: family photos, people he recognizes from films, rock singers, and—him.

Dabi is on your wall.

The photo is one that went viral a couple of months back when he got into an altercation with one of the top ten heroes. He remembers the fight well because of how large his flames grew, and the damage that he did to the surrounding area, to the people, to the hero he was up against. He’s stood with his arms out in front of him, neon flames emanating from his palms as the moment in battle is frozen in time forever on your wall. You printed it out on photo paper and everything. He plucks it from its spot and turns it over. Your handwriting with his name and a heart is scrawled on the blank space. He runs a thumb over the heart, feeling his face warm up.

This isn't a mistake. You know who he is, and you’re a fan, not just of the photo itself, but of him. He wonders if you’re one of those weirdos he’s seen online with accounts dedicated to him, one of the anonymous boxes that engage in discussions about his quirk and identity, losers grasping at any detail they can that might bring them closer to the truth, or just to him in general.

But the more he thinks about it, the more excited he gets, thinking about you saving blurry pictures of his fights to your phone, watching youtube videos of him with shitty quality, and tweeting about him with stupid little emojis. He wonders if you dream of him, if you think of him while touching yourself, or if you fantasize about silly things like being a villain’s girlfriend. He likes thinking of you like this, just as obsessed with him as he’s becoming with you.

Dabi doesn’t care what it’s called: divine intervention, cosmic love, soulmates. All are true; none capture how this feels.

Your laptop is password protected and his name doesn’t work when he tries, so he moves on from your bedroom. Entering your bathroom, he looks through your medicine cabinet, analyzing your meds and products as he searches for every bit of information he can. He looks at the lipstick that sits on the counter and debates putting it on in the form of an indirect kiss but decides to pocket it instead. He sprays each and every one of your perfumes, deciding which is his favorite, and throwing the one he dislikes out the window he came through, watching it shatter against the cement.

He pulls back the shower curtain and begins to strip, turning the water on and letting the heat hit his worn-out body. He hasn’t felt water pressure this good in years. He uses your shampoo, your conditioner, your rose-scented soap, even though it’s sure to irritate his scars. He uses everything he can to be close to you, to smell like you, to have any piece of you even though you’re not here.

When he’s done, he lays in your bed, against the sheets that you occupy every night except tonight, and stares up at the string lights above him. He picks up the stuffed bear with angel wings that sits against one of your pillows, caressing the ears between two fingers. He thinks about you, about the things he doesn’t know, details you don’t have plastered to your walls or hidden between pages of poetry books. He wants to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, how you’d look undone beneath him.

He can finally breathe.

…

The keys to your apartment chime against your door as you move to unlock it, hoards of keychains rattling against each other as you push the heavy door open. It slams shut behind you and you toss your keys onto the kitchen counter, hauling your suitcase behind you. The familiar pang of loneliness hits you immediately as you look out over your crowded apartment.

“I’m home.” You mutter softly, running your fingers over the plush fabric of your couch.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself with books and posters and comfortable shag carpets, you still feel the same each time you come home to emptiness.

You roll your suitcase to your bedroom, deciding that unpacking is a job for the you of the future while the you of the present deserves to sink into the couch and watch tv. Your unmade bed catches your eye and you wonder if you’d forgotten to tidy up before you left to visit your mother. You don’t dwell on it, dragging your tired body to your couch and turning on your television. You flip through multiple channels before a name on the news catches your attention: Dabi.

Your obsession with the cremation villain seemingly happened overnight. The League of Villains had intrigued you due to their mission to dismantle hero society, a cause that resonated with you as a quirkless citizen. When Dabi joined the group, you were immediately interested in the aloof and mysterious fire quirk-user. You never stood a chance. You spent hours on message boards, gathering any and all information on the group as you could in order to feel closer to him. Your adoration never made much sense to those you talked to online with the lack of information available about the man. But as the League grew in popularity, details about Dabi became far more accessible to the general public. His true identity remained a mystery but two things you were certain of: his quirk came with a drawback in the form of his own body and fire got him excited.

And now, the news anchor on your television was relaying the news that he had been seen around your neighborhood and still hadn’t been found. You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest, excitement bubbling up as you think about the prospect of catching a glimpse of him in real life. Realistically, you know there’s no way that Dabi stuck around here, understanding the risks of staying in one place for too long as a wanted criminal, but the thought makes your stomach flip. You lean back against your couch, clutching the remote in one hand and letting out an excited giggle. For a moment, you’re grateful for the emptiness of your apartment, your embarrassing display of excitement only witnessed by you and you alone.

You spend a few hours on LOV fan accounts and forums, hoping to find out any more details about the news, but most people online say it’s not worth looking into. Much like you thought, Dabi was most likely far away from your place by now.

Finding nothing, you stand up from your couch, stretching your arms above your head as you make your way to your bathroom. You turn on the shower and allow it to heat up as you find something to sleep in. When you return, you strip and step into the shower. Your mind wanders toward thoughts of Dabi as you stand underneath the water. You’re disappointed. The one weekend you leave town, the love of your life visits your building. The endless push and pull is frustrating.

It’s something that’s happened to you time and time again, coming across the aftermath of an attack, or arriving somewhere that Dabi was rumored to have been seen. You keep missing him by mere seconds, and this is no different, though you aren’t exactly sure what you would do if you ever got a chance.

After finishing up, you step out of the shower, take a towel from the hook on the wall and dry yourself off. You change into your clothes and reach towards your medicine cabinet before pausing. Drawn in the steam on the mirror is a heart. You stare at it, examining it closely. Had you drawn on the mirror the last time you showered? When was the last time you cleaned the mirror? You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a loud bang coming from your living room.

Without thinking, you rush towards the sound, spotting the door to your hallway closet slamming shut. You freeze where you stand at the end of the hallway, weighing your options before deciding you don’t have much time to think about it. Bolting to your kitchen, you pick up a large knife from its block, before carefully making your way back to your closet. With the knife in one hand, you turn the knob to the door, pulling it open in a hurry and holding the blade in front of you. You’re met with nothing but your own things, coats, and dresses that you never wear, a closet full of items left unused. Even when you push through the racks of clothes, you find nothing.

Relief washes over you at the knowledge that you are in fact here alone. You lower the knife, allowing yourself to breathe as you calm down. You stare down at the weapon in your hand, scoffing.

“What was I going to do with this?” You speak out loud. Even if somebody was in your home, could you really defend yourself? You’re quirkless, you aren’t trained in any sort of self-defense, and you’re not even sure you’d have the guts to actually stab someone. You shake your head, walking to your kitchen to put it back.

You retreat to your bedroom, pulling back the covers of your unmade bed, clutching your bear in one arm, and staring up at the ceiling.

Inside of your hallway closet, up against the wall, Dabi’s shoulders relax. He imagines you with your knife outside of the door, the scared expression on your face, one he could only see from in between your coat and the wall. Your eyebrows pinched up and your eyes wide, your bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. He takes pride in being the reason for that look. He pulls away from the wall, carefully sliding out of the closet and shutting the door behind him. He looks down the hallway, toward the door that you’ve left ajar. He wants to sneak in, watch your chest rise and fall, caress your cheek, and feel you lean into his touch, but he knows you're more than likely awake, still shaken up from his antics.

He’ll be back tomorrow, anyway.

…

The encounters continue into the rest of the week. Doors creak open and things fall from shelves. You hear noises late into the night and find more hearts left on reflective surfaces, your mirrors, your television, your windows.

With no sign of another living thing inside of your home with you, the only explanation you have left to give yourself is something paranormal, even if you aren’t sure of it yourself.

And besides, you kind of like the idea of living with a ghost. This one seems to be in love with you.

On top of all of the hearts, your ghost has knocked off books of love poems from your bookshelves, blasted Linger by The Cranberries from your speakers, and flipped through television channels to land on one playing In the Mood for Love. And when you fall asleep at night, just as you can feel yourself crossing the boundary between sleep and awake, you swear you can feel your bed dip beside you.

You don’t hate it, and you aren’t scared, and sometimes it is comforting to know that you aren’t as alone as you always believed you would be.

Dabi watches you most days. He watches you nap on your couch and laugh at your cell phone. He watches you parade around your home in nothing but your underwear and a t-shirt. He watches you concentrate on the novels you like to read, where a crease forms between your eyebrows as your eyes fly across the page. He watches you talk to yourself about anything and everything, about work, about television shows you enjoy, about him.

He likes that you’re a complete mess in the morning, that you can barely keep yourself upright, let alone keep your eyes open while you brush your teeth. He likes that you spray the perfume he decided was his favorite all that time ago before you leave for the day. He likes that you sometimes switch between multiple different albums before settling on the one you like. He likes to watch you dance to them. He likes that he’s never heard of them before. He likes you.

You’re a natural result of loneliness, much like he is. But where you filled your void with material things, stuff, Dabi left his empty and allowed it to grow. He would have thought it was foolish, the idea of filling that hole in him with anything other than anger and hurt, thoughts of revenge. Had he not fallen for you, maybe he would have hated you. The two had always felt so similar.

You’re happy with him here, he notices, much happier than you had been that first night. You talk to him, your ghost. You ask him about the shows you watch, his opinion on your favorite albums, what shoes to wear to work. He’s a part of your life through knocks on the walls and highlighted lines in between the pages of your books and soft touches in the middle of the night.

Dabi holds it all close to his Molotov heart and hopes that the ruin is worth it.

…

You fall asleep almost immediately, exhausted from your busy day, one spent without your ghost. Dabi sneaks in late, caught up with league business for the past couple of days, and he misses you.

He stares at your sleeping form against the night sky that is your sheets. He feels himself relax at the sight of you, realizing just how much it affects him to be away from you for too long. He takes his boots off at your bedroom door and walks in long strides toward you. He cups your cheek in one hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone, smiling at how you subconsciously lean into his touch.

Dabi moves to the other side of your bed, sliding in beside you. He does nothing but stare at the back of your head for a few minutes, gathering the courage to reach out and touch. He wants to hold you. He wants to do more than just lay beside you and listen to you breathe.

He runs a hand up your arm, dragging his fingers against your skin. He wraps an arm around your midsection and pulls flush against his chest, feeling your body relax in his hold. He sneaks a hand up your sleep shirt and thumbs over the soft flesh of your stomach. Your hair smells like lavender shampoo, and it makes him nostalgic for that first night.

A sudden sinking feeling settles in his stomach as he breathes you in, the guilt of barging into your life and bothering you to the point of delusion makes Dabi feel ill. You’re important to him now in a much deeper way than you were at the beginning. He doesn’t want to hurt you, at least not like this.

“Dabi…” Your voice is soft, starry with sleep. He freezes against you. Your voice comes again, “Dabi.”

“It’s me, baby.” He whispers against your ear, unsure of just how awake you are.

“You’re so warm…Dabi…” You trail off, dragging the last syllable of his name. Your voice is so soft, breathy as you talk through sleep. He can feel his pants tighten at the sound from your lips. Fuck. He can’t stay here, not when you sound so sweet.

He could fuck you. He wants to. He’s not even sure you’d wake up. He’d pull pretty little moans from your throat, slotting himself between your thighs and sliding into you. You’d already be wet for him, and he’d watch your hands ball into little fists in your sleep. You’d chant his name like a prayer. He’d come deep inside of you and leave you to wake up the next morning with the evidence between your legs.

But he does not fuck you. He places a kiss to the side of your neck and pulls away from you despite the whine you let out as he detaches his body from yours. He leaves with every intention of never coming back. His ruin might be worth it, but yours isn’t.

…

The lack of paranormal activity in your home is alarming, which is something you never thought you’d ever think about. Your ghost has been gone for weeks, and you’re afraid that you may have made it all up in your head.

This possibility is one you dread, mainly because it has everything to do with your own sanity. If you had been imagining each event, drawing hearts in your mirrors, underlining passages in your books, and forgetting about it, you know that something has gone completely wrong. And you can’t blame it on anything outside of yourself.

The idea that you’ve been pushed this far, that your own loneliness has you creating imaginary instances of a haunting, terrifies you. What terrifies you more is that you miss him and that you’re alone again.

But you can’t think about it, or you know you’ll go insane, more so than you possibly already are. So you bury yourself in fuzzy blankets, and you play sad albums on your speaker, and you scroll through the same forums that comfort you in times like these.

You know it’s pathetic, pining for someone who doesn’t know you exist, someone completely and wholly evil for all you know. A man you aren’t even sure has a heart.

You think yours may be enough for the both of you, though.

Darkness falls over your living room in what feels like a matter of minutes, though you know it’s been hours since you first picked up your phone. Your record player has been playing the same scratchy hum that signifies the end of one side of an album. You lift your eyes from your phone screen to one of your living room windows, the one with the drawn heart in the bottom corner that you can’t bring yourself to clean off. You let your phone fall to your chest as you stare up at your ceiling and sigh.

Your heart is a greedy, hungry thing and your mind is a tool to feed it. Through daydreams and delusion, through want, want, want. You can hide from the isolation for a while, but the pain always catches up. And tonight it hurts.

You fall onto your bed with a thud, and your phone drops beside you. There’s a dull ache underneath your skin, one all too familiar and unwanted by you. Why had he left you? His absence haunts you more than his presence ever did.

Your phone buzzes against your sheets, a notification from one of the discussion sites you frequent lights up the screen, the subject being Dabi and the recent sightings in the city. The ache subsides.

It’s a video of him, maybe the clearest one you’ve ever seen. He’s alone, and he’s talking to someone, or a bunch of someones, other villains. You can’t make out the words, but you can tell they’re not pretty by the way the men start to close in on him. The smile that crosses Dabi’s face is razor sharp, deadly, reaching up to his crazed eyes. You gasp when he knocks his head against one of the men’s noses. Another one punches him square in the jaw for it, and he stumbles back, touching a finger to the seam in his face. Dabi isn’t a fighter, not with his fists at least, and you’re wondering why he’s letting them get away with this. He goes to punch one of them but misses, and while he’s distracted by his own move, one of the men sends a kick to his stomach. You hear him groan before laughing, his head hanging low as he clutches the place he was hit.

You feel hot suddenly, touching your face with your palm. You watch Dabi raise his head slowly, his laugh low and maniacal and unbelievably sexy. He licks the corner of his mouth before his hands spark with blue flames. He hurls his fire toward the men without a second thought, and that’s when the video ends. You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding against your chest. You squeeze your thighs together as you restart the video.

It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, watching him grin at these men, holding their life in his hands. You like watching him do more than just wield his quirk, watching his head crack against the man’s nose, watching his fist fly through the air. Something has to be wrong with you, you’re sure of it, but you can’t focus on anything but Dabi and his hands. The way that they’d feel against your skin, how they’d feel in your mouth, how they’d feel pressing your hips into your mattress. You slide your hand down your body and underneath the band of your sleep shorts. You’re already wet.

Dabi climbs through your window, the one branded with his fingerprinted heart, the window that allowed him into your life all those weeks ago. Your lights are off, and he can’t see your figure asleep on the couch in the darkness, so you must be asleep.

He promised himself he wouldn’t come back, promised you he wouldn’t. But it hurts without you, and the ache grows, the wanting. The fucking wanting.

He tried to bury it like he does everything else, tried to burn it to ash, drink it to death, beat it out of him. He’d let those guys get in a couple of good punches tonight just to feel something. Nothing works.

But you do.

He takes careful steps down the hallway when he hears your voice. He freezes. You’re moaning. He feels his breath catch in his chest. Of all of the days spent watching you, Dabi has never seen you like this. Desperate, aching, calling his name.

He watches you through your cracked door, spread out on your bed with your phone clutched tightly in one hand. You’re no longer watching whatever was on your screen, but you’ve left it playing as you arch against your bed.

“Dabi…” You mewl. He has to grab the door frame to keep himself steady at the sound. “W-want it.”

Fuck. How could he possibly leave you now? He palms himself through his jeans, watching you bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. He’s so hard that he might pass out. The puffs of air that fall from your lips as your legs shake have him holding back a groan. It isn’t until your noises become quiet that he realizes just what you’re watching.

The sound of his own laugh echoes through the speaker on your phone, and he’s surprised by the pained moan that falls from your lips at the sound.

It’s him. You’re watching him. Dabi holds back a groan. He’s careful to free himself from his pants without a sound, not that you would notice. You’re far too gone to acknowledge him right now. He could probably let out the noises that beg to be free of his throat, but he doesn’t risk it. He can’t do anything that could stop him from watching you come for him.

Your hand is obstructed by your sleep shorts, and the same can be said for the hand that has now discarded your phone onto the pillow beside your head and reached underneath your shirt to pinch one of your pert nipples. You’re close now, and so is he, barely able to keep his breathing steady as he strokes his hand against his cock.

He’d give anything to barge in now, pull you toward the edge of the bed, and sink into you without a care in the world. He wants to feel you tight around him, wants to kiss your neck and bite your skin and leave traces of himself everywhere. He wants to show you that you’re his, confirm what you’ve always known.

But instead he watches you writhe against your bed with his name falling from your lips. “Dabi–fuck! Gonna–”

You come with a loud cry, hips twitching a way that has Dabi cursing under his breath. He spills into his hand immediately after, reaching for your wall to hold himself up as he tries to keep quiet. But when his hand meets the hard surface of the wall, it collapses out from underneath, realization dawning on him that he’s pushed your bedroom door shut with a harsh slam.

At the sound of your door, you jolt up from your bed, the ecstasy of your orgasm quickly wearing off as you freeze. You listen for any other noises, and when you hear nothing, you slowly creep from your bed. Looking around your bedroom for some kind of weapon to protect yourself, you feel yourself growing panicked when you realize you have nothing. You tiptoe to your bedroom door, pushing your ear against the surface to listen to any sign of life on the other side. You hear nothing.

With your heart beating out of your chest, you slowly pull the door open, sticking your head out and looking down your dark hallway. There’s nobody there, and you wonder if this was yet another paranormal encounter after weeks of nothing.

A sinking feeling in your gut tells you that there’s nothing paranormal at all about your experiences.

You walk back to your bed in a daze, tucking yourself back under the covers and staring out your bedroom window. The video of Dabi continues to play on your phone, and you make no move to shut it off. You fall asleep to the sound, his crazed laughter somehow comforting to you in this moment.

The sinking feeling doesn’t leave you the next morning, and there’s no sign of another human in your apartment as you check all of your windows and doors. It all makes you feel uneasy, the creeping suspicion that it’s all in your head. You’re completely alone. You have no one to confide in, and even if you did, you’re sure they’d think you're insane or an idiot for allowing any of it to go on for so long without question.

You have no clue what to do or where to start, but you want whatever it is, ghost or not, gone.

…

The idea is ridiculous. You know that.

You know, standing in your living room with the ouija board you’ve just purchased sitting on your coffee table, that you are being completely ridiculous.

“If this works, then great. Then ghosts are real.” You speak aloud to nothing. “Then I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.”

Your eyes flitter to the bottle of raspberry wine you bought on your way home, something you know is sweet and easy to drink quickly. You’ll finish the bottle in no time. You reach for it, pouring a good amount into your glass and taking a large gulp. You hold the glass to your chest, breathing in and shivering at the cool sensation against your skin. The board sits on the table, and you let out a chuckle of disbelief.

Dabi stares at you from the darkness of your hallway. He’s been in your home since before you arrived with your children’s game and your sugary wine. You’ve been on edge for days, and Dabi knows he has everything to do with it. Still, he watches you quietly, taking in the last moments of invisibility before he has to tell you.

You’re still staring at the board. You take another gulp of your wine and look out of the window that he climbed through. The strap of your spaghetti strap tank top is falling down. He thinks of the painting that hangs on your wall. You’re Sargent’s Madame X. He’s going to ruin your life.

“They sell those things in toy stores, you know.” He finally speaks. It all happens in slow motion: the quick jolt of your shoulders in surprise at the sound, your glass falling to the floor and shattering against your carpet, the scream that falls from your lips.

Then suddenly, you’re looking at him, and he is looking at you, and your hand is frozen in mid-air like the glass is still in your hand. He looks down at the mess, “Shame. That ugly carpet was kind of growing on me.”

“Dabi…” Realization dawns on your face as you say his name. He looks up at you again, before turning his attention back to the mess on your carpet. He holds an arm out and beckons you toward him.

“C’mere. You’ll cut yourself.” He tells you. You don’t move. He watches your chest rise and fall, frozen where you stand, unable to think about anything other than getting away. He watches your eyes flicker to your front door.

It happens quickly, nothing like before, climbing over your couch and rushing as fast as you can toward your escape. He almost loses you, tripping over his feet as he reaches for you. You barely touch the handle before his arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip. You’re both panting, his breath hot against your ear.

“What? You aren’t excited to see me?” He questions. It’s not like he expected you to accept him with open arms, but he didn’t think you’d run from him.

“It was you?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. How are you meant to feel about any of this? It’s what you wanted, right? All the times you missed each other, all those days spent disappointed that you weren’t just a little earlier or a little later. And here he is, in your home, with you, with his arms wrapped around you, no less. And you want to run? What bothers you the most is that you aren’t as scared as you should be.

“Your ghost?” He questions with humor in his words. You feel his grip tighten around you before he speaks again. “Are you disappointed?”

His voice is much softer than he intended it to be, nervousness finding its way through the mask of carelessness he so carefully hides behind. It calms your nerves, the idea that he’s just as unsure of this as you are.

“I’m scared.” You admit.

“Of me?”

“I don’t know yet.” You say. He loosens his grip, arms falling to his sides as he lets you go. You step away quickly, turning to look at him while keeping a good amount of distance between the two of you.

“I’m not–I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” He speaks, holding his hands up. “I would never–”

“Why?” Looking at him, standing in your kitchen, his hands up in surrender, his eyes pleading, Dabi is just a man. You know this, you’ve always known this. It’s why your obsession with him is as strong as it is because, underneath all of the flames, he’s alone just like you are.

“Because you’re mine.” He sighs because he knows he must sound insane, and his answer doesn’t seem to soothe the worried look on your face. “And you know it. You do, because I’m on your fucking walls, and you stalk me like a little weirdo on your phone. You–you’re made for me.”

“Made for you?” You ask incredulously as if this isn’t the exact moment you’ve been fantasizing about since the first time you ever laid eyes on the flame user.

“Look, I didn’t think any of it was real, none of that soulmate shit people make up so that they have something to hold onto. But, fuck, I had never felt the way I did when I climbed through your window that night.” He speaks frantically like he’s trying to convince you, prove to you that what he’s saying is the truth. “You saved me, and you don’t even know it.”

You soften, “I saved you?”

“None of this would've happened if things had gone a little differently that night. I wouldn’t know you, and you could go back to your normal life with your pictures and your books and your forums, but it didn’t so I’m here. And isn’t that something?”

“I’m just…confused.” You explain. “You’re you, and I’m sure you’ve gathered by now how embarrassingly obsessed with you I am–”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why?” He questions, leaning forward. “Does it get you all hot and bothered like that night with the video of me getting my ass kicked? That was cause of you, by the way.”

“You have to understand how fucked this is. You get that, right?” You aren’t afraid anymore. You’re angry, a little hurt, but most of all excited. Made for him. He’s probably right.

“Yeah?” He questions, taking another step. You do back away, but he continues to follow you. “I think you like it. I think your life was so goddamn boring before me, so lonely. My little tricks made you so happy, baby.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, because he’s right, and you hate it. His hand comes up to hold your jaw with one hand, his fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly.

“C’mon…” He tuts, leaning down to your height, “You used to be so sweet for me, snuggling up to me while you slept. You can’t hide from me. I know everything about you. And those feelings that you have for me don’t change in a matter of minutes just because I did something fucked up. I’m a villain, sweetheart, and you know it.”

“So what?” You ask. “You’re in love with me or something?”

You want to hear him say it. You want him to tell you it’s more than obsession, more than the excitement of scaring you.

“It’s not obvious?” He asks, releasing your jaw from his tight grip and running his thumb against your cheek to soothe you. “You ruin me.”

You shake your head, “Say it.”

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

It shouldn’t feel as romantic as it does. With him pushing your hips into your kitchen counter, his lips so soft against yours, you forget all of it. None of it matters to you, anyways. Maybe it’s the worst way for any of this to happen. Maybe it’s the only way.

He pulls away, watching your eyes flutter open, your lips swollen from his kiss. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and you’re touching his face without a hint of disgust. You’ve always been his. He surges forward, catching you off guard and pulling you into another kiss, this one much more hurried and desperate. You gasp when he presses into you, the growing bulge in his jeans hard against your thigh. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, earning a choked whine from your lips. You struggle to keep up with him, with his hands everywhere. You’re overwhelmed.

“Dabi, wait.” You speak for the split second that he pulls away. He shakes his head, kissing down your jaw as you try to catch your breath.

“Can’t.” He speaks in between kisses. “You’re–I need you. Please, please, I’m–”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, pulling him away from your neck to look at you. “Dabi. Hey.”

“Hi.” He speaks, unable to resist the urge to press his lips to yours in a quick peck before pulling away again. It makes you smile, though, so he does it one more time. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted me?”

“I think there is something very, very wrong with me.” You say because you have to acknowledge it, at the very least. You want him so bad it burns.

“Yeah, me too.” He kisses you again. “Made for me, remember?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “maybe I am.”

“You are.” He says against your lips. “You are, you are, you are.”

You’re in your bedroom before you have any time to think about it, your back against your sheets as Dabi hovers over you. He pauses, his frantic movements from moments ago now at a standstill as he stares down at you. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You speak without hesitance.

“Yeah?” He slots his hips in between yours, running a hand up the side of one of your thighs as you make room for him. “All mine, huh? Gonna let me keep you?”

“Uh huh.” You nod. “You can keep me.”

“Good.” He drags his lips down the column of your neck. “My girl’s so good for me, yeah?”

You’re unable to answer, though you don’t know if you’re supposed to. His hands move from your hips to your backside, grinding you against his length. You gasp, grasping his shoulders for stability as he sucks on your neck.

“Gotta mark you up, baby.” He speaks against your skin. He sucks your skin harshly, biting and nipping different areas of your neck. It’s a sensation you’ve never experienced, all your senses heightened at the knowledge that it’s him who’s touching you. “Show them who you belong to, show them you’re mine.”

“Please!” You whine, arching your back into him as he bites down, hard, on the juncture of your neck. You feel him smile against your skin, kissing over the bite. He begins to lower himself down your body, kissing down the valley of your breasts over your top. He pushes your shirt up as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your stomach.

“Maybe I’ll carve my name right here, yeah?” He questions, lips against your hip. “You can do the same to me.”

When his eyes flicker up to yours, you feel your breath catch in your throat. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, every silly little fantasy you’ve ever had come true. “You’d want that? My name?”

“Fuck, of course, I would.” He groans, pushing himself back up to eye level with you. His hands rest on the mattress on each side of your head, his eyes searching your face. “Want you all over me. I want you forever.”

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck and pull him down to you in a bruising kiss. Pushing at his chest, you hook your leg around his waist to switch positions, straddling his lap as your tongue swirls in his mouth. You pull away to look at him, his eyes blown wide with need. He’s so fucking beautiful. You want him forever, too.

You rise to a sitting position, Dabi’s hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as you stare down at him. You push his shirt up and he pulls it over his head in seconds. You run your hands over his chest and abdomen, feeling his scars and the staples that hold him together under your fingertips.

“I think I wanna mark you too.” You speak, leaning down to kiss him again. “Want you to be mine.”

“I am yours.” He speaks without hesitation. He sucks in a harsh breath when your lips meet the unscarred skin of the left side of his chest. You place soft kisses there before biting down. He cries out, bucking his hips up into yours. “I’ll give you–fuck–everything.”

You continue to leave marks over his skin, satisfied with the noises you're pulling from Dabi. You run your fingers over his hips lightly. You think you would like your name there. Dabi takes the hem of your shirt between his fingers, urging you to pull the fabric from your body. He rises from his position on the bed, running a hand up the length of your spine as he pulls you close. He kisses you once more, moving his hands to your hips to help you grind down on him.

Pulling away, he trails his lips down your neck, burying his face in your chest. He wraps his lips around your nipple, tweaking the other between his fingers as he looks up at you. You cry out, rapidly grinding against him. He continues to play with your chest, kissing you with fervor and groaning into your mouth.

“C’mere.” He speaks against your lips, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving to lay you down on the bed. He hovers over you, slowly pushing his hips against yours in a way that makes you cry out. “Gonna take care of you, okay?”

He slowly makes his way down your body, slipping his fingers underneath the band of your pants and pulling them down along with your underwear. You push your knees together, staring up at him as shakes his head.

“Don’t hide.” He commands softly, pulling your thighs apart. His tongue peaks through his lips for a moment before he speaks again. “Been thinking about this since that night. M’sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to slam the door.”

He runs his hands up your thighs, eyeing your sex as he lowers himself back down. You let out a breathy laugh, “you didn’t?”

“No.” He chuckles against the inside of your thigh, kissing your skin. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, my god.” You giggle, cut off by the feeling of his teeth sinking into your thigh. You gasp, trying to pull away, but his grip on you is tight. He kisses over the mark, eyes finding yours with a warning.

He licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, and you throw your head back, resting your hand on top of his head before he pulls back.

“Look at me.” He speaks, bringing one hand up to run a finger through your folds. You’re already a complete mess, and he feels pride in knowing he’s the reason. He’s always the reason. “Keep your eyes on me, or I’ll stop.”

You nod, wiggling your hips to urge him to continue. He chuckles softly at your desperation before burying his face between your legs again. His tongue runs along your folds in long slow strokes, your hips jolting at the stimulation. No research, or video, or fantasy you had about the man between your legs could have ever prepared you for what this feels like.

Your moans spur him on as he tastes you, the knowledge that he’s the reason for your pleasure more rewarding than anything else. He wraps his lips around your clit and you cry his name. You feel your orgasm building as he continues to lap up your juices, his grip on your thighs tight as he holds you open for him.

“Dabi! Dabi! I’m–” you let out a strangled moan as you grind your hips against his tongue, “fuck–coming! I’m coming.”

Your hips jolt at the pleasure, the feeling of his mouth still on your sex guiding you through your orgasm. He slows his strokes, running the flat of his tongue against you as you calm yourself. The movement of your hips slow as you watch Dabi still buried between your legs. You catch your breath as he tongues your cunt, cerulean eyes staring up at you as you twitch from the overstimulation. He pulls away from your sex with a wet smack, rising to capture your lips with his.

He pulls away, “call me Touya.”

“Huh?” You ask, chasing his lips again. He kisses you slow and deep, his tongue swirling against yours as he pushes his hips against yours. You groan against his mouth.

“Touya. It’s my name.” He says, placing soft kisses against your jaw. “My real name.”

Touya. His name is Touya. You know Dabi’s real name. You get to say his real name, keep that knowledge locked inside of your heart, a secret between the two of you. The reveal makes you feel closer to him, an equal exchange for all of the time he spent inside of your home without your knowledge, though you know it’s really not. You’ll take it, anyways.

“Where’d you go, baby?” He whispers against your lips. “Did the obsessed little freak inside you get excited?”

“Says you.” You scoff.

“Made for each other, right?” He speaks before kissing you again. The kiss is hungry, frantic as his lips consume yours. He fumbles with the studded belt around his waist, pulling away from you only to rid himself of his jeans.

His cock is hard against your entrance, the warmth of him overwhelming as he shifts his hips over yours. He runs his hands up the outside of your thighs, rough hands smoothing over your flesh while he kisses you again. You whimper against his lips, a silent plea for him to do more than grind against you.

“Shhh, let me–wanna remember this.” He wraps a hand around the base of his cock, running the head through your folds as you try to keep your breathing steady. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Touya leans down to kiss your neck, sucking over the already tender marks he left before, hoping to keep them there for longer, the evidence of him on your skin in the ache he leaves behind. You pant as he continues to grind his hips against yours, arching your back and pushing yourself closer to him as he continues his assault on your neck. Pulling away, he lines himself up with your entrance, staring down at you just inches away from your face.

“Kiss me.” He speaks. “Kiss me, please.”

When you kiss him, he sinks into you, swallowing your moans with his lips and slipping his tongue into your mouth as he stretches you. You catch your breath as he pulls away, adjusting to the size of him as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

“Touya.” You breathe, your hands running through his hair as he pushes into you deeper. A contented smile falls across his face as he feels you move your hips against his. “Feels–mm–good.”

“Yeah? Good. S’all I want. Just want you to feel good.” He says as his hips slowly begin to change pace. Maybe it’s the fact he spent weeks scaring you into delusion, or the fact that he can’t get the way you look when you come out of his head, but your pleasure has become his ultimate goal. He wants to watch you come undone again and again on his cock, disregarding his own needs as you're pushed over the edge over and over. He thinks he’d like you to use him, but for now, Touya wants to take care of you.

He speeds his pace up, gripping your hips in his rough hands as he pounds into you. He’s getting carried away, you realize, as his hold becomes bruising, his kiss, starved. It all feels so good with his hands all over you and his lips so desperate. He needs you and he doesn’t hide it, and with every action, Touya shows you just how much.

“It’s so much! Too much!” Not enough, you think. You cry out as he presses into you deep, pushing in and out of you with long slow strokes, his cock hitting just the spot that has you seeing stars. He groans, feeling you clench around him as he moves.

“Take it.” He commands, thrusting into you. “I know you can. You’re so–fuck–good for me.”

You whine, arching into him and pulling him down for another sloppy kiss. He can’t get enough of you, and you’re completely his. He’ll keep you. He’ll take you with him, make a little villain out of you, keep you nice and fucked out on his cock forever. All of his plans, his goals, the one thing he’s worked toward since becoming Dabi, now include you. You have a real role in his life, one that’s meant to stay, one that means forever.

You’re close. He can tell, and he feels himself being brought to the edge just as quickly as you are. His pace quickens as he thrusts in and out of you, bringing one hand to your lips, feeling you suck two fingers into your mouth before he reaches down between your bodies to play with your clit. You gasp, burying your face in his neck and biting down. You’ve drawn blood, Touya thinks, feeling the pain spread from the wound. He groans, thrusting harder and faster.

“Fuck, s-sorry!” You cry, though your words are hurried and jumbled.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” He tells you, panting above you. He runs his thumb against your bottom lip, a faint trace of blood smeared across the inside. He smiles, kissing you and reveling in the faint taste of copper. “You wanted to mark me.”

“Touya, I’m–hah–gonna come!” You cry, moving your hips against his frantically.

“I know, I know.” He coos, swiping his fingers over your puffy clit. “Come for me. Wanna see it.”

Your voice comes out loud and chokes, the end of his name dying on your lips as your hips jolt from the pleasure and your back arches against your sheets. Touya doesn’t stop thrusting, chasing his own orgasm as he watches your face contort in the same way it had before.

“Need to fill you up. Need to make you mine.” He groans, thrusting quickly.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. Please! I wanna feel it!” You whine. You feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he slows his pace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him against you. He kisses you again, tongues swirling against each other as he stills on top of you.

“Stay.” You breathe, pulling away from his lips and feeling his head fall against you.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He whispers through labored breath. “So don’t try.”

“Never. You said you’d keep me.” You remind him, feeling him smile against your skin. He rises from where he lays, staring down at you with nothing but adoration. You really are made for him. Cosmic love, divine intervention, soulmates. Touya should have known.

“Always.” He kisses your lips, your nose, both of your cheeks.

“Say it.” You command softly.

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #tw yandere #tw abuse

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sykostyles · 2 months

Text

let you love me 1.1

wc: 4.5k

summary: in which y/n is a 26 year old bakery owner and she can't quite get this whole "love" thing right; settling on finding solace in being alone. One day, Jackson Cole: an egotistical, but oh so charismatic professional quarterback comes along and swears he can change her mind.. and for a while he does. nearly two years of breaking down her walls.. but they seem to argue about one thing a lot. y/n's "negativity". she swears she's not trying ro be a pessimist.. it just works out better for her if she keeps her expectations low. But what happens when she meets a handsome stranger, who wants nothing more than to see her smile? Will she push everything away again or will she finally accept the love she deserves? or ; tldr sunshine! harry x grumpy! afab reader part one, three

a/n: welcome to part 2! I thought I would be done with this in two parts but the words just keep coming out of my brain. so there will be one more part to this! (and its already been started!)

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON PART ONE!! I can't believe this many people are interested in my brain child. I hope you all enjoy this part as well!

cw: this story contains suggestive and explicit language, minor descriptions of violence, and verbal abuse. please do not continue if these topics upset you!

Not much has changed in the apartment above the bakery, a good bit of your belongings remained here after you moved in with Jackson. You were thrilled when the gentleman who sold you the business told you it included the unit upstairs. “How perfect?” you thought. Slowly but surely you’d ended your lease on your previous place and made the arrangements to live above the bakery. You spent all of your time there anyways.

The last time you were here flashed through your brain and made you grimace. Images of wet lips, clashing teeth.. hands exploring curves.. All flashing in your mind. You’d been out with Jackson for your anniversary and neither of you could wait until you got back to your shared apartment, so a bit of a pit stop was made. But having those thoughts of Jackson at this moment only make you want to throw up the sweets you’d tested earlier.

Peeling your clothes from your body, you make your way into the shower and the spiraling thoughts ensue. Why am I like this? Why can’t I be loved the way I am? Is it actually me? Am I really the problem? Why? Why? WHY?? Sliding down the tile wall, your knees come to your chest and you just sob.

Twenty minutes turn into an hour, into an hour and a half and then nearly two hours. You’d been in there so long you didn't even realize the water had turned ice cold. You were numb to everything.

A knock on your door startles you out of your stupor. Quickly, you shut the shower off and grabbed a towel. “Nobody even knows I'm here,” you think to yourself, making your way to the door. Glancing through the peephole you see your best friend, Carly, looking rather distressed.

“Y/N I know you’re in there.” No, you don’t.. “Your car is outside.” No, it’s not.. “I can see the shadows of your feet at the bottom of the door.” No, you can’t.. “Y/N, open the door. Jackson said you took off when I came looking for you.” No, I don't want anyone to see me like this. “I know you can hear me, don’t make me call in a wellness check. You know I will.” Memories of officers knocking down your door at 3 am when you wouldn’t answer Carly's “are you alive?” messages flashed in your brain.

Your hands shoot up and unlock the deadbolt, swiftly opening the door for your friend to step inside, closing the door with a click behind her.

She turns to look at you, taking in all of your features, Severely swollen eyes, tear stained cheeks, and the frown weighing on your lips.

“I’ll kill him.” She says, turning towards the door. “No!” you object, reaching out to grab her arm. “Please, d-don’t leave.” You say, demeanor crumbling. Your legs begin to shake as you start to cave. Carly reaches out with both hands, stabilizing your arms. “Woah, okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.” she says as she guides you both to the floor, pulling you to rest on her front. “Everything will be okay.” she says. Will it? You think to yourself.

Carly was someone you met in your first year in college. Now she's a 27 year old journalist. Originally she was your freshman year dorm mate. It was instant friendship. I mean instant. You would have thought your first interaction was two friends meeting up again after not seeing each other for a while. Accompanying each other to frat parties, skipping classes together, what have you. Where one was, the other wasn’t too far behind. She helped you get over some of the darkest times of your life.

Losing both of your parents at the age of 20 isn’t something anyone should ever have to deal with, but having Carly by your side made it a little easier. She also didn’t judge, or object when you decided to drop out of college your junior year after their passing. And when the opportunity came up for you to buy the bakery, she knew owning it was your all time dream so.. she handed you a check for 5k.. saying it was her way of investing in your passions. Granted, the bakery wasn’t located on the Amalfi coast in Italy, but your shop where you’re at would have to do for now. You were grateful for her to say the least.

Jackson? Hated her. She tried to make you see your worth. Carly? Also not a big fan of Jackson. “Ugh a J name? Have I taught you nothing?” She’d joked with you when you told her about him. Even after you’d told her about his constant attention and nice gestures, she still wasn’t convinced. “They all just have that type.” she’d started, making you roll your eyes. “AND he’s a professional football player? Y/N!”

“I finally want to give a guy a chance again, and this is your reaction?”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go for it, I'm saying to be careful. These guys all have a reputation.”

“Carls, I swear it feels like he’s different. You don’t see the way he looks at me.”

“Babe, just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Famous last words.

After half an hour of Carly consoling you on the floor against your apartment door, she peers down at you, noticing your sniffles had quieted. You’re staring off into space while your thoughts just race.

“Hey, I love you and all but my legs are seriously starting to cramp.” She says, breaking the silence. You chuckle softly, being broken out of your haze. “Sorry,” you mumble, pulling yourself to your feet slowly.

“You go get dressed, I’m going to make you a cup of coffee.”

“You don-” “Ah ah ah, go.” She says, turning your shoulders in the direction of your bedroom. “No objections.” You make your way down the short hallway. Silently thanking yourself for not taking every single article of clothing with you when you moved in with Jackson.

Settling on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, you make your way back to Carly.

“Now, we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” she says, holding a mug out to you across the island, “but you know I'm here to listen whenever you’re ready.”

You grab the mug from her grasp, and look down into it. “Am I too rough?” You asked timidly, not looking up.

“I'm sorry, what? Too rough? What makes you think that?” She questions, head tilted to the side, You give her a look that can only be summarized as “what do YOU think?”

“Did he seriously say that?”

“Mm, amongst other things.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee. “Apparently I need to be more obedient.”

“I swear I’ll kill him.” Her fist slammed down on the countertop, making you jump.

“He’s not worth it.” She reaches out, placing her hands over yours. “No, but you are.” You offer a smile at that. Though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, do you want to talk about it?”

You nod. “Yeah. I just.. need to mull over it in my head first.”

“How about I order us some of your favorite take out, pick up a bottle of our favorite wine, and we can have a night on the couch like we used to? Watch some terrible rom coms?”

“That sounds.. Wonderful, Carls. Thank you.”

“Course. What are best friends for? Now, you go get us a sweet treat from downstairs and pick us our first awful movie. I’ll be back in 20.” She says, placing a friendly kiss atop your head and ruffling your hair on the way out.

After Carly’s return, you both promptly made home on the couch you’d spent most of your college nights together. She listened to your recount of what happened.. More threats to Jackson’s life were made.. Of course you quickly reeled her back in with the wine bottle. Promises to be there for whatever you needed were made, not that it needed to be said. She made a wonderful distraction for you for the rest of the night.

But night turns into day and unfortunately, life moves on. Whether we’re ready to or not.

Carly makes sure you have your morning coffee before she has to make her way to her “big girl job” as she puts it. But I guess anyone with the privilege of working for the biggest sports magazine would make anyone feel a little intimidated by their job.

You begrudgingly make your way downstairs a little before your opening time and started setting all of your tools you’d need for the day. Going about your daily morning routine, trying not to let the gnawing feelings in the back of your head bother you as you help your few regular morning customers. Your favorite was probably Henry; a little old widow who always buys a peanut butter cookie to share with his very friendly pitbull, Rocco. He says peanut butter cookies used to be his wife's favorite, so he eats one every day to feel close to her. That story nearly ruined your day when he told you, but he immediately scolded you for crying. “Now, none of that. Life happens, dear. Pain is only temporary if you let it be.” His words didn’t seem to help you much right now, but you know he’d be scolding you for letting this affect you this way.

“Good morning, Mr. Henry. Rocco. How are we today?” You ask, reaching down to scratch behind Rocco’s ears.

“Oh, just peachy dear. Rocco had his yearly visit this morning and is in need of his reward.”

“Well, it’s not much of a reward when he gets one every day, Mr. Henry now is it?” Raising your eyebrow at the gentleman as you wash your hands.

“Ah, there she is. Good morning to you too.” He chuckles. How are you doing today, dear?”

“I gotta be honest with you, Mr. Henry.. It’s a rough day. Probably going to be a few rough days. But I know I’ll manage just fine. Especially if seeing you and Rocco is something I have to look forward to.”

“But won’t you be closed tomorrow? For the championship game?” He questions, handing you the cash for his payment.

Your heart sinks at the thought.

Crap.

"People will wonder why I'm not there and it’s going to start spreading. Everyone is going to know what happened. Or at least Jackson’s version of what happened. Maybe I should make a post letting people know. No. They won’t care. Who am I kidding of course they will. They all act like high schoolers. Am I going to be posted all over social media? How is he going to spin this? Or will it go quietly? Knowing Jackson, he’ll demand a press relea-"

“Y/N? You alright?” Henry’s worried voice snaps you out of your steady spiral.

“Yeah, sorry.” You sniffle. The back of your hand coming up to wipe the tears that had escaped. “Um, no. I’ll be open tomorrow. I won’t be at the game. Or any games for that matter. Jackson and I aren’t together anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“It’s okay, Mr. Henry. You don’t have to lie, I know you hated him too.” You push out a strained laugh.

“Well, yeah. He inhibited my ability to buy cookies on some sundays. And he was no good for you. But I'll spare you that lecture for now. I can see you’re upset.”

“I probably need to hear it, to be honest.” You say.

“One day, maybe. But you do your best to get through the day.” Picking his cookie box up from the counter he continues, “Fix your face though. No more tears. You have cookies to sell.”

You chuckle. “You got it, Mr. Henry. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course, dear. Have a great rest of your day. See you tomorrow, let’s go Rocco.” He says before he’s out the door, pitbull in tow.

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face and bring yourself back down. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you force yourself to smile and wipe the excess water off. “Pain is only temporary if you let it be.” You say to yourself, making your way out of the bathroom.

Spinning the cake on the lazy susan once it was done being decorated was always your favorite part. Seeing all of your work just perfectly pieced together, every flower laid perfectly, every swirl placed intentionally. Cake decorating was your main passion, but you picked up everything else along the way. Baking and decorating ran in the family after all. Your grandmother bought you your first cake kit, your first big kitchen aid mixer, got you your first cake decorating job at 15, etc. She really helped you form the love that you have for the craft now. Before she passed away when you were 18, she would bring you to this very bakery nearly every weekend to see the different cakes in the case. You owed your love for the craft to her, and you try to show your appreciation to her every day in your work. Always learning new techniques and trying new ideas. Your current obsession was learning this new palette knife technique where you quite literally paint the flowers on the cake with a palette knife. It’s turning out to be quite tricky, but Nana didn't raise no quitter!

You’re boxing up your last order of the day, back facing the door. The little bell sounds, “Hello! Welcome. I’ll be with you in just one moment!” You say, closing the last bit of the box down.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Love.”

Wait. That voice. That nickname.

Placing the box in the order cooler, you finally turned to the counter, taking in the man before you. You being shocked is an understatement, The man you face planted into yesterday was standing in your bakery.. Waiting for you to speak.

Speak, Y/N, Speak.

“H-hello. Can I help you? You manage to get out.

“Well, what’s good?” He asks.

Weird.

He’s not going to bring up yesterday?

You scoff. “I’m the owner. So it’s all good. But I might be a little biased.” You say, wiping your hands on your apron. “But my cupcakes are my best sellers.”

“I see that, your case looks well picked over.” He says, walking over to the display on his right. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Mm, probably the red velvet. They’re my number one. Chocolate peanut butter is my close second.”

“Everything is homemade?” He inquires with a raised brow, and a smirk of course.

“What do you think?” You challenge. Seriously, what is your problem, y/n?

“I’ll take one of each then.” He says with a smile, walking back to the counter.

“Coming right up.” Boxing them up carefully, you set them on the counter. You tap a few buttons on your register and give him his total. He hands you his sleek black credit card, making you internally scoff and roll your eyes.

“Thank you for stopping in. Have a great rest of your day,” You say, turning away from the counter.

“You don’t remember me?” You hear from behind you. You can almost hear the smirk on his face.

“Oh I do, but if I'm being honest, I just don’t really care that much. Have a great day, Harry.” You say, rounding the corner into the back room.

You hear the little bell sound again, signaling he left.

“Why are you like this?” you say to yourself.

The following few weeks were a blur. Nothing major came of you not making an appearance at the championship game. A few comments made on social media, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Just block and delete.

Henry and Rocco made sure they made their daily stop to see you of a morning. Henry even brought you a coffee from that shop down the street a few times.

Carly stopped by every day during her lunch break to check on you.

“You know you don’t have to babysit me, right?

“I know, but how else will I get my daily cupcake?” She laughs, peeling the paper off the bottom of said cupcake.

Someone else was also making a daily stop, much to your dismay.

You and Carly were sitting at the little table with two chairs you have by the big shop window, just chatting about each other's day when the doorbell chimes, pulling your attention from the conversation.

Looking towards the door, you immediately roll your eyes. “Just, give me a minute.” You grumble to Carly before taking your spot behind the counter.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Emerald eyes bore into yours as you spoke.

“Good afternoon, Love.” He smiles warmly at you, “I’ll take the same as yesterday. Seems those were a hit for my friend Ryan out there.” Glancing over his shoulder you see Ryan standing outside the door.

“He can come in too, ya know.” you say, boxing up his order. “And I thought I told you to stop calling me that.” you huff, smirking as you set the box in front of him.

“Mm, well, until you tell me your actual name, i’ve got nothing else to call you.” He says, handing you that same sleek black card. “Plus, if he comes in I can't have all your attention on me.”

“I’m wearing a name-tag, Harry.” You roll your eyes. “Bring Ryan in next time. I could use a break from you.” You smirk, handing him his card back.

“Reading your name-tag is different than you telling me your name, love.” He chuckles at you rolling your eyes again. “Ryan stays outside until I hear it come from you.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Harry.” “Must be why I’m so successful. I always get what I want.” He states matter of factly.

“Mm, and is that all you want?” You muse, raising a brow at him.

“On the contrary. There’s a plethora of things I want, but we can start with your name.” He smiles warmly at you.

Your breath hitches at his words. “It's Y/N.” You breathe out, his grin grows ten times in size.

“It’s lovely to officially meet you. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He states, picking up his box and making his way out to Ryan.

“What. The hell. Was that?” Carly muses from her spot at the table. You almost forgot she was here.

“That was Harry. He stops in every day. A right pain in my ass.” You say, plopping down in your chair.

“That didn’t seem like he’s a pain in your ass.” She starts, “Could cut that sexual tension with a knife!” she squeals. “Who is he?!”

“I have no idea. I quite literally ran into him a few weeks ago, and he’s been coming in here every day ever since. He’s a massive flirt as well. But I’m not interested.”

“It didn’t quite seem like you weren’t interested. You were hanging on every word he was saying.” “I was wishing he would leave.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N. He’s into you. I can tell.” “Maybe so, but I'm seriously not interested. I’m good with being by myself for now. It’s barely been three months, Carls.” “I know. You’ll make that jump when you’re ready.” I’ll never be ready. “Where did you say you met him? He looks so familiar.”

“Uh, I actually met him for the first time at the stadium. After all that happened with Jackson.”

“Does he work there?”

“No idea, babe. I ran into him right near the parking lot. I don’t even know if he was coming or going.”

“And then he just showed up here the next day? Kinda weird.”

“I agree. It could just be a coincidence. My business does have a pretty good reputation.. If I do say so myself. but it makes my brain hurt trying to think about it.”

“Agreed. But be careful. I still don’t like that you’re here alone all day.”

“Ah, but Jesse is returning from school in a few days so I will have my help back.”

“Oh good! I liked him.” She stated, standing from her seat. “Well babe, I have got to get back to the office. I have a few articles to finish and send off before the end of the day. Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow. Love you long time!”

“Love you more!” She says, making her way to the exit.

About another week had passed, and it’d been the same old same old. Jesse, your seasonal help, returned from school for summer break a few days ago so you haven’t been as lonely throughout the day. He was thrilled when he found out that you and Jackson were no longer a couple.

“Good, there are so many other better players out there that you could shack up with.”

“Jesse! Stop it right now.” You exclaimed, unable to contain your laughter. “Don’t make me mess up this cake.”

“I’m serious, Y/N! There are so many quarterbacks out there that don’t get sacked 12 times in a game. Or we could branch out to other positions on the team. What about a tight end? Or a linebacker if you like them bigger.”

“Oh my god, Jesse!” You cackle. “I don’t need you to play football match maker for me. I’m done with all of that.” You chuckle, setting your bag of icing down on the counter.

The doorbell chimes, breaking both of you out of your fits of giggles, and Jesse made his way up front.

“Good morning, how can I help you?” You hear Jesse ask.

“Oh, good morning. Is Y/N here?” That voice only belongs to one person. He’s early.

“Yeah, she’s actually finishing up an order. I’ll let her know you’re here. What’s your name?”

“Harry.’

“Got it man, be right back.” He says before disappearing around the corner where you stood. “Hey, there’s a guy named Harry out here for you?”

“Oh. Yeah, give me just a minute. Or you know what, can you finish this? Just needs a leaf here and here, and then it goes in its box in the cooler.”

“You trust me to finish a cake?” His eyes widened.

“It’s a few leaves, Jesse, not a rose. Just don’t fuck it up, and you won’t die. Simple as that, really.”

“Oh yeah, simple.”

“I have faith in you.” You say, rounding the corner. “And how can I help you today, Harry? You’re quite early.”

“Good morning to you too, Love.” “Harry, I’ve told you to stop calling me that. You know my name now,”

“I know, but I enjoy watching the lightning spark in your eyes when I call you Love.” He smirks at you.

Your cheeks flash a light pink. “What can I do for you today, Harry?” You mutter out.

“I’ll take one dozen of the red velvet.”

“Ooh, big spender. You’re gonna clear me out of my red velvet for the day. Do you and Ryan have a big sweet tooth today?” You joke, placing the cupcakes into their respective box.

“Not quite, I have a meeting and I promised a treat from this bakery I discovered a few weeks ago. Haven’t shut up about it. I never shut up about the owner either. She’s awfully pretty.”

“You’ve gotten quite bold, Harry.” You muse, sliding his order across the counter.

The doorbell dings again, pulling your attention from the man in front of you.

“Good morning, Mr. Henry, Rocco. I’ll be with you in just a minute.” As the words were leaving your mouth, Jesse emerged from the back room.

“I can take you over here, Mr. Henry.” Jesse claims, leading him to the other side of the case. Before following him, Mr. Henry sets a coffee cup down on your counter,

“Here you are, dear. Thought you could use that today.” Mr. Henry smiles at you.

“Thank you, Mr. Henry. You don’t have to keep doing that.” You scold.

“I can do whatever I want, thank you.” He smiles, taking his stand down with Jesse

Turning your attention back to Harry, you give him his total.

“That doesn't sound right. Shouldn’t it be more?” He questions.

“Mm, nope. I give a discount when you buy twelve at a time.” You say, handing him his card back. “Is there anything else I can do for you today, Harry?”

“I can think of a few things, but we have an audience. Naughty girl.” His words make you go red in the face, nevermind the pink tinge from before.

“You are insufferable. Have a great meeting.” You say, stepping away from the counter.

“See you tomorrow, Love.” He says before promptly heading outside.

You don't even realize you're smiling.

“Well now I have got just about a million questions.” Jesse’s voice startles you on your left.

“I second that,” Mr. Henry says. “Now what is it you kids say these days? Oh right. Spill.”

“Yeah, what he said. Spill, Y/N.” Jesse said, backing up the elderly man.

“Both of you are terrible. There’s nothing to spill.” You say, turning to wipe off the counter.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Jesse says.

“I know you might not be able to tell, but I was not born yesterday, dear. I know something when I see it. Now just who was he?” Mr. Henry quips out.

You chuckle. “I promise, he’s nobody. He’s been coming in here every day. He’s got a little crush on me, I will admit that, but I’m not looking for anything right now. Jackson still has me all messed up in the head.”

“Okay, but they say the fastest way to get over a guy is to get under a new one!” Jesse exclaims, “You never know what you’re miss- OKAY OW.” He says when you snap him with a towel.

“Now, I wouldn't listen to Mr. Horn dog over here, but maybe someone new is what you need, dear.”

“I hear you, Mr. Henry, I’m just not ready for that just yet. I appreciate both of your concerns though. Have a great day, Mr. Henry. Rocco.” You say with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. “Jesse, I’m going to step out for a minute. I’ll be right back.” You disappear up the staircase to your apartment.

“Maybe we overstepped.” Jesse says to Mr. Henry.

“Perhaps, but maybe she needs someone to push her to that step.”

“I think I’ll take a step back from that. I don’t want to lose my job. She’ll get back out there when she’s ready.”

“I suppose you’re right. Have a good day, Jesse. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good one, Mr. Henry.”

Mr. Henry and Rocco make their way outside, settling on a bench right down the street from your shop.

“Mr. Henry, was it?”

“Who’s asking?” He responds, looking up at the person in question.

“Names Harry. Harry Styles. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.” Harry asks, extending his hand.

“Mm, is this about the owner of that bakery down there?” Mr. Henry inquires.

“Would it be a problem if it was?”

Mr. Henry laughs, and takes Harry’s hand in his, giving him a firm shake. “What can I do for you, son?

thank you for reading! please like &/or reblog if you enjoyed <3

taglist: @stylesfever @olipoli21 @hermionelove @st-ev-ie

#harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #mdni banner & dividers both by @/cafekitsune

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hirukochan · 8 months

Text

Stood-up

A Severus Snape x fem!reader Oneshot

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: Your former professor saves you from embarrassment when your blind date doesn't show up to the fancy restaurant you were meant to meet at.

Warnings: Smut, Loss of virginity, virgin reader

Wordcount: 5007

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

You did not expect life after Hogwarts to be…this. Whatever this is. Boring. That much is certain. You finished school five years ago with good grades and that was it. You celebrated your graduation with your friends who were already gushing about their future careers and their dream jobs, and you had nothing to offer to the conversation. You didn’t know what you wanted to do after school. And five years later you still don’t know.

You wanted to move out of your parents’ house and so you went to interviews for any job you thought yourself decently qualified for. You ended up working in a depressing little second hand bookshop in Diagon Alley. The owner, some rich fuck that doesn’t even live in London, pays you well to take care of anything that needs taking care of because the shop belonged to his wife’s grandfather, and she can’t bear separating with it.

You also get to live rent-free in the one-room flat above the store. You have a kitchen, a bed and a bathroom and no controlling boss looming over your every move. Life is…good. It’s ok, nothing groundbreaking, but how many people get that? How realistic is an action filled, thrilling life actually?

Your friends seem content with life as it is and so you try to be content as well.

In reality you feel lost.

You have looked into universities, but you aren’t sure if you’d be good enough and the fear of failing holds you back. Besides, what would you even study? In school charms had been your favourite, but was that because of the subject or your teacher? Professor Flitwick had made each class a delight to be in.

You shove the thoughts away, focusing on finishing up closing the store. A friend has set up a blind-date for you. Some guy she works with at the Ministry. She has gushed about him endlessly and you are sure were she not in a relationship herself - she would totally try to date him.

That is a recipe for disaster, but you want to indulge your friend or perhaps just make her shut up and so you go along.

You lock up the shop and hurry upstairs to shower, change and put on some makeup. An hour later you are standing outside the shop, mentally preparing for the apparition. You are certain you’ll never get used to it.

Pleasant, classical music floods the street as you open the door to the wizarding restaurant and bar in central London. This is already outside your comfort zone. Too fancy and too full. Are you underdressed? Are you overdressed? Shit, what if he isn’t here yet?

“Reservation for Everett.” You say to the hostess who swishes her wand and looks through the list of reservations.

“This way, madam. Your partner is not here yet.” Shit. Of course, he wouldn’t be. You are early. Way too early. Pathetic, desperate early.

The hostess shows you to your table and you smile kindly as you sit down. A waiter hurries over to you and asks for your drink order.

“Wine. Red, please.” The waiter is gone before you can finish your sentence. A glass of wine floats to your table shortly after. You let your eyes wander over the room as you take small sips. A few couples sit at the tables, some more stand at the bar, chatting with each other.

You wait.

And wait.

Three glasses later you know you got stood up. You try to fight the tears stinging in your eyes and dig through your purse for some money to pay for the drinks and scurry out of the restaurant as fast as possible.

How pathetic! Hot shame spreads through your chest, your guts twist at the mere thought of getting up and leaving. Your feet don’t work. They simply won’t respond to your command. With all your willpower you stifle a sob in your throat. This is your last straw.

All the disappointment over life after Hogwarts, the loneliness, being lost and left behind by the golden opportunities your future had promised you - and now not even your date could bother to show up! You didn’t even want to meet him. Prick!

“Ms. (L/N)?” You flinch. That voice. You are sure that voice would give you war-like flashbacks for the rest of your life. Running through corridors at night, blood pounding in your ears, already feeling safe as the entrance to your common room approaches just to be violently stopped by those words.

You turn and meet the dark eyes of your former professor for potions.

Severus Snape has not changed in the five years since you last saw him. The same hooked nose, same pale skin. Black greasy hair falling into his face. The long black robes hiding every inch of his skin.

“P-professor Snape.” You reply, because you have to say something. His eyes wander over you, clearly made up for a date and then twitch to the empty seat across from you. They narrow as they see the three empty glasses and the slight redness of your eyes. Without saying anything he slips into the seat across from you.

“Two glasses of whatever the lady has been drinking.” He says as he grabs a waiter by the arm. He gestures towards the glasses. “And get rid of these. What kind of service is this?” The waiter apologises profusely and hurries away quickly.

You stare at Snape in bewilderment. He is sitting across from you. He saw you got stood up and sat down. And he ordered drinks.

He is looking at you. Say something. Anything. Shit shit shit.

“I was supposed to meet someone.” You say, cursing how meek you sound. You look away and try to subtly wipe the corner of your eye where a stubborn little tear tries very hard to run down your cheek. You know if you allow that one to pass your lashes, there is no holding back the rest.

“I gathered.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes still roaming over you. Instantly you feel like you are back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, trying your best to brew a potion while he stares at you, waiting for the moment you fail. You swallow hard as the familiar nervousness of being around Snape takes over.

“A boyfriend?”

“N-no. A friend set it up- never met him.”

“What do you do these days?” You blush. You were afraid he might ask that.

“I-I run a little b-bookshop in Diagon Alley…sir.” The ‘sir’ slips out before you can stop it. A smirk tucks at the corners of his mouth at the sound of it but dies instantly.

“A bookshop? And you’re happy with that?” You shrug. You aren’t, but you wouldn’t tell him that. You cling to your glass. This is worse than getting stood up and humiliated. Infinitely worse. Snape leans over the table, his dark eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“I am not going to bite you. Unless-” You tense. Is he flirting? Merlin’s beard- You feel heat rise to your face and stare down at the wine in your hands. “I apologise. This is inappropriate and you clearly wish to be as far away from me as possible. I’ll leave you to it.” Snape says, an edge of self-loathing sneaking into his voice. He digs through his pocket and puts down a few coins on the table.

“Stay-” You have no idea how you manage to force the word out of your constricting throat but there it is. Out in the open.

Snape stares at you in disbelief. You take a shaky, deep breath and look up to meet his intense gaze.

“Stay.” You repeat, firmer this time. That expression flashes through his eyes again and after a moment of hesitation he settles down.

“U-unless I am keeping you from meeting someone. I-” You hadn’t considered why he might be here. Shit, is he on a date? And instead of that he took pity on you? Does Snape date?

He chuckles. The sound as foreign to your ears as kindness or praise from him. It goes straight to your core, and you gulp as you are violently tossed back into your old crush. That is the last thing you need now!

Imagining him doing all sorts of things to you during class was bad enough already - mainly because it really messed with your grade - but imagining them now that you are no longer his student, no longer sixteen- You blush even more as you realise that - in theory - you could do these things now.

It has been five years since you graduated, sure it is a bit weird maybe, but entirely allowed. You have not been in contact with him since graduation. He has made no inappropriate comment to you while you were his student ever- in fact he barely ever talked to you.

You feel Snape’s hot gaze burn through your skull. It’s almost like he knows. Which is entirely impossible. Or is it? He has the uncanny ability to know when students are planning mischief behind his back and such things as reading minds isn’t at all a ridiculous idea to wizards- shit.

Snape’s lips curl as you stare at him.

“Oh, yes.” His smooth voice says in your head. “I know. I know all the little fantasies you have been coming up with for years.” The colour vanishes from your face. You take a big gulp of your wine, downing the entire thing in one go to aid your suddenly parched throat. Snape swirls the wine in his glass, never taking his eyes off you.

“A-and is that some-something you’d…you’d want?” You ask. Your heart twists and turns in your chest, your insides clench almost uncomfortably. You have no idea where you take the bravery from to say it out loud.

His grin grows, his eyes darken, snapping down to the neckline of your dress. In one smooth movement he gets up and holds his hand out to you.

This is it.

The one opportunity you’d get.

You take his hand.

Your skin tingles where it touches him and a giddy feeling spreads through you.

You are going to sleep with your Potions professor. Former professor. Dark, unapproachable, cruel Snape. The man you have been fantasising about since 6th grade. The man that terrifies you as much as he intrigues you.

Together you leave the restaurant. He guides you towards an abandoned alley and lets go of your hand to snake his arm around your waist.

“Hold on tight.” He whispers in his ear. You can feel his breath on your neck and a shudder runs down your spine. You take a shaky breath and put your arms around his waist. You are swept up in his scent, musky and herbal. It clouds your mind instantly and you bite your tongue so you don’t inhale deeper just so it can flood your senses more. His magic wraps around you and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the apparition to pass. You can feel the chuckle rumble through Snape’s chest before you hear it.

“Still no fan?”

“No.” You reply breathless and separate from him. He holds onto your waist, eyeing you as though he expects you to collapse. Right- You did. During Apparition training in your 7th year, you lost consciousness after your first successful attempt. He was one of the teachers overseeing the training.

You blush as the memory of how embarrassed you felt waking up in his arms, your whole year watching, resurfaces in your mind. You clear your throat and look around. You’re in Diagon Alley, not far away from the bookshop. You dig through your pocket and get out the key as you walk towards it.

You are going to have sex.

You are going to have sex with Snape. He’s walking right behind you. Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel.

“This is it.” You say and close the door behind you. Your flat looks terribly small with Snape standing in it.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

“Yes. I’m just-”

“Yes?” He steps closer.

“You intimidate me.”

“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”

“Good.” You reply breathlessly. Your mind is already foggy just from him standing so close to you. His eyes roam over your face, as though he is determined to enter all its details to his memory. Your heart beats impossibly fast in your chest, smashing against your ribcage so hard you wonder whether Snape can hear it. He leans down, inky hair falling into his face, stealing your view of the room around you.

Your insides clench and scream for him to kiss you. Finally kiss you. You bite your bottom lip to stop its pathetic quivering. His scent floods your senses and briefly renders your mind nonexistent.

Snape runs his fingertips over your arm, starting at your wrist and drawing goosebumps across your naked skin, all the way up to your shoulder. Your breath hitches and you barely manage to withstand the urge to hold onto him.

“You’d have to take this off first.” He says, quiet, calm. His voice sends a shiver through your body. He drags his fingers over your shoulder to your neck. He takes the zipper and slowly pulls it down, the sound resounds in your room loud like thunder.

He barely touches your skin when he peels the straps off your shoulder and gently tugs the dress down and over your hips. It pools around your feet on the ground.

Snape takes a step back and takes in your body. You aren’t wearing a bra, you own none that would have looked good with the dress and stand in front of him only in a pair of black lace knickers.

His eyes remain as unreadable as they always are. He seems to assess your body with the same impartiality as he used to look at your potions. You shiver, cold air swirling around your heated skin, goosebumps spread across your skin and your nipples harden. Your face is burning hot though, and you barely resist the impulse of covering yourself with your arms.

Just when you begin to think this is some cruel joke, he is playing on you to embarrass you, he closes the distance between you two - too fast for your mind to catch up. He grabs your waist and smashes your body against his. His lips crash against your collarbone, his teeth graze your skin.

You gasp and sink your hands into his hair, marvelling at how soft it feels. He kisses your skin, sucks and nibbles. White hot lust seeps into your skin from the saliva he spreads across it.

He holds your waist in his surprisingly strong arms and attacks your chest, worshipping every inch of you as though you are some ancient artefact promising prosperity and luck to loyal devotees. He groans against you, and you join with a moan of yourself, arching your back, offering your chest up to him. He accepts without hesitation, with enthusiasm even. Snape licks broad, firm strokes over your exposed breast, roughly kneading the other with his hand.

His thorough attention is dizzying. Blood pounds in your ears and waves upon waves of merciless pleasure course through you, twisting your vocal cords into the strangest of sounds you have never heard yourself make.

“Are you a virgin?” He groans against your skin.

“Y-yes-” He stops, dead in his tracks. Slowly his head tilts back, his gaze snapping in on yours.

“Yes?” Hunger flashes through his eyes and he licks his lips. “How the fuck are you still a virgin?” You blush more fiercely if that is even possible. Your shrug and drops your hands to his shoulders.

“Um- nobody was ever interested in me like that.”

“You’re what? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And nobody ever touched your gorgeous fucking body?” He sounds baffled, like your words are the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.

“Touched, yes…snogging at parties in the common room and such, but-” Your voice trails off.

“You are telling me.” He says, his voice growing to untamed deep turmoil of unabashed desire and feral lust. “Nobody ever sucked on these dainty, splendid nipples?” As if to emphasise his words he closes his lips around one, holding it between his teeth and flicking his tongue over it. You whimper. Your legs shake under the weight of your own body, and you cling to his shoulders. His eyes never leave you, the weight of them heavy on you, buzzing on your skin. You throw your head back, moaning like you’ve never moaned before.

He chuckles, the vibration of it ripples through the tissue of your breast and sinks deep into your body, melting into your bones. He kisses his way back up to your collarbone and neck.

“Fools. Every single one of them that did not realise what they are missing out on.” He gently sucks on the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck. He steers you backwards until your calves meet the frame of your bed and you allow your body to fall back.

Snape kicks his shoes off and slips out of his cloak before he follows you, crawling over the bed, up your body like a predator about to devour his prey. A shiver rushes through you at that thought. Yes- you want him to devour you, to worship you, to ruin you and build you back up. He braces his arms against the mattress on either side of your head.

“And you still want me to stay?” The words fall into the space between your bodies, filled with heat and want, desire and fear, buzzing with anticipation. His eyes are softer somehow, less intense, but not less hungry. They tell you how much he wants you, craves you but also tell you he’d stop. You just need to say the word and he will leave. Without shaming you, without a cruel word or ounce of disappointment.

“Yes.”

“You want to give this first experience to me? Of all people?”

“I’ve always wanted it to be you.” Snape groans and closes his eyes. His head drops, coming to rest against your shoulder, nestling to the crook of your neck.

“Do you have any idea-” He is breathing heavy, clenching his fists in your sheets, his body one large, tensed muscle. “-what you do to me?” Before you can answer he grabs one of your hands and brings it down. He presses it against his upper thigh where his cock is very hard, straining against its confines. You gasp at which Snape smirks. He rolls his hips against your hand.

“It’s big…” You whisper, more fear mixing in with your burning arousal.

“You can take it.” He leans down. His lips brush over your cheek. “I’ll make sure of it.” His breath dances over the shell of your ear, prickling. As soon as it passes your skin feels terribly cold, like it’s never going to be warm ever again just to be replaced by burning heat. Snape drags the tip of his tongue across the shell of your ear and back down to close his lips around your earlobe.

The whimper that falls from your lips at that is more of a high pitched squeak and finally, finally he kisses you. His lips are soft like silk and warm, reminding you of a mug of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks in winter.

You sigh and move your lips with his, threading your fingers through his hair. Despite the way he has been acting so far, he kisses you passionately, almost slow, but no less thorough.

Severus Snape is nothing if not thorough.

And he intends to savour you.

You part your lips for him, eager to move this along, eager to feel him and the pleasure he can bring you, but when it comes to actually deepening the kiss you hesitate. Snape senses your nervousness and takes over the decision making from you. The tip of his tongue meets yours and he slides it slowly over your own, easing you into the kiss and coaxing a small moan from you.

You relax against him and surrender yourself to his touch once more. You have never been kissed like this. With want and need, with passion and hunger. He maps out your mouth as though he is trying to dissect a potion he has never seen into its separate components.

His hands run over your body, your sides and stomach to your thighs. You whine at his touch and muscles twitch under your skin as if to reach out to his calloused fingers. The wool of his frock rubs against your skin when he moves. You reach out to work on the endless row of buttons but are rather abruptly interrupted by his fingers against your cunt.

A surprised, shuddering gasp escapes you and your fingers tense against his chest. Snape chuckles into the kiss, never once stopping his assault on your mouth. Playful he circles your entrance, gathering you slick and spreading it to your clit. You cling to his shoulders and push your head back into the pillows. Pressure builds deep in your cunt, and you need him to ease it- need him to- to-

“Ahh-” You cry out and dig your nails into Snape’s shoulders. Your own fingers never felt that fucking good.

“Are we enjoying ourself?” Snape teases, watching the pleasure drunk expression on your face.

“Mhh…Snape-” You buck your hips into his hand. “Please- fuck me-”

“Patience, dear. I told you I would make sure you can take me.” He teases your entrance with a finger, coating it in your slick and then gently pushes inside you. “I will fuck you. I will fuck you so well nobody will ever compare to me, but first I’ll stretch this virgin cunt because as you so eloquently put it - It’s big.”

“There was this rumour back in school-” You murmur, blissful pleasure clouding your mind and rendering it utterly useless. “-that- that….oohhh-”

“That I’m a virgin?” He smirks. He pumps his finger inside you, curling it and pressing upwards slightly and a flash of searing pleasure explodes inside your cunt, and you squirm under him, rolling your hips into his touch to get more more more. “Does it feel like I am? Like I’ve never touched a woman?”

“Snape-”

“Dear, believe me, I know your body better than you.” You want to get offended by that statement. What a man thing to say but then Snape does something with his finger, twisting and curling at the same time or something else, interrupting your thoughts harshly with another mind-blowing ripple of pleasure.

Snape adds a second finger, stretching you carefully and kissing you the entire time, then a third. You are hot all over. Sweat clings to you like a second layer of skin. You are shivering from unfulfilled need and the steadily building pressure deep in your cunt just outside of Snape’s reach.

It builds and builds, beyond anything you were ever able to do to yourself and you have no idea how it keeps building and where all this pressure goes because the thought of it all staying confined in you is absurd!

You whine at the loss of his touch and buck your hips in a futile attempt of stopping his fingers from leaving you. Snape looks very fucking smug, but you are to wound up and needy to even care.

He watches you squirm, your slickness dripping off his fingers. He traces your lips with his ring finger, spreading your own arousal over them. You are too far gone to really care. Your tongue darts out and licks your lips clean, accepting his finger into your mouth. You suck his fingers clean, one after another, Snape’s dark eyes never leaving you.

“What a good girl.” He coos. His voice rolls over your skin and sinks into your body, causing your insides to clench.

You watch Snape undo the rest of the buttons and toss the black frock away. He opens his belt, the quiet clink of the buckle echoes in your mind. You’re about to see Snape’s prick. Snape just fingered you. You’ve been kissing Snape!

Your heart beats faster, like a hummingbird forced to forever fly on the spot in a too small cage. Anticipation takes your breath away and impossibly so, more slickness rushes to your entrance. Every second he takes to open his trousers feels like another fire being lit on your skin.

He slides a hand in his pants and now you are sure he is doing it to see you squirm because who moves that slow?

You let out an impatient whine and squirm, bucking your hips to grind against him.

“So impatient.” He chuckles and finally, finally frees his prick.

It’s big is a pretty accurate description, you don't know what Snape has against your eloquence. Jesus fuck, is another option but you doubt Snape would find that more eloquent.

His plush, purple cockhead is already leaking pre-cum. Snape mutters an incantation, you recognise as a contraception spell, before aligning himself with you.

“Don’t worry, dear.” He coos. “I’ll be gentle. Just relax.” You try. You really try, but Snape has your nerve endings running in circles, screaming, while on fire. Stop, drop and roll is not an option that they can think of, mainly because thinking is quite difficult when on fire.

He pushes against you, and you tense further. Snape rubs your thigh, and you take a deep breath and try to relax your muscles. Slowly, inch after thick inch Snape enters you. Beads of sweat collect on his forehead from the strain of going slow. Inch after inch of your tight channel is mercilessly forced to yield to his girth, stretching you open with a small sting.

Snape grunts and sinks into you to the hilt, sacking above you to give you time to adjust and also catch his breath.

You are so bloody full. How he isn’t ripping you open is a miracle to you. Your knuckles are white from holding onto his arms. The muscles in your thighs quiver. You give tentatively rolls of your hips, earning a low groan from Snape another wave of deep pleasure.

“You’re breathing really hard.” He mutters into your ear. “I like that - keep working so hard for me, dear.” Snape’s thrusts are long and controlled, massaging your inner walls and hitting just the right spots. You are reduced to a pathetic, needy moaning puddle of bliss and want.

Snape isn’t doing too much better. His breathing is heavy and loud right next to your ear which drives you deeper and deeper into your trance-like state of ecstatic bliss. His rhythm falters more than once and his groans take on an animalistic edge.

“So tight.” He grunts and drives back into you. “Just for me-”

“Snape!”

“That’s right. Saved yourself for me, didn’t you, dear?”

“Idiot.” You laugh against his jaw.

“No need to play shy - you can tell me.” Snape smirks and leans his forehead against yours. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” He snaps his hips forward, hitting that spot with more force than before and your breath gets stuck in your throat. You tense and convulse, somehow simultaneously. Snape grunts when you clench around him and your inner walls spasm.

“Keep coming- keep fucking coming for me!” He reaches between your bodies and rubs your clit. A violent wave of pleasure smacks you right in the face and you scream in pleasure. Snape whispers reverent praise and fucks you through your release, coming shortly after with a long groan inside you.

Sweaty, sticky and spent you collapse on the bed, both trying to catch your breath. Snape runs his hand over your thigh absentmindedly. His cum slowly leaks out of you. Your eyelids are heavy. A heavy blanket of bliss and contentment settles over you.

“Thank you.” You whisper into the silence of your flat.

“Whatever for?” He chuckles next to you.

“It was nice.” You shrug.

“Well, I should be thanking you for even letting me touch you.”

“Let’s thank each other.”

“Fine.” You stay there a while longer, but eventually Snape disentangles himself from you and gets up to get dressed.

Lying on your side with your sheets pulled up to cover your still shaking body you watch him.

“You know-” He says but stops himself, a frown appearing on his face. “A career isn’t the only thing to measure how accomplished or fulfilled one’s life is. Your friends might think their jobs are great now, but in ten, twenty years they’ll realise they have never lived a day in their life. This job…” He looks around the flat. “It seems pretty comfortable to me. It seems to give you the freedom to do whatever you want. Create art or music, write, research or go to university. You can do whatever you want - fuck what other people think. Not everybody dreams of labour.”

“What if I’m not good enough?” Snape fastens his cloak. He looks up. His eyes seem heavy with a burden you can’t quite understand. The corner of his mouth twitches and perhaps for the first time in the years you have known him you see him smile.

“I think you can achieve anything you put your mind to. And either way. How will you know if you never try? The day will come you’ll regret having allowed your fear to hold you back.” His cloak billows behind him when he turns to leave. His hand already on the doorknob he stops.

“I hope you find happiness.”

“I hope you find happiness too, Professor.”

“For some of us it’s too late.” And with those words he disappears into the darkness of the night.

Three weeks later Albus Dumbledore is murdered by Severus Snape.

| Part 2 |

#snape x reader #snape x you #snape x y/n #severus snape smut #snapedom #pro snape #dividers by cafekitsune

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