#I do find it cute how the opening description is Sensational

[ask-cloverfield]

If a Spider-Man adaptation doesn’t make this joke editorial shoots the writer’s car

[astraystayyh]

reached tag limit OF COURSE so I'm continuing here

the entire love-making scene THE PRAISE THE VULNERABILITY THE EMOTION ☹️☹️☹️ the way he cried happy tears and didn't try to hide them, the way they melted into one another I AM NOT OKAY "you're still my favorite reflection" made me cry,,, they are each other's mirrors and they are so fond of one another I WANNA SCREAMMMMMMM

also "you could give him everything and not lose a single drop of yourself" IS SO HEART WRENCHING,,,,,,, he'll always give back too and she's not losing a drop of herself because he isn't selfish, because they both come from a place of love and pure love can only nurture you not drain you,,, i love how she believes this now, how there are still parts they need to heal, both of them, but atleast they are together and they see the strength that they can give to one another

ALSO BUTTERFLY BANDAGE??????? KSKDNDJDNXNXJXJXJXJX when i read it my breath hitched i was wondering why u chose that title all along, but oh my god I've never seen it that way AND YOU'RE SO RIGHT

also wait i just remembered the whole "you're the moon" comparaison and look at yourself when the reflection isn't broken MADE ME CRY IT'S SO RAW AND BEAUTIFUL AND LOVING :(((

you made twin flames feel much more personal and intimate than soulmates, something about someone seeing and knowing the ugliest parts of you AND STAYING??? and loving you through them???? it's so intensely sweet and it fits Chan so well

i can't believe this series is over it's been a true joy to read everything you wrote,, i usually don't get invested in series BUT the way you wrote it had me HOOKED from the first part,, every metaphor you use, every comparaison, every little detail you add and put sm care into, i just know this took you sm time and effort and i hope YOU'RE PROUD OF IT!!!! i already said this, but you really built characters that feel human above all, that are just like us in the sense where they have flaws, and they've been through things and those traumas reflect on their reactions, BUT THEY'RE STILL TRYING and that's what matters!!!! every thing that the characters did whether it's Chan and mc or binnie and minho and iseul, everything was in accord to the personality you presented and it felt like you're writing about real humans you saw exist!!!

thank you for writing this truly it feels so bittersweet for it to end LIKE WDYM NO MORE BB UPDATES 😞😞 but I can't wait to read more from you!!! i think this story healed me as well, i could relate in some parts to both Chan and the mc and this gave me hope that a love this pure does exist. thank you thank you have the happiest life <333

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 05

note: this is the final part of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, more crying (sorry), nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, soft smut, mirror sex, lots and lots of praise, body worship, biting, marking, possessiveness, teasing, channie is very embarrassed, handjob, begging, just a little bit of crying, edging, reader and chan are kinda obsessively in love, unprotected sex, riding, cockwarming

word count: 17.3k

A call of your name from across the lab caught your attention, just as you were preparing to collect your materials and head out for the day. Fumbling with your bag, you zipped it up as quickly as you could and headed towards your lab instructor, already bracing yourself for a conversation that, based on your track record with her, was very likely to be disheartening.

She lowered the stack of papers she’d been holding as you approached her, revealing her smile—a rare sight for anyone who worked under her.

“Yes?”

“Congratulations,” she announced. “Your paper’s approved.”

Your eyes widened as she handed the stack to you, over twenty pages of blood, sweat, and tears. They felt heavy in your hands, heavy with the weight of everything that had been sacrificed for their completion. Just a few days ago, the news would’ve had you over the moon. It was all you’d been wanting to hear, all you’d been dreaming of since you’d first begun your studies. Now, it was nothing more than a shallow comfort, a single drop of sunlight that was immediately obscured by the shadows all around it.

“Great,” you said at last, flashing a strained smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

She gave you a pat on the back, and you tried to find solace in the proud shine in her eyes. “You did well,” she praised. “I’m sure you’ll excel in your next rotation, too.”

“My next…rotation?”

Your instructor glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses with a hum. “Since your research has been approved, there’s no need for you to remain at your current station. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with those binary pairs,” she added. “You’ll be doing interferometric imaging for the next few weeks. We’re a few people short.”

Something twisted inside you. “Really?”

She looked up from her notes, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“I…” you trailed off. There was nothing you could tell her that would be meaningful enough for her to let you stay—nothing that wouldn’t get you laughed at or even potentially dismissed from the lab for the rest of the semester. How on earth were you meant to explain that a pair of spectroscopic stars had come to mean so much to you? How on earth were you meant to explain what they signified in your mind?

“No, nothing,” you said weakly. “I’ll transfer my things tomorrow. Thank you.”

Your instructor nodded, and that was that. In the blink of an eye, you’d lost the final piece of what you’d had left of Chan.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, bowing quickly to her and turning to leave. Your pace quickened as you exited the lab, a wave of inexplicable emotions rising within you. It ushered you to head home as soon as possible, like it was a race against time, like you had to reach shelter before it crashed into the shore and drowned you in front of everyone.

A cold gust of air billowed past you as you pushed open the doors to the physics building. You squinted against it, burying your hands in your pockets. The sky was still covered with that same, gray sheet—much darker than it had been earlier in the week. The closer you studied it, the more it looked like the clouds might break at any given moment. All the more reason to rush home; you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Your phone vibrated against your hand, and you fished it out of your pocket without thinking. Anything to distract you from this. 

bin 😑 (2:27 p.m.) hey

bin 😑 (2:28 p.m.) is everything okay?

Just as you were about to close the notification, another came.

bin 😑 (2:30 p.m.) did something happen with chan?

You stopped in your tracks. 

Did he really not know? Had Chan still not said anything to him? Was he keeping it all to himself? Suffering in silence, even now?

You didn’t have to question it for long. Of course he was. 

Against your better judgment, you typed out a reply, fingers stiff from the cold and—for some reason—thumb burning.

you (2:33 p.m.) i’m fine bin don’t worry about me

you (2:34 p.m.) please just be there for chan

bin 😑 (2:36 p.m.) where have u been??? i was worried

Guilt, guilt, guilt. 

He wouldn’t be worried anymore when he found out the truth.

bin 😑 (2:38 p.m) pls talk to me

You wanted to talk to him. You so badly wanted to talk to him—not even about everything that had transpired over the past four days, just in general. You wanted to tease him, to laugh with him, to share a meal with him, to chatter about the most trivial, most mundane of topics with him because you could, because you enjoyed each other’s company and nothing else.

You missed your friend. But he was Chan’s friend first and foremost; Chan’s little brother. Losing Chan meant losing Changbin. The moment he’d find out what you’d done, how you’d hurt the person he admired most in this world, he would look at you with that same, dark glare that had unsettled you so much on the day you’d first met. Only this time, it wouldn’t be misleading, masking the kindness underneath. It would be real, intentional. He would mean every bit of it.

Minho’s glares were one thing. The thought of Changbin looking at you the same way was more than you could take. There was no place for you in his life anymore.

A droplet landed on your screen, splattering water across it and blurring the words of his message. You looked up at the sky. The clouds had broken.

You were going to cry.

It was for the best, probably. A pot could only withstand so much before it boiled over.

You pulled the hood of your jacket over your head just as the rain began to fall more steadily, sinking to the ground and settling on the curb of the sidewalk. You gave up on outrunning the wave. For once, uncaring of the people around you. For once, allowing yourself to be an inconvenience. 

Vaguely, you felt another buzz in your pocket; repeating, persistent. Changbin must have been calling you. Pressure rose in your chest. A strange sound built in your throat, an unpleasant, unfamiliar sensation pricked at your eyes. But before droplets of your own could well up in their corners, before you could release, the feeling of rain pattering relentlessly against your clothes came to a sudden halt, like something had passed over you, shielding you from it.

You didn’t bother to look up, praying that whoever it was whose presence you felt hovering above you, they’d take the hint and leave you alone. Just a moment to wallow in your misery. Just a moment to feel without worrying about anyone or anything else. Even now, that was too much to ask for, it seemed.

Through the roaring downpour, you barely caught it—soft, airy.

“It’s raining.”

Your blood ran cold, chilling you more than any of the water seeping through your clothing, right down to your bones.

Of course. You almost laughed out loud. Of fucking course.

This had to be some kind of joke, the universe’s cruel finale to everything it had put you through over the past three years.

“Go away.”

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me for learning how to use an umbrella?”

You peered up through the mess of hair and fabric blocking your vision, fixing him with a look fiercer than any of the insults he’d ever hurled your way.

“Go away.”

His stare didn’t waver, face unchanging as always. It must’ve been so easy, to be so unaffected. It must’ve been so easy, to care so little. He blinked down at you, and—despite the static swarming your mind—through it all, you couldn’t help but notice that there was nothing harsh about the look he was giving you. Not quite warm, not quite cold. It was far from the self-satisfied expression of someone who knew he had been right all along. Of someone who knew that he had won. 

“Come with me.”

You watched him blankly, too appalled to speak. 

When you didn’t budge, he tilted his wrist, leaning his umbrella forward so that it covered you completely and exposed part of himself to the rain.

“I’ll get sick if you don’t.”

“Yeah? Brew yourself some yuja tea.”

His lip twitched into the beginnings of a smirk. Not smug, not condescending. Just faintly amused.

“That was pretty funny.” He tilted the umbrella further. The rain began to land on his hair, darkening it, weighing it down. “But I’m really starting to get cold, now.”

“I don’t care.”

He clicked his tongue. Still, he made no move to leave, not even to pull his umbrella back over himself. You might’ve been swayed by whatever approach he was taking if you weren’t too preoccupied with figuring out just how the hell you could get rid of this guy.

“By the way,” he added casually. “Changbin gave me something. I think it belongs to you?”

You cursed yourself for perking up so quickly, so obviously. It was only for a split second, but he caught on—of course he did—eyes glinting like a cat that had spotted its target in all your loose threads.

“What do you want?”

“Let’s talk,” he said. “Come with me, and the pencil’s all yours.”

You gave in. For whatever reason, Lee Minho had suddenly decided that you were now worth his time.

He didn’t offer his hand to help you come to full standing, but he kept the umbrella steadily above you as you rose from the curb, allowing himself to get drenched in the process. It almost made you grimace more than his usual behavior, solely because it felt so wrong. And, maybe, because you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Not even from someone like him.

As he led you down the sidewalk towards wherever he planned to take you, you inched away from him, back into the rain. He made no effort to move closer again, but you did notice his eyes flicker your way once or twice.

You shuffled awkwardly behind him, focus kept firmly on the pavement, feet kicking up water with every step you took. It wasn’t until the warm, addictive scent of freshly-ground coffee flooded your senses that you lifted your head with a start, just in time to see Minho wiping the bottom of his shoes on the campus library mat. He shook out his umbrella and stepped inside, seemingly debating for a moment whether or not he should hold the door open for you.

An ache gripped your heart, somehow, stronger than anything you’d felt over the past four days. It ached and throbbed and pulsed when you processed where you were headed. The table right across from the entrance, at the very back of the library.

You half-expected to find him there—shrouded in black, hunched over his laptop, one set of fingers playing with his lips, the other set tapping along to the melody of his music. But his seat was empty. He wasn't there anymore.

You tried to control the sheer enormity of your anguish as you approached its source. You’d already humiliated yourself enough in front of the last person you’d ever have wanted to witness it. Even if he didn’t seem nearly as delighted with your downfall as you’d imagined, the fact that he’d caught you more vulnerable than anyone else had before, more than Chan ever had, made your skin positively crawl.

Minho sat down with a heavy sigh, ruffling his hair in a half-hearted attempt to dry it out. He slipped off his drenched jacket, giving it a disgusted look before dropping it on the table.

“Want some coffee?”

“No.”

“It’ll warm you up.”

You narrowed your eyes. If you’d had any semblance of rationality left in your system, you would’ve told yourself that it was just an offhand comment, that he couldn’t possibly have known just how devoid of warmth you truly were. But you were far past that point. Everything he said was a trap and everything he did was a taunt.

When he saw that you had no plans to respond, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Where’s my pencil?”

“Oh,” he sniffed. “I lied about that.”

You bristled. “What?”

“I don’t have it,” he clarified. “I lied so you’d come with me. Get it?”

You reached for your bag, preparing to leave.

“You can take it from Changbin yourself,” he continued. “Once this is all fixed.”

For once, the absolute certainty with which he spoke, like anything that came out of his mouth was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, wasn’t used to stir doubt within you. You froze in place. Whether it was a flash of hope, or a stubborn indignation that kept you rooted to your chair, you weren’t quite sure.

“Once this is fixed?” you echoed, rife with hostility. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? Chan hates me just as much as you do, now. You win.”

“I don’t hate you.”

You scoffed, expecting the lie—because it had to be a lie, a jeer, a vicious way to kick you while you were down—to be followed by that same scornful sneer that had become all too familiar for your liking. 

But it never came.

Your disbelief was only met with a sincere, unbreaking expression. No games, no underlying meaning. A complete contrast to everything you associated with Lee Minho.

“Are you serious?”

“You don’t believe me?” he feigned hurt, which you had half a mind to be infuriated about considering the many, many worse things he’d assumed about you. “I mean it. I don’t hate you.”

You blinked.

“I probably could’ve,” he added unhelpfully. “If what I'd thought about you turned out to be true. But really, I just didn’t trust you.”

You grunted to at least acknowledge his confession, unsure of how else you should react. If that was how he treated the people he didn’t trust, you’d love to know what his hatred looked like. 

You’d long told yourself not to take it personally, but for some reason, there was an undeniable sting there. Maybe it was because Minho was eerily perceptive, so much that this whole ordeal had planted the idea in your head that he had to be correct. Or maybe, it was because you’d always felt like there was a bit of truth to his impression of you, even before you’d met him, even before his opinion of you had sunk straight into the gutter. Having someone else say it out loud had just forced you to come to terms with it.

That constant voice in the back of your head, etching guilt into your mind. Telling you that you liked hurting the people who depended on you, that you liked to build them a safe haven and then crush it before their very eyes. Exactly what he had claimed you’d done to him.

Exactly what you’d done to Chan.

“Am I making things worse?” Minho tilted his head. 

“No,” you answered, and it was mostly honest. “Go on.”

He said nothing, eyeing you for a moment longer. It put you on high alert. Similarly to Chan, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was delving straight into your center—but unlike Chan, there was no comfort of being able to stare right back into his. 

“You probably know this by now, but Chan is an easy target for a lot of people,” he began. Slow, deliberate, no playful lilt to it. “He can usually tell when he’s being mistreated, but even so, he puts up with it. He thinks he can make it all better.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your spot, concentrating on the rain droplets that hadn’t yet dried from your hair. “Yeah, I know.” 

I know better than you. The petty side of you wanted to tack on. But you decided against it, instead choosing to foster whatever kind of tentative truce was coming to fruition here.

Minho paused again. “Right.”

“So, what, you thought I was one of those people?”

“Mm.” Blunt as ever. “Like I said, I've seen the type before. And if Chan wasn’t going to do anything about it, then I was.”

He’d changed his wording, you noticed. It had been your type before, uttered with all the contempt and venom in the world. You wanted to find consolation in that subtle difference, but it didn’t stop the memory from rousing your defiance all over again.

“You think he can’t make decisions for himself?”

It was a risk—hypocritical, too, when you knew firsthand what kind of decisions Chan made for himself, when you knew firsthand the powerlessness of trying to get him to stop—but you said it anyway. Minho hummed, leaning back in his chair, as if the challenge in your words hadn’t affected him in the slightest.

“Of course he can,” he replied evenly. “Doesn’t make them right. When you see your friend make the same decision over and over and get hurt every single time, wouldn’t it be cruel to just sit by and watch?”

He looked off to the side, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought that he was—God forbid—trying to prevent you from possibly catching on to an emotion of his.

“That’s what real insanity is—isn’t that how the saying goes? Repeating the same thing and expecting different results.”

You knew, deep down, that his explanation made sense, and somehow, that only stung more. You felt wronged, like the collateral damage for all the people who had harmed Chan in the past. The fact that Minho had treated you so coldly out of the goodness of his heart wasn’t much of a reprieve. In a childish sense, it made things even worse, because now, your own negative feelings towards him felt unjustified.

That didn’t even begin to cover the fact that he had been right. 

Every part of you wanted to object to him lumping you in with all the others as the same decision, but in the end, you were just another name on the endless list of people who had hurt Chan.

When he saw how long you’d gone silent for, Minho spoke up again, looking unsure of himself for what may very well have been the first time in his life. 

“I’m…” he huffed. “Look, I was wrong.”

As always, what he said was the polar opposite of what you’d been thinking. It was almost comical, how the wavelengths the two of you operated on were so determined to be different in every conceivable way. 

His ears, you noticed, had dusted red at the tips—the exact same way Chan’s would flare up when he was flustered. You hated how it weakened your resolve, how his mere association with Chan had you more than willing to accept his olive branch, however awkwardly shaped it was.

“Chan’s done a lot for me—for everyone. I just wanted to protect him.”

That was the point of convergence, the one, precious point where your waves intersected. The desire to keep Chan safe. You understood it better than anything else, and so, for that fleeting moment, you understood Minho. Still, your pride—something you’d repressed far too many times in your attempts to reconcile with him before—wasn’t quite ready to back down.

“But you barely even knew me,” you protested. “What did I do to make you decide that you hated me all of a sudden?”

“Didn’t hate you,” he corrected.

You pressed your lips together into an annoyed line. “What made you think I wanted to…to hurt him?”

Minho looked contemplative, and you found yourself worrying that he may simply decide not to tell you. You wouldn’t put it past him. It would be painfully on-brand, actually, at least with the version of him that you’d come to know. 

“Chan came home crying.”

Your throat went dry.

“What?” you rasped. “When?”

“Back in July. The morning I got back from summer break.”

The morning after you’d first slept together. All at once, everything snapped into place—pieces of the puzzle that you hadn’t been able to connect, pieces that you hadn’t even known were missing in the first place.

“So, he comes home from your place, crying, with those marks all over his neck,” he explained. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened. I put two and two together.”

You felt sick enough that you actually feared you might throw up, right there, on the library floor.

“I thought he must’ve landed himself in a bad spot again. With someone who only wanted to use him.”

“Why?” You gripped your soaked bag to your chest, with so much force that residual water began to dribble out of it. “Why was he crying?”

How did I hurt him? You wanted to add. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I notice? 

How could you have ever let this happen?

Minho hesitated, and you squeezed your eyes shut, not entirely certain that you even wanted to hear the answer.

“He was happy.”

Confusion. And then, relief. And then, confusion again. The turmoil must have been written all over your face, because Minho ever so graciously decided to elaborate.

“I didn’t find that part out until yesterday, though. Not much of a happy crier, myself.”

A fresh surge of anger overtook everything else you were struggling to comprehend. Thoughts of what could’ve been, of how it all might have turned out if it weren’t for the man in front of you. The man who had given you all the tools in chiseling your self-doubt to perfection, who had passed you the hammer to destroy what you loved most.

You wanted it to be his fault. It would be so easy to pin the blame all on him. But nothing was ever that easy. Nothing was ever that simple. Even without the right tools, you would’ve found a way to destroy it regardless. It was what you were best at.

“You didn’t bother to ask him!?” you snapped.

“Oh. You think I’m stupid.” A glimpse of his former sharpness. You had to stop yourself from saying yes, just to spite him. “Of course, I asked. More than once. But his answer was the same as always—he smiled and told me not to worry. He’d say it with a gun to his head.”

You frowned. It was too much to process at once, too much for your already worn-down brain to compute. All you could really make sense of was a gut feeling, an instinct, telling you that you’d made a horrible, horrible mistake.

“I talked to Chan yesterday,” he mellowed again, back to his usual, airy tenor. “He told me everything. He doesn’t seem to fully understand it, but I do.”

Minho locked eyes with you, deep, intense. No longer the look of someone that had decided you were guilty, but a look that warned you that he would know if you were lying to him.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, but you nodded, anyway. Such a simple thing to admit to. How could such a simple thing have ever led to all of this? 

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “That’s why I did it. I was afraid I’d end up…”

You took in a shaky breath.

“I just didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Ah, seriously.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and he laughed. Incredulous, dry, ending with an exhale. “You broke up with him because you didn’t want to hurt him? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

Your face heated up. “You’re the one who thought I would in the first place!”

“But I was wrong.”

You were taken aback by how plainly he admitted to it, how that indestructible, stubborn pride of his was extinguished the instant he’d learned it had harmed someone he cared about. Even more troubling than that, was the fact that you could tell he was apologetic, even without him saying it outright. All of this, as annoyingly as he was going about it, was his apology to you. Changbin’s words—fond and reassuring and, now, truer than ever—reverberated in your mind. Soft at heart.

“People are supposed to help each other. You know that, right?”

You snorted at the absurdity of the question. 

“Obviously.”

“So why are you so weird about it?”

“It’s different with Chan,” you insisted. “You said it yourself. He does so much—everyone takes so much from him. I didn’t want to do the same.”

“But that’s still not fair, is it?” he countered. “You’d just be giving everything instead. Chan doesn’t want that, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, only for the words to die in your throat. There was no way to justify it without sounding ridiculous—maybe, because it was a bit ridiculous. But Chan was the exception, he would always be the exception. You would give everything to him because you knew he would never take it for granted. You would give everything to him because he’d already given everyone so much.

Because he’d given you so much. 

Ah.

“God, you two are so—” Minho cradled head dramatically, sensing that you’d finally worked it out in your mind. “You’ve already got the hardest part figured out. Just learn to take once in a while. You’re not gonna die.”

“But he won’t change unless I do,” you muttered. “I know he won’t.”

He gave you a look of pure exasperation, as if the answer couldn’t have been more obvious.

“So, change.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The feeling of your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, courtesy of Bang Christopher Chan, was one you’d become well-acquainted with over the past seven months. But of all the times you’d experienced it, it’d never been quite like this. This was something else entirely.

A day to mull everything over after your conversation with Minho, a restless night spent trying and failing to map out how you could possibly approach the situation, and over an hour of pacing restlessly around your apartment—all useless in ebbing the adrenaline that coursed through your veins. Before the clock had even struck 10:00 a.m., you’d not only felt like you had run a marathon, but that you could run another for good measure. 

You’d spoken to Changbin first. He at least deserved to know what was going on. He deserved an apology, even if the very real possibility that he would never speak to you again afterwards made your stomach churn. On a more selfish note���you figured today was as good as any to start with that—you’d also just really, really missed him. 

As it turned out, he’d more or less come to grasp the situation, even when being protected from all angles. Between what little Minho had let slip, Chan’s avoidant behavior (to the surprise of no one, he’d hardly let Changbin know a thing) and your vaguely ominous texts, he’d gathered up enough bits and pieces for his genius intuition to fill in the gaps. The sound of his voice once you’d revealed what had happened in full; compassionate, calm—not an ounce of the disdain you’d resigned yourself to be met with so viciously—had almost been enough to make you choke up.

“You should’ve told me,” he’d chided. “Why do you love doing that to yourself? What, you think I’m not strong enough to lean on?”

You’d let out a long exhale, heavy with all the apprehension you released with it; relieved, embarrassed, resigned. “It’s not that, Bin,” you’d mumbled. “I didn’t want to trouble you. Not when Chan and Minho both mean so much to you.”

“And you think you don’t? C’mon, you’re supposed to be the smart one here.”

Naturally, it only added to your guilt, that you’d created such an uncharacteristically cruel image of him in your head. This was Seo Changbin, after all. A great talker, but an even better listener, and as much as he liked to tease Chan for his age, he had a level of emotional intelligence far beyond his years. A wisdom that you would probably do well to learn from whenever it bothered to make an appearance. 

At the same time, however, this was Seo Changbin, the one man show, Leo incarnate. Once the relief of hearing back from you had eased his conscience (as much as it could, knowing how horribly tangled up everything had become), the theatrics had ensued.

“Dating my best friend is one thing, but breaking his heart is off limits!” he’d complained. It was mostly light. No real anger behind it, just plenty of highly-warranted frustration. “Not only that—breaking your own heart too! What am I supposed to do with two brokenhearted best friends? Hang out with Minho!?”

After a slew of loud, nagging, reprimands, and a very serious threat that Cinnamoroll would be held hostage until further notice, Changbin had let you go. For the first time in five days, you’d laughed. You’d never felt more grateful, or more stupid, in your life. He made it all sound so simple. Lee Minho, quite possibly the most convoluted piece of work you’d ever encountered in this world, had made it all sound so simple. 

You could only hope that you hadn’t crushed it into something infinitely more complicated, something beyond repair.

The trembling of your fingers, coupled with that strange sensation in your thumb that had yet to go away, made it difficult for you to type properly. Still, you persisted, throwing caution to the wind. Caution had ruled over you for far too long, anyway.

you (10:03 a.m.) hi

you (10:04 a.m.) i understand if you want some space right now but if you can, i’d like to talk

You prepared to lock your phone, not expecting a reply for some time—if any at all. Even under normal circumstances, he didn’t always get back to you right away. But, well, maybe the fact that the circumstances were anything but normal should’ve been enough for you to know better, because you didn’t even get the chance to swipe out of your messaging app before you noticed three little dots below your chat bubble.

Appearing. Disappearing. Appearing. Disappearing. Just a sign of life from him, and your palms had grown clammy. With fear, anticipation, dread. The dread of being met with anything but love, anything but warmth.

Then, at last, a single word.

channie 🐺 (10:08 a.m.) about?

you (10:08 a.m.) everything us

This time, it took him longer to respond. Ignoring every instinct that screamed otherwise, you typed up another text. There was no use hiding. There was never any use hiding with him.

you (10:12 a.m.) i don’t think i can do this

Almost immediately.

channie 🐺 (10:12 a.m.) me neither

Your heart leapt. You didn’t want it to give you hope. He had every right, every reason in the world, to not give you the time of day. He could get his closure and leave you, just as you’d left him.

channie 🐺 (10:13 a.m.) i can be over in 10?

A million thoughts sparked to life at once. The question of why he was already so close by. The urge to insist that you go meet him instead. The sudden realization that you were in no way prepared to see him so soon.

But all of it, overwhelming as it was, didn’t hold a candle to your strongest desire—a desire that could never be subdued by anything else. To put Chan first.

you (10:14 a.m.) okay, sure see you soon

Get here safe, Channie. You added in your head.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Chan looked tired when you opened the door. Eyes dull, drooping, littered with traces of pink and lined with dark circles. A few stray curls peeked out from beneath his beanie. You prayed that the black hoodie he was wearing wasn’t the same one he’d had on five days ago. He looked so tired. Tired and cold.

His gaze met yours. Just for a heartbeat, then it fell to the ground. You wanted to think it was because he felt self-conscious, you wanted to think it was that shyness—that hopelessly endearing shyness that got the best of him no matter how many times he looked at you. You didn’t want to believe that he simply couldn’t stomach the sight of you anymore.

“Are you okay?”

Chan tensed. Then, he caught you eyeing the bandaid on his thumb. He brushed his finger over it absentmindedly. He’d thought the pain had faded until now.

“Yeah. Just cut my finger.”

Your expression changed.

“On accident.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit.”

You reached up to tug at your ear. He swiped his thumb over his nose.

“I—” you swallowed. The moment he’d stepped through the door, everything you’d so carefully planned to say, every point you’d spent hours trying to piece together into something comprehensible, was immediately tossed out the window. You had to navigate this in real time. There was no map for it—the path to something better. The only place you’d ever journeyed was your own destruction. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out. “I think I messed up.”

He lifted his head. For once, unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

He knew what you meant, you were sure of it. But he wanted you to say it—needed you to say it. He needed you to dare to open yourself up to him, just as he had to you.

You understood now. That was the most important thing you could’ve ever given him, yet the one thing you’d refused to give.

“I’m not used to this,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to get used to it. You’re…you’re so good, Chan. To everyone. To me.”

Already, cracks were beginning to form in your composure. You had to keep it together, just enough to fix this. Just enough to hold the mirror up to him before it shattered. 

“When someone that good comes into your life, you wanna do everything you can to keep them, y’know? I wanted to do everything for you.”

Chan’s breath caught in his throat, audibly, and you knew a protest was building on his tongue. So, you barreled through.  

“It’s exactly because you’re so good that I got so scared. Because you wouldn’t just let me do it all for you like everyone else does.”

There was a pause, long and heavy enough for you to debate if you should just keep going, to air it all out and pray that at least some of it would come out sensical. But before you could, he spoke up, attentive as ever in what he chose to focus on. He narrowed it down like second nature, sought out the most essential part. The root of it all.

“You were scared?”

You winced. “I…yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Whatever remained of your heart from the past few days was effectively smashed into pieces. An apology from the last person on earth you needed to hear it from. An apology from someone who was owed so many apologies. From you, from himself, and from countless others who would never have to say it.

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I drove you to this, didn't I?” he whispered. “I thought about it the past few days—talked with Minho about it. I put you in a position you didn’t want. It’s my fault.”

“Oh, Channie,” it slipped out so naturally, with such ease, you didn’t even have the chance to second-guess yourself. “Your only fault is the way you treat yourself.”

Chan didn’t appear convinced. He shuffled his feet from side to side, hands heavy in the pocket of his hoodie. Restless, ashamed. Still not looking you in the eye. You weren’t grateful for it anymore; you missed his gaze. Dark and reflective, kind and curious. Seeing right through you, even with all its flickering around. 

“Maybe I needed to be put in that position,” you continued. “I was just too much of a coward to take it. B-because you were right. I try to be everything for people, then I end up being nothing. I was so afraid I was going to do that to you—or even worse. I was afraid I was going to be the one taking everything from you.”

“Why would you ever think that?” he sounded so helpless, like you were communicating in two completely foreign tongues. No room for speaking in riddles. “I saw every little way you cared for me. Always. Did you think I didn’t?”

Challenging him meant challenging yourself. You’d taken the plunge acutely aware of that fact, this time. Still, the panic rose in your chest all over again, the itch in your feet goaded you to turn and run.

“I know you did. And that’s more than enough for me.” You forced yourself to take a step forward instead, desperate to get through to him, desperate to reach him. “But when you do these things for me at your own expense…when you don’t tell me about it, don’t you see how that could scare me? As someone who cares about you?”

In all the time you’d known Chan, you’d never once have guessed that he could be so difficult. But if that unshakeable stubbornness would emerge over anything, of course it would be this. He would never make things difficult for anyone but himself. You still remembered how plainly he’d said it, how bleak and merciless and cold it had been: “It doesn’t matter.”

You could tell he sensed how on-edge you were, how laughably out of your element something like this was for you. But you were pushing yourself—for him. So, like a true reflection, he matched you.

“I guess I was scared, too,” he admitted quietly. “It’s been the only thing I know how to do for so long. I thought…I-I thought you’d leave if I did anything else. Because why else would you stay, y’know?”

You’d known it. Even before he’d bared himself to you, even before you’d had the knowledge to connect all the dots, you’d felt it, deep within you. But that didn’t make hearing him say it out loud any less devastating.

“I don’t love you because of what you can do for me, Chan.”

His eyes shot up at last. Wide, intense, searching. Realigning with you. A break in the fog that had been clouding your view of each other for the past five days.

It may have been unfair—cruel, even—to say now. But you needed him to hear it, even if this was the end of the road for you and him. You needed to at least plant the seed in his mind with the hopes that one day, with enough care, it might sprout into something beautiful.

“You’re worth so much as you are,” you tried to get a handle on the shake creeping into it. “You do so much for me just by being yourself.”

Chan blinked. Pupils darting between you and the floor, hands slipping from his pockets, face muscles twisting in an internal conflict. You could see him physically exerting all his willpower to not reject the idea—to dare to accept a love so unconditional, solely so that you might accept it in return.

“If I told you the same thing,” he began slowly. “Would you believe me?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “I can learn to believe it.”

His fingers flexed. You realized for the first time how close the distance between you and him had become—drifting towards each other involuntarily. That inevitable, magnetic pull, more powerful than any of the forces you’d studied in four years.

“Okay.” He was reaching out for you. “Then, how about we learn together, yeah?”

Your heart jumped against your ribcage. Over his words. Over the sight of his pinky, held out in earnest despite you giving it such little reason to ever do so again, waiting patiently to curl against yours. 

You’d believe in anything that connected you to him.

“Together.”

Just as quickly as things had fallen apart, the foundation was laid out for them to be put back together. A steady foundation, built to last. Your belief that day had turned out to be true, after all. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan. When you leaned into him. When you didn’t run.

Heat rippled through you the instant your fingers entwined, fiercer, more all-consuming than even the first time you’d ever touched. Still, neither of you pulled away. For the first time in five days, you were warm again.

The new, unspoken promise igniting to life between you reminded you of another; one that you’d let sit on your ledger for far too long. One you’d made so carelessly to the boy who deserved all the care in the world. The boy who treated you with all the care in the world.

“I’m going to be more selfish from now on.” You tightened your hold on his pinky, creating a fresh buzz of heat. “Because I want you to be, too.”

You thought you were hallucinating it for a second, the beginnings of a grin on Chan’s face. Soft cheeks rising, not enough to draw out his dimples or eclipse his eyes, but enough to make you certain of your decision. The key you’d tossed out a year and a half ago was in that smile.

“Guess I’ve got no choice but to mirror you.”

“That’s right,” any firmness it might’ve had was lost to a smile of your own. Exhausted, but tragically enamored with the boy in front of you. “Since you wanna be my other half so bad, and all.”

He giggled. Short, sweet, playing the strings of your heart like a harp. Or, rather, its melody was the sound of your heart.

“I’m gonna tell you some things,” you warned. “And they’re not going to be nice. Or good. Is that okay?”

“Anything.” He unhooked his pinky from yours, only to wiggle his sleeve back and weave all of your fingers together instead. Five fingers, one for each of the days you’d spent apart. Your palm pressed against his, pumping faintly with your quickening pulse. “Tell me anything.”

You inhaled. Better to start with something smaller, first. A test run in this whole emotional openness thing.

“About Minho…”

“He gave you plenty of trouble, didn’t he?”

You puffed out a soft laugh. “Well, I gave him some back.”

“I scolded him,” Chan mumbled. “A lot. Bin did, too.”

You tried not to feel too satisfied about it. The idea of Chan, so doting, so unabashed in his adoration for the younger boy, rebuking him, addressing him with anything but overflowing fondness. You would take it as a small, private victory—one that Minho didn’t need to know about now that you’d both chosen to bury the hatchet.

“But…I hope you won’t think badly of him. He means well, really. He’s—”

“Soft at heart, right?” you finished for him. “It’s okay, we talked it out in the end. I think."

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, he told me.”

You could’ve laughed. Lee Minho. You never thought you’d see the day where the mention of him wouldn’t be promptly followed by a wave of absolute revulsion. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had even agreed to see you today. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had only been ten minutes away from your apartment before you’d even sent him a message.

“I just wish you’d told me.”

I wish you’d told me. They were words you’d said to him so many times, words you’d wanted to say on even more occasions. But it was in your hands, now. You were in each other’s hands, now. You didn’t have to wish anymore.

“I know.” You gave his palm a squeeze. “But you can see why I didn’t, right?”

He nodded, sheepish, well aware that it was a pointed question.

“A lot of the things Minho did were to protect you,” you murmured. “But, a lot of the things he said were things someone else once said to me. I guess it made them easier to believe.”

Chan’s thumb glided delicately across the back of your hand. You knew he could predict where this was going.

“When you told me about what happened two years ago, I think I related to you a lot. I think it was one of those shared experiences you talked about.”

Each sentence felt like it was being dragged out of you, uprooted. But it was necessary. Clearing the weeds out to make room for something less parasitic—maybe, even flowers. “My last relationship was with someone who took a lot out of me, too. He needed someone to depend on. I…I wanted to be that for him.”

“I know you did.” Gentle, sad. A tenderness for you and, hopefully, himself. It gave you the strength to keep going.

“He needed so many things, felt so many things. All his emotions became mine until I didn’t have any for myself,” you were losing control of your voice again. “I didn’t understand how you could ever blame yourself for what that girl did to you. But, really, I’ve always blamed myself, too. Because I let him rely on me. I promised to be everything for him, then I left.”

“But he never let you rely on him, did he?” Chan didn’t miss a beat, like he already knew the answer. “He wanted you to carry it all yourself.”

You averted your stare. “M-maybe. And maybe I wanted that, too. Some people just need more support than others, y’know? I thought I could handle it.”

You always thought you could handle it, even when every past experience proved otherwise. That was yet another thing Minho had been right about. You’d driven yourself mad repeating the same cycle over and over again, deluding yourself into thinking it could ever turn out any different.

“Nobody needs no support at all,” he pointed out. “Not even someone as strong as you.”

Strong. Hearing the word come out of his mouth—his perfect mouth, in that light, melodic voice—pricked at your eyes. It was a term you’d never once thought to describe yourself with. It was the exact opposite of everything you’d come to believe about yourself. You wanted to reject it, to crush the idea before letting it get to your head. But how could you, when it came from the strongest person you knew? How could you do anything but cling to it, cherish it?

“I don’t know if I’m strong,” you muttered, blinking away what was sure to come eventually. “It’s just that every time I’ve tried to lean on someone, they let me fall. So it’s better to stand on my own.”

“Yeah. I understand."

You knew that much was true. You knew, painfully well, how much he understood. And you knew he still thought you were strong.

“I…” Everything had been put into place—or, rather, everything had been properly displaced—for the dam to break loose. Tentatively, lovingly, he was helping you pull out each log. It filled you with fear, down to every last fiber of your being, but you knew that you could break in front of him. He wouldn’t crumble with you. He wouldn’t shatter over the mere prospect of you expressing an emotion of your own. He’d let you release, and when it was all over, he’d help you pick up the pieces. Just as you had with him.

“I lost my friend last year.”

“Lost…?”

“I mean, she passed away—last summer. She was in an accident back home.”

Such a common way to die for someone who was anything but. Such a special person to become part of such an ordinary statistic. Chan’s face morphed into something heartbreaking, a look that told you he felt everything you were feeling in that moment. The gears were turning in his head, you could see it unfolding through your blurred vision. That was why you hadn’t wanted to return home over the summer. That was why you’d come back to him so soon.

“I’m so sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t only giving his condolences, he was apologizing for ever cornering you to reveal it. For forcing you to unveil the wound that had been festering for so long. Bleeding with no signs of stopping, neglected with no signs of healing.

“It’s okay, I—” A lump rose in your throat. “I need to talk about it, I think. Never really did.”

His hand tugged at yours, just barely, uncertain. Always hesitant to pull you as close as he really wanted. You leaned forward all at once, falling into him. And he caught you.

“Never?” 

“I tried once.” You rested your head against him, and his arms locked securely around you straight away. No room for you to fear, even for a second, that he might let you fall. “I tried to tell him. He always said he felt bad that he wasn’t there for me like I was for him. B-but…” The wave was rising again. “He just left.”

You couldn’t see Chan’s expression, you weren’t sure if you wanted to. You didn’t want to know what anger might look like on such an angelic face. But you could feel it, his jaw clenching, his muscles tensing. You figured he must look something like you had that night in October, struggling to maintain the delicacy in your movements as he revealed things that had filled you with a protective fire.

“He left?” Chan repeated, strained. “He left you like that?”

“Yeah. I-I guess it made him feel worse to be there.”

His hand began to run slowly up and down your back; drawing out your pain and soothing it simultaneously. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. He’d put his anger to the side, just as you had that night. “It must have been lonely for you.” 

Lonely. Something else you’d never once considered. Something else that became so obvious only once he’d said it. You’d always been surrounded by people, but they were all flocking to a version of you that didn’t exist. A version you’d let them believe was real, because that was so much easier. Maybe the version of you, in your truest form, had been lonely.

“A little.” You buried your nose into his hoodie. No scent of sweet citrus today, no vanilla cherry blossom. Just him. “I think she’s the only one I could’ve talked to about it. She…she was a lot like you, in some ways.”

Something seemed to dawn on Chan, because he gripped you a little tighter, pulled you impossibly closer. The realization that the universe had taken away the only person you’d ever come to rely on. Of course you would be terrified to ever let anyone take that role again.

“She sounds exactly the kind of friend you deserve,” his voice rumbled softly where you rested against his chest. “You can tell me about her. About it all. I’m here to listen.”

“I want to,” you took in a sharp inhale. “But I think I’m going to cry.”

“You can do that, too.” 

The wave engulfed you in full. For the first time since the day you’d lost her, you allowed yourself to cry over her.

Given how long you’d been holding it in, it didn’t come out nearly as explosive as you’d expected. The tears slipped from your eyes and down your cheeks without a sound, but they came and came and came. Each hot stream was immediately followed by a fresh one, a buildup of all the sorrow you’d kept sealed inside you for the past year and a half, and all the years before that. You didn’t sob or wail or scream out, but with how tightly Chan was holding you, you were certain he felt every tremor, every subdued hiccup, every droplet soaking through his clothes.

“It’ll be okay, one day,” he promised. “You’ll remember all the happy times with her. That’s something you can never lose.”

You hoped it was true. You hoped that one day, you could step off the train in your hometown, take in the pine-tinged summer air, pick a chrysanthemum from that flower stall, and remember her with that warm, glowing ball of light you used to carry in your chest.

Chan didn’t stop rubbing your back the entire time you cried. He didn’t stop enveloping you in his warmth. He didn’t stop humming sweetly in your ear. 

He didn’t leave.

The tears eventually stopped flowing, not because it didn’t hurt anymore—you just didn’t think your body could keep up. No amount of tears could ever live up to your grief for her. But your breathing slowed, your shaking steadied, and, as much as your head positively throbbed, a sense of tranquility came with it, one you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt.

“Thank you, Channie,” you mumbled. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

After everything you’d put him through the past five days, after he’d listened to you so intently and patiently as you poured your heart out, after he’d comforted you when he was still in such a fragile state himself, he was thanking you. It was hopeless. You would fall in love with him over and over again, every moment you spent with him. 

“Have you…” he hesitated. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone? About everything?”

“No,” you choked out a sad laugh. “Not really.”

Chan hummed again, quiet. He rested his hand on the back of your head, as if to pull you so far into him that you’d meld fully together.

“You shouldn’t torture yourself anymore,” he murmured.

“Neither should you.”

So immediate, so resolute, it made him stiffen against you.

“My stuff doesn’t compare to any of this.”

“That’s not true. You’ve only told me the half of it, haven’t you?” You curled your fingers a bit tighter around his hoodie. “You've been through so much to become this strong, haven’t you?”

The peaceful drag of his hand finally stopped. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. He'd been holding it together up until now, for you, even if your every tremble and sniffle made his chest ache like your pain was his own.

“Maybe,” he rasped. 

“So, let’s work towards something better. Together.”

“Together,” he agreed.

You raised your head at last, squeezing your eyes shut so that any remaining trace of tears trickled free. Chan reached up to swipe the droplets away with his thumb, soaking his bandaid. Still, neither of you let go. There were so many things to let go of, but not each other.

“I finished Placebo,” he said softly. “Do you want to hear it?”

The final promise that had yet to be fulfilled.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Weak, a piteous sight, probably, but genuine. “It makes me happy.”

You were lulled back to that day in April, seated next to Chan in the warm, coffee-infused atmosphere of the library, trying not to fall head over heels in love with him right then and there while he played the instrumental for you with a giddiness so uncontainable that he had to bite down on his fist. As you heard Placebo’s lyrics for the first time—lyrics that had gone through countless rearrangements, rewrites, and delays—you decided it must’ve been fate that it had been brought to completion now, of all times. You felt Chan in every line, every vitalizing beat, every nostalgic melody of the synth. You understood it better now than you ever would have back then.

But just as you’d predicted on that warm day in April, it became your new favorite.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The sun had been shining for two days straight. Bright, unobstructed by a single cloud, bathing everything in gold. It filtered through the blinds of your window, casting a delicate pattern of light on Chan’s face and creating quite possibly the most breathtaking view you’d ever seen. And you were warm. Warm against each other.

His curls were free, messy, tousled as you combed through them. You relished in every ringlet dancing between your fingers, in each content sound he let slip when your nails grazed his scalp. You brushed his bangs back, revealing his face to you in full—droopy eyes, big, adorable nose, soft cheeks, faintly freckled skin, every feature illuminated with nowhere to hide—then allowed them to fall into his eyes once more. The dark locks moved as one, a fluffy unit. He wasn’t taking care of them properly. You wanted to wash them again, give them the treatment they deserved.

Chan watched you the entire time you played with his hair, curious, mesmerized. Every flop of his curls against his forehead made him giggle, and so, you did it again and again. You couldn’t help it. After five days without him, without that sweet, harmonious sound, you could listen to him laugh for hours on end and still yearn for more.

But his lips were getting poutier with every card of your fingers, his thighs were shifting beneath you more and more. Impatient, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t have to say a thing for you to hear him willing you to do it, begging you to do it. So, you leaned in and kissed him.

He sighed into it, just like he always did. But it was higher in pitch this time, involuntary, a neediness he typically tried to suppress until later down the line when it grew into something unbearable. He was already so vocal, so responsive, but today, he needed you more than ever. Every gap, every crevice between your bodies, he needed filled with you.

His lips consumed your senses, plush and plump and warm. They moved against yours seamlessly, encasing you in his softness, matching your rhythm, every part and pucker. So attentive, even through his haze of longing. It was familiar, the most natural thing in the world, yet still something you’d never get used to—something you never wanted to get used to. How his lips chased yours so insatiably, how they warmed you to your very core.

You were both breathless when you broke apart. That was nothing new either, you would kiss each other until your lungs cried out and then some. With the way Chan hardly pulled back, mouth ghosting just a centimeter away as you panted lightly in unison, you might’ve thought he needed to kiss you more than he needed oxygen. You took his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling delicately just to get a taste of him while the two of you caught your breath.

“Missed you,” he whimpered. “God, I missed you.”

Your chest ached. 

“I know, baby.” 

Giving his bottom lip a light tug, you released it. You could tell his head was starting to go fuzzy, it was far more important for you to speak clearly. You rested your hand on his curls again, trying to keep yourself composed for his sake—even if your body was screaming for you to take him back and take him back now. “I know. I missed you, too.”

“Don’t leave me, please?” For once, a selfish request. 

He pecked the corner of your mouth as he said it, then your jaw, growing less controlled the further down he moved. He was getting lost in you, he wanted to lose himself in you and never find his way out again.

“Never,” you assured him. 

“Promise?” 

He nuzzled his nose into your neck, lips pressing urgent kisses to every spot of flesh they touched. Gentle and intense, hot and wet. They cooled your skin and set it ablaze, all at once. 

You’d gone five days without each other before—even longer, on particularly hectic weeks—but it had never been anything like this. After the emptiness that came in your time apart, the holes that had been left behind where you’d ripped yourself away from him, you wanted every kiss absorbed into your skin, filling them up one by one. You found yourself wondering, for what was neither the first nor the last time, how you’d ever managed to trick yourself into thinking you could be without him. You couldn’t even take him in moderation.

“I promise,” you murmured. “I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chan whined, opening his mouth against the edge of your collarbone, sucking, tongue flickering lightly against it. You allowed him to, petting his head, humming sweetly to him as he covered every inch he roamed with that irresistible heat.

His restlessness beneath you grew more obvious—squirming. He ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and grabbing and holding onto you like you might disappear if he didn’t. His usual hesitance to touch was nowhere to be found today, far overpowered by his hunger for you. You adjusted your position in his lap, and the beginnings of his desire brushed against your thigh, adorably transparent as always. It made your own self-control slip just a bit. Suddenly, his clothes were forming far too thick of a barrier between you and him for your liking.

You pulled gently at his hair, catching his attention enough for him to lift his head from your neck. His lips were already swelling, deepening from that pretty pink shade into something even more addictive. His eyes were dark, dilated, and so hopeful, like he didn’t already know where this was going. Like he had no idea that you craved him every bit as much as he craved you.

“It’s getting warm, huh, Channie?”

“Mhm.” He rested his cheek against your palm. “You’re so warm.”

“Let’s get you out of this, then.” You reached down to dip your fingers under the hem of his sweater. Reluctant to let go for even a moment, Chan kept his hands close to you, wiggling around as best as he could to help you slip the garment off. He blinked his eyes open once you’d pulled it over his head, catching a glimpse of his reflection in your dresser mirror, directly across from where the two of you sat tangled up in each other. It made his stomach drop a bit. Hair unkempt, eyes sunken, face puffy from what was a concerning lack of rest over the past week, even by his standards.

His gaze averted, flickering right back to you the instant he took in his appearance. Brief as the action was, it wasn’t lost on you, twisting your emotions and resurfacing an idea in your mind—one that had been brewing ever since the day of the showcase, where Chan had avoided looking into the bathroom mirror like his life depended on it.

You cupped his cheeks, pushing them together just enough for his lips to pucker.

“You’re glowing, Channie,” you marveled. “You’re so beautiful.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m not.”

You pressed your thumbs into his skin, chiding. “The light’s hitting your face so perfectly. You look like an angel.” 

Chan’s breath quickened, another deflection building in his throat. You slid your hands down from his face, allowing the golden rays of the sun to fully illuminate him, just as they illuminated the moon. 

“I…” he chuckled. “Th-thank you, but I’m a mess.”

You frowned, placing your hands over his. Panic struck when you urged him to unlatch his fingers from your hips, you could tell by the way he gripped you just a bit tighter. It was another pang to your chest. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, that reflex had been ingrained. But you weren’t going to leave him, not even for a second. You kept your hands firmly rested on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself off his lap and settled down right behind him on the mattress. Comforting him with your touch, reminding him that you were there.

You peered into the mirror from over Chan’s shoulder, met with the gorgeous sight of his bare upper half and, unsurprisingly, his head ducked in embarrassment. A mop of dark curls shielding him from himself. 

“You should try looking at yourself through my eyes,” you suggested. “You might like what you see.”

He glanced up to meet your stare in the mirror, stubbornly set on ignoring his own figure. You dragged your hands along his tense shoulders, feeling up the warm expanse of skin, the curves of his muscles—taut, yet tender.

“Rather look at you,” he said softly.

Affection swelled inside you, but you were determined to maintain your resolve, even when faced with an opponent as formidable as Chan’s oblivious charm. 

“Why?” You faked a pout. “You’ve already got such a pretty view right here.”

You lowered yourself to brush your lips against his neck, almost completely out of sight. He all but jolted as you pressed an open-mouthed kiss right below his jawline, just as reactive as your first night together. Just as honest and open and just as painfully cute. Your hand slipped over his shoulder to take hold of his chin, tilting it up, exposing his throat fully to you and encouraging him to look at himself.

“You’re a gorgeous boy, Channie.” Your words melted right into his ear. “Everyone can see it.”

You pressed another kiss to the juncture of his shoulder and neck—his weak spot. With how sensitive he was, every part of his body may as well have been his weak spot, but the sound he let out as you grazed your teeth over it was like no other. Sweet and pleading in the back of his throat. It spiked in volume when you closed your mouth over the patch of skin, unconcerned this time over whether or not the mark would show. He wanted it to. And, selfishly, so did you.

“I-I don’t see it,” he stuttered at last. “I can’t.”

Your tsk of disapproval was met with another shaky sigh as you ran your tongue over the fresh lovebite. It soothed his burning skin, fogged up any remaining space in his head. You took a moment to admire the blooming red ring before gliding your lips over to a new spot to sully. He was yours, even untouched, but you wanted to leave traces of yourself everywhere, to make him a part of you in every sense.

“Look at yourself, baby,” you ordered gently.

His Adam's apple bobbed under your mouth, swallowing down his misgivings and finding the courage to comply. Before he even locked eyes with himself in the mirror, his ears were already flushing at their tips.

“There we go. Good boy.”

The praise eased his mind a bit, but you could still feel his heartbeat racing under your kisses, pulsing beneath your traveling fingers. All simply because of the sight of himself—a sight you wanted engraved permanently into your memories, just as badly as he wanted it removed from his. 

“Look at all these muscles. So big and strong.” You flattened your palms against his broad shoulders, trailing slowly, appreciatively, down to his biceps. Arms you used to dream about having bulge beneath your hands. Arms you had at your mercy, even in all their strength. Because it was a strength used solely to protect others, never to harm.

You wrapped your fingers around the defined muscles, too large to even close your grip entirely around. They flexed under your touch—a detail you found adorable, strangely enough.

“D-do you…” Chan licked his lips. “D’you like them?”

You smiled against his skin. Such an endearingly Chan question. Setting himself up for a response that he wouldn’t be able to handle; a response that was sure to set his face on fire and put a stammer in his speech.

“I might like them too much,” you admitted. “So pretty to look at. So irresistible to touch. So cute when I hold them down,” you mumbled the compliments between each kiss you peppered along his arm veins, protruding from his nervous hold on the sheets. “So strong, but so weak for me.”

Chan’s reaction didn’t disappoint, cheeks heating up instantly to match the burn of his ears, dimples making a timid appearance. Anything he attempted to say was lost in the shy, breathless laugh he sputtered out. You knew right about now that he was wishing he had some kind of cap, beanie—anything to pull over his face and hide away. To hear your doting words without having to face himself. Maybe then, he’d believe them.

“You work so hard, don’t you, Channie?” you cooed. “Such a strong, beautiful body for a strong, beautiful boy.”

“A-ah…please.” Chan fought back the impulse to cross his arms over his torso, solely because he didn’t want to lose the feeling of your mouth ravishing them. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed, too flustered to bear. Your hands found his chest without warning, cupping his pecs and making him squeak. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, a split second too late in trying to mask the pitiful noise.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” You dug your nails delicately into his chest, just enough to make him shudder. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

To that, he didn’t object. “Yours, ‘m all yours.” It was eager, immediate, accompanied by a tilt of his head. Urging you to make it known, to leave marks of yourself all over his neck until it belonged just as much to you as it did him. 

“All mine.” You rolled his nipples delicately between your fingers, earning a broken whimper that made heat pool in your stomach. “My pretty boy.”

Chan jerked forward, every intoxicating word of praise, every drop of your attention making his arousal skyrocket. With his eyes still shut tight, all his other senses were on high alert. The serene sound of your voice reverberated all around him, the deliberate care of your touch sent tremors up his spine. You roamed further down his body, fingertips dancing over his lean abdomen, tracing the outlines of his muscles. His stomach clenched as you did; exhilarated, rising and falling with each rapid breath. He felt so vulnerable—all his pleasure, all his comfort, all his worth in the palm of your hand. More exposed than ever, yet somehow, safer than ever. He could stay blind through it all and trust you to guide him to the other side.

“Open your eyes for me, baby.”

He pressed his lips together, protest cut short when you inched dangerously close to where he needed you most.

“There,” he gasped out. “There, please.”

Mischievously, you pinched the skin right above his waistband, satisfaction rushing through you when he throbbed in the confines of his sweatpants. “Where?” you questioned, deceptively innocent. “You have to look and see.”

You drifted further down, skimming the softness of his hips and stroking his tensed thigh. “Here?”

“No,” he huffed, face scrunching in frustration. “Please, ‘s too embarrassing.”

Your hum was full of sympathy, but your hand said otherwise, moving along his inner thigh and giving it a light squeeze. “How about here?”

You knew what was coming by now. So, you snaked your legs around his waist from behind, prying his thighs apart before they could clamp together reflexively. The added contact only made Chan’s composure weaken further, a low groan spilling out of him. Practically every part of your body was pressed against his—head tucked into his neck, chest rubbing against his back, hands grasping him wherever they slid, thighs resting on his—but it wasn’t enough. He needed more before he crumbled completely against you. Or, rather, he needed more to crumble completely against you.

His eyes snapped open at last, hazy, disoriented. He blinked a few times to readjust his vision, taking in the view before him. His puffed, rosy cheeks, his neck, painted with deep, crimson marks, his arms and torso, lined with the faint drag of your nails. Every part of himself that he chose to focus on was evidence of you on his body.

“Beautiful,” you said firmly.

“Ah…th-thank you.”

His reflection peered back at him, nowhere to hide. But with it, he found his other reflection, one he could admire so wholeheartedly, one he could never run out of things to love about. When at your side, maybe he didn’t look so bad.

Your lips were by his ear again, he felt your breath fanning softly next to it, saw your mouth opening unexpectedly close to his piercing—so close that he thought you may take it between your teeth again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself if you did.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Channie?” you whispered.

His stare dropped to your hand, more than ready for any excuse to redirect his attention from himself. You rubbed gentle circles into his thighs, traveling upwards at an agonizingly slow place. Chan sucked in through his teeth, a fresh wave of embarrassment passing over him when his dick twitched again, as if it was crying out the answer for him.

“My baby’s so shy,” you remarked playfully. “But your body isn't.”

He squirmed between your legs with a sound of pure helplessness, too worked up to handle your teasing properly—not that he ever really handled it well, in the first place. 

“P-please, need you so bad.”

You softened. “I’m here.”

His eyes followed your movements in a glimmer of hope, fixated on your hand like a puppy would with its favorite treat. When you came to brush over his bulge at last, his hips shot forward, pressing into your palm in a way that made your stomach flutter, and his twist with pleasure. He didn’t even have the chance to feel humiliated about it, not when you finally curled your fingers around him like he’d been longing for so intently, so fiercely that even thinking straight had become a challenge for him.

“Is this it?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes. There, please.”

You gave him a squeeze, feeling up the shape of his length through his sweatpants. So hard without a single touch to it, more than ready for you—desperate for you. It made the ache between your own legs take over in full. Restraint slipping, you dipped your fingers below his waistband to tug his sweatpants off. Chan reacted immediately, scrambling to raise himself from the mattress just enough for you to slide them down along with his underwear. You couldn’t even find the patience in you to remove the garments entirely, instead letting them rest halfway down his legs.

Chan’s gaze flickered back to you in the mirror, just in time to catch the way your eyes gleamed at the sight of his bare body. Length glistening with precum, pressed and dripping against his stomach. Milky thighs, dotted with delicate moles you could kiss endlessly. But you wanted to leave a different kind of mark on them, today. You ran your hands along his flesh—gentle, pacifying—then dragged your nails back up all at once, raking his skin and leaving a trail of pale lines that quickly deepened in shade. Chan inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against your shoulder, muscles constricting under your fingers.

“Pretty little thing,” you crooned. “You’re unreal.”

There was no time for him to recover—not from the delicious sting on his thighs, not from your doting words—before you took his cock into your hold at last. It sent a ripple of heat all throughout his body, almost enough to make him unravel right then and there.

You gave him a few careful pumps, delighted by the sheer amount of wetness that had dribbled from his tip, allowing you to move with ease. Using your free hand, you nudged his head from your shoulder to direct him back to the mirror. Despite knowing full well that the visual he’d be met with would turn his brain to mush, he obeyed. He would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You’re just like that moon you love so much,” you murmured. “You know that, Channie?”

It pierced through the lust occupying his thoughts, pulling him out from his haze just enough to string together a feeble response. “What—ah. What d’you mean?”

He tried not to let the sight of your fingers, sticky with his arousal, gliding up and down his most intimate spot, twisting and teasing in all the right ways like you knew his body better than he did, distract him from what you said next. If there was anything to focus on, it was you. 

“The moon can only see itself reflected in the water.” You swirled your thumb along his slit, using your other hand to run the pads of your fingers tenderly along his cheek. The combination was enough to make him dizzy. So much love, so much pleasure. He didn’t know how to handle it. He would never know how to handle it. “It doesn’t see its own beauty or light. Just the way it gets distorted by the ripples all around it.”

Before he could even fully process the comparison, Chan’s eyes began to water. This time, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was happiness imbued in those tears. A happiness the both of you still needed adjusting to.

“So, look at yourself clearly, now,” you encouraged, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Look at your reflection when it isn’t broken.”

It may have been too much for him at once; such adoration amidst everything else he was experiencing. The stimulation to every last one of his nerve endings, the bliss consuming his body and mind, robbing him of any coherent thought. But you needed to say it just as much as he needed to hear it. You wanted all the pleasure, all the love he felt in that moment to be associated with himself.

“O-oh, wow,” he choked out. “I…I don’t…”

I don’t deserve this. You could hear it on the tip of his tongue, clear as day. But he was too awestruck to protest, too awestruck to even speak. You felt a tinge of protectiveness—he was so far gone.

“D-dunno what to s-say,” he stammered. You knew it was taking every ounce of his strength not to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to let himself go completely and forget about anything that wasn’t you.

“It’s okay, Channie. You don’t have to say anything. Just look.”

You studied him in the mirror, nearly melting when you noticed him blinking the few, fragile droplets from his eyes—listening diligently to you, clearing his vision from any water that might distort it. He drank in his reflection in full, stiff, uneasy, but relaxing slightly between your legs when you pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“So pretty, every inch of you.” Your hand resumed its stroking, sliding down to the base of his length, cupping him gently. “Even prettier when you’re filling me up.”

“Oh my gosh,” he gasped, jerking in your grip. Even with the mirror there to guide him, he struggled to coordinate his hand movements, pawing aimlessly behind him to find some part of you to grab onto, some part of you to anchor himself with. “Please, please. Wanna feel you.”

“I know, baby boy,” you shushed him. “You’re dripping so much. Poor thing.”

You dragged your index finger along the underside of his cock one last time before pulling away with a light flick. Chan barely stopped himself from surging forward, chasing your hand like an instinct. That, coupled with the mewl he let out when he registered the sudden loss of your body heat around him, tugged at your heart just as much as it spiked your adrenaline. You made quick work of removing your clothes, well aware of his eyes, wide as moons, watching you undress through the mirror, waiting for you to return to him. Restless, yearning, but obedient above all else.

He reached for you the instant you settled back in his lap, hovering over your waist for just a second before ultimately latching on, skin on skin, a whole new layer of heat. You took his length back into your grasp, turning your body so that you were both facing your dresser mirror. You could hear Chan’s breathing pick up behind you, feel his chest expanding against your back.

“See that, Channie?” You dragged the head of his dick along your folds, coating it with your own wetness. “Just looking at you gets me like this.”

If all you’d said wasn’t enough, maybe the physical proof of his effects on you would help do the trick. A sweet, desperate vocalization, so rife with need that you could practically taste it, was all he could manage. It morphed into a moan as you sank down on him all at once—loud, absolutely shameless. You would never think it came from the boy who couldn’t even catch a glimpse of himself without being reduced to a flustered wreck. Just as your heat engulfed him, his engulfed you. It came more intensely than ever before, more staggering than even your first time together, bolting through your veins and making you suppress a gasp. You clenched around his cock, relishing in the feeling of him pressed so snugly inside you, as close as physically possible. So comforting in its familiarity, so exhilarating in its return. It was something you could only describe as relief, relief in the warmth, the fullness, the completion you brought to each other.

Chan’s head fell forward with a whimper, chin resting against your shoulder, clinging to you so tightly that it was difficult to move. You weren’t even sure if he was aware of it, a subconscious desire to stay buried inside you, not wanting to lose the security of your walls wrapped around him for even a second. 

“Missed you so much,” he slurred into your skin. “W-wanna stay like this forever.”

You reached back to cradle his head, running your fingers through his hair. “I missed you too, angel. Missed the way you fill me up so perfectly.”

You lifted yourself until just the head of his cock was left pulsing inside you. When you noticed Chan’s blissed out expression in the mirror—eyes fluttered shut, lips swollen against your shoulder, eyebrows knitted together—a golden opportunity presented itself. It took him a second or two to realize that you weren’t sliding back down, another soft plea rumbling in his throat, vibrating into your skin. You gave his scalp an affectionate scratch, prompting him to look. This time, he listened without question, driven solely by the need to feel your wet heat around him again.

“Good boy.” You took him back inside immediately, not keen on being apart for much longer, either. He gritted his teeth as you did, trying his best to keep his gaze leveled with his reflection for you, for your satisfaction, for your approval. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what came out of your mouth next. 

“See how perfect you look when you’re inside me, Channie? See all the pretty faces you make? My pretty baby, feeling so good. Making me feel so good.”

At that, the precious little that had remained of Chan’s composure fizzled out completely. His hands flew up to cover his face, hot with shame, burning with arousal. The filthy sight of him pushing in and out of you, the wet sounds filling his ears, the teasing lilt of your voice. It was all too much. He shoved his nose into his palms, letting out a cute, mortified wail that echoed throughout the bedroom, mixing with your breathless giggles. 

Even as you continued riding him, he stayed hidden behind the safety net of his fingers, shyness turned back up to full blast with no signs of disappearing. It only added to the pressure building up inside your abdomen to see him so overwhelmed, each muffled grunt and soft whimper of his spurring you on. Your words from earlier rang truer than ever—he was so weak for you.

You allowed him to stay that way for the sake of his sanity, petting his head with a gentleness that contrasted the steady pace of your bouncing. It wasn’t until you felt his cock begin to jerk inside you that he pulled his hands away from his face with a choked noise, reaching out for you once more.

“Can’t take it—mmph—‘m getting close! ‘M s-sorry!”

His fingers dug deep into your flesh, igniting heat at every point of contact. You basked in the feeling for as long as you could, then halted your movements altogether, pulling off of him in one fell swoop. The loss made both of your bodies cry out in protest. Chan hiccuped pathetically, mouth falling open, confused blinks reflecting in the mirror when your softness, your warmth, escaped him without warning.

He trembled underneath you, tugging at your waist as he tried to get a handle on his voice. With care, you turned in his lap to come face to face with him again, moving slowly enough as not to break his hold on you, not even for a moment.

“Did I…” he panted. “Did I do something wrong?”

You brushed your thumb over his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had begun to accumulate. “No, baby. You’re doing so well for me,” you assured him. “But you wanna finish together, don’t you?”

It was almost funny, in a sense, how the way Chan’s face lit up—how his features flooded with pure delight—made your heart flutter more than anything else. More than any irresistible sound he let out, more than any way he let you use his body to your heart’s content. You were just as captivated, just as endeared, just as hopelessly taken with him as that night in May, walking home alongside him under the moonlight and knowing your fate was sealed.

“Y-yeah, together. Together, please.” He leaned forward, nose finding your neck, taking in your scent. “Can we stay like this? Wanna see you.”

Your hand found his length again, wrapping just tight enough around it to make him jolt. “Hm…you can see me in the mirror though, can’t you?”

“Please,” he repeated, pouty lips brushing against your skin. “Only wanna see you. Need you.”

You relented. Regardless of how badly you wanted to get the message across to him, regardless of how addictive you found the sight of him on display in ways you’d never seen before, you knew he’d just about reached his limit. And, well, maybe you needed him too. Needed to watch him fall apart right before your very eyes, needed to have every bit of your skin pressed against his, needed to kiss him when it all became too much for his foggy mind.

“You’re so cute. I’ve got you, baby.” You tilted his chin up with your free hand, half-lidded doe eyes finding yours. Knowing him, the eye contact wouldn’t last long before he was ducking away again. So, you took advantage of it, realigning him with you and watching his features flood with pleasure as you sank down on him once more. He had to stop himself from bucking up into you, body stiffening with effort, a breathy, grateful moan, nothing short of angelic, slipping past his lips.

“You’ve gotta hold on for a bit, alright?” You gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re close. Can you do that for me, Channie?”

His arms wrapped around you in full, no longer content with just his hands on your waist. “Mhm.” He barely mustered up a nod, pulling himself closer to you in a way that burrowed his cock impossibly deeper inside. “Promise. W-wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna be a good boy for you.”

“My good boy,” you cooed. “See how well you fit inside me? See how good you make me feel?” You clenched around him as you dragged yourself up his length, snapping back down with a delicious speed. “You were made for me.”

“M-made for you,” he agreed, head falling forward to nestle into your chest. “Ah—fuck! You’re so warm. Feels s-so good.”

You dug your nails into his muscles, using your grip on him for leverage as you began working your way up to a pace even more vigorous than before. Immediately, the new angle took a toll on Chan. It allowed the head of his length to rub directly against your sweet spot with each rock of your hips, making the both of you shudder. You could feel his mouth fall open against you to let out an especially sharp cry, nibbling mindlessly at your flesh, matching your rhythm.

“You’re mine, t-too, right? Gonna stay with me?” he babbled into your skin. “Please, tell me you’ll stay. I’ll be good for you. P-please.”

The coil in your chest twisted just as tight as the one in your abdomen. You knew his thoughts were muddled, ridding him of any filter and making him ramble in the heat of the moment. But you also knew it stemmed from a very real fear, one that you would never feed into again.

“You’re already so good for me, Channie. You’re perfect. My perfect boy,” you spoke as steadily as your erratic movements and shaky breath would allow, ensuring that each reassurance found him. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m here ‘cause I love you.”

Chan whined, ringing out loud and clear even through the softness of your chest. “Love you. I love you so much.” He nuzzled further into you, strengthening his hold around you, hands pawing at your sides. The words seemed to have opened the floodgates within him, like he’d been waiting to hear them—the catalyst for him to lose himself in you completely. “Love you, love you, love you. ‘M almost th-there.”

This time, there was a short delay before you could bring yourself to stop. You didn’t want to let go of him again, no amount of time would be tolerable enough. So, you stayed perfectly still, indulging selfishly in the feeling of him inside you without snapping the final thread just yet. Chan lifted his head, disoriented, biting down on his bottom lip to fight back a pathetic groan as his climax was denied once more. You could feel his thighs quivering under yours, his arms flexing around you, his cock twitching wildly against your walls. Every bit of his energy was being expended to hold himself together, to endure it however many times you saw fit.

“You’re doing so well, baby boy. Lasting so long for me.” You twirled a lock of his damp curls around your finger, hoping to keep him grounded enough to hang on just a bit more. 

“Y-yeah? ‘M doing okay?” He brushed his nose against yours, a silent plea that you understood all too well by now. “Making you feel good?”

“So good, Channie. I’m getting close, too.” You closed the gap between you and him before his wordless request became another whine, taking his swollen lips between yours. They were hot, pillowy, unbelievably wet. You tried your best not to flutter around him, but it was impossible not to when he was humming so eagerly into your mouth, kissing without an ounce of self-control left in his system. His movements were sloppy, uncoordinated, but each messy slide of his lips sent another jolt through your senses. The hug he’d enveloped you in loosened at last, hands wandering obsessively over your body until he found your chest. He paused for a moment, mumbling out something that made drool drip from the corner of his mouth.

“Mmph, c-can I? Wanna touch, please.”

Even now, he was clinging to the last few shreds of his rationality for you, thinking of you above all else when the promise of his climax was dangling right in front of his face. It took the arousal coursing through your veins to a whole new degree, so intensely that you had to stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his lips out of raw affection. 

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmured.

Chan cupped the soft flesh in an instant, sighing like he was slipping into a dream. His kisses became near-frantic, so drunk on you that he had trouble staying confined to just your lips, landing on the corner of your mouth, all over your cheeks, pecking and sucking any spot he could. Despite that, his hands were gentle, kneading at your flesh in a delicate back and forth pattern that calmed him and kindled a fresh warmth in your body. He was doing so well for you, trying his absolute best for you. You wanted to give him everything. You wanted to take his heart that he offered up to you so willingly, and give him yours in return.

“Ready to keep going, Channie? Can you take it?”

“Y-yeah. Yes, please,” he breathed. “Gonna do it for you. I’ll do anything.”

“My sweet boy.” You cupped his cheeks, steadying his clumsy kisses, but holding him just close enough to keep him content. He hissed softly as you began moving again, rolling your hips down so that his length grinded against your walls, stimulating every nerve-ending inside you. The heat building between your bodies became much harder to ignore, filling the air around you and seeping into your skin. It was heavy, thick, but it made you feel lighter than ever. Your high was drawing near, and, judging by the way Chan’s hips stuttered with less and less restraint, you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer either.

The pads of his fingers dug into your breasts just as he let out a warning moan. “Oh God, ‘m sorry. Please, don’t wanna finish without you. So—ngh—close.”

You grinded down against him, spine tingling when Chan yelped in response, so sharp it almost sounded like he was in pain. “Mm, just a little more, baby boy. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“I-I…oh, please,” he swallowed hard, eyebrows scrunching together as you dragged yourself all the way up his length, mind-numbingly slow. “Yeah, I can do it. I’ll be g-good.”

Your hands traveled up to his hair, tangling in his curls and pulling at them just hard enough to make goosebumps rise at his nape. “Channie listens so well,” you purred. “You were made to please, hm? Good boy, good boy.”

If your honeyed praises weren’t enough to push him alarmingly close to the edge, the way you squeezed around him as you sank back down, wrapping him in your heat all the way to his base surely was. Chan surged forward with a sob, head falling into your shoulder, fingers grasping at you helplessly.

“Your good boy,” he whimpered. “Please, please, ‘m not gonna l-last.”

You cradled the back of his head. “It’s too much, huh angel?” you pouted. “You can let it all out, now.”

“Together?” You could hear the strain in his voice, mere seconds away from losing it completely. “Together—ah—right?”

“Together.”

At that, you gave one last sloppy glide along his length, snapping the tension in both of you at once. Chan cried out, teeth grazing against your shoulder, hips surging up to push as far into you as your bodies would allow. A delicious heat seared through your senses, only amplified by the flood of his release coating your insides, stronger than ever from how long he’d been holding back. You tried to keep your own sounds under control, far more entranced by the ones slipping from his trembling lips. Mewls of your name, slurring out how much he loved you, chanting his gratitude like a mantra as you guided him through your shared high.

Minutes or hours could’ve passed and you wouldn’t have known the difference—you wouldn’t have minded either way. Eventually, the shivers in Chan’s body faded out, his panting evened into softer, more peaceful breaths. When he finally found it in him to pull his head from the comfort of your neck, droplets had begun to form in his eyes again. Not enough to spill down his cheeks quite yet, just enough to glaze his pupils over with happy tears, just enough to make them shine.

Your fingers danced absentmindedly in his hair, serving as a different pleasure from the kind that had just rocked your bodies. “You did so well for me, Channie. I’m proud of you.”

He blinked up at you. Slow, lazy, a dreamy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re s’ beautiful.”

“Sweet baby,” you murmured. “I hope you think the same when you see yourself.”

Anything he planned to say trailed off when you reached down for his hand, bringing it up to your lips. He was still buried deep inside you, hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch, but he did his best not to squirm as you pressed kisses to his fingertips, paying extra attention to the fading cut on his thumb. The pain was long gone, now. Still, it made a few glistening tears trickle out delicately. You kissed them away, too.

“You’re still my favorite reflection.”

Shy, barely audible, but spoken with all the sincerity in the world. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. It was a start, at least. Maybe the parts of yourselves that you loved in each other, you could eventually come to love in yourselves.

“Can we—?”

“Stay like this?” you finished for him, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Yeah, we can.”

He bumped his forehead against yours, letting out an exhausted giggle, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing. He was glazed with sweat, skin sticky, damp curls pressed to his forehead, but he shone with every ray of light that slipped through your blinds.

The urge to check on him, to fuss over him, to care for him, still nagged at your mind. That was something that would never change. You wanted to clean him up, wash away the soreness and soothe the marks all over his body. But he didn’t need any of that right now. He just needed you. That was it. From day one, it had been as simple as that. You didn’t need to do anything. You didn’t need to prove anything. You just needed each other. Maybe, you could stay wrapped up in the mess you’d left on each other’s bodies for a while—bask in it, even. 

Chan’s innocent nuzzles inevitably led to another kiss. Soft, but just as hungry for you, just as desperate to stay immersed in this moment. You shifted slightly on his lap, making your heart jump and making him jolt against you. The poorly concealed sound that built up in his throat might’ve made you giggle if you didn’t need him just as much. No more limits. No more restraint. You didn’t have to worry about taking him in moderation.

You wanted each other endlessly. You fell into each other again and again.

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A sudden buzz against your nightstand cut through the tranquil rhythm of breath that filled your bedroom, pulling you from the haze of sleep that had been pricking at your mind’s edges. It was a brief, low vibration, but still loud enough for you to worry that it may wake the boy in your arms. For once, you allowed yourself to be unavailable, not daring to disturb his peace for even a moment to roll over and read the notification. You already had a good idea of who it might be, anyway: Changbin, triple checking what time you’d all be meeting up for jjajangmyeon on Friday. The thought alone made fondness bubble up inside you, lips curling into a private smile. After four years of tardiness, absences, and missed deadlines, this was the one thing he was determined to be on time for.

Graduation was two days away. You and Changbin’s class ceremony would take place in the early morning, while Chan’s was scheduled for later that same night. Timed seamlessly with the rise of the sun and the moon. The finish line that you’d been terrified of for so long was a mere few steps away, but when viewed up close, it wasn’t quite so daunting anymore. Even if the path you walked next was still unfamiliar, uncarved by anyone before you to clear the way, you knew who you’d be walking it with, and you knew where it would lead you. You’d walk side by side with Chan, towards something better.

His family had flown in from Australia earlier in the week to visit, to attend his ceremony—to celebrate him. An occasion that was just as precious to them even with the bitter memories that surrounded it, even in its delay, even if Chan had spent the past two years convincing himself otherwise. He’d been a nervous wreck before leaving to meet with them when they first arrived, you could see it in every awkward shift of his feet, every subconscious rub of his neck, every unnecessary adjustment of his clothes. However much you’d tried to comfort him beforehand, however many grateful smiles he’d given you, you’d known that there was no real way to ease his apprehension. He hadn’t seen them in person for over a year, and, even prior to that, it’d been two years since he’d had an interaction with them that wasn’t engulfed in shame.

But when he’d returned, he had a smile that almost reached his eyes; hopeful. It hadn’t been perfect, everything wasn’t okay yet, but the seed had at least been planted for it to blossom one day. He’d missed them so much. It made your heart sing and ache at the same time. You only wished that he’d believed he deserved to see them before now—to stand in front of them as the son and brother that they loved, not as the collection of faults and disappointments he saw himself as. 

Though, you supposed you weren’t exactly one to talk. Your family would be coming into the city on the day of your ceremony as well, a very blatant reminder that you had yet to visit your hometown again like you’d promised them over the summer.

You weren’t quite ready to return yet. But just like Chan, you would be, one day. And you would try again. Of all the things you’d come to learn in your time with him, the value of upholding a promise was undoubtedly the most important one. You weren’t going to run. You would try as many times as it took until your home felt like home again, until you remembered all the good times, until the memories laced in every crack and crevice didn’t add to the sting in your skin, but eased it. 

You eyed Chan’s form through the darkness, nestled against you with his head buried in the softness of your chest—sound asleep, for once. 

Your arm was still draped over his waist, lingering at the small of his back where you’d been rubbing as he drifted off. In turn, his muscular arm was wrapped securely around you. Holding each other, protecting each other. An endless cycle of drawing strength from one another without growing any weaker in the process. You could give him everything, and not lose a single drop of yourself.

For the first time, you could hold someone in your arms without that underlying sense of dread spreading its roots in your mind. For the first time, your heart was still. A calm and clear surface of a lake, one that you hoped could reflect Chan’s light in its truest, most unbroken form.

You were no longer held together by a butterfly bandage, an ill-fitted adhesive, forcibly closing your wounds without giving them the chance to heal properly. At last, you were stitched up. Stitched up by the very same thread of fate that had brought you and Chan together. 

You didn’t have to ask to know that he felt the same. You could feel his emotions like they were your own, after all.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito is your creator, and you ought to listen to his rules. But something inside you wants more.

For Horrorfest request: I got two different requests for Mahito + creating a Frankenstein-monster style of reader, so this is for those!

Word count: 5400ish

notes: yandere, very dubious consent, power dynamic abuse, non-graphic descriptions of sex; violence and death (not against reader); Mahito in general is a warning

You are perfectly imperfect. 

Mahito is not entirely sure where he heard the phrase before –a women’s magazine, maybe, or some 1960s British film with upbeat, witty dialogue and blonde starlet at the helm–but as he stares down at your prone, sleeping body, he decides that it’s a phrase which suits you well.

You are a perfectly imperfect human, naked as the day he made you. Something in him puffs up at the thought, a hot sensation that makes his chest tingle. Yes, he made you, didn’t he? He is your… creator. Or as close to a creator as you will ever get in this world or the next, because whatever came before no longer matters. 

There is no before-you. There is only the you-of-now, resting with your eyes closed and your mouth slack and ah, here, now, finally–

You wake up.

Limbs jerk and your neck twitches and he wonders how much it hurts–the stitches criss-crossing your body like his own, keeping the various parts of you held together. The skin and muscle and sinew, bold black stitches sewn across your hands and arms and legs and chest and every single part of you. There is even, and he finds it a delightful detail, a stitch across one of your ears. It’s cute. 

Like you, he thinks. Cute.

Cute as you sit up on his makeshift operating table, testing out your newfound limbs. Cute as your eyes squint, as your pupils adjust to the dim lighting, as your gaze steadies on the only other living thing in the near vicinity–him.

Cute as you try to say your first words. 

“Ah…” You say, or try to say, and he wonders just how much of speech your soul remembers, and whether or not that connection will extend to the way your body works. No matter. He’ll just teach you, if necessary. 

He grins, and puts his fingers on either side of your lips, squishing them together.

“Hel-lo,” he says, slow, moving your mouth with the words. “Can you say that? Hel-lo?”

You blink at him, awareness and confusion seeping into your expression. The stitches that cross your face, going from the corner of your scalp across the top of your nose and landing around the curve of your neck, scrunch in with the effort.

Your mouth opens, and closes; he can hear the spittle in your mouth working, can see the way your cheeks move, the pink of your tongue testing out its boundaries.

And then–

Then, you lean forward, and he grins, eager to hear you try; but ah, you surprise him. Cute, ugly thing that you are. Your hand extends, wobbling, and your fingers loosely grip his own lips like they’ve never held anything before. 

“Hel-lo,” you mimic, slow, warbled, the word coming out almost foreign. “Hel-lo?”

He grins, and can’t help the croon of pure, unadulterated delight that follows. 

–

He has a lot to teach you. You, dear pet, are a lot of work. Not that he minds. Not that he views it as a chore. No, teaching you is some grand, extended hobby. More fun than reading, more fun than experimenting, even, because isn’t that what you are? A complex experiment.

A beautifully awfully blank creature that belongs to him: that’s what you are, and that’s the first thing he teaches you. That you are his, wholly, and everything you should know and do will come from him.

You accept it so easily that he laughs until he cries, and then laughs some more, when you reach up to touch his tears and ask him what they are, and why they come from his eyes, and why your own eyes don’t leak like that.

“Don’t worry,” he told you, catching his breath, adoring the way your recycled callused fingers felt on his cheeks. “You’ll get some of your own eventually.”

And you did, of course. At the most stupid time, which was frustrating, but something he could work with.

The first time you cried was the first time he brought a human home to experiment on. Some salaryman he’d fetched on his late night walk home, exhausted, barely able to hold up his briefcase.  Mahito had set you on the ground (you never complained about it being hard, and maybe soon he would give you something soft to sit on, sweet thing that you are) and told you to watch, excited to see how you’d react. Would you be confused? Scared? Or simply feel nothing, and watch blankly as the man died?

But ah, how disappointing. You’d cried, of all things. Your hands had flown to your cheeks, feeling the wetness; your skin had gone all splotchy–”My head hurts, I feel warm,” you’d told him–and your lips curled into a nasty frown.

“Why are my eyes leaking?” You asked, and Mahito had to think about it. Because he wasn’t quite sure. He decided to root around in your soul for the answer, and it was so strikingly simple that he imagined slapping himself for it. You felt empathy for the man. You thought he was like you. And if you were being hurt, well, you’d feel downright awful, too. 

Silly thing. So that was the next thing he taught you: that the people he brought down into the sewer were simply experiments. Not living beings, not like you, and certainly not like himself. Nothing for you to worry about at all.

And you simple, sweet thing, what do you do after he tells you this? You listen. You’re so good for him that when he pats you on the head and says, ah, silly goose, this is not a person, it doesn’t matter if it gets hurt, if it dies, if it screams until its mouth bleeds…. You believe him.

And now, you simply watch–or don’t, if he says it’s okay to go about your simple day–as he goes about torturing countless living souls. Stretching, twisting, bending, hurting. None of it makes a difference, because Mahito told you it didn’t. The most you react is sometimes covering your ears–”Why does sound hurt, sometimes?”--and curling up on the nest of blankets he’s seen fit to give you.

You’re a bit like clay, he muses. To be molded and shaped in just the right way. And if something doesn’t work out, well, he can simply squish you in and start over. 

There’s something freeing, something altogether delightful, in the fact that you learn what he teaches you, you know what he gives you. 

He does not teach the concept of freedom–why should he?--or the outside world. 

There shouldn’t be an outside world for a creature like you, only the world he creates for you; this damp, dim world where he is the only thing you need to care about.

-

You do come with some surprises. Some things, it seems, came along with your soul.

“I know what this means!” You blurt out, beaming, looking to him for approval as you grip the well-worn cover of one of his stolen books. You read the title slowly, carefully, but there’s that flicker of recognition in the way your mouth sounds the words, understands the connection between the printed text and its meaning. 

You know something he hasn’t taught you. 

He frowns–and you frown just as easily, setting the book down like it burned your precious fingers. Your eyes get wide and your mouth gets slack and you stammer out an apology, even if you don’t know why.

It is one of your most endearing qualities, this readiness to understand that what he thinks is bad is bad, and the uneasiness in him flickers away, just a bit. You’re still his clay, his creature, his pet. 

He reaches out and runs his fingers into your hair, gripping your scalp hard until you grunt. 

“Well,” he says, when you look up at him with those confused doe eyes. “I suppose you could read my notes back to me, when I do my work.”

If you had a tail, it would be wagging.

And oh, he almost drools on you, from the way your expression shifts from that confused worry to unadulterated delight despite the pain that must be radiating through your scalp–

It feels good, sometimes, to make you look this way. It’s a strange notion, one he doesn’t want to think too hard about. It’s only natural that you should feel pleasure when he is pleased with you, but why should he feel the same? 

It’s a conundrum. Something to write about in his notes–the private ones you’ll never see, of course. The notes about you, and himself, plans and plots, theories and guesses. 

It wouldn’t do, really it wouldn’t, if you saw his scribbles about making sure you didn’t learn something that annoyed him. A something that would make you want to leave, or know other people, or comprehend that you were your own individual being.

Ignorance is bliss, or so he’s read, and he intends to keep you that way. 

–

Oh, oh, oh–your breath comes out in wispy pitter-patters that almost match the rapid beating of your heart. 

This… This is not allowed. It is not allowed because Mahito, your master, your creator, said so. And what your master tells you, you obey, because that is how the world works. He’s told you so many times, and it makes perfect sense.

He knows what’s best, because he’s smarter, and stronger, and you’re just a simple person. You’re supposed to make him happy, and would it make him happy, to break this rule? No, is what he would say.

And yet–you wonder. He likes it when you learn, when he teaches and you actually get it and can repeat it for him on demand. 

Like when you learned to walk without falling down, or when he taught you to stay still while he squeezed and touched and tickled your various body parts to see if they still worked. That was difficult, and it took many tries, but when you finally did it right, he praised you. Even if it made your stomach flutter in strange ways, and you were sometimes sore afterwards.

Would doing this make him praise you? Or would it make him angry?

Your fingers ghost over the covers, some of them all cracked and worn, others looking fresh and shiny. Books. His books. They’re all over the world, in stacks and stacks. On his hammock, on the floor, on the stacked table he said was a “book shelf.”

He said you weren’t allowed to touch any of his books or papers. Only what he gave you, when he gave you, and sometimes he even pointed to a line and said don’t you read past that, little pet, and you didn’t.

But he wants you to learn, doesn’t he? And you can learn from these books. Maybe you’ll learn something that makes you better, helps you avoid those stumbles that sometimes make him frown. Like when you first remembered how to read, or the time you tried to talk to one of his experiments.

Oh, you didn’t mean anything by it! You were just–bored. And while Mahito hadn’t been as sore once you told him why you tried to talk to it, he’d still punished you (rightfully so, you had been bad) and told you never to do it again. Unless he said so. 

So–so yes. He said not to read these books. But. If reading these books helps you be better, and being better means you’ll make your master mad less often, then reading these books is the right thing to do.

You just won’t tell him, and he won’t have any reason to be mad about it.

It’s so simple, you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before. Well–you can believe that. You aren’t very smart, or so your master says, and he knows everything. 

This will help then, won’t it? He knows what’s in these books, but now you will, too. 

With a lurching feeling in your stomach, you pick up the first book, a hard one with a shiny glossy cover that says HUMAN BIOLOGY, and flip to the first page.

–

You read about lots of things, and every one of them makes you wonder. 

The biology books make you wonder why your body looks like this, but all of the pictures of people (inside and out) look like that. You had never wondered before; you looked like your creator, and that seemed normal enough. But… none of these other people were all mismatched and jumbled. None of these other people had scars everywhere, patched together by black stitches that sometimes itched. 

The romance books are nice, even if they make you feel a bit funny. Your master touches you like the people in these books touch each other, but it’s not quite the same. He never says the same words, “I love you,” or asking, “Do you want me?” before he touches. You’re not sure exactly what love is just yet, but you’re sure one of these books will explain it properly.

One thing you learn is that the world is not actually the world. The world, you thought–you were taught–was just… here. With Mahito. In these walls, within the damp stone. But there is a whole entire world out there with things you’ve never seen before. 

Things you’ve never seen or done. Things that make you wonder why you live one way, and the people in the books another. People seem to live in houses, but this place does not match the descriptions in the book at all. People get married–you’re not sure what it means, really, except they are together, so maybe you and Mahito are married, after all? He does kiss you, and more besides. 

People have children, and these seem to be tiny people that grow up. But you don’t have any children that walk down a staircase–you have seen these in photos, and patch them into your images of houses–in the morning and complain about being tired. You don’t have a yard with a garden to tend to; you wouldn’t mind it, actually, from the pictures of flowers you’ve seen. They could be pretty.

You wonder how they smell. The books tell you most of them smell quite nice. 

It is this sort of wondering that gives you the strongest itch to tell your master that you’ve been reading, so that you can ask him to take you outside. Sometimes you even mouth the word to yourself, when you’re alone. “Outside.” It feels wonderful on your tongue, all tingly. But then your stomach hurts and you think he would be mad about the reading, so you don’t ask at all.

Not everything you read makes your stomach curl. You read about lots of things, things that make you smile, make you laugh. Things that make you forget the reason you started reading was to make Mahito proud of you, to learn how to be better. Things that have nothing to do with being better at all.

Even you realize that learning about the world outside isn’t going to help you in here. But the world outside sounds so… so… big. Big and full of things to see and do and experience. Full of people, trees, buildings and even animals. 

Oh, you really do love the idea of animals. One of your favorite books is a well-worn guide book to birds. Birds. What a wonderful thing they must be, all pretty colors, flying around in the sky; in the outside. 

What would it be like to fly? To have feathers with so many different colors? To make what the book calls “chirps” and “calls”? You’ve tried to imagine what they must sound like, but it’s hard, with no frame of reference.

And you can’t exactly ask your master to mimic them, either.

Sometimes, in your dreams, you turn into a bird. Feathers sprouting from your stitches and taking you up in the air. Birds, the books say, use their chest and supracoracoideus muscles to fly, flapping their wings in just the right way. You don’t think you have supracoracoideus muscles, except in your dreams, and you’re too afraid to ask. 

You’re glad Mahito hasn’t asked you about your dreams in a while. 

–

You are being so good today. So good, in fact, that Mahito has told you to sit quietly on your nest while he works on his latest experiment. You didn’t even have to read him his notes–you didn’t mind, and told him so, but he’d simply patted your head and said it wasn’t necessary today. 

So instead, you watched quietly, legs pulled up to your chest. It was harder to watch, ever since you started reading, because sometimes–

Sometimes you wondered if it was true, that the experiments were not people after all. They certainly look like the people in your master’s books. They talk like the people, sometimes, when they’re not screaming. 

But if your master says they aren’t people, well, he must be right. It does get a little frustrating when they beg you for help, because most of them can’t even see your master at all. That makes you feel a little sorry for them, sometimes, if they haven’t been screaming too loudly. If they could see your master, they might know he’s not doing anything wrong when he hurts them. 

He’s just learning.

Today, the experiment seems to be going well. Your master is smiling, humming, writing down his notes. You hope you’ll get to read these ones, eventually, but he doesn’t always let you. 

(He’s even got a private book, you’ve seen him scribbling in it sometimes. It is, however, the one thing you dare never to read. Not even to learn.)

And then the experiment does the silliest thing! When your master touches him, elongating his arms into a strange shape, he tries to run. Silly experiments, they never get far; but this one tries. He screams–ouch–and begins to run, flapping his arms like they’re on fire. No, flapping them like he’s a–

“Oh,” you say, leaning forward, a delighted smile on your face. “Like a bird!”

The man does not last long. Whatever your master did takes full effect, and he’s misshappen, no legs, a wiggling blob. Not like a bird at all, anymore, but it was nice while it lasted.

Nothing happens, for a moment. And in that moment you realize that something is wrong. It’s suddenly quiet, suddenly heavy.

Mahito, your master, your creator, slowly turns his head towards you with an expression you’ve never seen before. His pupils are too small, his mouth open in something like surprise. “A bird?”

“Yes,” you say, slowly, not knowing yet, not catching on. “It’s–his arms, you see? The way they moved.” You sit up on your knees and mimic the way you’ve seen birds flying in still photographs, the way you sometimes try to fly in your dreams. “When birds fly, they use…” But you stop, because Mahito is frowning. And when Mahito is frowning, you are doing something wrong.

But what, and when, and…

“How would you know what a bird is, pet?”

Oh, no.

The realization makes your guts clench so hard that you almost think you wet yourself, and you throw your hands over your stomach at the strange new sensation. An awful stomach-churning feeling. 

You don’t quite know what it is, but a memory from a book you read comes wafting back; a book about a woman who lives alone and a man tries to break into her house and kill her. She’s scared. Is that what this is? Are you scared? 

There’s no time to really wonder about this, because Mahito stalks over and grabs you by the hair, yanking you up until you’re on your feet, reflexive tears in your eyes. 

You don’t struggle, because he has explained to you that when you’re bad, he’s meant to treat you like this. And sometimes when you’re good, too. You’ve never figured out if there is a difference. 

“You’ve been reading my books.” Not a question, and you don’t answer. “What else have you been reading about?”

“Nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. You scrunch your eyebrows together: that wasn’t what you should have said. You have read about lots of things. He asked, and you should have told him. That’s the rule he gave you. Simple and easy.

“I’ve read about lots of things,” you correct, confusion spilling from your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say nothing. I don’t know why I did.”

His eyes widen, and you don’t know what he’s thinking, but there’s that small-pupiled look of surprise again. “You lied,” he says.

Something in you wants to struggle against the tight grip on your hair. It hurts. You don’t like it, when it hurts, that something says. Even though your master says it’s okay for things to hurt. Which is right, your master, or that something-inside-you that has only gotten louder in the last few weeks. 

“I didn’t,” you say, some instinct pulled from deep inside you to deny, deny, deny. Then you pause. “What is a lie?” 

His expression never loses its own sense of almost horrified wonder, even as his other hand comes to caress your face, catching against your stitches. 

“When something isn’t true. And it’s not true, is it, that you haven’t read about anything else?”

“Yes–no.” Your little head is confused, and the sting in your scalp doesn’t help. “I did read other things. Lots of things.” You swallow hard. “I just wanted to know… to know…” 

But how do you explain it, this desire to know? The desire to know that went beyond pleasing him, making yourself better for him?

“Know what?” He murmurs, almost not a question, releasing your hair. You take the opportunity to put your hands in your lap, holding them tightly together, as all of the knowing you’ve been doing in the past few weeks catches up with you.

The questions come like bubbles in the water, one after another, having been crammed inside your head for far too long without a proper outlet.

“Why don’t I ever talk to other people? Why do I look like this, when they don’t? Why don’t we go outside? I want to see, I want to know–” Your fingers hurt from how hard you wring your hands together. “About the sky and the animals and the birds and what music is and how a train sounds and how many wheels do they have, and there’s more, there’s more, I just can’t say it all–”

You can see his expression shifting, but you’re so steeped in your own release of the knowing that you don’t heed it as a warning. Instead, you ask something that has been bothering you a bit. A lot, if you were honest, and you were supposed to be honest, weren’t you?

“What are we?”

His gaze narrows as he looks down at you, and you don’t want him to look at you like that. Not with the question you want to ask. 

“What are we?” He repeats, a hint of something in it that makes you feel ashamed. A joke–no, that’s not the proper word. Mockery, you think. Mimicry. Birds can do that, but, you’re not wanting to stay on the topic of birds just now.

“Are we…” Your brain fumbles for the word, flipping through the figurative pages you’ve read and read and read. “Married?” Yes, that was it. Many of the people in the story books you read had marriages. And other things, too, that you don’t have, and he hasn’t talked about giving you. 

“Do you love me?” You say, voice rising in pitch. “What is love, exactly? And why don’t we live in a house, in a neighborhood, with a street and a fence? Why don’t we have children? Why don’t I have a job or a dog or parents or ride an airplane–” 

He shoves a palm over your mouth and you do finally heed the warning: Stop. Talking.

Your breath comes out your nose against the top of his palm, and your stomach hurts, and all of this feels so awful that it’s a relief when he speaks, even if he’s not happy with you.

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow and he frowns and his mouth twitches before he smiles, but it’s not a smile that makes you feel better. It almost looks–like a lie, you think, the connections falling into place. He’s smiling, but he’s not happy, and that makes it a lie.

“Why do humans always want more,” he asks lowly, and you almost try to answer before he presses harder against your mouth, making your teeth ache. 

“Even broken ones, remade ones,” he continues, “always seek out more.”

If his hand wasn’t on your mouth, you would ask what he meant. You try to think about an answer, and maybe when he pulls his hand away, he’ll be happy that you came up with one. But it’s hard to get your mind around the question.

It’s too slippery, too vague. Are you the broken one? If so, he should fix you. And what was wrong with seeking out more? Isn’t that why he taught you things? Maybe you learned the wrong things from the books; but he should have read them to you, and corrected you, if he was worried about that.

It’s all too much, too confusing, and before you can stop them, tears are leaking from your eyes. Hot ones that make your eyes scrunch and you cry openly against his hand, wanting the confusion to stop, wanting the ache in your chest to go away.

Instinctively, your hands reach for his arm, holding him like you sometimes hold your blankets.

His eyebrows raise again, and there’s a flash of surprise before he smiles. This time, it doesn’t look like a lie.

“You poor thing,” he says, crouching down and bringing you to your knees with him. His hand leaves your palm and your little sobs come out openly, almost barking into the air. “You’re so confused, aren’t you?”

You nod, and it’s true, and you resolve to never lie again. Lying hurts. 

“I-I don’t know what I did wrong or why I did it wrong and you’re mad,” you tell him, open, honest, like you should be. The words come out fast and stumbled.  “I thought I could read books to be better but now I know about birds and I don’t know what they sound like or why I don’t have things and why I’m so… so…”

The word doesn’t come and that only makes you cry harder. 

He coos, and pulls you against his chest. It’s familiar, this soothing, and it makes you feel warm even as those confusing thoughts stay stuck to your brain.

“Want to know a secret about the two of us, pet?” He asks, speaking against your hair. “A secret about you?” Every syllable is soaked in the promise of knowledge.

“No,” you breathe out, and it’s that buried-deep-down instinct again, pushing the word through your lips for you. You’re glad, though, because you realize this wasn’t a lie at all. You don’t want to know a secret. If the books you’ve read are to be believed (and are they?) then secrets always lead to trouble.

You don’t want any more trouble. Not now. 

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Really? I thought you wanted to know everything.” A touch of amusement in his face, and you cling to it like a lifeline. You remember this side of your master; the side that smiles and pats your head. It’s much better than the side that smiles when he’s not happy at all. 

Your arms latch around him, snuggling as close as you can get, your face pressed against his chest. “Can we go to bed?” Your words are muffled against him, but you’re sure he understands. “I’m so confused.” And tired, and worried, and scared. All these awful feelings swirling around in your guts, making you want to be sick. 

Mahito pulls away from you, and there’s a brief snatch of fear before he begins to wipe at your tears with his fingers. He wipes too harshly, and his nails catch on the lid of your eye, making it sting. You don’t pull away. You remind yourself, if he thinks this is how he ought to stop your crying, it’s the best option.

Is it really? says that deep-deep-deep-down voice, and you tell it to be quiet, you’re tired, you aren’t thinking right, and it should stay buried with whatever secret your master knows. 

“Poor pet,” he whispers, cooing. “It’s all too much, isn’t it?” You nod, chin wobbling. His hands go from your cheeks to your head again, petting you on both sides, snarling in your hair. “I could make it go away, if you want.” Sticky words that you want to reach for.

His hands smooth all around your head now, and it’s almost like he’s trying to feel something inside. Like your brain, like your thoughts, like everything that makes you tick. 

Your eyes get wide and all you know is that when your master says something, it’s true. 

Is it really? repeats that voice.

“You could?” is what you say, because it’s simpler that way. Simpler to remember the way things were before the world had birds, when what he said was exactly so. 

“If you’ll be agreeable to it,” he tells you. 

His hands trail from your head down your shoulders, your neck, your chest, down and down and down, tracing each stitch on your body. And something in you–that deep-deep-deep-down part of you–says this is wrong. He shouldn’t touch you, you should be screaming, clawing at him, getting out of here. 

But you push that something down, with the birds and the children and the stories of courtship, with the way your hands trembled as they flipped each page, with the way you felt proud of yourself for finishing each book. 

Those things were nice, until they were not so nice; until they upset the very creator of your being, and made you too confused and hurt to think about them. What good was knowing about the more when the more made him upset? 

It feels better, not to think too much. Not to know so much. And if he can fix you–if he’s willing to fix you ,then it’s what you want, too. You think. Maybe. Yes? 

“Of course I will,” you stay, trying on a smile.

You can’t tell, even as his hands go from touches to gropes, if it’s a lie or not. 

–

You’re finally sleeping now, and he doesn’t mind sighing, sprawling out on the floor and watching with his chin propped into his elbow.

What an awful human trait, this desire for more-out-there-in-the-world. What good is creating your own little creature if it always wants to find out its place in some grander scheme of things? The only world you should know is here, and him, and yet you had to get your grubby little hands on his books and read about ridiculous notions.

You probably didn’t even understand some of them, maybe most of them. That is fascinating, in its own right. He wonders what you would do, if you saw a pretty little robin hopping on the ground, about to get pounced on by some neighborhood cat.

Would your expression of delight turn to horror as the bird was mangled in the cat's jaws? Or would you not process it as horror at all, but simply an experience to learn about? Could he touch you to overlook it, as he has his experiments?

It’s tempting, sometimes, to see what you would do with more outside stimuli. But that temptation doesn’t go too far, because the whole point of your being was to shape you for himself. And that does not include this damned human desire to explore the inside and outside, forever expanding your knowledge of whos and whats and whens. 

Well. At least you didn’t put up a fight at the notion of being fixed. At least you seemed properly subdued, once he made it clear he wasn’t pleased. He’d brought you up well enough, after all. 

He’s not sure he can really pull it out of you. There are many ways to reshape the soul, and the soul he pulled into that cobbled-together body has certainly been–well, changed, by the experience. 

Could he change it further? Wipe out your memory of those books? Maybe he could reach further down, deep down into your soul, and yank out the offending desires like weeds from a garden.

Maybe so.

For his own pleasure, he’s willing to try again and again, until you are just right. 

He owes it to himself, after all, to never give up on his most thrilling experiment. 

[jolalibrary]

3. heather purple

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you do wear a top and jeans tho. minor worrying/nervousness. no use of y/n. an: i love them i love them i love them

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nervous energy pulsates through you.

It first manifested as a rattle, an annoyance when your eyes opened this morning. Now, it had grown into moving things half an inch and constant tapping—on surfaces, on you, on walls. All restless, practically relentless—vibrating and thrumming.

Then, your teeth began lazily, grazing over your lower lip, eyes flicking to the clock—fingers adjusting your laptop on the counter for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.

With a catch of your thumb, your phone illuminates, another nervous-tic, another thing you've been doing for the last so many moments.

Even if you know he’s on his way, having told you as much.

Normally, you would find it easy to calm yourself through pacing, the flexing of your fingers, and deep, soothing breaths. But not this time.

This time, it lingers. A persistent knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel and instead attempts to bathe in giddiness—a sensation you’d never imagined, never mind expected.

Suddenly, with another fluttering jolt, you wish you could backtrack the messages you had sent. The ones that had invited him—jovially, before seriously.

Because despite spending several minutes leaning on your cool, kitchen counter, with a glass of water pressed to your neck, warmth is still radiating from your skin.

The thinnest layer of sweat still remains on the base of your spine, sticking; the same as it is around your head—no matter how often you dab it away.

Admittedly, it’s all self-inflicted. Caused by the fact you had tried on a thousand things within the last half an hour. All of the failures were discarded, shoved (all unceremoniously), at the bottom of your closet, the door shoved shut in frustration.

Nothing had felt right. Nothing had looked right.

A mess of worries and overthinking churning in your head, all caused by your friend's echoing voice as you stared at yourself in the mirror:

Do you think he’ll size up your new office and then size you up? Do you think this is a date? Do you think he’s expecting to see your bedroom? Because if you count the coffee, this is the third, which means—

At the time, it had been easy to laugh. Play it down—continue to wash your dishes and clean around the sink.

But, it’s when the goodbyes had been exchanged; when there were no more cups or plates to clean, and you found yourself alone with nothing but the sounds of suds swirling down the drain. That's when your mind began to wander. To weave patterns of concerns, begin concocting.

Do you think…Do you think?

Do you think?

Deep down, you know it doesn't matter. Less so as your hand brushes over your face, heavy sigh exhaled, because he'd be here soon.

In your home.

Frankie would be able to see the poor state of your “remodel” or “flip” or whatever term it is for when you buy a rundown thing and try and make it liveable. He'd be able to see exactly why you'd looked lost in the hardware store he works, because look at your home. The place where you rest, sleep and work.

You could come and see it for yourself, wouldn’t need to keep guessing what I’m dreaming up. Yeah? You sure? Well, it would be easier than me trying to explain the issues I’m faced with because until an hour ago I didn’t know what a wrench was called. What did you use to call it? Tightening-tighty. Fitting name. I thought so too—until your latest “helpful” video ruined it. At least you’re learning now how selfish I am. You are, but I’ll forgive you because you have a nice smile. Is the smile enough to upgrade me from DMs to a phone number? Oh, you are pushing it. Well, to keep on pushing and this is presumptuous, but I can come round tomorrow. After I’ve finished up at work. Luca is back with his mom. Yeah? Send me your address and I’ll be there, rainy. I’ll send you my number too, so you can call when you leave.

And you had.

Then, tomorrow had become today, and you’d found yourself trying to flood the worries from your half-a-job redecorating with cleaning.

Some of it alleviated by decluttering half-empty boxes from around the base of pale walls, but part of it added more issues to your plate because suddenly you wished you had more plants. More colour.

More anything.

Because it’s bare, a barren of nothing. There are marks on the floor not lifted from scrubbing and cracks in the wall that need filling.

Disappointment lands on your shoulders, weighed down with pinched regret—because you realise (once again, having lived in blissful ignorance) that there is so much to do.

Swallowing, you glance around, scents of wood polish and floor spray swirling. You glare at the many holes filled in by the previous owners. The ones not painted over just yet.

Because you hadn’t decided on a shade—no colour scheme having jumped out.

The place is all just pale, off-white or faded magnolia.

"Fuck."

The urge to crawl into a ball rises, a sickening feeling swirling.

Somehow, if the state of your home doesn’t scare him away, a small part of you knows it can find comfort that maybe your humour is enough to keep him around.

A thought that should relax you, but instead makes your stomach twist more. Because you're not actually sure you're that funny. A realisation that forces your palms to become tacky, the thinnest layer of sweat trying to appear there, as well as everywhere else.

Because you like him.

The knowledge of it pricking at you, making you bite the skin from your lip and pick at your nails; it makes you wiggle your toes inside your socks on the wooden floor and fight a smile at something funny he’d said last night.

And then you hear it.

Wheels. Tyres crunch gravel as a black pick-up pulls up outside your home. One you remember from outside the store, from parking several blocks down from yours.

He’s here.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s fucking here—

The thought rotating, spinning—like a whirlpool drenching you in more sweat and making your head dizzy all at once.

You can’t move, can’t unstick yourself from the floorboard you’re on. Watching. Transfixed. Both feeling joy that he has come (as he said he would) and filled with horror because it’s happening, it’s all fucking happening.

With each step he takes up your drive, you want to bolt from your place and hide in your bedroom. Pretend you’re not home. Pretend something came up.

But you can’t lie.

Guilt swallowing that immediate thought. Watching him get closer and closer, until his knuckles wrap on the door, the noise filling your barely-filled home.

Fuck.

You manage to move then. All quiet steps. Delicate in how you cross the room that’s become a poor attempt at a living room.

Wrapping your palm around the handle, you’re surprised at its sudden heaviness—all cold, so cool against your skin it almost makes you hiss. Almost slipping when you turn it, palm so slick with nervousness as your arm tries to vibrate in its socket.

Opening the door, you disguise it. Layer all your worries and unravelling under a mask. Smothering and burying it in a smile—practically instantaneously. As though it’s the easiest thing to do around him.

But then, it is.

Because even if the rest of your body is having some reaction to the idea he could be stepping inside, you find yourself unable to help but grin. Not able to help lighting up like fairy lights hanging in the darkest night.

And, in the milliseconds of the two of you standing there, you actually begin to feel better.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply, grin growing, forcing your cheeks to hurt in a matter of beats.

And you know you should move, let him in. But, what does it mean if you do? That voice, the one growing louder, who speaks nothing but worse cases and negativity, begins to increase in pitch. Smothering the sound of birds and someone cutting their grass several houses down.

Because is he here to measure up, to give recommendations—or will he kiss you again like he did against your car? Will his mouth move to other places, hands busying themselves, peeling? Will he be disappointed by what lies underneath your comfortable t-shirt and—

“You gonna invite me in?”

Pausing, you lower your gaze to the floor, leaning against the door for a moment. Eyes catching spots of purple on his jeans, finding yourself staring, glancing at how they resemble petals scattered in a careless dance.

You know it likely was accidental, a mere mishap, but it looks pretty, intentional. Even if it's likely tarnished an overworn, maybe slightly beloved pair of jeans.

He says your name, forcing your head up. Speaking it all soft—so full of care and intention—it almost makes you swoon and crack. Almost makes you widen the door to let him inside.

“I’m embarrassed. It’s… it’s not even—“

“Hey, hey, look at me.” And you do, like nothing could be simpler. “I know you haven’t long moved in—and, you wouldn’t be askin’ for an opinion if it looked the best it ever could. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, let me in b… Rainy, please.”

You don’t miss it.

Even if you pretend you do.

It circling, playing. Imagination fuelled up and running the show now.

A thing which drowns the worries, holds its head under water as your brain begins to wonder what him calling you baby could sound like, be like.

Slowly, you lift your head from the door and step to the side to let him in.

Thankful you do, because you catch the scent of the hardware store—one you found you’ve actually really, really missed.

As though picking up on the thousand hints at how on edge you are, Frankie asks to see the dresser.

Makes a comment about needing to see if the paint covered, if butterscotch orange looked as good on wood as it did on walls.

You don’t argue, instead leading the way. Take him past your sofa and armchair right into the kitchen. As you do, he shares his day, weaves in bits on Harry—how he’s nothing but a torment, even if he says it with a grin.

“He asked about you.”

Thankful for the pot boiling, you pour him a cup of coffee, placing it down before clutching your own. Admiring the way he’s squatted down next to the dresser—fingers sliding over the edges.

“And, what did you tell him?”

Shrugging, Frankie looks over his shoulder—a smile there, evident, easily present. “Said I would ask when I saw you tonight—but, that I assumed you were good from how much you made me laugh last night.”

Heat burns your ears, almost making them match the temperature of your palms from being around the mug.

You think, search, and feel desperate for something to say, all aiming to fill the emptiness when you begin explaining what you’ve already done to your 'cheap find'.

Doing so with as many technical terms as you remember from videos—how you’d restored it, sanded it, etc, etc.

It’s only when he looks over his shoulder again, do you realise how not-weird this is. How it doesn’t feel wrong—relaxing at the realisation, the room and house following suit.

Resting the cup to your chest, you clear your throat, “You know, you’re the first person outside of my best friend that’s been here.”

Brows raising, lost under his hat and curls, his smile slides up further into one cheek. “That makes me special, right?”

“Oh, I think you know you’re special, Morales. I’ve read the comments under your videos.”

A bark of laughter leaves him, head shaking, attention turning back to the dresser as he runs his hand over the top.

“You’ve done good.”

Instantly, you grin. Folding your arms, remaining leaning against the side of the kitchen counter as you almost let a ‘yeah?’ escape, that you instead trade for: “You sound surprised.”

“You did imply you were hopeless.”

Shrugging, you watch him stand tall, fingers itching under the front of his hat as he leans against the wall.

“I am still hopeless.”

Shaking his head, he does nothing but grin—gifting you one full of warmth and sunshine. “I think you’ve just not had someone to show you, that’s all.”

“That going to be you?”

His tongue slides into his cheek, giving a half-shrug as he moves closer, pausing at the side of your kitchen counter. “If you want.”

“You don’t mind that I might have Pinterest boards?”

Chewing his cheek, he smirks as broad and as wide as his shoulders—as though it is difficult to contain. “You definitely have them. Wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t?”

Heat warms your cheek, and remains there—burning and pulsing as you avert your eyes briefly. “Maybe I have them.”

His laugh escapes quickly, almost loudly, booming and echoing like before. And you want him to do it again, needing to, as soon as it dies down to flood from him and land against the walls again.

But, instead, you take a large mouthful, placing the mug down. "Shall I show you my dream?"

Heading to show him the spare room, the one that you’re hoping to make into an office, his work boots sound out, echoing around the stripped-back hallway and bare flooring.

There's a comfortable quiet you don’t wish to allow to shift when you head down the hallway, beginning to explain. Hands moving, gesturing, sporadically glancing over your shoulder as he follows—finding his eyes don’t fall to the open boxes, but remain firmly on you.

It isn’t until you step inside the open doorway and he pauses at the do you (on command) continue talking. Slowly pointing to where you think you’d want things. Listing, nose-scrunching as you say how nice it would be to have floor-to-ceiling shelving, an armchair—a desk with space for work. A plant here, maybe one there.

How you want to move from your kitchen counter to in here for work—maybe put up a piece of art here, some nice curtains there. A real desk chair that’ll support your back.

You only stop when you look back and find him resting his forearm on the doorway, not looking anywhere around the room, just at you.

And it makes you pause. Mesmerised, by the way he rolls the pads of his fingers against his thumb, his forearm flexing and how the end of his t-shirt has slightly risen due to his leans. It undoes you, making you forget what room you're even standing in as your brain melts and you become rendered completely, fucking useless.

The spell doesn’t break until his arm drops, fingers push his hat up, eyes warming as he takes the space in. “You want to work near the window?”

Nodding, you move to the side, allowing him space, watching him as he takes his eyes off you, moves into the room and stares around. He sweeps his gaze, brows furrowing occasionally before he stops close to the window.

Sliding the pencil from the top of his ear, he pulls a pad of paper from his pocket. Jotting things down, sketching—eyes zig-zagging across the wall as he tries to mark whatever his thought is down. Mouth moving, occasionally hearing him working out numbers, before the sound is muffled by a scratch of the pencil.

You’re in awe. Just observing. Making no sense of what it is he’s drawing. Least of all what he’s thinking. But gosh, is he handsome when he does it.

More so, when that soft smile creeps back over his face at you watching him, and you worry (briefly) whether you’ve said it out loud.

“You’d have a nice view if your desk was here.”

“Got a nice one right now.”

Snorting, Frankie rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into his cheek. “How much do you hate yourself for saying that?”

“Only a smidge,” you say, finger and thumb close together.

Holding his stare, you find the softness of his smile has spread to his eyes, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little more than a smidge," you amend, your own smile mirroring his.

His laughter fills the room once again, and you can't help but join in. The two of you standing there, and all you want to do is pinch yourself. Not sure how this could be real; how he could be, how all of this could be. How the grin on your face is really there and he’s really here—

“I’m thinking,” he begins. Voice clearing, eyes looking around. “We could build you a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves here like you want—maybe add some cupboards. Could be a nice backdrop if you’re sitting there. Can have it pre-built, or I can help you measure it, build it? Probably need—“

You should be listening. Maybe even making notes.

Not flicking your eyes to his lips, watching the way his face furrows or his lip curls in between listing things.

“How?"

"How, what?"

Swallowing, you exhale. "Did you get so good at that?”

His lips slide into his cheek. “At what?”

Tilting your head, you purse your lip, drop your arm from his shoulder, gesturing, finding the words. “I just watched you like—measure, with your head. I think I heard your brain... calculating?”

He pauses, mouth remaining open, a twinkle shimmering in his eye as he scratches at the curls hanging under his hat. “Oh, I… um. I used to fly. I was in the U.S. Army. Delta Force—guess I got good at measuring, doing calculations in my head, had to, you know?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that… that why you don't like to sit still either?”

Rolling his lips, he tucks the back behind his ear, nodding, a sheepish smile adorning his face.

“Well,” you say, “You’re good at it.”

Swallowing, he licks his lips, gaze not leaving you. “You not wanting to ask anything?”

“Should I?”

Shrugging, he licks his lip. Dragging it along slowly. “Some would.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not some, am I?”

He considers it, your answer. Turns it over.

But his response isn’t verbal; it’s a gentle tug on the belt loop on your jeans, pulling you close. Out of instinct, your arm drapes over his shoulder. Silently thankful for the outfit choice, for choosing a nice top and jeans. Especially as you stand staring at him, eyes taking him in as he does the same.

Your heart pounds loudly in this definitive pause. A chance provided to cast your eyes away, to ask him what else he's thinking.

But that’s not what you want—not what you need.

Not as you close the small gap. Not as you watch his stare, all heavy and scorching, and how it drops to your lips, following a similar path you had taken on his face only a second prior.

Kiss me, you think.

But you realise as his lips slide into one cheek, dimple deepening, that the words had flowed out instead. Stretched out, laid a red carpet from yours to his.

And it’s inescapable, the pull you feel when your mouth marries itself to his, when your palm remains flush with his cheek, being greeted by the tickling of the wiry hairs on his jaw.

When he licks into your mouth, you’re gone—thrown off course and falling freely, all willingly, not wanting to ever land and not at all in fear of the descent as you grip him for stability. Neither of you stop when his hat falls from atop his head, landing with a crack on the floor.

Because it might be odd to have missed a mouth before, but you have.

Suddenly feeling all is right now it’s back against yours, where you write a story against his lips and taste the words he wishes to say in return. The room is empty, quiet—no backdrop this time compared to the street before—and so you can’t mask your whimpers, and you can’t mistake the sound of him groaning when you move him back so his back meets the walls.

Distantly aware of his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close, mouth chasing yours as you begin to grin, begin to feel him mirroring it.

And then he stops.

Pulls back.

A look on his face that’s unreadable and scrunched.

“I…”

Shame fires inside of you, like a key in an ignition, roaring itself to life. “I’m so sorry, Frankie—I thought, I mean—“

His hand comes around your wrist, stopping you, halting you in your desired path to move from him. “Stop, baby. Please.”

Baby.

It's there again. But this time, fully spoken, not held back.

“I just… I just want to do this right, is all. I’m… fuck, I’m here to help you. Meant to be a professional. Don’t… I don’t want you to think I tricked you into letting me in so I could… you know.”

Heat rises, billowing out across your cheek and neck. “I don’t… I don’t think that.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “No.”

His chest fills before he lets out a loud exhale, thumb slowly drawing a circle on your wrist. “Good. ‘Cause…” he shakes his head as he bites his lower lip. “I want to take you out for dinner.” Index joining his thumb, both doing a pattern, as he whispers your name, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I want to treat you right. I… I don’t want to have come from work and—you know?”

Nodding you move a little closer, palm sliding over his cheek. “I know.”

He grins, sliding his palm down flush with yours, before he loops his fingers in between yours. “Good.”

“Good,” you whisper.

Tightening your hold on his, almost swinging it.

“Think you should kiss me again, though.”

Laughing, his eyes crinkle, dimple appearing briefly—but then he does.

Thank you for helping me move and assess the stability of my dresser.

No problem, glad to be of help.

I had a really nice time with you, Frankie.

How much did it pain you that you couldn’t work that into tease?

I’m wounded, bleeding out as we speak.

You need me to come back? Hold your hand.

Not sure that’s all I’d want you to do if you came back.

Not sure I’d keep my word about doing this right if I did either.

Because I’m an incredible kisser?

Because I didn’t want to leave you at all.

Wish you hadn’t, honestly.

Don’t tell me this, I’ll get back in my truck and come back.

Oh, the dreadfulness if you did.

Did you just use the word dreadfulness?

I did, and I stand by it.

What you doing on Friday at 7pm?

What do you want me to be doing on Friday at 7pm?

I want you to be sat opposite me at a place in town, candle in the middle.

Guess I can move things around to play footsie.

I’m eternally grateful.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[nocturnowlette]

Hypnosis File Recommendations!

Previous File Recommendation Post Here

I've been gently motivated to start listening to and re-finding old hypnosis files again due to the reception to the previous post. I've been surprised at the amount of actually decent files I've come to remember, but still struggle to find many files that really blow me away. As I've said before, though, I'm a very stubborn owl.

That all being said, here are more files for your consideration.

Read all descriptions and warnings before engaging with these files. Do not engage with anything here or anything in my blog if you are under 18.

--------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Voidritch's Experiment by Bloof

This is a ren.py game about being being a test subject for the eccentric Dr. Voidritch and his hypnotic experiments. It's rather silly and fun, while still having real hypnosis, and fairly competently done hypnosis at that. It's best to download it instead of running on browser.

There is also a sequel to this game called Lavender Labs, though I have not tried it. It seems a lot more like a slice of life thing with dating and hypnosis from the screenshots though.

The rest of these recommendations for today will be about one person, Dragontize.

I rediscovered her shortly after the last recommendation post, and was pleasantly surprised. The best way to describe her overall vibe is "deceptively cute".

She opens every file with the same endearing tagline, "Hello world, I'm Dragontize, I messssmerize with voice and eyes." Her voice is light and enjoyable, the intonation the type to make the edges of your mind feel like they're oozing with pleasant sensations in a minute or two of talking.

Her files are much more directly practical and hypnosis-centric than most, with even her fantastical story-based files keeping a good balance. This is all to say that at a minimum, you will enjoy yourself with these files, even if they may not blow you away.

A Slice of Fractionation by Dragontize

This is how I re-found Dragontize, the actual original file with Evil Fractionation I found! I couldn't locate it for a long time, and realized that the issue was DuckDuckGo being a kinda bad search engine when it comes to specific things.

While I'm working on an Evil Fractionation file myself, this one is a nice and casual overview of it.

Brainwashing Fractionation by Dragontize

A very straightforward and enjoyable fractionation file with the light theming of becoming a member of Dragontize Inc.

For the Very Motivated Subject by Dragontize

This is maybe her best file. It does an interesting sort of thing where the file functions as if you're in the room with her, signaling multiple times that she has moved in some way, but without actually seeing her at all. It doesn't overly describe what she is doing, it's a very naturalistic sort of script in contrast to the often overdetailed storybook manner that others do.

It also very effectively plays with the concepts of anticipation and focus. It demonstrates a better understanding of the psychological aspects of hypnosis than a lot of others.

Good Little Thief by Dragontize

Lastly, a light and fun fantasy session. It's about a thief that is tasked to steal something from a wizard. That's all I'll say.

I've been enjoying going through files even if I don't find many of them super effective. I hope you all will be able to enjoy them even more than I have.

[maiverie]

BITE BY BITE ┊ CHAPTER ONE .

in which you’re a vampire, and heeseung teaches you how he likes to be bitten.

SYNOPSIS. lee heeseung has one reputation, and it’s that he’s not afraid of anything: of rules, of authority, and especially not of vampires. he’s obviously bad news, and for such reasons, you’ve always made sure to never cross his path. it isn’t until one fateful night that you find yourselves face to face and what he tells you makes your entire world flip on its axis.

“bite me, fangs. just like last time.”

PAIRING. college playboy!heeseung x vampire fem!reader

GENRES. romance, fantasy, slight thriller

WARNINGS. swearing; blood and violence; mentions of death; descriptive & suggestive (makeout) scenes (no smut); some angst; heeseung is kind of a dick / overly flirtatious at times / slightly toxic (sorry I'm kinda into that)

╰ ( # ) tracking tag ‣ #(—BBB 🔗) ┊ SPOTIFY PLAYLIST! 📌

CHAPTER ONE. ╰ ✩ ┈ 7k ﹕masterlist ﹕ next . ╰ ✩ ┈ warnings : swearing, suggestive scenes, mentions of death ╰ ✩ ┈ a/note : narrative will flit between heeseung & yn's povs

“your son will die early.”

they say the scariest type of people are the ones who have nothing to lose.

“he will die before his twenty-fifth birthday.”

heeseung disagrees. 

he thinks those who have everything to lose are far more terrifying.

this was a lesson he learned when he was just twelve years old. 

he’s never really believed in fortune tellers, but that hadn’t stopped his parents from impelling him to visit one on his twelfth birthday. that fateful day was the first spark of what would soon become a raging inferno, because it was then and there that a morbid foretelling had been carved into his fate. 

“lee heeseung will die from two bites on his neck.”

there are two types of responses to a death curse.

one, wait for your death — wither away with each second that passes, like you’re a candle slowly melting until the flame is swallowed by a pool of liquid wax.

or two, be a fire — be a raging, catastrophic wildfire; one that scorches everything within its proximity and doesn’t wait to be extinguished, but has to be extinguished.

you can wait for death or play it like a game. 

heeseung chose the latter. 

he constantly plays dice for death.

“are you scared, heeseung?”

heeseung exhaled, his head thrown back as the girl straddled him. his back was pressed into the couch in the living room of his upscale penthouse, a body flushed against his while the two remained engulfed by midnight darkness — precisely how he liked it. in the dark, every sense felt heightened, like how her delicate fingers spread themselves over his neck, and how her mouth was so close to him that her hot breath tickled the sensitive skin below his jaw. 

“scared?” heeseung echoed with a twinge of amusement, his tongue coating his lips. he held her hips while she leaned forward and peppered kisses all over his neck. “that’s cute.”

“ah, so it’s not your first time being bitten,” the girl purred. she then glazed her tongue across his neck, indulging in a preliminary taste, like an appetiser before a full-course meal. “i bet you love it then. being bitten, i mean.”

“i guess i do,” he whispered, feeling slightly impatient as he angled his head closer and allowed the sensation of his breath over her ear to make her shiver — “but i love it especially when they stop wasting my time and get to the point.” 

his blunt words sliced through the atmosphere so abruptly that the girl seemed to halt in surprise. heeseung thinks it’s amusing that she reacts like this, because he knows he has a callous reputation that precedes him. is she surprised that what most people say about him is right?

he’s never been the type to dance around his words. he’s honest and forthright and as a result, doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he wants just one thing from this girl — nothing more. 

“o-okay, sorry,”  the girl cleared her throat and licked her lips. she inhaled deeply before opening her mouth wide enough that her fangs began to extend outward. heeseung could feel their sharp tips lightly graze his skin, which roused a flame of exhilaration within him. 

he felt his heart begin to pick up and he shifts in his seat, eyes fluttering shut with furrowed brows. 

a slow exhale escaped his nose.

two sharp pricks.

one.

two.

crunch.

a soft grunt leaves his lips. the instant he feels his blood surge up through his veins and out his neck, he waits for that surge of euphoria he had experienced a long time ago.

he waits and waits and waits — but nothing happens.

everything within him falls flat and all his anticipation dissipates like smoke in air.

again.

yet again, he’s disappointed.

they say the first bite for a vampire is a slippery slope, because once you have a taste for blood, the hunger becomes insatiable. ravenous. like there’s an unquenchable thirst to devour, and devour, and devour. 

heeseung wonders if the same could apply to him.

is it possible for humans to become insatiable?

is it normal that every time he finds himself here, his mind always floats back to that one girl?

he hasn’t been able to rest ever since that very first bite. 

in fact, he’s been relentlessly chasing that thrill — chasing her — for years. 

it comes with a sigh and a sharp decline of the exhilaration in his veins that heeseung realises tonight is no exception. 

tonight is just another unsatisfying bite. 

even after four years, he’s still not able to replicate the sensation he had his first time. 

while he knows that bite by bite he inches closer to death, he also knows nobody’s bite has ever felt quite as gratifying as yours — you, the girl of his first bite. 

tonight is the nail in the coffin.

he needs to find you.

after all, your bite is the only one that’s ever made him feel alive.

.

.

.

your dad always instilled one lesson in you: be relentless.

“hi!” you stepped forward to a fellow college student, your hand outstretched with a flyer. “would you like the chance to win a gift card valued at twenty dollars? i’m looking for study partici—”

the student scowls instantly, openly glaring at you. “get out of the fucking way, leech.”  

he shoves past your shoulder, bumping you hard enough that all the flyers in your hands fall and scatter everywhere along the concrete walkway. you stagger back, stunned by the sight of the disarrayed paper sheets on the ground.

second. that was the second time today that had happened. all your life, you’ve tried to come to terms with the fact that humans and vampires might never get along, but being treated this way certainly stung.

being relentless, as it seems, came at the cost of your dignity.

it’s been roughly two hours since you had arrived at your university’s front courtyard, sweltering under the sun in desperation of finding study participants for your course assignment. 

so far — nobody. 

literally not a single soul. 

your genius idea was that you’d be able to take advantage of the booming foot traffic at this time in the afternoon. after all, the courtyard has always been known to be the place students pass in between classes, especially since it’s lavishly embellished with open, wide cement walkways; gorgeous topiaries and flowers; and a stunning view of the main building out front. 

it’s your second year as a nursing student and, in a twist of sickening irony, this semester is all about haematology. blood. the lab project you’ve been assigned is simple: you need to gather some study participants, practise your phlebotomy skills, test their blood, and consult them for any blood-borne viruses. the only problem? it’s been about a month since you were assigned this project and you’ve been wildly unsuccessful in recruiting participants.

the reason why is so obvious that it hurts.

nobody in their right mind wants to trust a vampire with their blood.

be relentless, you echoed to yourself with another sigh, collecting the flyers off the ground.

with what little morsels of resilience you could muster, you stood back up and plastered a polite smile on your face, making quick strides to a pair of girls who were chatting under a large tree. they looked friendly, so you felt a hopeful shine to your lips as the edges tugged upwards.

“hi!” you beamed with a sunny grin, “my name is—”

“go gargle some garlic, fuck-face.” they sneered at you, slamming the flyers out of your hands. 

the flyers once again spatter everywhere on the grass, on which the girls are sure to trample over as they storm off. 

great.

you’re fucked.

there’s no way you’re going to be able to start this project, let alone finish it with a passing grade.

you know the optics of your situation are a little strange, but you really do care about nursing. yes, it’s ironic and ridiculous for a vampire to have anything to do with healthcare, but most things about you were a little ironic anyway. 

you’re the daughter of an eminent vampire and a blood descendant of hundreds of generations — with your inauguration coming up in two months, you were going to be formally recognised as the inheritor of your father’s legacy and fortune. this was supposed to be a prerogative of being the great park kangho’s daughter, but it felt more like a ball and chain to a predetermined future you wanted no part of.

it was all sunghoon’s fault — had your estranged brother not run away from the family like a coward, you wouldn’t be in this situation. it would have been his inauguration.

you know it’s weird that you don’t want anything to do with this, but heck — you barely understood how to be a vampire in the first place. you haven’t even had your first bite yet. it’s strange and a little embarrassing that you’re the first vampire of your family lineage to be scared of biting into a human, but you couldn’t help it — the thought was terrifying and has always been ever since you were a child.

this fear dates back to when you were twelve and a rumor had lingered around your classmates before it finally reached you. apparently, there was once a vampire who bit into the wrong human and died. 

it was unprecedented: vampires were always the predator and humans the prey, which explained your utter horror when the rumor turned out to be true. 

and it turned out to be about your mother. 

since then, you’ve lived your life scared in the shadows, puppeteered by trepidation and the looming fear that you might meet the same fate one day. as you’ve learned, being the one who bites doesn’t necessarily mean you’re the one who doesn’t get hurt. 

in this world, there are fish and there are snakes — people who bite bait and find themselves reeled in, and people who bite with the intention of injecting their venom. 

they both bite, but just one survives. 

frankly, you didn’t want to be either. and perhaps it was these things — a college degree and your new part-time job — that would save you from having to follow your father’s footsteps.

was it so bad to want to pass this semester? 

was it so bad to dream beyond the future set out for you?

you sigh with dejection, unable to withstand the way your shoulders slump. 

you run your fingers through your hair, freezing when your eyes flit into the distance and something catches your eye. 

lee heeseung is seated at one of the bench tables. there’s a crowd of people swarming around him — there almost always is — and he has one elbow propped up on the table, palm up with his chin rested on it. his gaze is initially trained ahead of him while he engages in a conversation with one of his friends, until suddenly — his eyes flick upward and you both lock gazes from across the courtyard.

your heart slows into a halt at the sight of his penetrating gaze, a complete coldness sweeping over your body to keep you frozen.

shit.

you quickly tear your eyes away from him, feeling your heart begin to pick up.

shit. 

shit.

shit.

if there’s one person in the world your father has always warned you about, it’s lee heeseung.

campus heartthrob, lee heeseung.

son of your dad’s most loathed enemy, lee heeseung.

chaos and fire in one pretty package, lee heeseung.

undeniably, devilishly handsome lee heeseung with silver, almost lavender locks and big, brown bambi-like eyes that looked far more innocent than they actually were.

your accidental eye contact was a cruel mistake, because it has now become the catalyst that prompted him to stand and slowly make his way over to you. you felt goosebumps across your skin as you hurriedly tried to gather the flyers in your arms, hoping to make your escape before he reaches you.

after all, heeseung is, for lack of better words — a snake. 

granted, you’ve only spoken to him once in your life, but the whispers of everybody around you seemed to suggest you were lucky. 

as the youngest son of his already notorious family, lee heeseung has the most infamous name in your college, one which induces a mix of both intimidation and intrigue. he has one reputation, and it’s that he’s not afraid of anything: of rules, of authority, and especially not of vampires. his repertoire consists of constant partying, illicit affairs, and a penchant for breaking girls’ hearts and collecting vampires’ bites.

he turned heads in every room he walked and based on the fleeting moments you’d seen him in the flesh, had an aura that was inexplicably captivating. there was a reason why he never struggled in finding company wherever he went — most people found his confidence extremely attractive. 

the worst rumor you’d heard was that he had some sort of obsession with being bitten. and that he’d dismiss people at the drop of a hat once he got what he wanted. you couldn’t think of anything worse than being involved with such a callous guy, which would explain the utter dread you felt when you saw his shadow hovering over your crouched body.

shit.

you gulp, feeling like cornered prey.

most people agree that he’s all types of bad news — that he’s a fire who easily burns anyone dumb enough to get close — yet he attracts people like moths to a flame. 

a flame.

you were going to make sure you did whatever it took to not get burned.

.

.

.

it’s obvious you don’t remember him.

heeseung thinks it’s kind of funny, actually — because most people are so well-acquainted with his name that when they meet him for the first time, they act as though they’ve known him for years.

but you don’t seem to remember him at all. 

nothing about you seems to indicate that you recall that night you two had first met, about four years ago under a willow tree on a cliff that overlooked the city.

you bit him that day.

while this is a memory vividly engraved in his mind, he thinks the fact you had fainted afterwards must be a contributing factor to your amnesia. 

“a twenty-dollar gift card?” he chuckles, eyes raking over one of the flyers from the pile he helps you pick up off the ground. “sounds fun.”

when he looks up and the two of you stand facing each other properly, heeseung gets the first glimpse of the subtle scarlet glow in your eyes for the first time in years. at once, everything within him ignites like fireworks — he feels excitement expand the walls of his veins while his heart drums with an echo, especially when you stare back at him and your proximity allows your familiar scent to flood his senses. 

he can’t help but lick his lips as his mind flits back to that night and the ecstasy you gave him with just one bite. 

the willow tree. your hair. your hands. your fangs. 

shit. you’re even cuter than you were back then.

heeseung has always had a habit of chasing pleasure.

it’s safe to say he’s decided that you’ll be his next chase.

“uh, thanks,” you whisper, watching him pick up the last of your flyers. he also notices the empty sign up sheet on the ground, so he adds that to the top of the pile before holding it out for you to take.

when you take the flyers from him, he senses your hesitation, which makes it obvious that you probably don’t have the best impression of him. it’s fine; he can easily change that. “your study sounds interesting,” heeseung flashes you the charming smile and moon-crescent eyes that most people seemed to fall for.

unfortunately, it has the opposite effect. you don’t do a great job at hiding your grimace, because it’s there in your eyes and in the way your lips slightly dip. you’re suspicious of him. he can’t blame you — after all, he just watched you get shut down and sneered at by several people for half an hour. 

that, and the fact that unflattering rumors seem to follow him wherever he goes.

“not many people seem to think so,” you clear your throat, gnawing on your lips. his eyes trickle down the length of your hair as he notes all the different ways you’ve changed since you last came face to face. “but anyway, thanks again for picking up my flyers.”

“no worries,” heeseung tilts his head with a calm expression, though his lips twitch upward when he sees you tuck your lip between your teeth. 

noted. you’ve done that twice now.

once is an action and twice is a habit. 

“so where can i sign up?”

“oh, uh — i-i don’t think it’s really your thing,” you let out a breathy chuckle, diverting your eyes. 

“how would you know what is and isn’t my thing?” he steps forward, lowering his head slightly so that you meet his gaze. he has to say that he loves the way you stare back at him — eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and wariness, and even the way you shuffle back in an attempt at creating distance. 

“just an educated guess,” you gulp, hugging your flyers closer to your chest. “you don’t really seem like the type and i wouldn’t want to bore you,” your eyes narrow at him.

“you could never bore me,” heeseung counters, the edges of his lips curling into a small grin. “besides, i’m super interested in haematology.”

haematology… getting bitten by pretty girls… same thing.

he watches your brows slowly furrow. you shuffle back again and he stifles a laugh. frankly, the way you keep drawing the line between the two of you makes this interaction all the more entertaining. 

you appear to contemplate your next words before staring right back up at him with a certain ferocity that makes his chest squeeze with excitement. “actually, i have enough participants already. the study’s full,” you forced a tight smile, “sorry.”

ha. 

you liar.

you act as though heeseung didn’t just watch you get rejected by half the campus. 

“wow, what a shame,” he shakes his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “i really wanted that gift card.”

“aw, that sucks! so disappointing!” you comically pout, feigning regret with a solemn shake of the head. “i guess you’re just going to have to pay like a normal person.”

“i guess so,” he chuckled, “maybe i’ll pay with this empty sign up sheet.” he leans forward and swipes the topmost piece of paper from the pile in your arms, holding it up for you to see.

your smile instantly drops. you stare at him in horror as you snatch the paper from him, scrunching it up into a ball. “th-this was a second sheet!” 

heeseung can’t help that a smirk slithers to his lips because he finds this irony amusing — you seem slightly disgusted by him, but his mind runs with relentless thoughts of you like he’s a hamster on a wheel.

you don’t remember him.

perhaps he has to make you remember him. 

“it’s okay,” he exhales with his nose, grinning while he looks you up and down, “it was just an excuse to talk to you anyway,” he leaned in with a playfully raised brow, “maybe even take you out on a date.” 

he wants to laugh out loud when your face drops into a disgusted expression. you’re almost sneering at him with the way your lips contort into a scowl. he wasn’t serious, but he loves to watch the animation in all your reactions. 

it’s entertaining.

it’s cute. 

“um, no thanks,” you scoff, backing away with a few slow steps. heeseung straightens his back, watching you hold your hands up as the distance between the two of you widens within seconds.

“oh, wow, um look at the time!” you quickly check your watch and nervously chuckle. “sorry i-i gotta go! my — uh, dog just died so yeah, bye!”

heeseung attempts to withstand laughing as you twist on your heels and bolt, running as though your life depends on it. you cast just one cursory glance over your shoulder before you disappear from his sight completely, leaving behind a flyer on the ground. 

it should hurt his pride that you’re the first girl to turn him down in such an abrupt manner, but he knows time is on his side. 

after all, things have a way of working out for him.

he has the cheese.

he has the trap.

he just needs to wait for you to bite. 

.

.

.

“do you want to work overtime?”

your honest answer is no. 

your even more honest answer is absolutely the fuck no.

however, your lips are suddenly bobbing up and down like a marionette and you find yourself agreeing to another two hours of what you consider hell on earth. 

as it appears, applying for a new job as a bartender in one of the city’s most bustling nightclubs is the latest addition to your library of horrible mistakes.

decelis is supposedly the best nightclub in the city.

objectively, you can see why it’s so popular among college students. the establishment itself boasted of three storeys plus a rooftop, with an exquisite bar on each level. the atmosphere here is undeniably electrifying, and if you weren’t so painfully sober, perhaps you’d be able to appreciate that.

ironically, clubbing has never really been your thing. 

how could it, when party music is currently resounding in your ears; flashing neon lights are searing your eyes; and sweaty, gross bodies are screaming various drink orders at you from every direction imaginable?

you wouldn’t normally be caught dead in a place like this, but you were desperate for a job. it was just last week that you had waltzed into the club and slipped them your résumé. you honestly weren’t expecting to get the job, but it was an offer you couldn’t refuse when they handed it to you. 

because if you wanted any chance of escaping the web in which you were entrapped, you needed to know you’d be able to fend for yourself.

but as one can imagine, bartending is fast-paced and demanding.

you thought it would be exciting to work with a backdrop of party music and led lights, but your first two shifts were dreadful. you learned over a hundred different recipes, cleaned up vomit five times, skipped your lunch break both days, and found your brain rattling in your skull to the beat of jay park’s music when you stumbled home at five am.

while your coworkers are utterly lovely and you had unbridled access to free alcohol, such things weren’t enough to offset possibly the worst part of the job — the drunk customers. 

“fuck, you’re cute as hell,” the boy drunkenly exclaimed from across the bar benchtop, while you watched him struggle to keep himself erect on his feet. 

“thanks. so is that cash or card?” you stared, a hand hovering over the cash register and the other cradling the eftpos machine. 

“are you a vampy?” he ignored your question, his chortle punctured by a few hiccups. 

you slammed your eyes shut in irritation, regretting the overtime already. the penalty rate wasn’t worth it, because if there’s one thing you detest the most, it’s being called vampy.

nevertheless, you force your lips to curl into a courteous smile, though your stare hollowed like pitless voids. “if you’re asking if i’m a vampire, then yes.” 

“that’s hot,” he chuckles, slipping on his feet but managing to use the bench to catch his fall. “i mean, hella scary — but still really hot.” 

“sir, for the love of god, please tell me if you’d prefer to pay with cash or card,” your jaw clenched while your resolve began to chip away. 

“sir?” the boy gasped incredulously, offended by your implication. “what am i? a fifty-year-old man?”

you sure as fuck act like one. you exhaled, containing yourself. “okay, my apologies. so is it cash or card?” you grit your teeth, fantasising about climbing over the bar and strangling the life out of the guy.

“oh, just put it on the tab,” he dismisses you with a lazy wave of his hand, then snatches the glass from the bench before sculling its contents in a swift movement. “lee heeseung’s tab.”

of course.

why did you even bother to ask? more than half of the people you’ve served tonight have been stacking their orders on that guy’s tab. perhaps this is why you’ve been having such a shit shift — every second order you take is a horrible reminder of your interaction with the boy from earlier today — which, for the record — is something you desperately wish to forget.

‘maybe even take you out on a date.’

that crazy bastard.

was that supposed to be a stupid joke?

the animosity between your two families has always been obvious — and barring today, he’s never approached you and vice versa. you thought it was an unspoken mutual agreement. 

sure, there have been times you’ve caught his gaze on campus or at mutual events, but that was it — today was the only time he’d gone out of his way to speak to you. this is the reason why you found it so fishy — there has to be something he wants from you, though you can’t quite put your finger on what that might be.

the only time you’d ever interacted with lee heeseung before today was a strange occurrence you recall back in high school, when you had woken in the nursing infirmary and he was sitting beside you with his head resting on your bed. 

these two experiences make you feel the exact same way: like his gaze has a tendency to shoot right through you as if he could read you like an open book. you hate that. you hate his penetrating gaze and his boundless arsenal of smirks and smiles and the way he carried himself like he always had the upper hand.

whatever. 

hoping to rid yourself of these thoughts, you quickly shake your head and divert your attention back to your job.

half an hour passes as you continually hustle behind the bar, attending as many orders as you can. you work as though you have four hands — sprinting around along the circular bar while people shout their orders at you.

eight tequila shots.

three vodka raspberries.

two cosmopolitans.

five apple ciders.

it isn’t too long before your coworker, yunjin, taps you on the shoulder and offers to replace you while you run off for your shift break. 

you quickly thank her and rush to the other, quieter side of the bar, but in the midst of removing the apron from your uniform, you hear a voice suddenly ring.

“is the sign up sheet for a drink also full, too?”

you instantly yelp, jumping in fright from the sudden voice. you snap your head toward its direction, where heeseung is leaning over the counter, smirking at you.

what the actual hell?

you almost feel a little winded at the sight of him. frankly, it’s only been a few hours since you’d last seen him, but he looks like a completely different person when he’s all dressed up for the club.

what replaces his usually clean and casual style is something that exudes confidence and suave charisma. even you find it difficult to deny that he looks as alluring as most people claim. tonight, he’s wearing a black button up top that accentuates his wild shoulders. you notice the first few buttons are unfastened and left open to showcase his pretty neckline and the silver chain around his neck, which glints in the dim lighting. he has half of his silver hair slicked back, the other half swept forward and hanging over his forehead. 

he’s gorgeous, you think, and it almost makes your blood boil.

“i only ask because the sign up sheet to stare is full,” he cracks open a smirk at your deadpanned expression. “but i guess i could make an exception for you.” 

“you’re following me.” 

“actually, i’m a regular here,” he smiles, nudging his chin behind you. your gaze follows his direction and you see a picture of him and his friends hanging from the wall. not exactly a flex that he’s a frequent clubgoer, but he certainly proved his point.

“fine,” you huff in concession. “good for you,” you say sarcastically, reaching down to scoop your bag up in your hands from the lower shelves just behind the counter. 

“before you leave, my go-to is whiskey on the rocks,” he smiles, propping his elbow up so that his cheek can rest on his palm. “i don’t think the owners would be very happy to see a regular leave… unsatisfied.” 

you pressed your lips together, turning your head over your shoulder to see poor yunjin struggling to keep herself afloat, inundated with orders. you sigh, begrudgingly placing your bag back down so that you could pour him a glass.

“look,” you yank the most expensive whiskey bottle from the shelf and pour it into a glass, hoping the total price of his bar tab knocks his ego down a peg or two. as you place a few ice cubes in it and slide it over to him, you pin him down with a dark glare and an ugly frown. “i don’t know what the hell it is you want from me, but i’m not buying your act.”

“what act?” he smirked in amusement, taking a sip of the drink you handed him.

“the whole i’m interested in haematology act,” you scoff, too exhausted from your shift to tip-toe around the topic. “look, i’m not interested, okay?” you run your hand through your hair and sigh loudly. “i’m sure you’re a nice guy,” you almost gag on air when you say this, “but you’re just not my type.”

“then what’s your type?”

“i don’t know; guys that don’t creep me out?” you hiss, frankly surprised by your own hostility. you hadn’t planned to be so forthright with your words, but frankly, you were too exhausted to care. heeseung doesn’t creep you out per se — but you knew guys like him only have selfish intentions.

they needed to fought with fire.

heeseung doesn’t say anything when you throw your bag over your shoulder and stamp away from the bar, and you don’t even bother to cast him a final glance.

however, you’re only able to make it halfway to the exit before you realise you had left your phone behind.

crap.

there’s a moment of hesitation before you decide to go back, because there’s nothing more embarrassing than having to backtrack a dramatic exit.

nevertheless, you begrudgingly twist on your heels and make the shameful journey back, noticing as you near the bar that heeseung is no longer where he had been sitting earlier. the glass you’d poured for him still remains on the counter, but in a matter of seconds, you suddenly see a girl slide into his old seat.

huh.

circumventing the crowd in the middle, you find your way back to the bar and retrieve your phone. as the design of the circular bar allows you to conceal yourself behind the middle pillar, she doesn’t seem to notice you as you watch her through a blind spot mirror on the roof.

you don’t understand the compulsion within yourself, but you allow yourself a minute or two to observe her.

you stare at her big eyes, her medium cut layered hair and the blunt bangs across her face. she looks familiar, you think to yourself, halting once you see her glance over her own shoulders suspiciously.

you watch carefully as she does one last eye sweep of her surroundings before retrieving a small paper packet from her handbag.

what the heck is she doing? 

you stare with a confused frown, eyes slowly widening as you watch her rip the packet open and pour its contents into heeseung’s drink.

she then dips her finger into the glass and swirls it around.

and just like that, the powder dissolves colourlessly and it almost appears as though heeseung’s drink has been untouched.

your heart shoots down your feet when you realise what she’s done.

she’s spiked his drink.

.

.

.

the adrenaline allows you to cast everything aside — your long-awaited break, your animosity with heeseung, and even your bag.

because within milliseconds, the girl springs to her feet and re-enters the dancing floor while you struggle to tail her, losing her amidst the sea of bodies. 

fuck!

fuck. fuck. fuck.

you quickly exit the bar and follow her steps the best you can, though it’s difficult when the lights are low enough that everybody blends into a vague swarm of heads and bodies. she has dark hair, but so do half the people here. her frame and height are small, which makes it all the more difficult to locate her. every time you think you recognise her, you realise you’d been pursuing the wrong culprit. 

everybody in the crowd is shoving you in all different directions.

she’s nowhere to be found.

and you can’t seem to find heeseung, either.

shit.

shit.

shit.

when you feel yourself enter a swivet of panic, you tell yourself to do the most rational thing — grab your phone and call for help. unfortunately, the sheer volume of club music resounding around you makes it difficult for yunjin to hear you on the other side of the call.

thus, you force your way to the outskirts of the club where your voice is more audible, but it’s only here that you finally look up and spot heeseung climbing the stairs to the second storey. 

there he is!

you immediately hang up on the call and thrust your way through people in the direction of the stairs, eyes widening with alarm when you see the girl trail behind heeseung, the drink in her hand. the pair eventually reach the height of the stairs and the second storey, prompting you to yell out his name as loud as you can.

“lee heeseung!” you call, but in a similar fashion to your phone call — the music drowns out your voice. you scramble now, sprinting your way up the stairs while screaming his name loud enough that he finally stops in his tracks.

“heeseung!” you pant for a breath, settling your feet on the second level while you leaned forward over your knees. “w-wait—”

“who are you?” the girl asks, so you snap your head up and sneer at her. 

you stomp over toward her and attempt to grab the glass from her, but unfortunately her grip is equally as strong.

for a few seconds, the two of you engage in a tug of war. 

“wh-what the heck?” the girl shrieks loudly, “what the fuck are you—”

you’re both struggling for the glass, pulling it in your own directions. 

it isn’t until you tug a little too hard that her grip suddenly loosens. 

the cup flies in your direction and tilts toward you an—

splash!

you freeze, gasping at the sensation of cold liquid running down your chest. 

no no no no no no no no—

you look down at your uniform and wince at the sight. 

fuck.

liquid is trickling down your chest and legs and pooling at the bottom of your shoes.

fucking fantastic.

you throw your head back and sigh loudly, shutting your eyes in frustration before slamming them back open. 

“i quit. i officially quit,” you mutter aloud, scoffing in disbelief to yourself. with the glass in one hand, you use your free hand to fruitlessly swipe at your uniform in order to flick off whatever remnants you can, though unfortunately the liquid has already saturated your clothes.

passerbys murmur and gawk at the sight of you, causing immense heat to flood your face and ears while you lower your head in humiliation. this is so embarrassing, you think to yourself, desperately wishing to remove yourself from the scene.

while you turn around to leave, you suddenly halt in your tracks and find yourself committing to one more stupid idea.

you storm over toward the pair and grab heeseung’s wrist, yanking him with you as you stomp your way to the backrooms.

.

.

.

“i saw her spike your drink,” is the first thing you say when you shut the door behind yourself, and the two of you find yourselves inside one of the empty vip rooms. 

you’re encased by four padded walls in a dimly lit room, on which colourful flashes of light dance and flicker all thanks to the led projector on the ceiling. 

there’s an entertainment centre and a tv screen on one end of the spacious room, while a circular table and a couch that perfectly circles around its perimeter is on the other side. you storm over and slam the glass down on the table, harshly throwing your bottom onto the couch while you knot your arms across your chest.

“she poured something in that,” you point to the remaining drink in the glass, glaring up at him, “i saw her.” 

heeseung is silent for a moment while he watches you. he briefly tears his gaze from yours to observe his surroundings before facing you again, both brows raised slightly. “wow, you smell great.” 

his eyes flicker to your soaked shirt. “but you look better than you smell.” 

“you—” you scoff, slamming your hand down on the table in frustration. “you ungrateful piece of shit!”

he immediately stifles a laugh, biting his bottom lip to refrain his grin from growing any wider. “i-i’m sorry?”

“i was trying to help you!” you exclaim incredulously, springing to your feet as you furiously storm over to him. “did you not hear what i just said? i said she spiked your drink! do you not understand what that means? for all you know, you could have been poisoned! i was trying to save you!”

momentary silence engulfs the two of you after your outburst. the silence is sobering, if you’re going to be honest. after all, you feel immediate regret trickle in, but before you can backtrack, heeseung tilts his head and watches you with a calm gaze. 

“save?” he echoed while a smirk slithered to his lips, and another important realisation strikes you like a rock to the head.

perhaps you should have just let him die. 

“now look at me,” you throw your hands in the air, scoffing again in disbelief. “i’m drenched in whiskey, god—” you openly gag, “this is disgusting! the least you can say is thank you.” 

“you want me to thank you?” he raised a brow.

“well, you could have died; i practically saved your life,” perhaps this was a hyperbole, but you were feeling petty — he didn’t look as shaken up as you did. frankly, you were beginning to think you cared more about his safety than he did. 

“see, you’re mistaken,” heeseung took a step toward you, causing you to step back. he kept advancing toward you, closing the distance, until you felt your back softly hit one of the walls. 

shit.

having heeseung in such an uncomfortable proximity made you want to shrink into a ball.

“wh-what?”

“i said, you’re mistaken,” you saw his eyes glint with amusement as he placed an arm against the wall beside your head, using it as an anchor while he leaned in closer, your faces now inches apart. you gulp, warmth crawling up your neck and into your cheeks from the sheer proximity and sensation of his hot breath grazing your face. 

“i think it’s cute that you’re worried about me,” you watched as the edges of his lips curled before his eyes landed below your nose. you froze when his fingers were on your chin, lightly gripping it so that he could get a better view of your lips. “but like i said, i don’t need saving.”

“you’re right,” you smiled sarcastically, slapping his fingers away from your chin, “maybe i should have just let her poison you. or sedate you and sell your organs to the black market. do you have a preference for how you’d like to die?” 

“don’t worry,” he whispered to you, voice so low and ghostly quiet you thought you could feel it sweep right through you. “i already know how and when i’m going to die, so don’t bother trying to save me.”

his words struck you.

you frowned in confusion, unable to decipher the cryptic meaning behind them.

heeseung smiled at your reaction, leaning into your ear so that his warm voice sunk into your ears like honey. “in fact, do something else for me instead.” 

you froze, eyes flickering to the bare skin of his neck, on which you see old scar marks that appear like vampire bites.

you quickly place a hand on his chest to push him away, but this contact only seemed to encourage him — instead, he gently grabbed your hand and wrapped it around his waist.

“bite me,” he whispers alluringly, “i bet you want blood more than anyone else.”

your face dropped as his scent overwhelmed your senses.

something musky. woody. a hint of floral.

and a hint of blood.

you felt your eyes drop and your stomach churn, because for the first time, you feel something within you — a gnawing sensation.

an ache. an itch. an urge.

a hunger, even.

“w-wait…” you blurted, feeling a little lightheaded while your heart left a hammering echo inside your chest. you swallowed and swallowed but your mouth felt drier than ever. 

“if you’re going to save me,” he exhaled. “then just bite me, fangs,” heeseung lured you in with a soft voice. 

he then leaned in close enough that his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear. 

“just like last time.”

A/N. well that escalated quickly 🤠 n e ways I literally had so much fun writing this chapter (sorry i cbfd proof reading lel) bc this is my first vampire au. also my first playboy au so BE NICE PLS DONT TEAR ME TO SHREDS LMFAOOO 😭 anyway words cannot even describe how excited I am for this fic - I've been craving the thought of writing smh a lil more actiony/thrilling than my usual romcom repertoire SO. I hope u r strapping urself in for a riiiiiiide >:) anyways aaaa tysm for reading && I hope u guys enjoyed the first chap!! sorry for all the long text but i promise the groundwork is necessary for the future shitshow in upcoming chapters SO. 🫡

likes, rbs & feedback are always appreciated! :) ╰ ✩ ┈ masterlist // next chapter .

[cantwritethetword]

(2024) TickleTober Day 6: Creak - Falling Asleep

Fic Descript - Sleeping in an old creaky house is a nightmare for Alex. Thankfully Henry knows exactly how to help his partner drift off. Literally just fluffy sleepy tkls lmao.

~A/N  - 👏 I 👏 AM 👏 SUPER 👏 BURNT 👏 OUT 👏 SO 👏 HERE'S 👏 A 👏 SHORT 👏 FIC 👏 FOR 👏 TODAY👏

Apologies, it's late af and I am NOT doing well for tickletober but hopefully you guys find this idea as cute as I did

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

Alex hadn't slept in days.

Ok that might have been a bit of an overstatement. But laying in bed night after night, on the edge of consciousness, right about to drift off, only to be snapped back to reality by the walls and floors moving around him was enough to drive anyone mad.

No amount of tossing and turning could help. It didn't matter what position, or how many pillows Alex was in, he had no luck with Mr Sandman.

The only silver lining? All his wriggling didn't seem to bother Henry. Alex swore that man could sleep through an air raid siren.

Tonight, though, he was proven wrong.

After one too many groans from the house, it was Alex's turn. He let out a frustrated exhale, which happened to come out a little louder than he intended.

"Alex?" A muffled murmur piped up from the other side of the blankets.

Shit.

"I'm fine baby, go back to sleep." Alex whispered, though evidently it came out more grumbly than he thought, as Henry turned to face him.

"What's the matter love?" Henry said, his voice sounding much more conscious this time.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Henry sat upright, not taking that for an answer. "Too hot? Too cold? Can't sleep?"

Alex sighed, too tired to continue denying it, and curled up under Henry's now outstretched arm. "This house is old."

Henry gently laughed. "Your intelligence never ceases to impress me."

"It keeps moving, and that keeps me awake." Alex huffed, accidentally blowing his hair upwards for a moment, making it fall over his eyes.

Without missing a beat, henry combed his fingers through the stray strands.

Alex hummed contently at the sensation. "That's nice."

"You always like it when i do this." Henry smiled, repeating the motion.

At a second hum from his boyfriend, Henry continued folding his fingers through Alex's hair, letting them flutter occasionally against his lover's ears just to hear the soft giggle that accompanied it. Henry's fingers cascaded down Alex's neck after a while, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them, before they circled round Alex's shoulder to rest against his sides.

"Still comfortable?" Henry double checked, knowing the last thing Alex needed was for the tickling to be too intense and wake him up.

Alex gave two content noises in affirmation, nestling his face further into his boyfriend.

Henry's fingertips trailed against Alex's ribs as he slowly closed and opened his hand, letting his detailed knowledge of Alex's body guide his movements away from any spots that were too sensitive for the purposes of this moment.

The occasional giggly shiver eventually transitioned to light snoring, as Alex finally drifted off into what would be possibly the best nights sleep he'd ever had.

[saintship]

WAIT wait headcanon of red hood!reader.( because i simp for DC characters too), but your price daughter that was tortured to death by Makarov and price and force 141+König believed that you died.

But you lived and now your now red hood dun dun DUUUN. anyway maybe the force 141+könig captured red hood!reader and confessing their love after finding out that your alive.

NUTSHELL between red hood!reader and price:

Before Makarov ruined everything:

Price: my sweet little girl🤗

Reader: I love you too dad🤗

After Makarov ruined everything:

Price: my sweet little girl your alive

Red hood!reader: I HATE YOU!!!😡

Price:*emotional damage*

This is so cool!

I’m not well versed on DC so I had to consult some sources BUT Red Hood is awesome and I hope I do the Red Hood name justice!

She will bleed red

König x Price’s daughter!reader

Warnings: descriptions of torture but not overly graphic, violence, grieving 141 and König, reader kills people, Price & reader angst, reader is badass, König and reader are close

I think people listing what music they listened to while writing is so cute so I wanna do it; I was listening to a playlist of almost all Labrinth songs

Hope you enjoy :)

Tap.. tap.. tap..

Hyena felt water dripping on her hairline. Something was blindfolding her, and something else had her restrained to a pose that forced her to endure the dripping water. Hunched over, her head tipped slightly forward. The air smelled of wet cement and perspiration.

Struggling only made noise—the sounds of her ragged breathing echoing off into the corners of the room. The burn at the base of her neck told her it was likely rope that binded her torso and hung from the ceiling. She felt the fabric of her uniform still intact, and wished she could thumb over the badge on her shoulder. Her hands ached from poor circulation, tendrils of pain shooting up through her fingers with every movement. She heard footsteps.

Murmurs in Russian, murmurs in English, the dripping water.

Her blindfold was ripped from her head, Hyena blinking quickly to adjust to the low light.

“Where are your friends, маленькая мышь?”

“Quit while you’re ahead. I’m not talking.” Hyena’s words burned in her throat, the sore muscle aching with exertion. How long had she been out?

“Hm.” The man speaking hummed, stepping back to allow his partner to step forward, flipping open a knife. Hyena’s breath quickened, and then there was a sharpness between her eyes. He held the blade flush to her skin, particles away from cutting through.

“Where.” The first repeated. Hyena remained silent. The cool metal resting on her skin glanced upward fiercely, a quiet sound of ripping flesh registering dully in her ears. The cut brandished her face from between her brows to her hairline in a ragged line. She shut her eyes to protect from blood dripping into them, and thought of the team. Of her dad.

Hyena felt the warmth of her father’s hand through the cold and the shoulder pad she adorned, their faces bowed toward each other. The gap in the helicopter’s wall allowed the night air to whistle through the cabin, tousling his hair to one side.

“Stay alive, sweetheart.”

“I always do.”

His lips twitched into a gentle smile, patting her shoulder once before touching his forehead to hers, his eyes fluttering shut.

“See you in a few days.”

The air stung. Hyena pried open her eyes, dried blood cracking at the edges and falling to the ground like flecks of red plaster. Contusions littered her head and torso, more cuts along her cheeks and neck burning with pain. Particularly painful points of her stomach accompanied with a damp sensation told her she’d been stabbed.

“She won’t survive much longer..”

“Do it.”

Looking up, her vision refocused on the same man that had maimed her, who held a white bucket. He flicked off the lid with a gloved thumb, and there was no time to read the label before the container was tilted over, above the left side of her face. The substance that poured out was thin, but smooth, and burned through every living tissue it touched. She cried out, her eyes clamped shut quicker than a steel trap, she panicked, she pleaded. The burning was worse than anything; it seared, it charred, and eventually it cauterized. The skin affected felt too small for her skull, and her cries subsided to soft gasps of air.

Hyena fell unconscious.

“Come on, honey, feel bad for a guy!”

“Please—get out of the way.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby.”

From the shadows of the fire escape above him, the man looked even smaller and more frail than his intentions. His extended hand didn’t get the chance to touch that woman’s shoulder before his body crumpled under the weight of a masked figure. A brief scream escaped the throat of the woman before she sidestepped the both of them to run away. That figure pressed a boot to the man’s neck, the trim of their hood waving slightly in the night breeze. The draft that whistled through the alley they occupied was warm.

“What the hell? GET OFF ME-" His struggling earned nothing aside from a short blade being pressed to the artery running along his neck.

“Maybe someone will feel bad for you when they find your body.”

The voice that murmured above him was steady—feminine and dripping with threat. The eyes that studied him reflected the amber-colored light streaming from the lamp a few yards behind him. One eye was ever so slightly shut, scarring evident on the skin surrounding it. He could only let out a strangled gasp when the blade found its home buried in the vulnerable flesh of his neck. It remained for a moment before the hooded stranger retracted it, soundlessly climbing back up the fire escape and into the void of the dark.

That figure vaulted to the rooftop, walking to the edge to watch the city’s night life. They removed their hood, stray hairs lifting away to dance gently in the air. A weighted sigh filled the silence of the rooftop.

See you in a few days.

It had been months, and what remained of Captain John Price’s daughter was not the woman he’d wished good luck. Now, standing at a roof’s edge, she hooked a thumb under the fabric concealing her face. She didn’t get the chance to pull before a sharp pressure pinched at the back of her neck. She scrambled to feel for what impacted her, yanking out and inspecting a small needle with a feathery end. She murmured one thing before being vacuumed into nothingness.

“Dad..”

“How long has she been out?”

“Hour or so?”

“Jesus, Garrick.”

“It was the right dose, I swear, Lieutenant!”

“Right.”

Her eyes shot open. She was restrained to a chair, but more importantly, Ghost and Gaz were right in front of her. Her eyes stung with tears but she blinked them away.

“L.t.—Gaz..”

Their eyes snapped toward the voice they thought had left their lives for good.

Gaz breathing quickened. “Is that-"

“Hyena?” She’d never heard Ghost speak that way; breathy and disbelieving. She sighed.

“Red Hood..” she corrected softly.

“What? What are you- Gaz, go tell them!”

“Right.” Gaz ran off, shouts of the other names of the team fading with him.

“Jesus, private..” Ghost cut her free, and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck briefly before pulling away to scan her for injury.

“Get this mask off-"

Her hand stopped his in its tracks, returning the cold stare that he often gave her. “No..”

“GHOST! WHERE IS SHE!”

“Dad?” She turned from ghost to see her father racing down the hall to where they were.

“Sweetheart!” He breathed, his voice shaking. He tackled her in a hug, squeezing with every ounce of love he’d held to his chest the moment she went missing. “I thought you—you-"

“I almost did.” She stepped back, her tone shocking him. A heavy silence lay between them, his daughter’s eyes dark and cold. It was almost unrecognizable, the way she carried herself.

“Sweet girl..”

“Don’t.”

His brow furrowed in frustration. “I don’t understand.”

“I waited. I waited for you, and you never showed up. They ruined me forever, and I’ll never go back to the way I was before.”

Tears began to shimmer in his eyes. “I didn’t know.. I thought you were gone.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry-"

“That’s not going to help me now.”

He let out a desperate breath, his hands itching to hold her. Down the hall, several sets of footsteps hammered the floor. She looked past her father to see the lead of the group—the man she’d grown so fond of, and thought about so often.

“König..” She breathed. König made sure to stop in front of her before pulling her into his arms, not wanting to topple her over.

“Liebes..”

Hyena had a lengthy history with König—since the moment she saw him she identified with his rocking heels, his flighty eyes, but especially his love for the rest of the team. Either one of them would cover a grenade without a second thought. So would the other boys, but König understood that carnal desire to act without thought in the name of protecting the 141, insubordination be damned. He’d repainted his sniper hood and replaced the damaged leg holster that Hyena always bothered him about. Her eyes stung.

“You’re alive.” The familiar Scottish accent nearly had her break down in tears. She pulled away from König to reach out to Soap, who grinned in disbelief.

“We’re glad you’re okay.” Gaz offered. She nodded gently before turning back to König and the Captain.

“Could you walk me to my room?”

“Do you remember what they looked like?”

“Definitely Makarov’s guys. Uniformed. They knew Russian more fluently than English.”

“We will find them.” König’s low voice sounded beside her as they reached her door. She stared for a moment at the handle.

“Never thought you’d miss it, right?” Her father spoke softly. She didn’t reply, easing the door open. She wandered to the bed, taking in everything familiar.

“Alright, we’ve got to talk about it some time. Why the face coverings?” her father sat beside her on the bed, König settling into a chair beside the two of them.

“I needed to be anonymous.”

He sighed, frustrated.

“Why didn’t you reach out, why didn’t you come looking? You’re smart. You would have reached us.”

“Figured you were halfway around the world.” Hyena began. Her father’s jaw tightened, his eyes shining with months of grief. His eyes told her that she had been right.

“And even if I did get you on the phone, somehow, by the time you got there, they would’ve realized I wasn’t dead, find me, and blow my head off.”

She felt a thin knife of guilt for using such blunt language with him, but the exhaustion was boiling over.

“Are you still injured?” König’s gentle question surprised her a bit—she’d nearly forgotten he was there given his quietness.

“Just—just scars.” She murmured before facing forward again, addressing her father.

“Listen, I’ll be able to talk to you like an adult eventually, but not right now, okay?” She stared ahead, refusing to meet the eyes she knew were pleading with her. He slowly got to his feet.

“Alright. If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t walk away for a moment, and in a burst of affection, leaned down to press his forehead to hers.

She let him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too Dad.” I just hate you right now.

He left the room without looking back, gently shutting the door. Hyena felt tears slip down her cheeks freely.

“Hey.. please don’t cry, schatz, don’t cry..” König knelt on one knee in front of her, holding her face in his gloved hands. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I missed you.” She breathed shakily. König let out an amused huff.

“I missed you more. I turned to you so many times to find no one there..”

“Kön..”

“It’s alright now.” He nodded as if to reassure himself of his words.

“Could you lay next to me?”

König blinked once, his hesitation dissipating immediately after hearing her sniffle.

“Yes.”

König removed Hyena’s boots for her before removing his own, joining her in sprawling across the bed. He made it a squeeze, but pressed into his side, it truly wasn’t too bad. Not bad at all.

“How long are you planning on keeping this?” König ran a knuckle along her fabric-covered cheekbone.

“Forever.” She muttered into his vest. She felt the great rise and fall of the sigh that breathed through his chest.

“How about I make this easier?” Suddenly, König was sitting up and sitting cross legged across from Hyena. She mirrored him warily.

“What do you- hey, wai-“

But his hood was off. Tender brown eyes searched hers while his full lips twitched into a nervous smile. His jaw was darkened with stubble that just looked so perfect, his hair was a rich onyx that had grown to brush across his forehead and over his ears, and in the low light, she could barely make out the freckles that dotted the skin under his eyes.

“König… I need to tell you what happened before I show you.”

“Okay.” He took her hand gently, the stiff material of his gloves strangely grounding.

“They started with just cuts and contusions, with water dripping on me. That didn’t stop, but there was one thing they did that won’t be going away. They poured this—substance on me, I don’t know the name, I just know it burned through my skin and probably the muscle. It was like- ow, König.”

“Sorry! Sorry.” He’d been squeezing the life out of her palm, his breathing growing ragged with every word she revealed of her treatment. He massaged the hand he’d injured while Hyena studied him.

“I think I’m ready.”

He looked up quickly, finding her eyes. “Yes?”

She nodded, retracting her hand to undo the knot at the back of her head. König waited, his ambling hands rested in his lap. Slowly, she peeled away the layers and revealed her face.

The whole of the left side was a sort of angry pink color, and lined with marks of stress. It stretched across the bone, her eyebrow singed off, and a portion of her lips stretched and cracking the same way.

König breathed raggedly through his nose.

“I will find them. I swear to you,” he took her hands in his, staring fiercely into her eyes. “I will unleash your pain onto them tenfold and then some. I will not stop until they know what they did. You didn’t deserve this.”

“It’s okay.” Hyena rested their hands in her lap.

“It’s okay..”

König nodded solemnly, then looked away for a moment, a crease forming at his brow.

“What is it?” Hyena questioned, leaning to look into his eyes again.

“There is something you should know. When you were—gone, I,” he sighed, clearly frustrated. “We all thought you were gone. Knowing what I thought had happened, I- it was like I went insane.”

His glassy eyes looked into hers with a certain fear of himself.

“I became violent in every part of my life. I was afraid to call you a friend because I was expecting this. I was expecting to lose you. But that’s not an excuse. You are my closest companion. My partner..”

The rain picked up outside.

“The love of my life.”

The air stilled, any space between König and Hyena growing smaller by the moment.

She whispered her next words like a rushed prayer.

“You love me?”

His breathing stammered as he nodded. Hyena reached up to hold his stubbled jaw in her hands, blinking fondly. She slowly, ever so slowly, slid over to rest in his lap, his hands finding purchase around her lower back.

“You’re..so tiny..”

She huffed at the strange timing. “I’m really not, you’re just enormous.”

“If you say so.” His hands wandered more freely, rubbing soothing shapes into the fabric of her shirt. She relaxed into his touch, snaking her arms around his neck to rest on his broad shoulders.

“I love you too, Kön..” she breathed. Behaving purely on instinct, she leaned in and kissed him.

He froze for a moment before responding eagerly, his tongue easing her mouth open. Vibrant sounds reverberated around the room and into each other’s bodies. When she pulled away for air, she was delighted to see him chase her affection.

“You’re as beautiful as the day you left.”

fin.

[hxney-lemcn]

Demon or Angel? — John Ward x gn! demon! reader Pt. 2

summary: Reader finds out that John is about to go against the cult on his own. So they join him.

tw: Stalking, injury, description of blood, nothing the game doesn't already have.

a/n: Soooo I decided to continue this. This is the last instalment of it tho. Annnnnd I might have finished the second half of this fic on my phone at work so if the writing changes that's why.

wc: 4.4k

Master List | Part 1

It’s been awhile since I last talked to John. My patience was thinning, and I wanted to talk with him again. So I decided to visit him at his place of work!

Yes, a risky move for a demon. Dealing with a crucifix was nothing compared to walking on holy ground. But I decided to risk it. Really give the little priest the surprise of his life. I hummed softly as I entered the church, a fast food bag clutched in my hands. 

I tried to ignore the burning sensation that lit my nerves on fire. It took me a few minutes to find his office. I walked in, not caring to knock. 

“You forgot your lunch honey,” I teased, placing the bag on his desk he sat at. The look on John’s face at that moment will forever be ingrained in my head. The look of pure shock and disbelief was just so funny and cute! 

“How are you even…” He trailed off in disbelief. 

“Awe c’mon,” I pouted, taking a seat. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” His face hardened and I sighed, “You didn’t actually believe I was just gonna leave you alone after that right?” 

“You are not welcome here, demon,” John glared. 

“I can feel that,” I muttered, the burning sensation a constant buzzing. “But I couldn’t let my favorite little priest go hungry.” 

“So you risk your life…to give me food?” He asked, incredulously. 

I hummed, looking off in fake thought, “Hmmmm pretty much. I hope you like it, I’m 99% sure I got your favorite.”

John looked in the bag and took out the food, reluctantly thanking me. I internally patted myself on the back as he took a bite. Once more I got him to slightly trust me, even if it was miniscule. I leaned back, taking in my surroundings. 

Once he finished, he asked, “Why are you doing this?”

I stared at him blankly, “Well if you can’t comprehend that it’s just cus I want to, then think of this as a gift to get to know the neighbors. I’m (y/n), nice to meet’cha cutie.”

John’s mouth opened and closed, and I sent him a satisfied grin.

“You’re gonna see me a whole lot more,” I chuckled, standing up. “But I think I overstayed my welcome.”

I waved at him as I left, limping slightly as the pain of being on holy grounds was becoming unbearable. 

I saw him the next day. I was tending to my new house’s garden. 

“John!” I greeted him cheerfully. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Hello,” He acknowledged. “Your little charade won’t last long.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I grinned up at him. “Don’t forget to bring lunch today sweetheart!” I watched as he drove off letting out a dreamy sigh. Too bad he seems to still hate my guts. 

I went back to planting flowers in my front lawn. It was a nice pass time. How did I obtain enough money to buy a house? Don’t ask silly questions! Once I finished I stood back to admire my work. Maybe humans got some things right, there are some pleasures to be found in the mundane. 

The next morning, I found myself watering my newly planted flowers. I was minding my own business until a car pulled up in front of John’s house. I watched from the corner of my eye as a man in priest attire walked up and slipped a letter through the mail slot in John’s front door. 

“Hello Father!” I called out. “What’s brought you to this neck of the woods?” He turned to me and I just waved cheerfully.

“Something you don’t need to worry about,” He said solemnly. “Just some matters with the church.” 

“I was thinking of making John some dinner tonight, do you think he’d be home in a timely manner?” I asked ‘innocently’. 

“He’s on an important mission,” The priest started explaining. “He doesn’t need any distractions.”

My face turned blank, “I think you should stay out of other people's business, puta.” The gray haired man looked at me in shock but I just smiled at him and waved, “I’ll make sure John gets your message Father.”

He turned around and walked back to his car quickly. One perk about blending into humanity is that priests can’t just point up their little crosses to check if you're a demon. Not like it’d do much to me anyways. I waited a bit after that, making sure the coast was clear. I was curious about this ‘mission’. It was obviously to do with that horrid cult. 

I casually made my way to John’s door. I took out the key I made a copy of when he was asleep. What? Who knows if he needed help but, oh no, the door’s locked! I closed the door behind me silently as I looked around. He wasn’t up yet, perfect. I reached down and grabbed the letter. I ripped it open, I mean no matter what it’s gonna be obvious someone was in here when he sees one of his letters are opened. I couldn’t help but notice he had three actually. I decided to ignore those ones as I opened the letter from the priest.

John,

There’s an apartment building in New Haven where they may be attempting to summon Malphas. I’m not able to go there myself. It’s up to you to stop their rituals. 

Vaya con Dios,

Father Garcia

I felt my face harden. What a stupid thing to say. “It’s up to you to stop their rituals”. Alone? That’s plain madness. I slid the letter back in the envelope, setting it back down on the floor. I took my leave, deciding to sit out on my front lawn for when John eventually tries to leave and stop a cult on his own. This Father Garcia is basically setting him up to get killed. I mindlessly watched the bees and butterflies that landed on my flowers until the sound of a door opening caused me to perk up.

“John!” I greeted, standing up quickly, cracking my bones in the process. “I’m coming with you.” I ran over to his car, waiting on the passenger side for him to unlock it. His brows furrowed, the dark circles under his eyes prominent. If I knew he was going to do something so stupid today, I would’ve helped him with his nightmares last night. 

“You opened my letter,” He muttered. 

“Yes,” I admitted openly. “And I think what you’re about to do is downright stupid. So I’ll join you so there’s a better chance of you coming out of this ordeal alive!” He continued to stare at me with his untrusting blue eyes and I frowned. I glared at him slightly before speaking, “If I wanted to kill you I would’ve done it by now.”

He unlocked his car doors and I grinned in triumph. I sat down in the passenger seat as he started the car. After I put on my seatbelt I turned to him, “You really are turning around!”

“Don’t get this wrong, demon,” He sighed out tiredly. “I’m just too tired to fight you today.” 

“My point exactly,” I pointed out. “If you can’t even fight against me, what makes you think you can fight a cult on your own?” John stayed silent at that. So, to try and lift his spirits a bit I continued, “You don’t have to do this alone, that’s why I’m here!”

John only glanced at me as I said that, but I knew I was getting to him. I stared out the window for the rest of the ride. Once we pulled up to the apartments I could feel the malicious energy that the building exhumed. When we exited the car, I grabbed ahold of his hand.

“What are you doing?” John asked, pulling his hand away.

I stared blankly at the building in front of us, “What would you say if I say we just hightail it out of here while we can?”

“As a man of God, I cannot allow this to continue,” John replied.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I frowned.

We continued into the building. It was oddly quiet. I stood close to John, just in case something decided to jump us. We found Lisa's apartment number, but apparently we had to get a key from her friend first. I don’t know who this Lisa is, but she seems to be important to the cult in some way. Lisa’s friend’s door was wide open. I walked in first, making sure everything was in the clear before John followed behind me. He grabbed the key from behind her kitchen counter. I kept my eyes on the door that had a bloodtrail, you didn’t even need to be a demon to tell that something sinister lurked behind there. 

Before we left the flat, John stopped in his tracks, looking back towards the static t.v. I looked at him in concern as he continued to stare at it. I pushed gently against his back and he seemed to snap out of it. There wasn’t much to say as we went back into the elevator. I was more on guard, listening for the faintest of sounds of someone coming for us. 

John unlocked Lisa’s door. I once again went to enter first, only to stumble back out just as quickly, hissing in pain. I looked down at the entrance to see salt blocking the entrance. I looked in further to see a red glowing seal over a door. Salt blocked that entrance too, except  something seemed to have slipped past it. 

“You don’t have to go in there,” John spoke up, ready to enter.

“No,” I shook my head. “There’s something in there, I’ll be damned to let a little salt best me.” I took in a deep breath before pushing myself past the salt that laid before me. A burning sensation washed over me before dissipating just as quickly. I let out a breath of relief as John stood next to me. I kept an eye out as John explored, not liking this situation one bit. John came back from the bathroom, pocketing a key.

“We need to go to the top level and then the lowest,” He explained. Why was this so much work? I decided to keep my complaints to myself though.

“Okay,” I nodded. We left the apartment and headed up to floor ten. Once again, an apartment door was just open, and instead of a number it was marked as M. This all really didn’t settle well for me. It’s almost like they were expecting John. There was a note on the ground, it read,

BASEMENT DUMBWAITER

–How to Use–

Pull up on handle to open hatch.

Place item or being to be sacrificed inside the container.

Pull down on handle to close hatch.

Press button to send dumbwaiter to basement. Light will blink red if done successfully. 

Please make sure your sacrifice does not jostle around inside the container.

DO NOT OPEN THE HATCH ONCE THE DUMBWAITER HAS REACHED THE BASEMENT. I DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH EARPLUGS AND I’M TIRED OF PEOPLE LOSING THEM.

Please wait for the green light to come one before using.

I looked towards the dumbwaiter, then to the t.v. set up. I frowned, not liking where this was heading. I walked over to the t.v. It was focused on a set of stairs, nothing too interesting. John walked over towards the dumbwaiter. 

“Do you have anything to sacrifice?” John asked. 

I pursed my lips, “Unless you want to be stuffed in there, no.”

John stared at me in slight surprise, although I’m not sure why. Was it really that hard to believe that I could like him? I mean I’ve been making it pretty obvious. John cleared his throat before taking out his crucifix. I felt my heart drop as he set it in the container and closed the hatch. The light started to blink red. Now he was truly defenseless. Good thing I tagged along, because now I’m not taking things lightly. I decided it didn’t matter if I looked like a human at that moment and changed into my demon form. I was more powerful this way, so if something or someone attacked us I could properly protect us. 

We walked out, and lit candles now lit our path. They really are fucking with John aren’t they? A tense silence was held over our heads as we went down and we suddenly stopped on floor four. As the doors opened a cultist painted in red stood there before slinking away. I held my arm out in front of John, my free hand up, claws ready. I slowly walked to the open doors, looking both ways. It seemed that the coast was clear. 

I watched over John tensely. Normally, I’d find joy in torturing a priest. But this was my priest, only I could drive him mad. And hopefully in a good way. If it was Father Garcia in this position, I’d be watching from the sidelines in joy. Maybe even joining in on the torment. Having to fight other demons was so tiring. I told him we should’ve just turned around. 

Walking down the hall, there was a camera on the floor. ‘I saw it’, was written in blood on the wall. I licked my lips, preparing for a fight. 

“The note said to run from it,” John said. “So whatever it is, don’t try to fight it.” 

“Okay,” I agreed wearily. And just as John picked up the camera, all the candles blew out, leaving us in darkness. Good thing us demons can see in the dark. I walked over to John, who took a photo with the flash on, lighting the area. I gently grabbed his shoulders while saying, “It’s just me John, I’ll help lead you.” 

He nodded, his tense shoulders relaxing just slightly. I led him forward, alerting him of the stairs. We got to Lisa’s friend's apartment, the door still open. Dread washed over me, I think we’re going to find out what’s behind that door. I didn’t even realize I stopped till John used the camera again. He started to walk in the direction of the door and I led him through it. 

I snarled slightly as my assumptions were correct. The previously closed door was now wide open. I walked him forward, entering the room. It was a bedroom, the left side of the wall had a giant opening. John took another photo, lighting the room up for him. I suppose he feels more at ease when he knows the layout of the room. I led him into the opening. My hair stood on end as I saw three cultists stand by an altar.

“Don’t use your camera,” I whispered into his ear. They didn’t seem to notice us. How dumb, they probably can’t see anything either. Though I suppose that works in our favor. I kept pushing John forward, around a corner, and into another room. Bodies laid about around a gaping hole in the ground. I rolled my eyes at the savagery. Can’t these demons get any better hobbies?

I tried to push John forward once more, but he didn’t move. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as I leaned forward to get a look at his face. His eyebrows were also furrowed, his eyes closed, sweat beading down his pale skin. I patted his cheek gently, trying to get a reaction. Nothing happened for a few more seconds before he gasped, opening his eyes. 

“C’mon John, we’re nearly there,” I whispered, squeezing his shoulders, hoping to give him some sort of comfort before pushing him forward once more. That’s all we can do at this point. 

Once again we were out in the hallway. I alerted John of the stairs again, walking further down, and entering another apartment. I noticed a dagger in this room, and kept it in mind for later. I led John down more stairs. Once we reached the bottom, John flashed the camera, and my hair stood on end. A demon slowly drew towards us with each flash of the camera. My instinct was to attack, but I remember what John told me earlier, run. So I decided to just pick John up and run up the second set of stairs. What? Demons tend to be stronger than humans after all.

“W-what are you-”

I cut John off, “It’s easier to run this way.” The demon kept saying ‘mother’ for some reason, and I really couldn’t give a shit. I weaved through the shelves that seemed to be placed like it was purposely meant to trip someone up. Once I exited the room, we seemed to be okay. I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure as I set John down. I held onto John once more, leading him down another set of stairs. 

“Thank you,” He whispered.

“Don’t mention it,” I replied just as quietly. “After all, only I can mess with you.” I quickly kissed the back of his neck, making him flinch forwards. I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath, muttering ‘cute’ under my breath before focusing back on the task. 

I was so happy to find out we were on the 1st floor. I led John quickly down to the basement, ready to get this over with. I walked past the washing machines and towards an area of the basement filled with only candles, but also held his crucifix. Once he finally had a hold of his crucifix, the lights of the apartment complex seemed to turn on once more. I groaned, rubbing my eyes.

“C’mon,” I called. “I think I saw something further down.” 

We walked to the end of the basement. It seems a ritual was held recently. John picked up and read a note. I checked out the weird mask that was lying to the side. John then came over to me and held his crucifix to the mask. A spirit left it. We made sure we got everything before going back. Only for the same demon as earlier to attack us once more.

I followed the trail it left. Candles lighting up in its path. John held up his crucifix towards the demon, effectively hurting and making it back away. This went on for a few minutes before the demon was defeated.

We finally made our way out. Though we were not out of the woods just yet. A sudden surprise attack happened, and Malphas tried to possess John. I growled, knowing that there’s nothing I could do at this point. 

“Fight it John,” I cried out, hoping he could hear me. “I know you’re stronger!”

I clenched my fists as his face distorted. This damn thing, it better think twice after this. Suddenly John’s face went back to normal, his eyes darting around frantically. I rushed to him, holding his face gently in my hands, searching his eyes for any trace of an evil entity. He stared back, just as intensely. I let out a sigh of relief as I didn’t find anything. I leaned up and kissed his cheek before letting go of him completely.

“Don’t scare me like that again!” I exclaimed, slapping his shoulder gently. He only hung his head low. “What else do we need to do?” I asked softly.

“Find a dagger,” he replied.

“I know just the place.”

I led him back to the apartment that we went through in the dark. I watched as he cleansed it. Keeping an eye out for that damned Malphas. Finally, we went back to Lisa’s flat. I felt a chill run down my back as the previously sealed door laid open. 

I walked in first and let out a sigh. Of course, time to fight another demon. 

“Lisa, thank God you’re alright,” John said softly. My frown worsened, the feeling of jealousy flowing through me. Of course he’s got some other human he’s fond of.

“John…” She trailed off. “What took you so long? It’s so dark, I can’t see the light anymore.”

“I got here as fast as I could,” John said exasperatedly. His face is the definition of tired. “Let’s go home.”

My face scrunched even worse as the jealousy slowly consumed me. If I knew we were saving his little darling I wouldn’t have been so eager to join. What am I saying, leaving him, to do everything we did on his own? Then I would’ve lost the only person that intrigues me. 

“I’m not Lisa!” The demon who possessed her cackled. I rolled my eyes at the dramatics. John kept out of her reach as he held the crucifix up to her. The demon left her, and made fake copies of itself, going into the things that filled the room. John held up his crucifix to the closest one. Only, it was one of the fakes, causing the real one to come out and possess John. 

I quickly leapt towards John, holding him back from the girl. I couldn’t give two fucks about her, but I knew John would never forgive himself if something happened to her. The demon in his body, warping his beautiful face, pushed against me, scratching my arms until they bled. I didn’t let up my hold until the demon left him, going back to Lisa. I stood back once more as John tried to cleanse the demon out of her. This time, I watched closely as the demon fled. I pointed out the first one it went into to John and he aimed his crucifix at it. 

This finally revealed the demon, and John was able to sufficiently hurt it. This continued on a few times. Sometimes, we’d get the wrong copy and I’d have to hold John back once more. But we got the damn thing in the end. I leaned against the wall of Lisa’s apartment as John and her talked. I examined the scratches that covered my arms. The thick red liquid pooled at my fingertips. It’s going to be so annoying to deal with this. After the whole ordeal I made sure to look human so Lisa didn’t know that John was lowkey working with the enemy.

Once they finished, John walked over to me, glancing down at my arms. I simply pushed myself off the wall and walked past him, going towards the elevator. I felt a twinge of guilt, but I was tired, sore, and jealous. John entered behind me, pushing the button for floor one. It was silent between us, a certain tension filling the air. 

My breath hitched as I felt his hand slowly intertwine with mine. I looked over at him, feeling myself melt slightly. I don’t think I’ll ever understand these strange feelings he makes me feel, but perhaps we could figure them out together. 

We continued holding hands even on the drive home. I couldn’t stop staring at our hands. I was so happy that he was willing to hold my hand, let alone with how my blood now coated his pale skin. It was almost like I was claiming him! 

I was snapped out of my thoughts as we stopped. I felt saddened. I mean I wish I could’ve spent my time with John in a different way, but still, this was the most I’ve got to talk to him. And now I have to go home and clean up. 

I got out of the car, but before I could walk towards my house John spoke up, “Let me help you with your wounds, it’s the least I could do.”

My dull eyes brightened at his offer, turning to face him, “You mean it?”

“Of course,” He nodded, motioning me to join him. He let me into his house, leading me to the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bathtub as he gathered some supplies. My human form slowly faded into my demon one, me being too tired to keep it up. 

He didn’t mention it though, he only kneeled down and started to clean my blood soaked arms. Though now it was harder to tell what was blood and what was my skin. It made me feel so…pampered and spoiled with him doing all this. Dare I even say…loved?

I didn’t flinch when he applied the alcohol. I wasn’t going to tell him that demons can’t be infected by Earthly viruses. I smiled softly as he finally wrapped bandages around my arms, making sure it wouldn’t fall apart easily. 

“Thank you, priest,” I thanked. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You were harmed because of me-“

“I’m also a demon,” I replied seriously. “Or did you forget that?” He looked to the side, his hands on his knees. I sighed softly, “I just don’t want you to feel guilty about this. I mean I chose to go with, I knew what I was getting into. Plus I’m a demon so don’t waste your guilt on me.”

I could tell that John was having conflicting thoughts, “You can tell me what’s on your mind, cutie.”

“I’m…” He trailed off. “I should treat you like the demon you are, yet I feel myself weakening.”

My grin widened, though I tried to soften it, “Whenever you’re ready to let me in, I’ll always just be right next door.”

“I think you should stay,” He mumbled, but I heard him loud and clear. “Just so I can keep an eye on your injuries.” I think I’ll forget to tell him demons heal faster too.

I gently held his face between my hands once more, “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He leaned into my touch and my heart started beating faster. I just wanted to kiss him all over his cute face!

“You know we could even share the bed tonight,” I leaned over and whispered into his ear.

I pulled back slightly to see his reaction, only for him to gently hold my wrist, a rose blush on the apples of his cheeks. His eyes failed to meet my own. I kept waiting for his rejection, but he didn’t say a peep. I couldn’t stop myself from softly cooing at his flustered expression, running one of my hands through his hair.

“Come on, we deserve a good night's sleep after all that bullshit,” I said standing up. I pulled him up with me, and led him towards his bedroom, our hands intertwined.

[umbralsound-xiv]

Frosted Favour.

Our next sun together took us to the frozen north, to Mor Dhona and Coerthas. I had been to neither during my time in Eorzea, and had little idea of what to expect, save that it was cold. ...Thankfully, i had managed to find a coat suiting for the journey...

"I do wish this coat would have come in some other colour than white, but suppose i shall just endeavor not to get it dirty. It is certainly… Warm, mind." Eir remarked, as they walked the path onwards. "Barely a flake of snow to be seen. I assume that will change, when we get to Coerthas…"

Sayuri tilts her head, eyes lidded as her gaze rests upon him - lips curled into a small smile. "You look adorable." She hums, squeezing his hand. ".. It will."

Eir huffs, a small glow of red at his cheeks. "Adorable. I have not heard that one before. Something to do with all of this… Fluff, i am wearing." He'd almost be pouting if he could, walking further up the path. "You are always cute, anyway. You do not need fluff for such a description."

She flaunts a wide smile, raising her free hand over to him to lightly brush her fingers along the fluffier part of his attire. ".. Soft." She nigh whispers, before rising her gaze back up to his features and allowing her lips to form into a pout. ".. Nnno." She denies, childishly.

"Yyyyyeees." Eir replies, just as childishly, the pout of her lips inviting him in for a swift kiss. He pulls back with a grin. "Especially when you make pouting faces like that at me."

She meets his lips quite joyously, despite the pout that remains on her lips. His latter comment prompts the tip of her tongue to slowly slip past and poke his way. "..Nnnno."

"Mmmmyyyees." Another kiss, and before she can protest, he moves further onwards, where his footsteps slow to a stop. "…Such a… View… It is beautiful…"

Open, clear skies, and a towering structure of crystal. To see the world with her... I do not think i have ever enjoyed travelling so much. Of course, the purpose for doing so does not go without mention, too.

She merely huffs as they move on, squeezing his hand gently. Her gaze shifts across the area, settling on various areas on the back before seeking its way to the mark before them. ".. It almost looks like it's clad in ice."

"It… Does. But it is crystal, i think?" Burying the toe of his boot into the dirt; or trying to, he seems to test that theory. "…But it certainly is nice to look at. Even the tree is taken with it…"

Sayuri nods gently. ".. It's like the Burning Wall, only blue."

"…An… Aether scar, i think they were called…" Eir approaches the stone, and pulls out a sprig of lavender, which he sets before the mark. "See that no matter how many cycles i live, i will always choose to learn. Be that words of her language, or a recipe for her favourite food. I would learn it all."

"They are." She observes as Eir makes his offering, features softening at his words. She eventually approaches herself, extending a hand into her satchel to withdraw a small scroll tied with a bright blue band, which she slowly settles down next to the lavender. ".. I.. have no words fitting here, truly, and I apologise for it." She glances up at the mark, one ear drooping. ".. But I hope the offering will suffice, and be to your liking." She slowly withdraws, hand immediately seeking out Eir's.

His hand finds her own, offering a loving squeeze. "…We have said what we needed to. The next… Suppose i should steel myself for colder climes, hm? I know they will not be even half as pleasant as your cold…"

She glances up at him, offering a soft smile and a squeeze of her own. ".. I sadly can't warn you for how bad it'll be."

"…No worse than Garlemald, i imagine. I still remember losing sensation in my ears. No helmet would ever fit. I am surprised they are still attatched…"

I know even other Miqo'te that were not unscathed by bullets or magicks. Some lost ears... I... Do wonder, sometimes, how she lost her own...

".. I would not know. I.. feel neither heat nor cold." She pauses. ".. I -can- feel cold, but.. Something is usually incredibly wrong when I do." Her gaze lifts up to his ears, head tilting. ".. I'm glad they are."

"…I would be happier that you do not feel it, if to do so is because you are ill. And… Me too. It would make hearing much harder, if so. All this time, and the only holes i have put in them are the ones i have made myself." He reaches up, to tap an earring. "But there have been close encounters…"

"It doesn't happen often, thankfully." She offers a reassuring smile, offering his hand a comforting squeeze. ".. Well. Having a torn ear isn't particularly fun.. So lets keep it that way." Her own torn ear flick faintly as she speaks, her smile remaining.

"…Does it affect your hearing at all? I… Do not know. It does not seem to." He asks, wandering onwards. "…I could not even think for what it would be like."

Her head shakes lightly. "No, not really. I was more shocked to have lost it when I woke up in the infirmary afterwards." She pauses, gazing outwards and along the road as they walked. ".. Admittedly? I.. am not sure how it was removed, I was unconscious at the time. And the only other person that might know.. I don't want to ask." She grimaces faintly.

"I see…" He offers the smallest of frowns, thumb trailing over the back of her hand as he gives her a comforting squeeze. "I have always wondered, but did not… Ever want to ask. In case it brought bad memories. Scars rarely come with pleasant ones."

".. I don't mind you asking, about any of them. You're the only one who knows of all of them aside from myself. I have spoken to Bexy of them, but not.. shown them too much?" She offers a small shrug. ".. I was out in the Shroud with X'thia, at a time I was still attempting to create a relationship with her, and we were ambushed."

"And… You were unconscious…?" Eir asks, worriedly. "…But you survived. I assume the assailant is dead?"

She offers a small nod. ".. We lost the fight, I lost consciousness. When I awoke, we were in the infirmary, being tended to by.. G'rallin and Timur." She pauses. "..Timur being a Xaela who was in the East with me, he has since left, like the rest." Her gaze passes over to Eir, head sinking into a nod. "They are." Another pause lingers, as a small exhale leaves her. ".. It.. was shortly after Bexy's wedding, she was taken from us and we were given a body, altered to look like her." The memory draws Sayuri’s lips into a small frown. “.. We had a funeral and everything, and then.. the ambushes started. Nigh every sun, someone among us was attacked while out, even if we were not alone.”

"…How long ago was this?" Eir asks, but the alarm is clear in his tone; it's the first he'd heard of it. "…You thought her dead? Ambushes…?" He searches her gaze, for some kind of answer.

What... What horrors has she endured since leaving the East? I thought the Locket was dreadful enough, but to know there is so much more, i... ...I do not think now was the time to ask of it, but... I... Would like to know. I think.

".. Two cycles ago." She raises her head, looking over to him. ".. We did." Her ears flatten a touch, brows furrowing. ".. We started digging into it, and pulled up more questions than answers.. We.. realised the body we had was not her. She had been taken by some bastard from her own past, one who.. preyed on Miqo'te such as us, to my knowledge. All those who ambushed us were imbalanced Miqo'te."

"…I dread to think all you have been through that i have never known about…" His hand tightens protectively around her own, as they walked. "…Another reason why it makes sense that she is so… Protective, of you. If you had helped her in such a situation…"

She squeezes his hand gently, head turning back to gaze along the road. ".. When we found out who had her, and.. that he was after imbalanced Miqo'te.. Mist very reluctantly agreed to G'rallin, X'thia and myself to act as bait, to get.. captured, and break free once we knew the location they were going to bring us to." She slowly glances back to him, one ear drooping. ".. We had prepared with crystals of our elements, and broke free with relative ease. We rescued Bexy just a sun after bringing word to Mist."

"Gods, Sayuri!" His word is almost a scold, though his brows knit and there is sorrow in his gaze. He stops walking to throw his arms around her and pull her against him in silence, head buried to her own. A breath, then… And silence, as the words died on his lips.

Her ears flatten, an almost guilty look settling on her features at the sorrow. She's swift to embrace him as he pulls her in, her head gently pushing against him. ".. I'm fine, Eir." She speaks softly, rubbing her palm along his back. ".. I wasn't alone, and it was two cycles ago."

"I know… I… Know. Just…" He releases her to look over her, features twisted in some conflicted, guilty expression. "Just… Please. Be careful, if… If such a thing need ever happen again." His silver gaze settled with hers, then. "…I can not lose you. Not so soon…"

She smiles softly, her arms slowly withdrawing from their coil to raise up and gently cup his cheeks. ".. Of course, I have you to return to, now." She murmurs softly, tiptoeing as she sought to press her lips against his.

...To think she was ever so reckless, i... I hope she is more careful, now. To know i am here, home and waiting for her... ...To think it ever happened at all. It brings a swell of nausea in my gut at the mere thought of it...

His head settled against the cup of her hands, eyes lidding as her lips met with his own. "…And i will be waiting. Always. Or at least home soon after." A fainter smile, as he takes her hand back into his own. "…Shall we keep going? I think… I am beginning to feel the cold from the mountains…"

She gently squeezes his hand in return, keeping a warm smile on her lips. Her head sinks into a nod. "Lets."

Eir returns the nod, hand in her own, departing for the mountain path that would surely lead to Coerthas.

...We made way for the mountains, then. It was a fair walk, i know. But with each footsteps we drew closer... And when the faint flurries of snow began, i only began to think how long it had been since i had seen it...

Slowly but surely, the two venture through the mountain pass. The snow and cold of Coerthas becoming more and more apparent the closer they get to the border, until they officially step out into the snowy land. Sayuri casts the occasional glance Eir's way, to determine how well he's dealing with the cold as they walk.

"…Snow. It has been so long…" He holds his free hand out, to allow some to settle in his palm. He doesn't seem too discomforted by it, on account of wrapping up warm. "It reminds me of you." He smiles, gazing to her.

She offers a soft smile, head tilting. ".. Incredibly pale? Cold?" She snickers.

"Pale. Pretty. Nice to look at." He walks onwards, murmuring quietly. "Offers a painful death to anyone who underestimates it…"

She cracks a grin, an amused chuckle following at the latter part of his sentence. ".. Well that's not quite what I expected you to answer."

"Perhaps not, but it is the truth, hm?" His expression softens at her laughter. "You are a formidable woman in every way. Both in your kindness… And in your ferocity."

"..Well, to those who harm those I love moreso." She mumbles, offering the tiniest pout. ".. I'm not -that- kind. I am to you, because I love you."

"You are plenty kind. You could have continued running the Yakuza the way those before you had, but you did not. You took pity on those who had endured as you had. And even before you fell in love with me… You offered me friendship. You were kind to me, long before love."

".. Run it the way -Hayate- did?" The name leaves her with a hint of disgust, her features twisting into a grimace. ".. I would've rather given myself up to the Garlean Embassy, as he often threatened me with." She grumbled, pinning her ears back. She glances over to him, one hear slowly rising. ".. I still caused plenty of crime, even if there was some I offered kindness." She paused, gaze turning aside. "..Mostly children." She mumbled, kicking at a tiny patch of snow sulkily. ".. I -guess-."

"…That you did to anyone was enough." Eir squeezes her hand in his own as a quiet sign of affection. "You are kind, Sayuri. Or you always have been to me. You were under no obligation to help me, the first sun we met… But you did."

She returns a squeeze, glancing up at him. ".. I didn't do much. Help you get a shirt off, that was the extent of my help." She huffs faintly, leaning over to gently boop her head against his shoulder mid-walk, as she often does. ".. A boy ran up to me in Kugane, once. He.. asked me to kill someone for him, which.. left me kind of surprised, to be honest. A girl followed him, and apologised for him placing himself in my path."

"That is… Surprising…" Eir begins, brows knit. "…Did you?" He pauses, unsure whether he wanted the answer to that question, or not. "…You were plenty of help. You begun your talent for removing my clothes quite early." He snickers.

“… Yes.” She admits, glancing up at him. “.. I told them no, initially.. And sent a retainer of mine to follow up on the accusations of abuse they put on their stepfather. It was one of the few moments I would’ve preferred to find out it was a lie, and they simply did not like him. I.. took that a little more personal than I should’ve, I think.” A slow exhale left her, brow lofting at his latter words. “A talent I intend to hone.”

"…At least you did it for the right reason. Personal or no." Eir lofts a brow at her retort, barking a laugh. "I have no opposition to you wanting to better your skills. Just… Ah… Perhaps wait until we are home, on account of me not wishing to freeze to death…"

".. I made sure to have him hauled out of the home beforehand, I didn't want to traumatise the children." She mumbled, before managing a small smirk. "..Gods, Eir. I -have- restraint." She pouts.

"So you do. Not much, though." He teases, head nudged to hers as he entered the mouth of the cave. "…It is so… I have never seen ice like this…" He begins.

".. Three moons!" She blurts out defensively, only to smile and nudge her head back against his. ".. Besides, you're not much better than me in that regard." She murmurs, letting her gaze wander the cave.

"Nor do i care to be." Eir hums, moving behind her to briefly pull her into an embrace, mindful of the axe. "…This is… Halone, yes?"

Sayuri leans herself into the embrace, nudging the back of her head into him with a soft smile. “.. Yes. The Fury, Goddess of war. Patron deity of Ishgard.”

Eir takes a steadying breath as he looks upon the mark, and after a small squeeze, releases Sayuri to approach. A small metal button is left in the middle of the room; worn and tarnished with age, it bears a Garlean insignia. "…Halone. I have been at war once, and loathed every part of it…" Eir trails, lowering his head. "…But if i must ever draw my weapons again, to protect myself or those closest to me… Please, give me the strength to best them."

...A button from my old uniform. I... Still have it. Tucked beneath my bed. It... Feels like something i should tell her about before she finds it herself... ...I should probably get rid of it, and yet... Part of me cannot let go yet. It does not symbolise Garlemald or their regime for me, but it is more a marker of... My friends. The company i kept, then. When i was Angeir Pyr Rava, and all i had to look forward to was surviving another sun, and a warm cup of whatever was worth drinking, and... Them. ...Does... Anyone remember them? ...Anyone but me?

She offered a nudge of her head in response to the squeeze before he let go, quietly watching as he moved forth to settle his offering. Her gaze locks upon it, recognising the insignia even from afar - prompting the tiniest of grimaces to take to her features, albeit it fades quickly. Her steps soon sees her wandering forth, withdrawing a crystal from her pouch - a weak hint of icy aether swirling within it. She gazes at it in silence for a time, slowly closing her hand around it. “.. There is no God specifically for magic, yet.. With you as the Goddess of war, and your element being that of my own.. A part of myself that I use for battle..” She lowers her head a touch, ears flattening as she clutches the crystal tighter. “.. If it is within your power, please.. Help me overcome this restriction.. That I may use my abilities to protect my friends, my loved ones..” She lowers herself down to settle the crystal next to the insignia, soon standing upright and looking up to the mark. “.. Please.” It left her as a mere whisper, before a slow exhale leaves her and she turns to make her way back to Eir - a small frown on her features as she immediately seeks to coil her arms around him.

Eir wraps his arms around Sayuri at her approach, holding her close for several long moments. "You will not be this way forever, my love…" He whispers quietly, a hand shifting up to stroke through her hair.

Sayuri presses her head into his chest, tightening her wrap around him. ".. Perhaps not.." She mumbles, exhaling a slow sigh. Her ears twitch faintly at the motion, her body sinking against his a little further.

"…You will not. And even if you are… You will be able to defend yourself and others, still. But i doubt it will come to that, my moon." Slowly, he leans to press his lips to her forehead, where he lingers for some time. "…I love you. No matter what, yes?"

".. My aether will still react to my emotions.. It stirring will.. make it hurt." She lowers her gaze, frowning softly. ".. I will be more of a liability than help on the battlefield, if it remains this way.." Her eyes shut briefly as his lips settle against her forehead, a softer sigh leaving her. ".. And I you." She murmurs, offering a gentle squeeze.

"…It will not always be this way." Eir repeats quietly, giving her a final squeeze before he releases her to take her hand anew. "…come. We still have one more to visit this sun, yes?"

She hesitantly releases him, swiftly grasping onto his hand as it seeks hers out. She nods faintly, squeezing his hand. "..We do."

Leaning to press his lips briefly to her crown, Eir turns to walk onwards, then. "…The last for this sun is… Menphina, yes? Goddess of the moon…?" He says quizically, glancing to her.

".. Yes." Sayuri mumbles, drawing a deeper breath. ".. And of love." She returns a glance, tilting her head.

The moon, and love... That both go hand in hand in this realm is... A coincidence, perhaps? ...Perhaps.

Eir stares at Sayuri for a long, quiet moment, wordless. It's almost prying, as his brows loft, but the grin curls into one of mischief. "Perhaps you are not a Princess after all…" Eir begins, amused. "…Perhaps you are…" He stops, to turn and settle both hands on her shoulders, leaning down to her face. "…A Goddess?"

Her gaze narrows, brows furrowing. She keeps her stare locked upon him as he stops and turns her, only for her features to soften. An almost pained smile settles on her lips, brows remaining furrowed. ".. I'd be a poor excuse of a Goddess."

"What makes you say that? You have granted my every wish." Eir walks on, retaking her hand for the journey.

She merely shakes her head slightly, fingers shifting to intertwine with his as they move on.

"…Well, it does sound like something of a demanding duty. Perhaps you are my own personal Goddess. But i think i prefer the term 'Wife' better."

".. Having the power of one wouldn't go amiss." She huffs, leaning her head over to boop it against his shoulder, as she often does. ".. A wife I will be, at least." She pauses. ".. Yours, specifically."

"Mine." The way he says the word is a soft, warm thing. "My moon." He cooes, walking onwards. "…The snows are far fairer here than they are in Garlemald. But… Perhaps, it is because i am with you…"

".. My heart." She murmurs, managing a soft smile. ".. Does my presence make you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside?" She teases.

"Just as warm and fuzzy as this coat." He retorts, beaming. "…Yes. You make me feel a wide array of things. A lot more than what i have words for, certainly."

She snickers quietly, squeezing his hand. "Only good things, I hope."

"The best things. Happiness, comfort. Love. Safety. Many more things besides." He kisses her, again. "…Like i have a chest full of butterflies, sometimes. It is a good thing."

She smiles, squeezing his hand anew and wiggling her ears. ".. I'm glad." She murmurs, her spirits certainly having begun lifting since the last offering.

"How… Do i make you feel…?" Eir asks, in a sort of quiet, innocent way. He doesn't elaborate, but his expression belies some hesitation, walking through the snows.

".. Gods, I'll just sound like I'm reciting you." She gave a faint laugh, ears lowering a little as she, again, squeezes his hand. "..I feel a peace unlike what I have ever felt before when I'm with you. I feel comfort in your presence, and so much love and joy from every little moment we have together.." She pauses, glancing up at him.

Eir flushes a little from the colour of his cheeks, glancing away. "…That-- It is very sweet." He murmurs, head nudging against hers. Though with the growing blizzard, Eir hunches further into his shoulders. "…We… Must be close, yes…? I… cannot see so well from the snow…"

Sayuri smiles, nudging her head back against his affectionately. "It should be just up ahead, I think."

"So… I remember reading. I hope there is somewhere to stay not so far from here…" A shiver dances down his spine from the cold. "Somewhere… Warm…"

The cold was... Beginning to get to me, even through this warm coat. Letting go of her hand was not an option...

"..We should be able to stay in the camp we walked through.."

"…I hope so…" Eir murmurs, reaching the summit. The piles of stones first catch his attention, but it's the one furthest along that takes his interest. "…We are here. Menphina…" Eir repearts, looking over the mark. "…And that is… Ishgard?"

".. I'll throw some coin their way if need be." She gave a small shrug, glancing over to the city before nodding. "It is."

"…Like some kind of fairytale castle. I… Have never seen it in person." He looks upon the mark, considering quietly, before stepping forth. A mirror is placed on the snow, face-up. "…If it was you who saught to guide us together, then i have no greater thanks i can possibly ever give. Even in the darkest of times does the moon offer light… And so too does she. My love… My moon…" Eir trails, a little red in the cheeks. "…I would ask you to marry me again, if i had not already done so."

...All i could think to give her was a mirror. A flower would perish so quickly in the cold; all save for Sayuri, anyway. A circular mirror. Like the moon. I would give her the prettiest thing for her namesake; a reflection of all the things i held dearest. Her.

She smiles, leaning in to gently nudge her head against him. "I'd say yes again." She beams up at him, eyes lidding. Once she has decided to pull her gaze away from him, she lowers her hands into her pouch, withdrawing a small moon daisy which she settles next to the mirror. ".. Thank you, for giving me people who loved me, who I could return it to. For the people I proudly call my parents, for the woman I call my sister.." Her hand seeks out Eir's, her smile widening. ".. The man I will soon call my husband."

Eir warms at her words, gazing to her fondly. "…It always feels like there is so much more i want to say, only i do not have the words…" He glances down the road which they had arrived from, knowing he would soon walk back down. "…We… Should find a place to sleep, perhaps? Out of the cold…? Or at least… As out of the cold as we are able to manage. After tomorrow, at the very least we will have the comfort of our own bed. Or pillow pile, as it may be."

".. There isn't enough words to fully convey the feelings." She murmurs, leaning her head over to rest it against him. ".. We should probably find somewhere to rest, yes."

"…We should. And depart early enough in the morning for the Shroud… And then home. I have missed it… Even if we have only been away for a few suns. I know that sounds… Silly, perhaps. Though i have enjoyed my time travelling with you."

She nods gently. ".. It's been nice, but I'll be glad to be home as well."

As much as i am enjoying our travels... ...What i would not give, to be curled up in the pillow pile with her...

[krimsonkatt]

Mio and Me - Xenoblade 3 Fairy TFTG

Description copied from my old DeviantArt. One day, Noah and his girlfriend Princess Mio of Agnus are hanging out in Agnus Castle. King Rex and the three queens were out of town, so they were all alone. While thinking of things to do, Mio comes up with an idea, to visit the royal library and pick out a good book to read. Noah agrees, and they head to the library. However, while wandering throughout the halls, an old, dusty book begins to glow on the upper shelf. Mio takes notice and grabs the book. "How strange." she says. "This book seems to be glowing." She opened the dusty book only to be greeted with mysterious instructions. "Welcome to the realm of the fairies, master." Huh? Was this book sentient or something? "I am the mystic tome known as the "Faerie Queene's Grimoire. You, dear Mio, are this book's new master." Huh? How did this book know her name? This was creepy. "Using this book, you will be able to enter Alfhiemr, the realm of the faeries to become it's guardian and protector, for you have been chosen by the book. All you need to is whisper a password, which you construct yourself, into the book, and you and anyone surrounding you will be teleported to our with with new forms that better fit this environment. Good luck, faerie fencer!" "Uh, Noah, come get a look at this."

A few moments later

"It's certainly strange. I've never heard of a "faerie" before. Are they some sort of creature?" replied Noah. Mio responded. "I don't know, but it can't hurt to find out, right? They don't SOUND like evil people." "Yeah, I guess so." "How about we take a visit to this other world? We won't be out for long, and no one is home anyway." "I don't know, it might be dangerous." "I know, but my curiosity is killing me! I just have to see what that other world is like." "I guess it won't hurt. Okay, let's visit that other world." "Okay. Book, take us to the other world." words then appeared in the book to Mio, which was blank to Noah's eyes. "A password has not been set. Please enter password." Mio whispered into the book "lucky seven," and suddenly the book began to emit an extremely bright glow as a vortex began to form. "Mio! What did you do?" "I don't know! I just entered a password and this happened!" the vortex became bigger and bigger and both young adults started to be sucked in! "Aaaaaaaahhhh!" they both yelled as they were sucked into the portal, the book then closing behind them.

"What… is this place?" Noah moaned as he found himself spiraling through some sort of pink colored Vortex. He could see Mio in the distance, but something felt… odd. Like there was a lightness in his stomach and in his head that he just couldn't grasp. And then… CRACK! "What was that? AAAAAAHHHH!" Noah began to scream in agony as an extremely painful burning sensation began at his feet, and it was quickly spreading. "What… is this…" sparks and sparkles were let out as what felt like burning fire began to consume his entire body, starting with his foot and spreading across his body. Everything felt extremely warm, and he just kept feeling lighter and lighter as the fire continued to spread. Then the fire reached his pelvis and… "GLOOP!" Emptiness. Complete emptiness. His sword was no longer there, leaving only a sheath. Was he turning into a woman? He had to stop this! The fire then began to consume his clothes, turning his red jacket and black pants into a feminine dress featuring a leotard and miniskirt. Tight pantyhose covered his lower half, as leafy-feeling heeled boots covered his legs. He WAS turning into a girl! The dress itself also felt very leafy in texture, like she was wearing nature itself. "Here it comes…" Noah cried out as the fire plumped up her posterior and chest to dramatic proportions, leaving her with a bubble butt and double d breasts. The fire then predictably then spread to her face, transforming it to become cute and feminine with large, voloxolous lips covered in light red lipstick and long feminine lashes. It also made her ponytail grow much longer, making her hairstyle much more girly. But, surprisingly, this was not the end of the changes. The fire then spread to the shoulder blades on her back, making the skin swell up before two shining red wings fluttered out of her back with grace and poise. Along with that, her ears lengthened to dramatic proportions, making them pointed and looked similar to some of the coreborn he's seen throughout Agnus.

With the transformation finished, Noah felt extremely light as she began to flutter across the pink hellscape. Flying felt surprisingly good. Wait, flying? She could fly? What was going on? She could see that Mio also transformed, though her changes were a lot less noticeable. She now had wings and antenna like Noah now did, colored gold instead of red, but her outfit also changed to the same leafy texture as Noah's new clothes and became more poofy and feminine. Was this what these "faeries" looked like? What was going on! "Oh! There you are Noah!" "Mio! What is happening? Why am I a girl?" "Calm down. This isn't that big of a deal. When we travel back to our world, you'll transform back to your original self, just like you always were. Mio placed her warm hands on Noah's, calming his stressed breathing. "We'll just take a quick look around like I said. Then, we can travel back. Don't worry, I will always love you, no matter what form you take." Mio then gave a quick kiss on Noah's cheek, embarrassing the young faerie and making her blush. If Lanz or Eunie were here, they would definitely tease them for being "gay AF" or whatever the new lingo was. "Mio, I'm not too sure about this…" Mio responded. "Don't worry about it, this will be fine! It's a whole new world to explore!"

Later, Noah and Mio would arrive in Alfhiem, Mio being welcomed as their new champion to fight the evil dark alfr. Noah traveled with Mio exploring the new world for a tad before they were both forced to return, since due to the book's limits they could only stay in Alfhiem for a maximum of 6 hours before automatically traveling back to their own world. Upon returning to earth, Mio brought the book of the faerie queene to her room to use whenever she pleased and Noah decided that he wouldn't be traveling to that other world anytime soon. Being a girl wouldn't be worth it just for the ability to fly, and he couldn't really change it since he quickly learned that all faeries are females who can reproduce asexually. Becoming a faerie would mean becoming a woman, and Noah didn't really like that. However, he would still travel to Alfhiem in secret to serve as Mio's backup if she was even in trouble. He would take the cost if it meant protecting his beloved. He will never let her go until they day they died, not again. Thus ends the story of Noah and Mio's first trip into Alfhiem, but it will be far from the last. Especially when a certain android appeared on their world to warn of a dire cosmic threat that could consume all worlds in eternal darkness…

To Be Continued

Author's Note: Thanks for reading this story! I finished Xenoblade 3 recently as it has been on my mind a lot. So, I decided to make a TG involving it, but wanted to do something a bit more unique. There was this crappy old CGI show on Nick Jr back in the day that my little sister watched called "Mia and Me." It was about a live action girl with a magic book that served as a portal to the fairy world, and she had to manage juggling her real life with her duties as the protector of the fairy world. Lots of sparkles and unicorns and girly stuff, but the TF element was cool I guess. Not many shows with fairy TFs as a major feature. Sadly no TGs, but that's to be expected of a children's show in this day and age thanks to conservatards raging at anything vaguely LGBT+ themed. Since "Mia" is so similar to "Mio," the heroine of Xenoblade 3, I decided to combine both concepts together to make a Xenoblade-themed fairy TG taking place after the events of Xenoblade 3 after both worlds have been fused and Noah and Mio met again. Weird crossover, eh? Fairy TGs are basically my signature now so I couldn't let down an excuse to make another one. Hope you like the fairy Noah and Mio designs. I especially liked the design I gave to fairy Mio. Anyway hope you enjoyed this TG/Comic and I hope you continue to like and share my posts! Don't forget to favorite, comment, and follow. Bye for now!

[whiskeynwriting]

MBFD - One-Shot: Loving It

Dave York x Female Reader

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Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) mentions of infidelity, dirty talk, praise kink, age kink/play, slight daddy kink, masturbation, mentions of oral (m and f receiving), mentions of vaginal sex, descriptions of amateur porn.

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A/N: hey y’all, so I’m gonna start doing occasional one-shots between chapters! I think it’ll be a fun way to add in more detail that’ll help clarify later chapters, and we’ll get to see more Daddy Dave while we’re at it, too (;

As usual, co-written by @moralesthots <3

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It’s the best sleep he’s gotten in months, the deepest and by far the most relaxing. Normally, he’d carry the weight of the day into bed, try to sleep it off and just pretend things didn’t exist for a while. It was hard to do when there was so much going on, and Carol being right down the hall didn’t help. He often woke up in the night, unable to go back to sleep because of his racing mind. But with you cuddled up by his side, he finds himself surprisingly calm. And even though his heart nearly beat out of his chest when you’d first laid down, it settled quickly. He likes the feeling of holding you.

He can feel you stirring, though, his eyes slowly blinking open when feeling your touch – a subtle roll of your hips. He wonders if you’re still asleep or if you’re doing this on purpose. A few more blinks and he can see the time on the clock beside his bed, the red dashes spelling out 3:28 AM. Only a few hours had passed since the two of you fell asleep, and by the sound of your soft snore, he assumes you still are. She’s doing this in her sleep?

Dave’s hand shoots up, finding and gripping your hip. He does it in an attempt to calm himself, to stop your motions and shoo away his suddenly full boner. The last thing he wants to do is cum in his pants again. He hadn’t realized how quickly his body had reacted to you, but as soon as he realized you were grinding yourself back against his crotch in your sleep, it was hard for him to fight off his arousal. And even though his eyes were still heavy and tired, his body paid no time to the time of day; he reacted all the same.

“Mm…” you mumble slightly, rolling over in your sleep.

He holds his breath as you do it, watching you turn to face him in his hold. His hands stay on you, returning to their comfortably tight grip once you settle again. Your brows furrow up in the middle, similar to that of a toddler slightly woken from their nap. He finds it cute, finds himself smiling at the sight. There isn’t much lighting in the room, barely a faint, red glow from the alarm clock on the nightstand closest to you, but he can still just make you out. He can see that your eyes are still closed, can see the emotions your dreams convey twisting slightly across your face – a small scrunch of your nose or twitch of your lip. And then, he feels your leg move, sliding slowly until it lifts up to rest over his hip.

“Oh, god.” He breathes out, eyes closing for a brief moment when the rolling of your hips returns.

When his hand moves to hold your hip again, he intends to prevent you from rubbing your crotch over his, but instead he finds himself guiding you. His lips part slightly at just how much more you move when his hands are on you, and all of a sudden, he’s reeling all over again at the simple fact of you laying in his bed.

“D – Da…” your eyes flicker slightly, brows folding up as you start to speak.

He can’t help himself anymore – at this point, he’s fully grinding back. So what if he cums in his pants again? He has more, right?

“Fuck,” he quietly grits out, pressing himself into the space between your legs.

He wonders so wildly what it’d be like to fuck you, how your pussy looks and feels and tastes. You were so tight when he fingered you, and now… he’s dying to feel the sensation of your hot walls surrounding his length instead of his middle digit.

“Daddy,”

Fuck. What did you just say? Holy fuck.

Every single muscle in his body stills, chest squeezing tight and lips going dry at the word he just heard you say. He stutters out a small gasp when your left hand fumbles across his chest, slender fingers dancing over the black fabric covering it. The sudden stillness his body holds almost jolts you awake; your bodies having been rolling against one another in a smooth rhythm for some time now, that being still almost surprises your body into consciousness.

“Dave?”

“What is it, baby?” he immediately responds, heart already soft for you.

“What…” you start to say, left hand moving to your eye to slightly rub. And then you feel him, feel the position you’re in and the stiffness pressing against you.

“Hm…” you purr, eyes closed as you smile. “What’s going on?”

Naturally, your left hand slides down over his side, dipping toward his center. He muffles a grunt when you cup him, gently grabbing his hard length in hand. You’re not sure whether or not this is the only chance you’ll get to sleep in this man’s bed, so you decide to make the most of it as you start to slowly move your hand.

“H – hey, um I –”

Suddenly, Dave grabs your hand, stalling your motions and causing you to frown. Through your dim surroundings, he makes out your confused and partially frustrated face, and takes in a deep breath.

“I’m, I just…”

Slowly, you move your hand away, brows twisting as he furthers your confusion.

“I don’t want you to see my body… yet.”

“Why?” you whisper in return, genuinely curious.

“I don’t…” he continues, voice quieter than ever. He pinches his eyes shut. “Don’t always like the way I look.”

“Oh,” the word, the sound, is murmured quietly, your hand rising to softly cup his face. “Well…”

You shift slightly, thumb stroking his cheek as you lean up to place a kiss on his lips. He softens under your touch, his body having gone rigid at the embarrassing confession. But he feels you warm, soft skin, your hand now trailing down his neck.

“I like how you look,”

He smiles, letting you roll him onto his back and watching and you climb onto his lap. You lay over him, sighing happily, sleepily, into his neck. Both of his large palms skim across your sides and back, a contented breath exhaled as he feels your lips move down his neck. Your smaller hands play with the hem of his shirt, seeing if he’ll allow your fingertips to slide underneath. And you’re elated to find out he does, your gentle touch making him fall that much further for you. But then, he tenses up again, feeling you shimmy down his body. He worries you’ll try to fumble with his boxers, and he moves to stop you.

“O – oh…” he stutters out, head lifting to see what you’re doing.

Dave watches and feels your lips lay over his stomach, feeling the soft vibration of your happy hum. His words had made you sad, made you feel like he deserves more. You’ve seen how he’s treated around the house by Carol and the girls, how often he’s pushed aside like nothing he says or does matters. He deserves more than that, deserves to be cared for and caressed, to be made to feel confident in the person that he is.

Your hands run down his sides, holding him in your grasp. The softness of your fingertips ghost over his skin, sliding up and down slightly as you continue to slide the front of his shirt up his chest. The more you uncover, the quicker your heart rate becomes. He’s so smooth – not nearly as well-defined as the men you’ve previously been with, obviously. But to be completely honest, it’s nice, it’s refreshing, to see a body so aged and real. His chest is firm, and when his entire front is completely exposed, the fabric of his shirt bunched up near his neck, you sit up.

Even though it’s dim, you can still see him, see the way his chest rises and falls as his anxiety weighs heavy in his gut. He wonders what you see in him, he also wonders why and how this just feels so natural with you.

“Hm…” you hum, delicately dancing your fingers along his exposed skin.

You take it in, all of him, your hips wiggling slightly over his in excitement. He swallows, licking his lips, as he watches you eye his form. And when you lean back down again, it’s not just your lips that he feels, but your tongue and teeth, too.

“Dave,” you murmur, kissing along the center of his chest while your pointer finger trails over the hair below his navel. “I like your body… really like your body…”

“You’re strong,” you continue, reveling in the small gasp he emits when you suck a mark into his skin, just above his stomach. “So broad… sturdy…”

“Fuck,” he quietly curses, pinching his eyes shut and taking a breath.

“Do you not like what I’m doing?” you innocently ask, eyeing him from further down.

“No,” he suddenly breathes out. “I like it, I like it, baby.”

His voice is soft yet wavering, like he’s trying to accept what’s happening in the moment. He breathes out shakily as his eyes remain set on you, feeling you nibble and suck on his firm skin, trailing down to where his body turns soft.

“You’re so handsome baby, you know that, don’t you?” sweetly, softly, your voice flows into his ears. “Love the way you look, could barely keep my hands off you…”

Dave audibly moans when your tongue lays flat over his happy trail, licking upwards towards his belly button. Right now, it’s not even the physicality of your act that’s getting to him – it’s what’s behind it. He’s never, ever been on the receiving end of such praise, and it feels… different. It makes him feel timid, makes him feel vulnerable and he isn’t sure if he likes the idea of that or not. But right now, he can’t think too deeply about it. Your loving hold won’t allow him to think of anything other than you.

“I…” he knows what’s going to come out, and even though it makes him feel like a fucking teenager, he doesn’t necessarily mind. He doesn’t know what else he could say to convey how he feels, at least, not in the moment. “I really like you.”

“I like you, too, Dave.” You mumble between kisses. “Feel safe with you.”

It’s those words that make him break, that force his emotions to burst in his chest. He’s so happy you feel that way, so happy that you seem to fully return his affections. He reaches down toward you, large hands gently grabbing your biceps and pulling you up to him. The actions flow together nicely, him bringing you up, your lips meeting his, him slowly rolling you over to your side so he can hold you how he was before you’d woken up. And when you’re snuggled into his side once again, he stares at you, into your eyes, he cups your face and strokes your cheek. That same hand then falls to your waist, wrapping around your side to pull you even closer.

“You’re perfect.” He mumbles quietly, pressing a light kiss to your forehead.

And all you do is smile in response, a happy hum buzzing in your throat as you cuddle into his chest. It’s easy to fall asleep because what you said is true – you really do feel safe with him.

Sleep with him nuzzled beside you comes incredibly easy. Waking, however, does not.

“Hey,”

“Mm?”

“Hey, c’mon.”

Your shoulder is slightly jostling, tired eyelids opening slightly in return.

“It’s time to get up.”

Dave’s voice is quiet, rough with sleep but soft, nonetheless. His touch is also tender, his large palm resting over your shoulders, fingers lightly rubbing you awake.

“I don’t think anyone else is up yet, you gotta get up, sweetheart.”

“Hm…” you immediately smile when he calls you that, eyelids closing once again as you bask in the joyful feeling.

And then, you get up, knowing he’s right. The very last thing you want is for someone to find out you slept in Dave’s room last night, right next to him in his own bed. So, you sit up, doing a small stretch before sliding out of bed. When your eyes finally blink open you see Dave meandering around the room, casually dressing himself in his clothes for the day. And you don’t really have much to grab or collect, just yourself and your phone, so you sit and watch. Since it’s still relatively early, and it’s the weekend, he puts on a pair of dark gray sweats and a clean, black t-shirt. You then see him shuffle into his house slippers, those round, light brown ones that you always see dads wear.

“What?” he grins, turning to see you staring.

Your smile remains, eyes dipping down as you shrug. You then move to stand, approaching him with a widening grin.

“You’re cute.”

He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head before jerking it toward the door.

“C’mon, grab your phone. I’ll check to see if anyone’s up.”

Doing as he says, you grab your phone and stuff it into your pocket. You also redo your hair, taking the time to part it down the middle and collect it all in a bun at the nape of your neck. Dave cracks the door open just enough to peak outside, his head glancing down either side of the hall.

“C’mon.” he says once again, and you follow him down.

As you follow him to leave, your eyes catch a glimpse of something on the ground. It’s a dark, olive green t-shirt laying on the floor beside his dirty clothes bin. It looks as if it were tossed to this space haphazardly, the fabric folding over itself. But you can make out enough to see ‘graduating class’ and ‘semper fi’. The realization makes a tingle shoot up your spine and lights a small fire in your belly. Dave was a marine?

The York’s house was always a sight to behold, so grand and pristine, but in the early morning light it was even more so. Dave pads around the open floorplan opening the curtains and allowing the sunrise’s rays to shine inside. You make your way over to the kitchen island, grabbing a seat and pulling out your phone. With a small groan, you grimace at the multiple messages you’d received overnight from your ex-boyfriend. When will this dude leave me alone?

“You hungry?” Dave says, suddenly appearing before you.

He’s across the granite island, both hands planted firmly on the stone surface as he tilts his head curiously at you. You nod, face brightening as your internal train of thought changes tracks. Keeping your phone on do not disturb, you close it, returning the device to your hoodie’s front pocket.

“Was thinking about making muffins, that sound good?” Dave then asks, turning to begin the process.

“Yeah, that sounds really yummy, actually.” You respond, thinking to yourself. “I haven’t had muffins in I don’t know how long.”

“Really?” he asks, furrowing his brows as he sets out the ingredients and turns on the oven. “They’re my favorite morning snack.”

And you suddenly think of Dave as your favorite morning snack, as cheesy as it may be. Your Muffin.

“Good to know,” You happily hum, heart beating in your chest as your knowledge for him grows. “I usually try to meal prep, if I don’t then I end up skipping breakfast entirely, and it’s my favorite –”

“Meal of the day,” Dave finishes, turning to smirk at you with a short nod. “Mine, too.”

He thinks the moment couldn’t be more perfect. Sitting with you in the morning while he makes breakfast, he can’t remember the last time he’d shared this specific meal with another person. It’s his favorite time of the day, he loves the quiet, the calm. If it were anyone else but you here, he might even find it annoying. But he doesn’t, of course, because it is you.

“So, um…” you begin to speak, voice much lower now. “I um, I saw a shirt of yours… back in your room…”

“Yeah?” he asks, back turned to you as he stirs the muffin mix.

“Yeah… you were in the marine corps?”

“I was.” He answers with a nod, sliding the muffin tray into the oven before turning to face you. “I served until I couldn’t.”

“Dave, that’s… that’s really brave of you. I can’t imagine how tough that must’ve been, can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

Your heart feels for him, a feeling of concern tightening in your chest. But Dave, on the other hand, doesn’t feel that way. He doesn’t feel like he was brave, doesn’t feel like he’d been through all that much. He did was he did because he wanted to, because he likedto. Being a marine brough the thrill and drive he’d always searched for in life. And when he could no longer serve, he found what he does now. It’s not all that different, except now… he gets to bend the rules. He wonders how you’d feel if you ever found out about his job. But he knows that day won’t come.

“I feel… proud of you.”

Even at eight in the morning, your body yearns for this man. It’s like every little detail about him just pulls you further in, and you can’t help but submit to that pull.

“I’ve always thought it was…pretty hot.”

“Being a marine?”

You look up into his eyes, nibbling on the corner of your smirking lip as you nod. He continues to stare at you, analyzing both your words and expressions. And when he’s satisfied with his inspection, he grins, too.

“Do you still have your uniform?”

He grins, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he glances down at his hands, an amused laugh puffing out in a breath. When he looks back up, he’s still smiling, incredibly enticed by your reaction to his previous profession. He tilts his head at you, raising his eyebrows proudly.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Could I maybe see it sometime?” You ask all too quick, leaning forward on your elbows and bringing your small fists up beneath your chin.

Dave chuckles again. He likes this reaction he’s pulled from you; it makes him that much more excited to be with you. But, were you with him? He’s not sure you’d call it that. Maybe you’re just… involved? Either way, your response to him being a marine piques his interest. He’d heard about women often being attracted to men in the service, especially marines, but never really received that attention for himself. He was already with Carol when he joined, and she didn’t find it that exciting. She took it very seriously and respected it greatly, to the point where she barely even talked to him about it. She didn’t find it sexy or hot, she saw it simply as a job.

“Sure, maybe when I get back.” he eventually responds, trying to gather his thoughts.

You frown.

“Get back?”

“Yeah, I uh, I’ve got a work trip.” He sighs out, the recollection of his out-of-the-country trip interrupting his contented state. “I leave this afternoon.”

“Oh… how…” you wonder if it’s okay to ask him how long he’ll be gone. You’re not really sure what’s going on between you two, will he pull away if he thinks you’re getting clingy?

“Um, h – how long?”

“Hm?”

“Will you be gone?” you decide to just get it out now. If you didn’t ask now, you’d probably ask later, anyways.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. This case isn’t like others I’ve been on, could be a week or so.”

“Oh, okay. What do you do, again?”

You’re worried you’re asking too many questions, but Dave doesn’t seem to mind.

“I work for the Defense Intelligence Agency.” He states firmly, the words spoken with intent. He doesn’t want to hide that part of his job from you, and anyways, how else was he going to hide what he really did if he didn’t give you the cover of the DIA in the first place?

“Oh, wow. I knew you worked in Washington, but I didn’t know your job was so… official.”

“Ugh, David.” Carol scoffs, strolling down the stairs in her pink, fuzzy robe. “Why are you boring her with those details? And so early in the morning?”

Carol’s presence immediately changes the tone in the room. You and Dave don’t flinch away from each or anything, after all, you were only talking across the counter. But the two of you were sharing a tender moment, finding out more details about the other and making plans to see each other again in the future, and then she had to come down. Not only did she have to come down and interrupt, but she had to scold him on top of it. It makes you grimace, but you do your best to hide it when you hear the girls coming up the basement stairs.

Instead of responding, you just walk up the stairs. One of the girls has already left, and usually you’d stay, but you should get home and get a head start on your week. Midterms are coming up quick and you need to get some chores down around your apartment before you can sit down to study.

“Hey, what’s up?” you ask after opening the door, making sure to knock lightly first.

Dave’s sitting on his bed, some clothes laid out next to him as he begins to pack. He has a suitcase on the floor in front of his bathroom and a backpack beside his nightstand. There are multiple pairs of socks and underwear along with a few of Dave’s work shirts and pants. It makes you unhappy to see him go, but it’s not like he’ll be gone for long.

“I’m sorry I have to go.” He says with a look of slight sadness on his face.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, trying to play it off as if you’re not actually upset inside. “It’s work; you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Well, I uh… is it okay if, if we talk?”

“Hm?”

“While I’m gone?”

“Dave,” you giggle. “Yes, of course.”

He smiles, the expression kind and almost relieved when he hears your words. And then, he looks back down, picking up a shirt he’d folded off to the side.

“Is this the shirt you saw?” he asks, holding it up.

“Yes,” you grin, holding your hands behind your back as you lightly shift your weight.

Once you respond, he stands, strolling over to where you are near the foot of his bed. He smiles down at you, holding the shirt in his hand.

“Here.” He says, offering it out to you, even though the distance between you is little.

You look up at him, both surprised and a little confused. He watches you tilt your head, your look of innocence absolutely wrecking him.

“Why don’t you hold onto it for me while I’m gone.”

He'd said it in a way that made him feel confident, but without you, he couldn't be any different. Missing you is something different, something that distracts him from his work. He headed to the airport about two hours after you’d left, fully dressed and fully packed and now on his way to France. And the flight is long, a little over seven hours, and there’s also a time difference of about six hours. He’ll have to time when he talks to you. Fuck, he’s gonna miss you bad.

As per usual, he’s set up in a nicer hotel, to which he checks into promptly. He doesn’t unpack, never does, just sets his suitcase and backpack on the desk at the end of his room, plopping down on the bed as soon as he can. But then his phone rings.

“Fuck,” he groans, slapping a palm over his face and rubbing his eyes as he swipes across the screen to answer. “What?”

“Come down to the bar with us.”

“Resnik, I’m fucking exhausted, okay?” Dave grunts into the phone, intending to catch up with his colleagues after a good night’s sleep.

“Look, you’re the one who chose the late flight out. We haven’t seen you in months, and our meeting tomorrow isn’t until the afternoon. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

After some more convincing, Dave hangs up with the promise of coming down. He’s right, he hasn’t seen the guys in a few too many weeks. It’s not his fault though, the case being so slow meant there was no reason to meet up, no reason to plan or prepare. Another reason he’s able to get up out of bed and put on a happy face is the increase in dopamine he’s currently experiencing.

Your message made his entire day better, the new nickname making him melt inside. Before he knows it, he’s out the door and headed for the hotel’s ground floor. He takes the elevator, giving him enough time to adjust himself. The mere thought of you, sitting alone in your bed, thinking of him, missing him, made his body yearn for more. He thinks he’ll be able to get you out of his head when he sees the guys, but he’s sadly mistaken.

“Hey, Dave!” Ari shouts, waving him over. “C’mere, we were just talking about you.”

“Oh, yeah?” he scoffs, amused that he’s the topic of their conversation.

“Yeah, how’re you and Carol doing? How are the kids? It’s been a while, man.”

Dave sighs, ordering a drink before he dives into all the details. But these are his boys, if he can let himself relax and truly open up to anyone, it’s them. So, he tells them everything, catching them up on the details of his life over these past few months. He informs his team of his and Carol’s official separation, showing them his ring-less finger, as well. He says Molly’s doing good, Alice, too. They’re enjoying school and hanging out with friends, nothing really to worry about with them. He avoids the topic of you, for obvious reasons. Above everything else in his life, you were now his deepest secret. And keeping you a secret became much more difficult than it needed to be when the guys start to press him about his sex life.

“When is the last time you actually enjoyed yourself, huh?” Resnik asks, watching as Dave finishes his sixth beer.

They’d also had three shots of whiskey, and with the alcohol settling in his belly and his tired head getting the best of him, he starts to feel a little inebriated. Dave blinks, swallowing a thick gulp as he thinks. The last time he’d really enjoyed himself was when he had you in his arms, in his bed, all night long. When you kissed along his bare stomach and chest, when you wiggled your hips down onto his. And before that, it’s when he finger-fucked your cunt, when he'd kissed you for the first time and his body was set alight. Before that, it was when he saw your tits, or rather, when you showed him your tits. Jerking off later that night felt better than it had in almost an entire year. You’d had his attention nearly since day one.

But, Dave doesn’t want to give any of that up, as intoxicated as he may feel. So, he answers with the simple statement of, “It’s been a while.”

Resnik scoffs, reaching into his back pocket for his phone.

“That’s a damn fucking shame, Dave.” He shakes his head, unlocking his screen and scrolling through his apps. “Because you deserve it, especially after what Carol did.”

“Don’t bring her into this, man.” He immediately responds. “I don’t wanna think about her.”

“Good, you shouldn’t. You know why? Because she sure as shit isn’t thinking about you, she’s probably thinking of that random intern she fucked last year. And you…”

He trails off, a bright grin beaming on his face when he pulls up the page.

“You should be thinking about this.”

Dave’s eyes go wide when he sees what’s on his coworker’s screen. It’s a website pulled up on his browser, OnlyFans. Dave’s face begins to flush red as he continues scanning Resnik’s phone, eyes trailing lower to see this specific woman’s profile. She doesn’t seem to show her face, but she shows just about everything else.

“Look, do what you want.” Resnik shrugs, pulling his phone away. “But if you’ve got a thing for young ass, you gotta look her up. She’s got the ass of a fucking goddess, and Jesus would I love to get lost in those tits.”

He’s clearly drunk, even more so than Dave, but he can’t help but play along. After all, he is interested in… whatever this is. It’s then revealed to him that this woman is the same age as you, clearly stated in her bio. Immediately, he feels himself run hot. Your age was one (of many) alluring things about you. It almost made him feel dirty, having such a young girl in his bed, touching someone so pretty and sweet. He wonders if you’d have similar body types…

Admittedly, he feels kind of bad watching another girl this way when you’re all he’s been able to think about for weeks. But she doesn’t seem to show her face, so maybe he could pretend it’s you.

“She does mostly solo stuff.” He continues on, scrolling through her posts. “But she has a few uploads with other girls. Jesus Christ man, you just gotta check it out.”

Dave’s eyebrows go sky high when he hears this. He’s never been particularly into lesbian porn, but he doesn’t think it isn’t hot. It’s just never been a thought he really entertained and to be honest, he’d ditched porn altogether during his marriage with Carol. She found him watching sexual videos to be ‘offensive’, so he stopped. But you know what? Fuck it. He’s on a trip by himself; he can do what he wants.

As soon as he’s back in his hotel room, he pulls up the site. While he contemplates making an account and actually following through with this, he changes into some more comfortable clothes. And when he returns to his phone to make a final decision, he receives a text from you.

You haven’t been this smitten with someone in a while, not since Anthony. And honestly, you never felt this intensely about him at any point in that relationship.

And then, you don’t respond. Just when it was getting good, he thinks, already half-hard in his sweats. He waits five minutes, and then ten, and wonders… what would it be like to watch this? Maybe he should give it a try…

So, he follows through. He finds the account and preps himself for it, head filled with thoughts of you. He intends to scroll through the multiple videos this particular account has, but just when he begins, he receives an alert, one that says this account is going live.

Should he… should he? His fingers decide for him, and they immediately decide yes.

But then, he starts getting more texts from you. Okay, he can’t do this while he texts you, so he gets out of bed and finds his backpack. Quickly, he drags out his laptop, pulling up the site on there instead. By the time he’s gotten the site up, he’s thankful to see she’s still livestreaming. He’s suddenly very eager to see this. But he remembers to text you back, first. And his reply, well, it’s more of a confession, really; he’d love to get his hands on any part of you that he could. He hasn’t felt a thrill like this in a while, hasn't texted with anyone like this in so long, if ever. His vein run white-hot with excitement and arousal, and as soon as he sends his first response, he joins the livestream.

His face flushes red when he sees your message, expecting you to address the Carol situation but more than happy to see you push past it. Something about you just makes him relax, makes him want to be himself. He doesn’t feel like he has to put on a face for you, he doesn’t need to uphold the ‘strong man’ persona he so often puts up in nearly every other aspect of his life. He can be vulnerable with you. And now, he finds that incredibly hot.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something move, and when he looks up, he sees what’s on the screen. The woman had moved, that’s what had caught his attention. And he’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. She’s sitting on her bed in a lace bra and panty set, the color a deep red that immediately makes him want. And with the combination of your technological presence, along with the other woman’s, he feels himself let go completely. And he decides to go ahead and reply, this time with full intent.

All too quickly, he shoves his sweatpants down his legs. He then pulls himself out of his boxers, hand immediately wrapping firm around his shaft. A stuttered gasp falls from his lips, squeezing himself a little harder and watching precum ooze from his tip. Fuck, this is too fun.

His eyes return to the screen, tongue poking out to wet his lower lip when he sees the woman sit up and spread her legs. Immediately, he thinks about you. And to his delight, you do have the same body type, so he doesn’t have to think too hard. He watches as a slender hand slithers down the woman’s stomach, her own fingers gliding over her covered center.

He’s never spoken to you like this before… Up to this point, everything has been timid, soft, incredibly new. But it seems as though he’s getting used to you. He seems so intense now, so passionate and dominant, entirely dissimilar to how you’ve experienced him before and to say the least you are loving it.

When he looks up, he sees the woman’s other hand cups her bright breast, her pointed nipple poking through the thin fabric of her lace, he all but loses his shit.

Jesus Christ, does he fucking love this. It’s like a high, one he never wants to come down from. He’s addicted to the excitement and passion he gets from you; from the excitement and passion he gives to you. His eyes roll back at your offer, a low groan rumbling through his throat. The fist he’d wrapped around his cock now begins to move, thick thumb swiping over the head to smear his precum down his shaft.

And suddenly, the woman on the screen moves again. She shifts, picking up her phone and angling it at her body. Huh, she must be using her laptop, then. He watches her open up the camera app, and snap a few pictures of herself. Weird coincidence, he thinks, but then he sees the comments section light up with requests for her nudes, and figures she likely does this a lot. And then, two pictures come through in his phone.

They nearly make him drool, showing so much more of you than he’d ever seen before. You’d sent him a picture of the space between your thighs, panties pulled to the side to reveal your dripping sex. The second one is of your tits, one hand cupping the right one while your left takes the picture. Fuck.

He pumps himself faster, feeling his hips jerk up into the hole his palm and fingers create. The energy flowing through his body practically makes him jump, makes him shiver and moan.

The girl on the livestream keeps her phone in hand, taking a few more pictures of herself. Dave imagines it’s you, imagines you’re the one sitting on a webcam for him, stripping yourself down and showing him all of your naughty parts. And once again, he receives another picture of you on his phone.

Your replies are immediate, and Dave whimpers when he can hear the girl moan through his laptop’s speakers. She sounds just like you.

Wait… no, no way. He shakes his head; there’s no way this is you. Squeezing himself tighter in his hand, he gasps for air, his hand slapping down on his pelvis from the rapid movement of his fist.

His eyes roll back, feeling himself become close. He thinks about how warm and wet you were, how soft your skin is and how pretty your hair looks, how nice you smell and how kind you are. He wants you in his arms again, wants to fuck you until the fucking world ends.

He responded to you, but for some reason, you stop replying. He goes to look at the woman on the screen to busy himself while you’re doing whatever it is that’s occupying your attention at the moment. But to his dismay, he sees her disappear from the screen, too.

“Fuck,” he huffs out, throwing his head back into his pillow.

When he feels his phone buzz, his head shoots up to read your message. The thought of you wearing his marine shirt while you touch yourself makes him fucking feral, but the moan on the screen momentarily distracts him from responding to your text. Immediately, his jaw drops. He swears his heart stops beating in his chest, feeling like he’d just ran into a brick wall.

The woman on the screen… she’s wearing his marine shirt, too.

Thank you for reading <3

Chapter Five: Can't Get Enough of You

[proserpina-magnus]

hi! If you take requests can you write a reader x Remus fluff? where they are usually studying together and helping each other out, talking about books etc. it is obvious for everyone that they like each other, but not for them.

maybe the reader could be a little shy, but really positive? and Remus is completely smitten by her and also feels protective of her?

whatever you decide I’m sure it will be amazing, hope it’s not too much

thank you for your work, you’re truly amazing!

heyy, this has been in my inbox for weeks and I'm so sorry this took so long!! I loved how descriptive you where and I hope that you don't mind that I changed the plot just a tad. Remus kind of confesses to being a werewolf soo.. I hope you like it!! xoxo

Monsters Need Love Too [ R.L ]

word count: 2.5k

[ warnings: female reader, slight jealously, tears, slight possessive behavior/words, clothes sharing, first kisses, had holding, scars, slight talk about violence, Remus's friends embarrass him, flattering ]

editor: @breakingniconicokneecaps

Remus anxiously tapped his foot, you had promised him that you both would meet up for a study session before a big potions test. You had been running late, caught up with fixing your hair or finding missing quills.

Remus kept looking towards the library door, tapping his fingers on the wooden table. There had been cracks of brown throughout the wood, Remus watched eagerly towards the doors as his dainty finger traced over the dark spiral wooden pattern.

He felt his heart putter against his rib cage, a nervous sensation creeping into his mind as he started to worry about you. It had been 10 minutes since you both originated the time to meet up, Remus was just about to stand to go look for you, but you had just hurried into the library.

He watched your frantic state walk swiftly towards him, your hair pinned back with loose strands. He smiled, pushing the chair beside him open. You flopped yourself down onto the opened chair, your books and papers left a thud as you dropped them onto the desk.

"So sorry I'm late! I couldn't find my assignment, I might have to re-do it all," you stammered, opening your books with marked stamps. You sighed, before giving a smile towards Remus. "Oh well, at least I'll have a better understanding of the material,"

Remus looked lovingly towards you, rubbing his sweaty hands on his slacks. He looked towards his own opened book, moving his papers around as he passed you his finished assignment.

"If you want, you can take a look at mine," Remus suggested, but you only shook your head and looked back towards a student who sat across a few tables. The guy you smiled at was Amos Diggory, the captain of Hufflepuff's quidditch team. Amo's had combed back messy blond hair, a boyish grin on his face as he waved towards you. Remus followed your gaze, catching the small interaction. He felt a sense of urgency to have your attention back on him.

"That's alright rem, Amo said he would help me later. Let's work on potions shall we?" You said, guiding your attention back to your books. Remus gave a disgruntled sound, his leg bouncing as it tapped into yours.

"You alright?" You asked, knees twitching every time his own knocked into yours. Remus hummed, lips thin as he focused down on his book. You felt like you did something wrong, a frown forming as you flipped some pages.

After a few moments of awkward silence, your eyes travelled towards the taller male. He was hunched over his book, his hand in a fist that rested on his bouncing thigh.

"Did I do something wrong? Are you mad I'm late?" You mumbled quietly, leaning forward as Remus turned his gaze to you. He saw your pleading eyes, a sad pout on your lips at the thought of upsetting him. Remus concluded that you were just too cute to be mad at, not that he was prior.

"No, I'm not mad," Remus huffed, tearing his eyes away from yours. Truth be told, Remus had no idea why he was so upset. You mumbled at his lame lie, your fingers tracing his wrist as you glided your hand to open up his fist. Remus jerked at the faint touch, eyes pouring at the connecting hands.

"You seem mad," you whispered gently, trying not to cause attention in the silent room. Remus brought his gaze back to your face, seeing your beautiful eyes and a small welcoming smile on your lips. His fingers opened, your own wiggling between them.

"How could I possibly be mad when you look like that," Remus blurted, in a daze. You flushed red at the compliment. You wanted so desperately for him to kiss you, Remus felt the same exact way. Before a gentle kiss could be shared, you turned back around and faced towards your book.

"You flatter too much," you teased, your shoulder bumping in with his. You didn't dare take your fingers away from his, liking the way his scars felt rigid and warm against your palm.

"I don't think I flatter enough," Remus stated, his eyes still trained on your adoring profile. You flushed once more, a swirl in your stomach from his words. Remus gushed himself at your flustered state, denying himself the right to lean in and place a kiss against your red cheeks.

"You know what I think?" You ask, turning your head so you can take a long look into his eyes. Remus leaned forward, his nose almost brushing yours. "What do you think?" He asked in response, his voice a low hum.

"I think if anyone should be flattered, it's you. You're a very attractive young man, if I do say so myself Mr. Remus," you flaunt, a giggle on your lips as you close your eyes from the laugh. Remus smiles, watching the way your cheeks rose with your smile. He was absolutely adoring your giggle form, but it was soon to be crushed by his friends.

"Uh- hello! What's going on here?" Sirius's voice boomed through, the three boys marched over to you two. Your hand fell away from Remus's, a small frown on your lips before you replaced it with a smile.

"We're just studying," you say sweetly, turning around so you can get a good look at them. Sirius raises an eyebrow, a suggestive gaze in his eyes as he stares between you two. Remus grows anxious, wanting his friends to leave as soon as possible.

"Studying what? Human anatomy?" Sirius jeers, a smirk on his lips as he leans closer. James and Peter laugh, obvious to Remus's dire crush on you.

You turn to mush at the gesture, turning back to your book as you hide your glowing face. Remus notices, upset at the way they were getting you embarrassed.

"Leave it pads, go bug off, all three of you," Remus sends a low growl to the male, but the rest of the boys only laugh and continue to talk. James pushes a seat open next to you, Remus giving him a dangerous glare.

"She's very pretty" James gushed, one of his fingers poking your sides. You squirm, but decide to be polite and smile towards James. You can't even tell him a thank you before Remus is telling them off.

"Prongs, get up and piss off," Remus states, his hand wrapping around the leg of your chair as he scoots you away from him. You grab your stuff, placing it in front of you. James frowns, tilting his head to give Remus a puppy dog expression.

"Can I stay?" Peter asked his own pout on his lips. Remus sighs loudly, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No,"

"But moony!" They all chant at once, shushes and glares get shared between you all. Remus sighs one more time, deciding not to freak out and yell at all of them in front of you. The tall brunette collects his stuff, pushing it into his bag in a messy hurry. You frown, watching him pack up. You thought he was leaving with his friends, but Remus starts to take your own books and papers. With his empty hand grabbing yours, He pulls you up, tugging you out the door.

The rest of the boys shout behind him, trying to follow you both. Remus leads you down the hallway, a smile on his lips as he pats your shoulder for some comfort. "One second love, just wait here,"

Remus speeds over to the boys at the other end of the hall, far away enough for you not to hear them. They start to argue, hearing Remus raise his voice. Soon enough, the three boys look towards the ground and scoot away down the opposite hallway.

Remus jogs back over to you, smiling as he runs a hand through his hair. You bring out your hand, making a grabbing gesture. He places his hand into yours, taking the lead as he guides you down the hallway.

"Where are we going?" You questioned, stepping down the switching staircases. Remus turns briefly at the end of the steps, waiting for it to connect with another. "It's a sunny day, let's go sit on the dock,"

"What about our potions test?" You asked, following Remus down the now given steps. He steps onto the cobblestone floors, helping you off the last step.

"It's not until Friday, we have plenty of time tomorrow. You deserve a break," Remus states, pushing open a thin wooden door out towards the back of the huge castle. He takes you down the small hill, holding your hand to protect you from tripping.

"Watch your step," he says, stepping down the small steep hill. His other hand holds your waist, squeezing it between his fingers as he helps you down.

"You're my saviour," you whisper in gratitude, leaning more towards him. The air gets thicker and the breeze grows colder as you step towards the doc.

"You get pleased too easily," Remus comments, his hand squeezing yours. You turn your head, tilting it as you walk against the wooden space.

"Is that a bad thing?" You ask, Remus looked over at you briefly. He has an unreadable face before he shakes his head.

"No, unless you're thanking the wrong person," Remus explains, walking further along the doc. He helps you sit first, following suit as his legs sprawl out. He has much longer limbs, you giggle as he stretches.

"Everyone's so nice, who could possibly be the wrong person?" You wonder, head leaning against his shoulder. Remus sighs, answering that question quickly in his intrusive thoughts. You shiver, tugging your skirt down towards your knees.

"What? Do you think you're bad?" You ask, lifting your head to get a clear look at the boy. Remus lets his head lean down, a frown on his face. You hold a confused expression, your heart aching at the thought. Before you can think, your fingers tilt his head. Remus looks with wide eyes, seeing your saddened expression.

"Remus, you're the nicest person I've ever met," you explain, emotion in your eyes as you talk to him. Remus screams at himself, knowing you had no idea what he really was.

"You need to meet new people," he jokes, but you only shake your head with a deeper frown.

His heart beats quickly, your eyes guiding down to his chapped lips. He picks up instantly on your intentions and he has no remorse to stop them.

Your eyes shut on instinct, lips moving closer to his. Your head tilts, nose brushing against his as you connect mouths. Remus expresses a content sigh, his own eyes closed. His fingers lace through the back of your hair, pulling you closer.

"You don't understand," Remus sighs after the kiss, eyes whisking open. You flutter your eyelashes, sitting back on your legs. You frown, thinking he didn't like the kiss.

"Then make me understand," you tell him, heart hammering inside your chest so loud you might go deaf. Remus smiles, one of his hands still occupied with yours. His other hand cups your face, sliding it through your loose hair.

"You'll hate me once I tell you," Remus whispers, feeling tears burn his eyesight. He wishes he'd never got bitten, he didn't want you to think he was some sort of monster.

You shake your head, leaning closer as you kiss his lips once more. Remus pulls you in, addicted to the way your mouth tastes. He pushes you back slightly, feeling guilty for not telling you what he truly is.

"I'm a werewolf," Remus says, ripping off the bandaid. You blink a few times, not comprehending what he just said. Your eyes dangle down to his scarred hands, your soft thumb tracing a particularly big one.

"Does it hurt?" You quip, eyes looking back into his. Remus feels instantly loved at your small little reaction, his heart swelling as he realizes that you only care whether he's hurt, not that he turns into a killer creature every full moon.

"No," Remus lied, a tear falling from his eye. You nod, happy with his answer. Your cold fingers come to wipe away the lost tear. you lean in for another kiss, but Remus pushes you back.

"I'm a werewolf," he states once again, you nod in understanding. "I can kill you,"

"Do you want to hurt me?" You mumble, Remus feels worried build up from just thinking about it. He shakes his head, head falling as he lets out more tears.

"Then it doesn't matter," you finish, leaning down so you can get your much wanted kiss. Remus leans into it, another sigh on his lips as he pulls you closer. The waves crash against the doc, coating the wood just in front of you with seeping water.

"I can't control myself in that state, I could hurt you," Remus whispers against your lips, his arms wrapping around your sides as he pulls you in. You sigh, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"No, the werewolf would hurt me. It's not your fault, you can't control it," you tell him, sticking with your conclusion. Remus would never dare hurt you and you knew that.

"You're too good, what is a monster like me doing with you, hm?" Remus says, his fingers tilting your chin as he places a generous kiss against your cold lips. A smile decorated on your mouth, you shift closer to him. His body was so warm and you felt so cold, you were almost slipping under his coat for warmth.

"You're no monster," you whisper, Remus notices your shivering body. He felt sick for taking you out to the cold doc, tugging off his coat quickly as he props it on your shoulders.

"I monster wouldn't let his girl freeze to death," he contorts, rubbing your arms to get you to warm up. Your face heats at his words, you couldn't help but smile.

"I'm your girl?" You ask, leaning closer as you shift onto his lap. Remus's long limbs curl around you, bringing you closer as he protects you from the now vicious wind. His hair whips in every direction, the wind so tough you can hear it.

"Yes, you're my girl," Remus juts, standing up with ease as you cling onto him. He adjusts you easily, hiding you inside his big coat. Your head rests against his chest, his arms hiking around your bottom to carry you up the hill.

"All yours," you mumble, happy with the soft protection he was offering. Your arms link around his neck, not daring to let go as he opens up the wooden door once again. He carries you inside, looking around as he spots his friends. They all gap with their mouth wide open, pointing.

"All mine," Remus mutters to you, speeding away from his frantic friends. You keep your eyes closed, letting him take you to wherever he pleases.

[fanfictionatic]

Just something cats like to do

Pairing: catboy!Joseph x gender neutral!reader

Description: You take in the cat that keeps getting into fights behind your house and discover something shocking

Warnings: Animal aggression I guess. Other than that this is just fluff. I wrote this at 2:00am.

You groan as you pull the pillow over your head and try to go back to sleep. This was the fifth time this week that they had kept you up. Every single night there had been loud yowling, barking, and small angry noises coming from outside your window. Getting rest was starting to feel like a lost cause and you were wondering if you would ever get your sleep schedule back.

You hear the sound of something crashing and you sigh, finally getting up and putting on some clothes. Enough was enough. You couldn’t take anymore of this. It ended tonight.

You step out through your backdoor and finally get a good look at what’s been causing you so much trouble. In the streetlight you can make out one brown fluffy looking maine coon hissing and swatting at three dogs. Was it really the same cat every night picking fights like this?

Carefully making your way over, you wave your hands at the dogs, shooing them away. You aren’t sure if it’ll work or not, but it’s worth a try. Sure enough, it does. They must be intimidated by humans.

“Are you ok little guy?” You stare down at the big cat and look it over for any injuries, sighing in relief when you notice that it’s fine. It seems to be much more friendly than the dogs were, because it starts purring and rubbing up against you immediately. You smile and pick it up. “How about I get you some food and a nice place to sleep?”

You carry the cat inside and go to your fridge, looking around for something that would be good to feed your new friend. You manage to find some leftover chicken and put it on a plate, setting it down with some water off to the side. The cat starts eating the chicken immediately and you watch, laughing a little bit at the way its shakes each piece.

After its done eating and sipping at the water, you walk back to your bed and the cat follows behind you, jumping up onto it after you lay down. You absentmindedly run your fingers through it’s soft fur as it purrs again. Was this someone’s pet? You would probably need to check in in the morning to be sure. Strays usually weren’t this friendly.

You must have zoned out for too long, because you suddenly feel a sharp pain on your hand and look down to see that the cat has decided to bite you while it’s still purring. It must have lured you into a false sense of security because it somehow looks really smug about the whole thing.

You curse and get up, going to wash the wound. Luckily there wasn’t any blood or anything and it had been pretty light. You supposed that it was normal for this to be happening. This was just something cats did sometimes.

You slip back into bed and turn out the light, feeling a light plop as the cat flops down and curls up next to you to go to sleep. You whisper a “Good night” before closing your eyes and drifting off.

When you start to wake up, you can feel the weird sensation of something warm wrapped around you and pressed against you. You make a confused noise before opening your eyes. Instead of the cute fluffy cat you found earlier sleeping next to you, there is now a huge man with the ears and tail of the same cat cuddled up to you and pulling you against his chest.

You panic and grab your pillow, lightly whacking him with it. “What are you doing in my bed?!”

The man hisses and lets go of you quickly moving away with his ears pointing downwards. “That’s no way to treat someone you let into your house and fed last night!”

You lower your pillow and look at him carefully. You had heard about cat hybrids. They were people with cat like features that could turn into the furry animals any time they wanted. They were supposed to be a myth, but it looked like that was in fact what you were staring at.

“I’m sorry. You just scared me and I didn’t expect you to be an actual cat hybrid. My name is y/n.”

He moves closer to you again, relaxing and doing the same rubbing/purring that he did in his actual cat form. You don’t really try to stop him though. Instead you just pet his ears on instinct, not really knowing what else to do.

“I’m Joseph and it’s a pleasure to meet you y/n. I’m lucky that someone as stunning as you brought me in. Those dogs are always fun to mess with but it can get old.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “I preferred it when you didn’t talk.”

He does a fake pout and you jokingly boop him on the nose.

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

It had been a few weeks now. You let Joseph stay with you because he apparently didn’t actually have a place to go. You felt kind of bad and really, you would be lying if you said his flirting didn’t get to you. Even if he was smug about it, it was also kind of charming and funny in a way?

You step into your house and look around. “Joseph I’m home!”

You notice him laying down on the couch, which seems to have a few new scratch marks. “Did you bring the food I wanted?”

You nod and set your stuff down. “Hey, just because my couch was a mess before you got here doesn’t mean you can wreck it even more.”

“Oh? And how are you going to stop me y/n?”

“Well....I guess I can’t. But I brought some other things home that you might like.” You reach in your bag and pull out a laser pointer that you had bought at the store. You press the button and point it onto the floor in front of where Joseph is laying down, moving the little red dot slightly from side to side.

He seems to immediately sit up, crouching and staring at the dot intently. His pupils are really big and his long furry tail is swishing. You quickly make it dart away and he jumps off the couch, pouncing and trying to catch it. He ends up almost falling flat on his ass and you come over to offer him a hand, turning the button off.

“I think you caught it. I don’t see it anymore.”

Instead of pulling himself up, Joseph pulls you down and onto his lap, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you into a kiss. You close your eyes and return it, draping your arms around his shoulders.

“It looks like I caught something better.”

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

the image of curie trying to sneak into the cuddle pile actually made me squee it was so cute! companions cuddling with sole reaction someday? <3

Aww!!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! 🥰 Curie is one of my favorites to write (with my other two favorites being Piper and Cait) so I had quite a bit of fun throwing that in. 😊

Also, I may or may not have given Cait, Piper, and Curie a little extra description than the others, but it was not my fault. I was a victim of circumstance. Cuddling + my favorite girls = me getting description happy 😂😂😂

Thank you so much for this beautiful request! I hope you enjoy! 💙💛

Cait - Is always surprised when it happens. The first few times F!Sole suddenly just is leaning on her, her chin propped on Cait's shoulder as her arms wrap around Cait's middle, Cait is shocked as can be. She is a little stiff with it for the first several times, carefully wrapping a bony arm around F!Sole and sort of just letting her stay where she's at while Cait is frozen in place. However, as she grows more accustomed to it, Cait loosens somewhat and might even quietly signal F!Sole that she wants to cuddle by leaning against her a little more or carefully touching F!Sole's hand or shoulder and just being more touch-oriented in general. She is not much of an initiator, but if she has had a bad day, trusts F!Sole a lot, and F!Sole is lying down or sitting somewhere nearby, Cait will crawl over and just collapse on her best friend, knowing she'll make it better by being there for her unconditionally.

Piper - Absolutely adores the affection. Whenever she sits near F!Sole literally anywhere, F!Sole will just reach over and pull her over so she is leaned against her totally, her head resting against her best friend's chest or shoulder and F!Sole resting her head on Piper's as she just quietly listens to Piper talk. Piper will snuggle closer, never missing a beat as a big grin grows on her face while she yammers on about her day or whatever she has found out. However, if her best friend doesn't start cuddling her when she sits near her, Piper herself will usually initiate it. She'll just suddenly squish against F!Sole, completely unannounced as she carries on as if nothing happened, her arm tightly wrapped around her. If F!Sole is lying down anywhere, Piper takes that as a pure invitation to just flop down on top of her and be an aggravating little turd. But Piper knows her best friend secretly loves to be close with her found family and Piper is definitely no exception to the rule.

Curie - Is positively as happy as can be when F!Sole cuddles with her. When F!Sole first reaches her arm around Curie's neck and pulls her near so that her head is underneath F!Sole's chin and Curie is practically lying on her, Curie is practically popping with excitement and pure happiness. She loves all of the new sensations of actually being able to feel things when people touch her, and to be so near to someone that means so much to her is a true gift. When Curie finds out that F!Sole loves to cuddle with her friends, Curie has no problem springing impromptu cuddles on her. If F!Sole is lying down, Curie will sneak over and cuddle closely to her until F!Sole wraps her arms around her. Even if F!Sole is standing, she's not off-limits, and Curie will hurry over and just grab her around from behind, sometimes scaring her half to death if she is not expecting it. However, she takes it well, knowing that the girl is just excited to show her friend affection.

MacCready - Is pretty uncomfortable but finds it to be sort of nice. He never particularly wants to sit there very long with her but he usually lets her cuddle him for as long as she wants until he gets so uncomfortable that the only excuse he can think of is that he absolutely has to use the bathroom. She has since learned to release him before he gets to that point, understanding and respecting his boundaries. He never initiates cuddles, and he would honestly be fine with just occasional hugs since they do not make him feel quite as awkward.

Deacon - Is really squirmy and it does not last too long. He is not overly comfortable with cuddling or any extended contact, and it usually consists of the two of them sitting on a couch together and she just randomly throws her arm around his middle and leans her head against his shoulder. He sort of awkwardly pats her back and lets his hand rest there uncomfortably. He just wants to get away as soon as he possibly can without hurting her feelings in the process. Needless to say, he is definitely not an initiator and he honestly is not going to find her just so she can grab onto him. He cares about her in his own way, but touchy-feely stuff is not his thing.

Codsworth - Is very happy when she tries to cuddle him. It usually is more like a really extended hug, but he very much appreciates her effort even if he cannot truly feel the contact. He loves the sentiment and it lets him know that she truly sees him as family. And that is the greatest gift of all. As for initiation, he tries to in his own extremely strange way. He will usually reach a pincer around her, and she gets the message, quickly hugging him tightly. It just feels nice to him to see evident proof that she feels so much affection for him.

Hancock - Loves every single minute of it, and is not ashamed to say so. As soon as she does it, he is surprised, but he returns the affection quickly, asking her what got into her today. But other than that, he just happily holds her, grinning widely in spite of himself. He will not usually initiate it, but he has plenty of ways of trying to trick her into initiating it herself. If she's sad, then he says that he read somewhere in a Pre-War book that cuddling can raise serotonin levels. She usually just chuckles in reply to him before taking advantage of his offer. It always makes him very happy to just hug her tightly and not let go, feeling her warmth against him.

Danse - Does not know what to do, but secretly loves it to death and longs for more of it. Whenever she springs it on him out of nowhere the first few times, he is shocked and almost frozen, but he reacts soon enough and slowly brings his arms around her. He does not know what he is doing, but he knows that he absolutely loves the feeling of her actually wanting to be close with him and show that she cares in such a sweet way. It is a tenderness that he has never really experienced, and he just encloses her in his arms totally and enjoys it. He is never going to initiate it, worrying that he is imposing or something, but he openly welcomes it whenever F!Sole initiates. After finding out about his true identity, he usually wordlessly and unintentionally clues F!Sole in that he needs cuddles when he looks so serious and perturbed.

Preston - Enjoys it quite a bit, but it shocks him when she first does it. However, he does not have a problem reciprocating by putting an arm around her carefully. He is happy as can be when he is receiving affection like this, and it makes him feel like he actually matters to someone in a way that is more than just as a respected officer. He does not ever initiate it since he is sort of a bit too shy and uncertain to do so. However, he will ask for it very occasionally and very sheepishly, really hoping that she will not turn him down. He is always very pleased when she welcomes him with open arms.

Valentine - Honestly is terribly shocked, but he does enjoy it. When it first happens, he just sort of wraps an arm around her and pats her on the back kindly, expecting her to only hug him for a moment, but when she just snuggles closer and rest her head on his shoulder, he is very surprised. After all, his body is not exactly like that of humans and cannot be comfortable to lean against. But she seems to have no problem with that. He would never initiate cuddling, but he is always open to it if she wants to. He does not want to push her into anything, and he definitely does not want her to feel like she has to do it. Even if he does enjoy it greatly.

X6-88 - Is completely standoffish about it, but for some reason finds that a tiny piece of him actually likes it. Needless to say, he absolutely hates that part of him. When she first starts to spring these sorts of things on him, he insists that they need to find something more constructive to do. However, as time goes on, he insists much less and mostly retains complete silence, just letting her hold onto him but not really reciprocating. He would never initiate this sort of thing directly, but the closest he will get to it is sitting down on the same couch she is sitting on and just staying quiet in hopes that she will do it. She soon realizes what this gesture means, and she knows that he wants cuddles when he does that. She finds it quite adorable to be honest.

Dogmeat - Is absolutely thrilled any time she does it. Whenever she calls him over, giving him lots of pets before just hugging him close, he is wagging all over, panting happily and snuffling at her face. In fact, he oftentimes is the one initiating the cuddles, hurrying over to give her lots of kisses before trying to fit into her lap even though he is much too big for it. Literally every time that she is sleeping, he is either lying right next to her or on top of her. He is literally the best cuddle buddy ever because he is up for it twenty-four seven.

Strong - Absolutely hates it and will literally get up and walk away if she starts trying to do it. He will also fuss about it for a really long time, and makes a special note to bring it up in front of her other friends just to try to embarrass her and keep her from doing it ever again. However, when he least expects it, she will do it again to try to get him into the habit of letting her do it. Plus, she also thought it was kind of funny how he fussed constantly and let such a silly thing get to him.

Maxson - Is extremely uncomfortable with it, and believes that it is even somewhat inappropriate. However, he does secretly like it, and that feeling nags at him. He is usually significantly more chill about it if she initiates such a thing away from others, but he is still very uncomfortable. He is not in the least accustomed to such things, and he is one of those people that had originally thought this sort of thing was for either little kids or for people in love. But when he realizes that she is just showing she cares in a beautiful deeper than friendship but not at all romantic sort of way, he warms to it a little more. He will never initiate it, but he is eventually simply okay with it and lets her do as she wishes as long as absolutely no one can see them.

Sturges - Does not mind it at all, and actually likes it somewhat. It makes him a little uncomfortable the first few times she does it, but he soon realizes that it's her way of showing him that she cares about him. He is slightly self-conscious of how greasy and sweaty he often is, but since she does not seem to mind it, he just goes with it. He does not initiate it ever because he considers it to be the gentlemanly thing to do to let her decide if she wants to cuddle or not.

Glory - Is extremely uncomfortable and dangerously close to shoving F!Sole off when it first happens. However, she slowly figures out that it feels really nice to have someone's arms around her when the person is someone that she trusts as much as F!Sole. She is never fully comfortable with it, but she definitely craves it to a degree and will very hesitantly sort of bump F!Sole's shoulder to let her know that she would appreciate some love right about then. Especially if she has had a particularly difficult time with a mission or she is just feeling less than her usual self.