#I have chilly paws

[navybluetriangles]

.

[soulsxng]

I took a whole hour long nap simply because Roo was holding my arm, and I'm not the type of monster that can ruin the sleeps of a good boy just so I can be productive. If he says he needs some mom snuggles, then that's it. I'm stuck there until he deigns to release me.

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly. 

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in. 

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach. 

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.” 

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.” 

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 2

construction worker!rafe who spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ and driving shy!reader home, shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

c/w: fluff, smut: slight somnophilia, dry humping, p-in-v, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.7k

so this story was supposed to be just a small drabble consisting of a few silly sentences but then i got a bit carried away..

series masterlist

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

It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.  

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her. 

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) when she gingerly opens the door, mentally preparing to face a serial killer.

However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her. 

“Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” a surprised look paints over her countenance.  

“You forgot this in my car, thought you might want it back,” he smiles, holding out a phone to her, the pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.  

“Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.  

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly call,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke. 

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance; a worn-out t-shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it.

She’s not wearing anything else and he’s trying his hardest not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair.

She swallows nervously under his attention.  

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never ended up doing anything when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for an entire week after the particularly long shift she’d had.  

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder before letting her get some much needed rest, telling himself he could be patient.

However, she’s not making it very easy for him when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her at the moment— she looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms right now and slump down on her bed, crawl under crisp sheets and feel her lungs expand against his chest.  

“Uh, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.  

“No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.  

“Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” she clumsily offers, not wanting him to go just yet.

His brows raise in surprise because she’s being uncharacteristically bold, making his mouth twist in amusement. 

“Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and jus’ wanna go home, sorry, don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown accustomed to.  

“Nah, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold before taking a look around her cozy home; picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls and leafy plants adding greenery to the small space. It’s cute, he thinks.  

She sets a steaming mug in front of him when he takes a seat around the kitchen table. And when she sits down on a chair next to him, he can’t help but stare at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up, revealing the tops of her thighs and allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out.

He clears his throat.  

“You, uh, you have trouble sleeping a lot?” he tries to focus on something else, anything else while taking a quick sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.  

“Yeah…sometimes it’s jus’ kinda hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. Like I try to close my eyes, but then the loud voices of customers and the clinking of plates keep replaying in my head and suddenly m’wide awake, you know?”

“Is there anything that helps?” he prods.  

“Um, I don’t know, I guess jus’ trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out. 

“Oh yeah? So, what you’re sayin’ is that you’re just usin’ me right now in order to fall asleep?” he teases, grinning when he manages to drag out another giggle from her.  

“Guess I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she blinks up at him.  

“Should I feel offended right now?” he jokingly huffs.  

“No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.” 

He thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy; a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape his tongue.

“You, uh, you into cuddling?” he asks, noticing how her eyes round out in surprise.

“Uh— I mean, probably if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond. 

“Wanna cuddle with me?” he says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent about this whole situation when she feels almost dizzy; dazed mind reeling and her vivid heart tingling in her ribcage. 

“You, um…you want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” his brows crease. 

“Yes, of course we are, I just—” 

“Look, all m’sayin’ is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having somethin’ else to focus on ‘n shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this when he’s simply trying to help.  

“You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees before swiftly getting up on wobbly feet—nearly falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at the sudden proximity.  

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he chuckles, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him rather amusing.  

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.  

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle— caging her in with mindless fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter shut.  

“You good?” he murmurs into her hair.

“Mhm,” she blissfully hums, letting out a content exhale because he’s so warm and big— making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.  

Soon, her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy.  

‘Sweet dreams’ is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a place where the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.

- - - - - - - - - - -

She’s lethargic in her movements when she stirs from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in with Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his.

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what woke her up because it’s still murky in her unlit bedroom— the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots of her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.

Then, she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass.

There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization. He’s hard.

Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more. 

She swallows.  

What is she supposed to do? 

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low rumble— his grip only tightening around her smaller form.  

“Rafe?” she calls out. 

No response.  

“Rafe? Wake up.”  

Still nothing. 

She can feel his heavy breathing against her neck—bigger hands pawing at her hips every now and then and trying to pull her closer, as if they’re not already effectively glued together, leaving her no space to move.  

She’s already beginning to grow sticky between her thighs when he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in some sort of a stupor.  

She can’t help but let out a faint mewl when her clit throbs, pestering for more friction since the soft fabric of her underwear is not even close to enough, more or less torturing her with the its cottony graze.

And that’s when Rafe finally stirs, the weight of his arm loosening like a tight knot unfurling, finally allowing for her lungs to greedily suck in the air of the quiet room.

“Shit— sorry, my bad,” his tone is gravelly, and she could swear some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides in response.

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects. 

“It’s…uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries, it happens,” she rambles with heated cheeks because what the fuck is she supposed to say to that? 

“Nah, s’fully my fault, jus’ had this, uh, nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse. 

“Oh. What was it about?” she inquires with a yawn, perhaps slightly too curious for her own good.  

“You wanna know?” his brows raise. 

She manages a hum.

“Well, there was this, uh, real pretty girl…‘n she had me in her mouth ‘n was lettin’ me do whatever I wanted,” he murmurs, a heady tone overlaying his response.  

“Oh.” She tries to appear indifferent, even if there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom in the pit of her stomach.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re silly sometimes, you know?”

He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here? 

“So, what else happened?”  

“What else? Okay, then she, uh, let me do this,” he confesses at the same time as he grabs at her hips again before pushing against her, earning a whimper when she can feel how big he is through the thin material of her underwear. 

“Rafe…what’re you doing?” she asks through a whine— his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Got no idea what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

“I— what are you…what’re you talking about?” her brain is foggy, unable to think straight when he’s so close. However, he doesn’t respond, merely continues the retelling of his dream.

“Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper— shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock.

Somewhere along the way, her inhale gets stuck in her throat, mindlessly moving her achy cunt over him and causing him to let out a heartfelt grunt.

“Needy little thing likes this, huh?” he helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips and dragging her over his cock— filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.  

“Rafe, can you…”  

“Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” he says while already slipping a hand in her panties; petting at her puffy clit, earning a surprised moan from her before she lifts up the hem of her shirt for a better view.  

“Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Gettin’ real fuckin’ wet from me just bein’ close to you, huh?” his thumb rubs lazy circles over her sensitive button, making her cry out as she presses down harder against his cock. 

“Shit, gonna come in my fuckin’ pants if you keep doin’ that…you wanna know what else was in m’dream?” 

She nods, frantic.  

“Pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. “And then, did this,” he mumbles out as he takes himself out, causing her eyes to round out when she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head on her clit— one, two, three times, and then he’s smearing it over her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.

“Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean; pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out and turning her into a whimpering mess.

The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked to where they connect, fascinated. “Fuck, sweetheart, does that feel nice?” he asks, thumbing over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper and forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.

“Feels so good, Rafe, think m’gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.  

“You gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his features while he keeps nudging his dick about halfway in and then out, never fully plunging it inside.  

“You feel so…can’t— can’t hold it,” watery droplets gather in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as her teary eyes look into larimar and she keeps rolling her hips against him, chasing after a release. 

“Go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” he encourages, and she doesn’t need to be told twice before she’s crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him. 

“There you go, fuckin’ give it to me,” he grunts, and all of a sudden, he feels his own orgasm approaching—rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he finally stuffs his cock inside her, to the hilt.

Then, he’s stilling inside her and groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim— making her feel so full.

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.  

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him and burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.  

She thinks she could die happy right now.  

“Did so good for me, shit, should do this more often, yeah?” he says with a sleepy tinge.   

And she’s completely out of it; head as empty as ever and merely managing a hum of agreement before she’s tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber.

[suempu]

Ok but headcanons for Chilchuck begging tallman reader to sit on his face but they're too scared they'll crush him 😭

established relationship + amab and afab included + human reader + chilly chuckles has stubble !!

<3

chilchuck wouldn’t be the type to “beg” you for it. more like whine or be grumpy about it because he’s kind of embarrassed.

like i said in my previous hcs, he loves everything about going down on you. from your scent, to your moans, to your skin. he’s using his heightened senses to his advantage just to feel more of you.

-> amab

he asks you to get on top of him and fuck his face but you refuse at first. just because you think he’s not ready for it yet and you didn’t want to crush the not-so-lil guy.

chilchuck is bitter at first, feeling rejected before you quickly reassure him that you just didn’t want to hurt his throat.

“i don’t need ‘training’, it’ll be fine. just get on my face.” he almost whines.

“you’ll gag and get hurt if i immediately do that… you’re not even used to taking all of me yet.” trying to reason with him, you pepper his pouty cheeks with kisses.

you really don’t want him to have a sore throat so the next time he asks again you only give shallow pumps into his mouth. giving him a taste of your dick.

when he finally learns to take your cock all the way, chilchuck’s obsessed with the eroticism of it all.

he’s laying on the bed, hands on your thighs as you thrust into his mouth from above. gurgling noises can be heard as you moan, his warm mouth enveloping your dick as he tears up from the lack of oxygen.

you got him successfully cockdrunk as you jerk your last splurt of cum onto his face, making the small patch of stubble on his chin sticky while he looks at you with dazed eyes as he sucks the head for good measure.

he doesn’t say anything but he’ll blush and get so turned on afterwards that he ends up fucking you in the shower.

-> afab

will just ask you straight up to sit on his face and you don’t know whether to laugh or blush because it aroused you more than you thought it would.

he’ll immediately question your refusal because wdym he’s not strong enough to take all your weight???? he’s a big boy

that was a lie. but it still doesn’t ruin the idea for him, he wants you on his face so bad that he keeps going even after panting so hard each time you smother him between your thighs.

“pat my thighs if you need air, okay?”

“i can do it without needing air.”

“honey, you almost passed out last time…”

he grumbles, “i thought we agreed to never bring that up.”

chilchuck can’t really put his fingers in you whenever you sit on him since there’s not much space because of his tongue in your hole. instead he paws and teases your rim while he wiggles his nose against your clit.

loves it when he gets you to squirt, although after a few moments he’ll nag you to get in the bath and wash his soaked face.

<3 the morning after (gn)

the next morning, he’ll drink some tea to soothe his throat because of the lack of air and to keep it from being sore.

this man will not acknowledge ANYTHING he did the night before, he’ll brush everything off if you mention any embarrassing things he’s done.

“good morning. was last night okay?”

he snorts, putting his mug down. “of course. told you i could handle it.”

you hum playfully, hugging him into your chest from behind. “i don’t know… you looked delirious and… fucked out. i think you even passed out at one point-”

“i’m never going down on you ever again.”

[silentscrying]

🐾 snowprints

vet student!megumi x dog owner!reader

summary: when you find yourself in need of an emergency trip to the local vet clinic, it's late and the sign on the door is flipped to closed. luckily for you, animal science student megumi fushiguro is still around, and he's willing to help you and your dog out—and maybe get a little more than he bargained for in the process. but he's not used to letting people in, and you've never been particularly patient. when winter rolls around, will you be spending the holidays alone?

content/warnings: 20.7k words. complete. sfw. f!reader, you have a dog, megumi has his dogs, they are unbearably cute, megumi doesn't know how to communicate for shit, language, no use of y/n, christmas yay!!, aged up characters, including riko, she's in college, and she's a menace, (light) angst with a happy ending, mentions of deceased parents (typical fushiguro canon), soft, fluff, you know when your sister psychoanalyzes you at the kitchen table, car crash, alcohol, reader studies environmental science but can't keep plants alive for SHIT, so much unnecessary pining, gratuitous overuse of italics and em-dashes

note: this takes place in the same universe as out of my mind, but you don't have to read that to know what's going on here! though it may help with some context. happy hella late birthday megumi fushiguro you will always be famous

PART I // BATMAN & ROBIN

IT’S TEN O’CLOCK and dark when Batman decides to cause problems.

Batman, of course, being your three-year-old German shepherd mix, the one currently whining and staring up at you with big, dark puppy eyes while he holds one paw up limply.

“Oh, little buddy,” you sigh as you squat down in front of him, despite the fact that he hasn’t been little in a very long time. He’s been restless all night, so you caved and took him on a late night walk, and it’s so dark you can’t tell what’s wrong with his paw even in the glow of the phone flashlight.

God, fuck. Where’s the closest vet? The one in the city is definitely closed. You’re fairly certain there’s a smaller one somewhere on the outskirts of the JU campus, though, one that the pre-vet students use for clinicals.

“C’mon, champ,” you murmur, tugging gently on Batman’s leash. “Let’s go get you checked out, huh?”

The early September air is chilly, a little bit of a bite to it. You’re glad the temperatures haven’t yet dropped below freezing, so you don’t need to let your car defrost before going. “Up,” you say, patting the passenger seat with the door held open for Batman.

You punch the clinic into maps and pull out of your suburban street into the busier roads. It’s not far, thankfully, and you make a beeline for the door with Batman on your heels, not noticing until you’re right in front of it that the massive sign hanging on the door is flipped to CLOSED.

“No,” you groan, leaning forward and pressing your forehead to the cool glass of the closed door. You close your eyes, wondering what the fuck you’re gonna do, and then—thump.

You nearly jump out of your skin, eyes flying open and gaze raising to meet the amused eyes of a guy on the other side of the door, who’s trying and failing to suppress a smile that feels a little teasing. Oops.

You step back and wave sheepishly, and the boy unlocks the door and swings it open, taking in the sight of you and your limping dog.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I know you’re closed and it’s some ungodly hour on a Tuesday, I just didn’t know what else to do—”

“It's fine,” he says, waving it off. “I’m just cleaning up, it’s not a hassle. Come on.” Batman has no qualms about following the guy through the open door, so you follow, glancing around the small clinic. It’s pretty sparse, save for the bulletin board overflowing with pet photos on one wall.

“Fushiguro,” the guy says in introduction, glancing back over his shoulder at you. He’s got deep blue eyes that match his dark scrubs, and his hair sticks out every which way in a manner that feels intentional. He must be around your age. It takes you a beat to remember yourself and give him your own name, stuttered out as you pass into the back exam room.

There’s a white coat tossed haphazardly over a spinning chair, and the guy—Fushiguro—picks Batman up like he weighs nothing and situates him on the metal table.

“Hey, bud. What’s your name?” he asks, scratching behind Batman’s ears. Your dog is usually weary of vets, but today his tail pounds on the metal of the table as he raises his head to sniff at Fushiguro’s face.

“Batman.”

Fushiguro’s gaze snaps to you and he blinks, evidently thinking you’re joking. “No.”

“Yes.” You hold your index fingers up above your head to imitate your dog’s pointy ears. “Batman.”

“Oh. My god,” he says. “And what, you’re Robin?”

“I am not the sidekick in this situation.”

“Batman dragged you out here at eleven on a school night. You absolutely are the sidekick.”

You scoff, moving up to the table and stroking Batman’s fur. “Am I just a sidekick to you, little guy?” you coo. “You wanna be a hero so bad?” He noses happily at your palm.

Fushiguro side-eyes you, half-grimacing as he grabs Batman’s paw to look at it. He doesn’t seem to mind, which is honestly a shock. He hates people touching his paws, even you. “You baby talk your dog?”

“You judge your patients?”

“Course not,” Fushiguro says, smirking as he looks back at you. “Just their owners.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the huff of laughter, and his dark eyes reflect the fluorescent overhead light as he turns away. He’s undeniably attractive—you don’t remember seeing him around campus.

“You go to JU?” you ask, and he nods.

“Sophomore. Pre-vet. D’you?”

“Nah, Kaisen.” Your school is a lot smaller than the neighboring Jujutsu University. They’ve got something of an athletic rivalry with Kaisen College, but you really don’t care. “Environmental science.”

“You know everything there is to know about trees, or what?” His tone is teasing, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it. The fact is you do know more about trees than normal college students probably should. Doesn’t mean you can keep plants alive for shit, though.

You’d guess there’s actually a fair bit of crossover between your course of study and a pre-vet student’s bio track, but you say, “I specialize in rare long grasses, actually.” It comes out so deadpan that he glances at you, brows knit together, trying to gauge if you’re being serious. You only last a second before you crack under his scrutiny, and he shakes his head and huffs as he turns back to Batman, who is now trying to lick Fushiguro’s nose.

“Excuse me,” he says. This only seems to encourage the dog kisses, but Fushiguro decides to just ignore them. He hums, grabbing a pair of tweezers and squinting as he moves to pull something out of Batman’s paw. “Just a splinter. The pad of a dog’s paw is one of the most sensitive parts of their body, so it’s not surprising he was so worked up about it.” You watch as he pulls out a thin sliver of wood, probably from stepping on some splintering twig, and drops it into a tray on the table.

You watch as your dog drops his paw back to the table and stands up, tail wagging at lightning speed, like nothing was ever wrong. He jumps off the table before Fushiguro can grab him and bounds over to you, rubbing himself along the outside of your leg like a giant cat.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, pulling out your card, but he waves you off.

“It was literally a splinter.”

“But—”

“Honestly, it’d be more work to boot up the payment system again anyway. Don’t worry about it.” He holds your gaze, and you can’t tell if he’s lying about the payment system or not, but you slide your card back into your wallet without complaint.

Something passes between you, some weird spark of recognition—not that you’ve met before. You know you haven’t. But you don’t typically have this kind of easy banter with strangers. Something about this guy intrigues you, and you don’t particularly want to stop talking to him.

But you’ve already kept him past close, and you need to get home.

The moment breaks when Fushiguro clears his throat, leaning over to grab something off the counter. “Right. Well, give me a call if he starts limping again, but he should be alright.” He holds out a hand and you realize he’s offering you a business card, weirdly professional for a student.

M. FUSHIGURO Veterinary Technician Trainee, JU

His number and email are printed beneath it in small sans serif lettering.

“Oh, you’re fancy.” You raise a brow at him, tucking the card into your jacket pocket. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Well, who am I to refuse Batman?” he says wryly. He walks you to the door, and you try not to think too much of it—he just needs to lock up behind you, probably.

Before you slip out, he leans down and pats Batman on the head, earning a happy little tail-wag in response.

“Drive safe, Robin,” he calls, and you groan at the nickname as you unlock your car.

At home, you key his number into your phone and save the contact as fushiguro (cute vet). You sit there for way too long debating over whether you should text him—Batman’s fine, and it’s late, and he gave you a business card. Not exactly an invitation to flirt, tempting as that might be.

But you really want to.

“Should I text him?” you ask your dog, who’s decided to curl up right beside your bed and look up at you, waiting for an invitation. Your twin bed is not big enough for this and he knows it, but he always seems to think he’s a smaller dog than he really is.

Batman, unhelpfully, tilts his head at you, his perky ears flapping with the motion.

Maybe it’s because it’s past eleven and it’s dark out and you’re exhausted and you don’t have the best sense of judgment right now. Maybe it’s because Fushiguro’s just really cute.

“You’re right,” you say, nudging Batman with a socked foot. “No use waiting. Say cheese.”

you: [1 Image Attachment] you: gotham city’s savior says thank you

It’s kind of embarrassing how you sit and stare at the screen for two minutes, waiting for him to answer. Batman snorts, like he’s making fun of you, and you lock your phone and toss it on the bedside table. “Oh, don’t start.”

Your roommate and best friend, Setsuko Sasaki, is studying abroad in Japan for the semester. It’s been lonely, strange without her occupying the second bedroom of your little rented townhouse. You’d like to say this is why you’ve resorted to talking to your dog, but that would very much be a lie, because you’ve always done this. Sometimes, when she’s home, Suko adopts a gruff, low voice and answers for him.

You jump when your phone buzzes and make yourself count to three before checking the screen.

fushiguro (cute vet): don’t mention it. always had a soft spot for batman, anyway. fushiguro (cute vet): his sidekick’s alright too.

“Oh, he likes you,” you tell Batman. “Wingman. Thanks, little buddy.”

you: well, send a bat signal if you’re ever in mortal peril and i might show up

After that, you try to push Fushiguro to the back of your mind. He doesn’t go to Kaisen, so it’s not like you can stalk him in the university directory. You have no reason to run into him around town. As the semester ramps up and you fall back into your routine of classes and exams and friends, you don’t think too much about the cute vet tech who happened to be around that one night.

Or, you don’t for a grand total of six days.

You’re on a jog with Batman, afternoon sun making up for the fall chill in the air that’s hung around since it stormed last night. You don’t intend to stop, but Batman abruptly sticks his nose in the dirt about halfway through your run and refuses to move.

“Dude.” You backtrack and see that he’s discovered a couple pairs of dog prints, pressed faintly into the damp earth. “Oh, you smell friends, huh?” He tugs you forward, following the scent of these other dogs. “Hey!”

The thing about having a massive German shepherd mix, even one as docile as Batman, is that he is inarguably a lot stronger than you. So you don’t really have much of a choice but to stumble along after him as he bounds across the grass and comes out on the other side of the path—you don’t normally come this way, because there’s a dog park over here and he gets way too excited.

But today he’s on a mission, and you only see two other dogs in the fenced-in park—two huge balls of fluff, one white and one black. “Fine,” you say begrudgingly, undoing the gate and letting Batman off his leash. “Go play. But we aren’t staying long.”

He bounds off toward the other dogs while you latch the gate behind you, and then a familiar voice has you spinning around with your eyes wide. “Bat signal wasn’t me,” Fushiguro says, raising both hands in a gesture of innocence. “They did it.” He points at the other dogs, who are now engaged in a butt-sniffing circle with yours.

“Fushiguro!” You grin, making your way over to him. Once the other two dogs have deemed Batman a worthy playmate, they move on to you, sniffing at your palms and circling around you until the black one jumps up and nearly knocks you over with the force of it. “Oh, hello!”

“Kuro,” Fushiguro chides, rushing forward to tug at his collar. “Hey. Down.”

“It’s okay,” you promise through a fit of giggles as Kuro tries to basically hug you. “Oh, you’re cute, aren’t you? Hi, Kuro.”

Fushiguro huffs out a breath of relief when Kuro finally gets down. “That’s Shiro,” he says, gesturing to the white dog, who is now chasing Batman around the park. “Think she’s found a friend.”

“He dragged me all the way here,” you tell Fushiguro. “Guess he missed you or something.”

“Just him?”

You grin. “What, you think I was out here pining after you?” He only smirks in response. “I don’t even know your name, M. Fushiguro. What good is a business card without your first name on it?”

He hums, shoving his hands into his pockets, considering. “Guess.”

“Guess,” you echo. “Okay. Um. Michael.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Max.”

“Nope.”

“Um, Maverick.”

“What the hell?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. “Who in their right mind would name their kid—”

“Okay, hey,” you interrupt, holding up your hands. “I just watched Top Gun, okay? What do you want from me?”

“M—”

“Nope, out of tries for today. Three strikes, you’re out.” He shrugs, wholly unaffected, like this is just how the world works and he’s got no say it in whatsoever.

You gape at him, planting your hands on your hips in affront. “I hope you know I will be insufferable every single day until I’m right.”

Batman trots back over, prancing between you and Fushiguro until he crouches down to pet him. “You come here a lot?” you ask, glancing around the empty park. “I’ve never seen you here. Or your dogs. I think I’d remember giant balls of fluff like that.”

“Yeah, not often,” Fushiguro says, pushing back to his feet. “But Kuro’s been so restless all day. Had to let him run his energy down somehow.” The dog in question is chasing his own tail in circles while Shiro looks at him, unimpressed. “You live over here?”

“Few blocks out, yeah.” Your place is between the two campuses, an easy walk to both places because Suko takes Japanese classes at JU. Apparently Fushiguro doesn’t live too far away, either, just on the other side of the skate park where you know your friend Hajime hangs out all the time.

By “hangs out,” you mean he probably (definitely) buys weed there, but that’s not your business. Maybe he and Fushiguro know each other—they both go to JU. But Hajime’s a senior, so probably not.

You don’t get the chance to ask because Fushiguro’s phone rings, and he sighs and answers it with a glance at you that might be apologetic or might be mildly irritated. Hard to tell with him.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he says gruffly. “Okay. See you.” He hangs up and tucks his phone back into his pocket, then whistles for the dogs. “Time to go.”

“Good to see you,” you blurt before he can turn away. He seems a little taken aback, but you don’t break eye contact, and you think he might be on the brink of a smile.

“You too, sidekick.”

—

After that, the two of you start texting more often, gradually moving from photos of your dogs to real conversation. And you keep your promise to be insufferable about finding out his name. You send him new M-names every day, never seeming to get any closer to the truth. For his part, he refuses to call you anything but Robin, cementing your existence as a superhero sidekick and nothing more.

you: new theory you: the M stands for mr you: monsieur you: m’lord

He dislikes the messages in response, and you send him a teary-eyed emoji and hope the guilt is enough to get him to tell you.

It is not.

You and Fushiguro are in some sort of convoluted orbit around one another, sometimes colliding, sometimes drifting away. There’s really no reason you should keep stumbling across him, considering you go to different schools, live in different places, study different things.

But after that first day at the dog park, you might take Batman there a little bit more often.

Every time you talk, Fushiguro starts to take up more and more headspace. You find yourself searching for his flash of ink-dark hair, spiky and disheveled, in every crowd. Every set of fading prints in the grass or mud might be his, might be Shiro’s or Kuro’s. It’s stupid, how much you’re thinking about this boy.

At some point you start dragging your friends out to the coffee shops between your two campuses to do work, rather than the one in the student center. You justify it to yourself with the half-assed excuse that if you run into your friends less, you’ll get more work done, but really you’re just hoping he’ll be there. And your friends are happy to oblige, especially Riko, if it means she’ll get a glimpse of this mystery vet man you don’t shut up about.

Riko’s a year below you at Kaisen, but you know her from back home. She’s a frenetic ball of energy and indignation, and she’s fully prepared to go to every coffee shop in a ten-mile radius for the purposes of what she calls “the mission.”

But the coffee at the second place you try is actually god-tier, and you wind up there regularly after that, hunkering down to grind out your assignments in your spare time. It’s there that he finds you, sliding into the seat right across from yours so abruptly that you nearly fall out of your chair—your noise-canceling headphones really block out the entire world. He smirks as you sheepishly tug them down around your neck, glaring.

“Warn a girl, Jesus!”

“I did,” he drawls, taking a sip of his coffee. “Twice.”

“Boo.” You kind of forgot about your own drink because you were so into your work, and you pick it back up now, mostly for something to do with your hands. “Well, hi. What’re you up to?”

“Same as you, I think.” He nods at your laptop. “Mind if I hang out here?”

“You certainly can, but you’ve just stolen someone’s seat and you might have to fight for your life when she gets back from the bathroom.” His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and as if on cue, Riko is beelining toward the table from across the room.

“Well hello, Mr. Seat Thief. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Fushiguro seems to be gauging Riko, and you realize this is kind of the first look he’s gotten into your private life outside of your dog, and you’re irrationally nervous about it. But he scoots over and grabs a chair from the next table over, giving Riko a mocking bow in response.

“Better?”

Riko nods, and then grabs his coffee and takes a long drag out of it. He doesn’t object, and that should have been your warning—you can see when the bitterness of it hits her all at once, her face twisting in some combination of shock and despair and mild outrage.

“Oh my god,” you say as Riko grabs her water bottle and chugs to get the taste out of her mouth, aggressively shoving Fushiguro's coffee back toward him. “Of course you drink coffee black, you fucking loser.”

“What, you dump six cups of sugar in yours? That’s not coffee.” You flip him off instead of justifying this with a real response.

“I was gonna use that as payment for your crimes,” Riko gasps dramatically, leaning over the table, “but I was instead punished. You’re in my debt now.” She glares at him fiercely, turning up her nose, before abruptly abandoning the bit and grinning at him. “I’m Riko, by the way.”

He snorts, but a very small hint of a smile appears in a corner of his mouth. “Fushiguro.”

Riko nods and glances from him to you, as if to say really? This guy? You can already hear the analysis she’ll be giving you on the way home. Easy on the eyes, I get it, but does he like, have a personality?

“I did research,” you tell Fushiguro, nudging Riko’s shin under the table in warning. “On you.”

“You stalked me online, is what you’re saying.” You’re learning that he’s not a very expressive person. He treats laughs and smiles like rare currency, and everything you need to know about what he’s thinking is in the tiniest shifts—a downturned brow, a blink, a tilt of the head. You’re still learning, but you like to think you’ve got it down enough to know that this doesn’t actually bother him, despite the resting angry face.

“Yes,” you say, shameless. “Except when I typed in Fushiguro and your school, I got all these results for the editor of your campus paper. You have a sister?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Tsumiki, yeah.”

He doesn’t offer more, so you push. “Older?” You already know the answer, but best let him believe the depth of your internet stalking is shallower than it really was.

“Two years. She’s a senior.”

“Cool. I don’t know a ton of siblings that go to the same school.”

“You’d be surprised,” he sighs. “My cousin and her twin sister both go there, too. And one my roommates’ half-brothers.”

“Convenient, I guess,” you concede. “Sibling discount or something?”

“Nah, but it was easier this way,” he says, pulling a textbook out of his bag. “Go—uh, our legal guardian works around here anyway.”

Riko raises a brow but doesn’t ask, which is a remarkable show of restraint for her.

Legal guardian. Parents aren’t in the picture, then. You want to ask but you don’t, not yet.

The three of you buckle down and get some work done, casually exchanging conversation over the next few hours, and eventually Fushiguro has to head out. “Rehearsal,” he says.

“Rehearsal?” Riko asks, glancing at you as if you know what he’s talking about. You don’t, but you have some absolutely ridiculous mental image of Fushiguro in choir and you almost laugh out loud.

But he just says, as if it’s nothing at all, “Oh, yeah, I’m in a band.”

“What?” you nearly shout, jumping out of your chair so fast it pushes across the floor with a scrrcck. “You’re in a band? You didn’t think to tell me this before? What’s it called? Can I listen—”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“Nice to meet you, Riko,” he says loudly, cutting you off as he slings his bag over one shoulder. He mock-salutes you, two fingers to his brow as he turns to go. “Robin.”

You sink back into your seat and watch him leave, only turning back to Riko when the door swings closed. She opens her mouth and you hold out a hand. “Don’t start.”

—

At some point you start calling, letting yourself fill the silence of your little townhouse with idle chatter as he listens. He’s not one for small talk, you learn, and he’s a good listener. And he pays attention. He remembers the stupid little details you give him, the names of classmates and professors you can’t stand.

“Katie from Ohio?” he asks when you’re ranting one day about the partner you’ve been assigned in enviro. “We don’t like her, correct?” We.

“We do not.” Katie from Ohio does not pull her weight in group projects, and it’s driving you up the wall.

“You tell your prof about it? Isn’t this your favorite one?”

“Yeah, he is,” you groan. Haibara teaches your conservation bio class, and he also taught ecology your freshman year, and he’s the best teacher you’ve ever had. “But no. I don’t want to bother him about it. It’s whatever.”

He hums, unimpressed. “Is it?”

You groan, feeling like you’re getting lectured by your parents. You hate when other people are right. “You want me to talk to him.”

“I’m just saying, if you get a shit grade and it’s Katie’s fault, don’t come crying to me.”

“I will, though,” you say, putting your phone on speaker and setting it on the counter while you pour dog food into Batman’s bowl. “It’ll be super dramatic. I’ll sob in your arms and everything.”

He snorts. “Talk to your prof, Robin.” You stick your tongue out like he can see you.

But you do talk to your prof, and Haibara is your favorite for a reason. Katie gets a shit grade. You do not. Fushiguro does, in fact, say “I told you so.”

By mid-September, you still have no idea what Fushiguro’s first name is. You’re at the end of your rope.

you: GOOD MORNING MASON fushiguro (cute vet): no. you: MORT fushiguro (cute vet): no. you: why don’t you want me to know. is it crazy you: melvin fushiguro (cute vet): NO. you: marie you: meghan fushiguro (cute vet): … you: well, that’s it you: i’m calling you maleficent until you tell me you: i’m gonna do it in public too you: so loud

INCOMING CALL: FUSHIGURO (CUTE VET)

You don’t greet each other when you pick up—you never have. Instead, Fushiguro just says, “You could’ve picked like, ten other Disney characters and you went with Maleficent?”

“Don’t hate. You’d rather be Mufasa? Boy’s dead.”

“Oh my god.” Everything Fushiguro says sounds long-suffering. You wonder what it sounds like when he laughs, really laughs, if those walls ever break down and he lets himself actually outwardly express his emotions.

“I can call you Mickey Mouse if you really want—” Batman starts barking from his spot at the window, and you groan, waving your hand at him pointlessly as you try to get him to stop. “Hey! No! There is nothing outside, what are you on about?”

“He probably just thinks you’re barking with him,” Fushiguro says unhelpfully.

“Oh, and yours don’t bark out of turn?”

“Not really.”

Now that you think about it, you actually aren’t sure you’ve ever heard Shiro and Kuro bark aside from excited greetings at the dog park. “What the fuck, dude? Do they teach you the secrets of the trade in vet school?”

“Nah, I’m just a natural.” He says it so deadpan you aren’t sure if he’s joking or actually being cocky.

“Come over and help, then,” you say, before you can think it through. It’s a Saturday night, and clearly neither of you have anything better to do.

You aren’t sure what exactly you’re expecting him to say, but for some reason you’re surprised when he just responds, “Okay.”

“Bring the dogs.” You text him your address, and half an hour later he shows up with the dogs in tow. Meeting him at the door, you see his car parked along the curb. It’s small, black, as unreadable and practical as everything else about him.

“That,” he says, pointing to the long-deceased cactus in the pot on your front stoop, “is dead.” Probably because it’s been there since August and you forgot it was there after one week.

“Yes, thank you, very astute.”

“Isn’t keeping plants alive your whole thing? What are they teaching you?”

“Okay.” You start to close the door, but Shiro bounces forward and noses between it excitedly, and you laugh, opening it to let her and Kuro in. “Be nice,” you warn Fushiguro, letting him step inside. He rolls his eyes as he passes, and Batman nearly knocks him over with how excitedly he leaps up to greet him.

He’s also barking, and you raise a brow at Fushiguro expectantly. “Okay, Dog Whisperer. Do your thing.” You close the door behind him, and in the two seconds that you’re turned away, Batman fucking stops barking.

You whirl around, planting your hands on your hips, and find Fushiguro kneeling in front of your very silent, very happy dog.

“What the fuck.”

He looks up at you with the most smug expression on his face, and you throw up your hands in exasperation.

“Hey, don’t pout about it,” he teases, standing and following you into the living room. “That’s what you wanted.”

“I wanted you to teach me how to make him stop, but apparently you just slipped him treats behind my back.”

“Insult to my talents,” he says, hesitating when Kuro leaps onto your couch. “Are they allowed—”

“Ah, yeah, it’s fine.” Batman follows suit. “Got enough dog hair on that couch to make another couch, probably.”

You suddenly find you don’t really know what to say. Because Fushiguro is here, in your house, on a Saturday, your dog is not barking, and you’re alone. Alone with a guy you are very much attracted to. Suddenly you just don’t know any of the words in the English language.

But Fushiguro seems entirely at ease. He always does, really. There’s a quiet sort of confidence about him, and you aren’t sure if it’s fabricated or not. He just looks like he belongs wherever he is, nonchalant about everything.

“Done any more stalking?” he asks, sitting next to Shiro on the floor. You flush a little, feeling weirdly caught out when you aren’t the one bringing it up.

“No, but I might if you don’t tell me more about this band of yours.”

He shakes his head, absently playing with Shiro’s fur. “Just a crazy idea my housemates had. We just practice in the basement. Probably not very good.”

You opt to sit on Shiro’s other side on the ground, and Batman uses the opportunity to lick you directly in the face, since he’s on the couch and you’re now eye-level. “Thank you,” you tell him dryly, shoving his snout away.

“Don’t get humble now,” you tell Fushiguro. “What do you play? Or do you sing?” You really can’t imagine him singing. Everything about this guy screams quiet bass player.

Apparently you’re right. He won’t tell you the name of his band, and allegedly he doesn’t have any gigs this month, so you let it drop—but only for now. “Cagey,” you accuse him, but you’re smiling.

You talk about your courseloads for the semester—his is pretty bio and anatomy-heavy this semester where yours is mostly ecology and conservation-focused, but there’s a bit of overlap in your curriculum, and you find that it’s easy to make conversation about your respective career paths, even though he won’t stop bringing up the fact that you managed to kill a cactus.

“They’re notoriously hard to kill,” he drawls. “Did you try to?”

“No!” You cross your arms over your chest indignantly. “Mean.”

“Honest and mean aren’t the same thing.”

You don’t really notice the sun going down until the living room is swathed in shadow and you have to flip on the floor lamp. It’s been hours by now, but it’s felt like minutes. Every thing you learn about Fushiguro opens up ten new lines of questioning, and you want to know so much more about him. But he shrouds himself in this mystery you can’t seem to get around.

Eventually you stand up to grab snacks from the kitchen, and when you return you find Batman practically on top of Fushiguro, licking his face while Fushiguro just takes it. Cute, you think uselessly.

Batman. But also Fushiguro. And also just the sight of Fushiguro playing with your dog and looking entirely at home on your shaggy living room floor. Fuck, he’s really cute.

“Have you always had dogs?”

He shakes his head as he sits up and nudges Batman off of him, gaze going just a little distant. “Not ‘til I was a teenager.” There’s more there.

“Your idea? Tsumiki’s?”

He shrugs it off, picking at loose threads on his sleeve that don’t exist, some nervous tic he’s developed that seems to only show up when you try to talk about him. Hence, shroud of mystery.

Like you gathered at the coffee shop, his parents aren’t in the picture—dead or absent, though, you’re not sure. He does tell you a little bit about his legal guardian. His name’s Gojo, and according to Fushiguro he is certifiably insane. He says this enough that you know he means it fondly—if he didn’t, he just wouldn’t bring Gojo up at all.

It shouldn’t be possible to talk so much and learn so little, but the hours keep slipping by and finally neither of you can hide the yawns punctuating your conversation. “I should go,” he says, and you reluctantly lead him to the door, crouching to say bye to Shiro and Kuro before you open the door.

“Drive safe, Fushiguro.”

You don’t expect him to respond, but he pauses halfway down your drive, turning to look at you over his shoulder. The moon is out now, and it casts him and his dark clothes in silver. You suddenly find you can’t look away.

Not that you really want to.

“Megumi,” he says.

“What?”

“My name.” He swallows, looking away quickly before looking back. “You can call me Megumi. If you want.”

Chill. Be chill, you tell yourself, trying to school your features into that same neutral expression Fushiguro—Megumi—always has, but you know it’s not working. You can’t help but smile. You feel, weirdly, like you’ve earned something.

“Okay,” you say, leaning on the doorjamb. “Megumi.”

Megumi.

You do one last little bit of internet stalking that night, because you just want to know.

His name means blessing.

—

Everything about Megumi’s house speaks to the collision of three wildly different college-aged boys tempered by the saving grace of one girl.

Remotes for a range of gaming consoles are sprawled across the floor, there are way too many half-empty bags of Doritos, and you’re pretty sure there’s just a single half of a drumstick stuck between two of the couch cushions. But there are also nice, dark tapestries pinned to the walls, string lights bordering the room, a couple plants that are better-kept than any of yours have been.

You know very little about Megumi’s three housemates except that one is a golden retriever in human form, one is a skater boy, and one is a senior named Kirara who somehow keeps them all in check.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, gesturing at the controllers and chip bags that honestly don’t constitute a mess in your book. Not after all the boys’ dorms you’ve seen, including Hajime’s.

“I like it,” you say honestly. “Also, it smells good in here. I’m proud. Kirara?”

“Kirara.” He nods and leads you to the couch, where you confirm that yes, that’s a broken drumstick.

“I don’t even—Jesus,” Megumi says, pulling it out of the gap between the cushions and tossing it onto the low coffee table. “He breaks more of these than I think is normal.”

“He being skater boy or golden retriever?” you ask as you tug your legs onto the couch to sit cross-legged, facing him. You dragged Batman with you—Megumi said his dogs would appreciate the company—and he’s taken it upon himself to sniff every corner of the house before deeming it suitable for playtime.

“Golden retriever. His name’s Yuji. Skater boy is Ino.” None of his housemates are here—it’s a random Thursday afternoon and the two of you happened to not have classes after two thirty.

“How’d you meet them?”

“Kirara went to my high school, so I knew her before coming here. I knew Ino too, actually. Yuji—I don’t know that anyone really meets him so much as gets forcibly adopted by him?” He somehow manages to make his scoff sound affectionate. “Him and our friend Kugisaki. They’re crazy, but we were all in the same orientation group freshman year.”

“Your friends sound fun.” You like the idea of two outgoing freshmen just deciding Megumi had to be their friend. “How’d you know Ino?”

He tugs at the sleeve of his black henley, picking at a nonexistent string. There’s a bit of a pause before he says, “His—I don’t know, his mentor? Nanami, he knows Gojo. So he was around sometimes.”

You don’t really know what to ask, simply because there’s so much to ask. It doesn’t take a detective to know there’s a lot to unpack in Megumi’s past. “How long have you been…” What’s the proper term for this? “Has Gojo been around, like… since you were a kid, or...?”

Despite your attempt to catch his gaze, Megumi’s eyes are trained on the far wall. “Kind of. Yeah.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you fight to keep your lips sealed, to not push. You don’t have a right to his past. He can tell you if he wants to. But you’ve always been impatient.

And it’s starting to become a pattern, this strange caginess about his own life. His family, his friends. Every so often he lets something slip, and then it’s like you can see the doors in his mind slam shut—six deadbolts holding you out.

You know a little bit about Gojo, but that’s where the information stops. You drop hints that you want to meet Tsumiki, and whether he’s protective or just too oblivious to pick up on them, you can’t tell.

Maybe, then, the issue is that you haven’t given him much either. He’s met your dog and Riko, but maybe you need to offer him more of yourself before he’s comfortable reciprocating.

So you do. You tell him about your family, sitting on his couch with Shiro at his feet and Batman between you, Kuro unable to sit still. He listens while you talk, unsettlingly attentive eyes intent on you. You live about a half-hour drive away from your parents' place, you tell him, though you don’t go home often.

“It’s not that I don’t like my family,” you sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions and stroking Batman’s fur. “It’s more just that they’re never there, always on business, wrapped up in their own shit. So there’s just… no reason for me to stick around, except a couple times a year on holidays.” You shrug. “At least here it’s not an empty house. Or it’s not usually. When my roommate’s not in fucking Japan.”

“At least Japan’s cool,” he says, shrugging.

You sit up, leaning toward him. “You’ve been?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, once. Gojo said Tsumiki and I weren’t allowed to hit sixteen without having been on a stupid-long flight somewhere. Which sounds insane, but that’s pretty standard Gojo logic for you, I guess.”

“That’s so cool,” you sigh, part of you wishing you could be on a stupid-long flight right now. On the way to somewhere warm, preferably. Fall is starting to give way to an early winter, and you’re not looking forward to running Batman in the cold.

Travel, at least, seems to be a safe topic, and the two of you trade stories about road trips and flights and different cities. You challenge Megumi to Mario Kart at some point and immediately regret it, because why is he so good?

After he thoroughly kicks your ass, you sink back into conversation, walk the dogs, and eventually part ways so you can get some work done.

megumi (cute vet): you know when somebody says they’ll text you when they get home megumi (cute vet): and they don’t? you: SHIT SORRY megumi (cute vet): you’re not dead. you: NOPE you: sorry i got back and then batman knocked over a lamp megumi (cute vet): you don’t have to cover for his vigilantism, sidekick. i already know.

You do feel bad for forgetting to text him, but part of you is a little warmed by the fact that he was worried. Not that he’d ever admit to being worried about anyone, except maybe a dog.

you: okay fine he was stopping a robbery you: happy? megumi (cute vet): depends on what they were trying to steal

The work on your desk says you should stop texting and buckle down on your assignments, but he starts teasing, and you start feeding into it, and then you’re on the phone again, and by the time you finally hang up it’s too late to reasonably get anything done.

You can’t say you’re particularly upset about it.

—

The semester ramps up quickly, and you’re drowning in work. That’s your excuse when your basil plant by the kitchen sink dies a week after you bring it home—you’re just busy.

Megumi notices, and the next time he’s over a rosemary plant mysteriously appears in its place. He denies any involvement.

When you aren’t with Riko or Hajime, on the phone with Suko, or hanging out with friends from class, you’re with Megumi. His place, your place, the dog park, the coffee shop. It hasn’t reached a point where your friends comment on how much time you spend together (except Riko, who has a loud opinion on everything and does not care if other people don’t want to hear it), but you like the hours you steal during the week just walking around or drinking coffee or trading idle conversation.

You even visit him at work one Sunday when the clinic is slow, watching him handle the few dogs and single cat that come through. He’s easygoing with the clients and has that same calming effect on every animal—like he speaks some secret language, understands them in a way other people don’t. You love watching him like this.

You like this guy. It’s not rocket science—you put him in your contacts as “cute vet” the day you met him. The hard part is that Megumi is too difficult to read. If he has feelings for you, you have no idea. You don’t think he’d go out of his way to spend time with someone he didn’t genuinely like, but whether it’s platonic or not is so fucking over your head.

Until you finally meet one of his friends.

It’s Riko’s doing, really. The two of you are at the coffee shop when she strikes up a conversation with a redhead in line, and it doesn’t take long for her to make the connection, probably because they’re both talking ten miles a minute and not holding anything back.

“Oh my god!” Riko screeches, turning to you after you place your order. “Hey! This is Nobara. She’s friends with Fushiguro.”

She beams at you. “How do you guys know Fushiguro?”

Riko answers for you. “The vet. She has a dog, the clinic was closed, he was there. It was probably super romantic.” You groan.

Nobara’s mouth forms a small O and then she says, “Ah, you must be the sidekick.”

You can’t stifle your laugh. “He even calls me that when he’s talking to other people?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No, he doesn’t tell anyone anything. Ever. But that’s what you’re in his phone as, and I saw his screen before he could hide it.” She leans in conspiratorially. “He won’t tell us who you are, which means he’s into you, y’know that, right?”

“Um. Is he? I don’t really—”

“Girl,” Nobara says flatly. “He doesn’t talk to people. Yuji and I have to force that guy out of the house half the time. If he’s hanging out with you, it’s because he likes you. Not that he knows that, probably. He’s horrible at feelings. I offered to give him a free therapy session and he said he’d rather become a monk.”

Riko mutters something about how that wouldn’t be too far off from whatever aesthetic he has going on right now, but you’re hung up on something else—Yuji and I.

“Oh my god,” you say, realizing something. “You’re Kugisaki.”

Her entire face lights up and she bounces on the balls of her feet. “He told you about me?” she squeals. “Ooh, he does love me! I’m gonna give him so much shit! What did he say? Was it good?”

The three of you end up talking for half an hour, after you all get your coffee and find an empty table. Nobara talks a mile a minute, but you can’t help hanging on to every word she says—she has a lot to say about Fushiguro, and you feel like you might be learning more about him this way than from the numerous conversations you’ve had with him.

She lives down the street from his place. She knows Gojo, who is apparently exactly the way Megumi described him—loud and eccentric and kind of stupid, but a guy who obviously loves his kids. She and Yuji, true to Megumi’s recollection, basically forced their friendship upon him on the first day of school, and they’ve been a trio ever since.

“He doesn’t tell anyone shit,” Nobara says, echoing her own words from earlier. “I feel like I probably know more about him from Gojo than anything. Or reading his notifications over his shoulder.” She smirks. “But he’s a good guy. I wouldn’t put up with his shit if I didn’t mean that.”

“About—what you said earlier, about him… maybe having feelings for me,” you start.

“Definitely having feelings for you,” she corrects. “Whether he knows or not? Undetermined.”

“Right. Uh.” You don’t get the idea that Nobara is a person you ever want to argue with. “Could you not… mention anything about that? To him?”

She sighs. “Course I won’t. Y’know, the guys always say I can’t keep my nose out of things, but two of my roommates have been in love for years and haven’t done anything and I haven’t said a word. Even though it sucks out part of my soul every time they’re in a room together and they just stare longingly when the other one isn’t looking. They’re so stupid.”

“You and Fushiguro are also stupid,” Riko says helpfully. You glare at her, and she throws her hands up in exasperation. “What? You like him, right? You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t like him.”

“He is a good friend,” you say, feeling the burn in your cheeks give you away even before Riko starts cackling.

“I like you,” Nobara tells her, sizing her up. “I might regret saying this, but I think I need you to meet one of my housemates. You could be chaos goblins together. I feel it in my bones.”

Riko rubs her hands together like she’s plotting something, and you think you should probably keep her as far away from said housemate as possible.

Eventually, Nobara pushes to her feet, draining the rest of her coffee and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I gotta go, but I’m so glad I ran into you. I feel like a spy, knowing Fushiguro’s secret girlfriend.” She wiggles her brows at you, and you don’t bother denying it, just burying your head in your hands instead. “You guys should give me your numbers. I can give you Fushiguro intel.”

Riko immediately accepts Nobara’s phone. You wonder how Fushiguro will feel about all this—fond exasperation seems like the default emotion when it comes to his friends. But you give her your number, waving goodbye as she skips out the door, and lean back, thinking as Riko immediately starts to tease you about your boyfriend-not-boyfriend and how at least he has cool friends, even if he doesn’t have a personality.

You just keep looking out the window, trading snarky comments with Riko as it gets dark—earlier now, at the end of September.

“Are you ever gonna tell him?” Riko presses. “I don’t wanna watch you pine for the next six months.”

“We haven’t even known each other that long,” you insist, tracing patterns aimlessly on the tabletop. “And I don’t… I don’t know. I kind of want him to be the one to say something. Because if Nobara’s wrong and he isn’t actually into me, I could fuck everything up—”

“Isn’t actually into you?” Riko exclaims. “Oh. My god.” She waves a hand in front of your eyes. “Can you see? Do you need to get your vision checked? Do you—”

“Okay!” you laugh, swatting her hands away. “Message received, Jesus. Chaos goblin was right.”

“I wear that as a badge of honor,” Riko says solemnly.

Yeah. She can never meet Nobara’s housemate.

—

It’s a Wednesday, and you and Megumi are walking back to your place from the dog park. His car’s at your house, and the dogs have just had a very high-energy playdate that hopefully knocks them out for the night. The air is chilly and the sky dimming, and everything about it feels immaculately fall.

That’s where your conversation has ended up—the upcoming fall break, which is really just a Friday where neither of your campuses have classes. A three-day weekend really shouldn’t be called a break, you think. It’s misleading.

“You’re not going home?” he asks, and you sigh, shaking your head.

“Parents won’t be home. Not really much of a point.”

“We could—” He clears his throat. “We can hang out that weekend if you want. If you need the company.”

“You’re not going home either?” You glance over at him, a little puzzled. “Like—to Gojo’s?” His lips become a thin, tight line, and you wonder if you’ve somehow crossed some invisible boundary. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to, despite being on the brink of insanity because he doesn’t tell you anything, ever.

But then he says, “He’s a bartender. Not around weekends, usually.”

“Ah.” Nobara mentioned that.

You did tell Megumi about running into Nobara in the coffee shop, and he immediately looked like you told him that you hung out with Gojo and saw all his baby pictures.

“She’s nice!” you insisted, and he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

“She has no filter.”

“She’s fun.”

“She’s Kugisaki.” He shrugged. “Learn anything interesting?”

You told him about your conversation, minus the whole feelings thing, and he agreed that Riko and Toge Inumaki should never, ever meet. “For the good of the entire world,” he said solemnly. “People would die, Robin.”

Now, as the two of you turn onto your street, he glances at you like he’s trying to find something. And maybe it’s how tired you are, maybe it’s the way his eyes look so bright even though they’re so dark, maybe it’s that weird streetlight-night aura that makes everything feel a little bit not real, but you find yourself studying him right back, meeting his gaze without shame.

You want to know him, to be a part of his life in the way he’s become a fixture in yours. You want to meet his housemates. You want to meet his sister, his family. You want him to open the door and stop acting like you’re going to rob him or something the second you get inside. He knows you better than that, right?

He blinks, and you smirk. “I win.”

“Wh—that was not a staring contest.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him sympathetically. “You can’t be good at everything.”

His laugh—his real laugh—isn’t anything like you thought it’d be, but somehow it’s even better. It transforms his whole face, some blink-of-an-eye shift that lights up his eyes and makes everything about him brighter, louder.

You want to make him laugh like that again. As often as you can, really. Always.

“What?” he asks, staring at you, the light lingering in his eyes, some sort of afterimage of his joy.

“I just—I like your laugh.”

He stops, and you realize you’ve reached the end of your driveway. You drop Batman’s leash and let him run around the yard, and Megumi’s dogs follow suit, knowing better than to go far.

“I like your laugh, too,” he says, a crooked smile spreading across his face. And somehow that feels more like a confession than anything he’s ever said to you.

You’re very close.

He’s leaning in and you’re almost subconsciously reaching up to meet him, heels leaving the ground, and he’s still got the slightest curve of a smile lingering on his lips, and—

“Oh!” Shiro jumps on you from the side, tail wagging excitedly.

When you look back up at Megumi, laughter on your lips, his smile is gone, and he’s looking away, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Megumi—”

“That’s my cue,” he says, a forced-sounding chuckle punctuating the sentence. “I should, um. Get back.”

“Oh. Um, right. Yeah. Totally.” You’re kicking yourself now, feeling stupid, foolish. Did you just mess this whole thing up? Was it too soon? Did you read it wrong?

Megumi opens the back door of the car and lets the dogs hop in before circling around to the driver’s seat. “Robin…”

You look at him, trying to squash the hope adamant in your chest. And he looks like he doesn’t know what to say, for a moment, his lips parting and then closing and his eyes darting around before they finally land on you again. “Night,” he says quietly.

“Night, Megumi.” You lift a hand in a half-wave. “See you.”

Batman stares at the street long after the car has disappeared around the corner, and so do you.

“Fuck,” you murmur, and then again, louder, “fuck.”

—

Megumi’s texts over the next week are less frequent and more distant—at least, you think so. Maybe you’re getting too in your own head about it.

From then on, he’s pretty quiet. You wonder if you fucked up. You haven’t talked about it, the kiss. Almost-kiss. Your texts start getting fewer and far between, and in the chaos leading up to midterms you almost don’t notice. Almost.

Lots of almosts, lately.

you: still on for break?

Part of you expects him to go back on his word, say something came up. Especially when he takes a half hour to respond. He’s just busy, you tell yourself. Stop being dramatic.

megumi (cute vet): your place at 5, right?

“Oh,” you say aloud to nobody but Batman, smiling a little. Well, that’s good. You can ask him what’s been on his mind lately. He just seems… preoccupied.

When break rolls around, you spend Friday out with friends and Saturday catching up on schoolwork until Megumi comes over. You’ve hung out so often—you don’t know why you’re nervous.

And it seems contagious. He still shows up at your door and immediately picks up a conversation you left off on the last time you texted him, but he just seems slightly out of reach, somehow. You let it slide for about twenty minutes before you sit him down on the couch and ask.

“Okay. What’s going on with you?”

“What?” You don’t know if he’s playing dumb or just actually doesn’t realize he’s been acting strange.

“You’ve been… look. You’re acting weird. And I feel like we need to talk about whatever happened last week.”

The ensuing silence makes you want to take it back, or say something else, or do anything to create sound in the little bubble of waiting that's formed around the both of you. But you make yourself wait. Give him the space to find words.

“I guess… there is something I wanted to talk to you about,” he says suddenly, flatly, without looking at you. Your mouth slams shut and you find yourself drawing back a little, the remoteness of his voice almost physically distancing.

“Uh,” you say, like the eloquent person you are. “Okay?”

He swallows once, hard, and he looks at you with so much reluctance you almost wish he’d just look away. Your heart is twisting itself into knots.

“I think we should… take a step back.”

“What?” you whisper. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean—this is going… do you want a relationship?”

The question feels so abrupt you’re momentarily shocked into silence. But you know where he’s going.

He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want—you. And it hurts more than you thought it would. It’s not so much a sharp stabbing sensation as a thousand needles worming their way into the crevices of your heart, slow and numerous and deadly.

Because you do want this. You want him.

“Yes,” you admit, quiet.

And he says, “I don’t.”

In general, you want to ask, or with me? But the words stall in your mouth, all blocked up and sticky, and you don’t say anything at all.

“You shouldn’t,” he murmurs, looking down. “Want that. With me, I mean. It’s…”

“It’s what?” you ask, hesitant. Another long, horrible silence.

“It’s never going to work,” he says, detached. Almost cold. “Us. This.” He’s still not looking at you.

“Let me ask you something, then,” you say, hating the unsteadiness of your voice. “Do you want it to?” Do you have feelings for me? You want to know if this is something he’s denying himself or if he really just doesn’t like you.

You know your own intelligence, though. You haven’t made up whatever this feeling is between you.

He doesn’t answer your question. Just murmurs, “You don’t know me.” And somehow it sounds like an accusation.

“You won’t let me!” you burst out, your voice louder than you intended. But all this caginess, this dancing around everything real, it’s got you at the end of your fuse. Shiro looks up and whines, Kuro leaping off the couch to stand in front of the both of you, curious. “I told you everything! I told you about my family and my friends and my classes and my hometown and my car problems and fucking Katie from Ohio, and you don’t say anything, Megumi, you won’t talk about your family, you won’t introduce me to your roommates. You won’t tell me about your band or your childhood, you took weeks just to give me your first name! What—are you just embarrassed of me? Do you think I’ll judge you? Do you not trust me? Is that it?”

“No,” he practically growls. “God, it’s just—you don’t understand—”

“You’re right, I don’t!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. Batman paws at your leg, wondering why you’re shouting. “So help me understand. I know I’m not patient, but if you have shit you’re not ready to talk about, that’s fine. But just say that. Tell me to wait and I’ll wait. Just—give me something.”

He looks at you and he’s utterly unreadable, doors slammed shut.

“If you don’t want me in your life, just fucking say so,” you spit, but your voice is wavering now, uncomposed and only loud so it doesn’t shatter. If he really said it, said I don’t want you, you don’t know what you would do. It would be too sharp, too painful, too much.

“You don’t want this,” he says instead, averting his gaze. His tone is measured and even and emotionless.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” you seethe, but your words come out quiet. “If you really think I don’t want this, it’s because you won’t let me.” You’re whispering now, worried that if your voice raises any more, it’ll crack the paper-thin walls holding back your tears. “Megumi…”

“S’better this way.” He rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes, a messy movement that seems so at odds with the evenness of his tone. “I… I have to go, Robin.”

And the strange, unstable feelings of betrayal and confusion and hurt morph abruptly back into something hotter, something angrier. Because how dare he come here, spend fall break at your house, listen to you spill your heart onto the carpeted floor? How dare he run away, say he doesn’t want this, and then still call you that stupid, endearing fucking nickname?

“Yeah,” you say icily, glancing away with your arms crossed over your chest. “You do.”

You count to five, silently, before he moves, and you don’t look when he does. You blink tears out of your eyes when Kuro hesitates, nosing at your hip before following Megumi out the door.

It slams, hard, and Batman stays perched at the entry, tracking him as he walks out of your house, your life.

You don’t move for a very long time.

INTERMISSION // A REAL GOOD START

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO IS in deep, deep shit.

That is to say, he’s lost control of the situation, which is the one thing he does not allow to happen. Ever.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

Sleep is hard to come by in the days after he fucks everything up. He keeps thinking about how it could have gone if he’d just—if he’d done anything else. If he hadn’t run off after he almost kissed you, traitorous heart thumping in his chest even while his brain screamed danger!

You became part of his life so fast and so naturally he didn’t know it was too late until the damage had already been done. If he let himself kiss you, he would drown.

But he didn’t. He shut you down instead, on a Saturday night that could have been different.

He makes excuses when Gojo invites him over Sunday afternoon, going into work early just to avoid him. Even if Megumi’s perfected his poker face, nothing gets past Gojo. It’s like he has some sixth sense for when his pseudo-kids are in emotional turmoil. He’ll force Megumi into a talk therapy session (run by the most unqualified bartender of all time) and he’ll die of embarrassment on the couch.

So instead of talking to someone, anyone, he throws himself into his work, into rehearsals, into school. He goes to the clinic early and leaves late. His fingers are sore from plucking the same lines out on his bass until his housemates go to sleep. His eyes are dry from staring at his laptop until three in the morning. But it doesn’t matter what he does. He can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. You.

The thing about being in a band with all of his housemates is that there’s really no world in which they don’t notice something’s off. They’re spending even more time together lately than usual with the Battle of the Bands going on, and his only relief is that none of them say anything—at least not aloud. There are a number of raised brows and the occasional questioning shoulder nudge, but it seems Yuji, Ino, and Kirara know him well enough by now not to push. That, at least, he’s grateful for.

Nobara Kugisaki is a different story.

It’s a Monday when she storms into his living room—she didn’t even bother knocking on the front door. Shiro and Kuro run happily around her legs, and normally she’d be fawning over them, but today she looks furious. He can almost see smoke coming right out of her ears, eyes narrowed to dark slits as she stares him down.

“Fushiguro.”

“You,” he points out, “do not live here.”

“And you,” she seethes, “have one minute to explain to me what the fuck you did.” Before he can say anything, she waves her phone around in the air and says, “Hi, Nobara, I was just wondering if Fushiguro seems okay to you? Things kind of fell off and I would feel weird reaching out but I’m just a little worried.”

She’s quoting you.

Texts from you.

Shit.

Megumi knows that you and Kugisaki have met, but for some reason it just did not cross his mind that you might have exchanged contact information.

Control the situation.

He clears his throat, refusing to break eye contact. “Well, she said it,” he huffs, his usual toneless expression. “Things fell off.”

You still wanted to check on him. He treated you like that and you still…

“You broke up with her.”

“We weren’t together—”

“You broke up with her. Are you a fucking moron? This girl—” She jabs her finger into her phone screen so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t hurt— “is so fucking cool. And she puts up with you. And you like her. And now you’re acting all weird. So what, you go over there and tell her you can’t be together? What the fuck, dude? Why?”

What a loaded question that is.

“Because,” he grits out. “It wouldn’t have worked.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” Kugisaki repeats flatly, walking over to the couch and making herself at home way too close to him, staring him down. He turns his head away. God, she is so persistent. She is so annoying.

“Yeah, congrats, your hearing works. Can you leave me alone?”

“Tell me you don’t have feelings for her and I will.”

“I—”

“Look at me and say it,” she snaps.

Megumi looks at her. “I don’t,” he mutters.

Kugisaki rolls her eyes so hard Megumi can’t believe they stay in her skull. “Okay, sure,” she says skeptically. He doesn’t like this tone, where it’s going. “So if I set her up with Toge, you wouldn’t mind?”

“I—” He clamps his mouth shut, hands curled into fists. “Kugisaki, that’s not—”

“That’s what I thought.” Normally she’d look smug, victorious after pulling one over on him, but this is worse. She just looks… concerned. He hates it.

“Look,” she sighs. “You’re not going to talk to me, so I’m not going to waste my time. But when you figure this out—and you will figure it out, or I might kill somebody, and it will be you—I’ll be all ears.” Her gaze might as well be pinning him to the wall with how fierce it is. Sometimes he lets himself forget how much of a force Kugisaki can be, and right now, she’s got that glint in her eyes that he hates, the one that makes him feel like she knows something he doesn’t. “Understood?”

“If I say understood, will you get out of my house?” he grumbles. She says nothing, just looking at him, and he thinks maybe she could win a staring contest with a fish. For a long, tense minute, he doesn’t say anything, and neither does she.

Whatever. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’ll forget about it eventually.

He sighs, tipping his head back against the wall.

“Understood.”

—

Things seem to happen around Megumi, to him, not because of him. The last conscious decision he made was to end things with you, and now he’s just a passive witness to his own life. Ino has something going on with Nobara’s housemate, Yuji’s scrambling to pass his midterms, Kirara bounces between their house and Hakari’s place faster than he can keep track of, and Megumi… he just exists in the periphery, goes through the motions.

He keeps finding his thumb hovering over your contact name. A dog with a silly name comes into the clinic and he wants to text you about it. He hears a song that reminds him of you (every song reminds him of you) and he wants to play it for you.

He wonders if Riko has him on a hit list yet.

A voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Kugisaki keeps repeating, Why?

Why did he end things? Why did he bite the bullet so fucking hard?

Because you deserve better than him, honestly.

You don’t know me, he told you. What he didn’t say, though—because you wouldn’t want me if you did.

Part of him knows that’s probably unfair to you—your words keep playing back in his mind and not even his music can drown them out. You won’t let me! But there are things he can’t imagine saying out loud. Explaining the way his dad disappeared, not even showing his face again when his mom died—eighteen-year-old Gojo from across the street on their doorstep, promising he and Tsumiki wouldn’t go into foster care. Bloody knuckles from fighting middle school bullies. Gojo and Geto trying to raise a bunch of kids when they were still kids themselves.

Gojo didn’t leave, but he should have. Megumi knows he threw away so much of his life for him, for Tsumiki. He could have done so much more. He could have done anything he wanted. But Megumi held him back.

Maybe he’s holding him back even now. He knows Gojo would deny it.

The point is, Megumi has shit to figure out for himself, and you shouldn’t have to sit by and watch him deal with it. That’s not fair to you. Yeah, he went about it wrong, but—but this is for the best. You can find someone who actually gives you everything you deserve, and he can… whatever.

Megumi’s band, Shibuya Incident, doesn’t perform this Friday at The Fix—Shoko and Geto’s bar. They’ve already made finals. Tonight will just decide who their opponents are. But even if he’s not up there playing, the Battle of the Bands is a welcome distraction. Even if Ino’s just making lovesick puppy eyes at the stage the whole time and Yuji won’t shut up about wanting Taco Bell. Megumi lets himself get a little lost in the music, and Kugisaki’s band is good, really. He votes for them as soon as the digital form opens and then vows to never tell her.

They should win, but Black Flash takes it again. Kasumi Miwa and Maki’s sister and their friends. They won the whole thing last year. Great, Megumi thinks.

The night comes and goes, and he dodges Gojo on his way out of the bar despite knowing he’ll get a text about it later. And then they’re all piled into Yuji’s car on the way to get his beloved Taco Bell, and he’s just about convinced he’s done with feeling anything at all when Kirara screams.

For a second, there’s nothing at all.

And then the world comes back to life around him in a shock of colors and sounds and a lot of cuss words, mostly coming out of his own mouth.

“Holy shit!” Yuji shouts, yanking the wheel hard to the right, and Megumi can barely process the sight of the white car barreling toward them before there’s crunching metal and shattering glass, and it’s like he feels the collision as an aftershock, shaking all his bones back into place. The airbags go off and he’s blind, wind knocked clean from his lungs, and then he’s moving—no, he moves. No more passivity. This is real.

“Everybody out,” he demands, wrenching the passenger door open and taking in the sight of the crash. Smoke is billowing from the hood of Yuji’s car, the vacant passenger side of the other one entirely smashed in. “Everyone okay?”

Yuji circles around the back of the car and Megumi clocks immediately that he’s holding his wrist weird, wrong. “Yuji—”

“Ino, come on—hey. Hey. Ino.”

Kirara’s got one knee on the edge of the backseat and one hand braced on the roof of the car, and Ino is not making any move to get out.

Sirens. Who called the cops?

“Kirara?” Yuji asks, moving to help her, but she holds up a hand and looks back over her shoulder.

“Don’t. I got it. We’re fine. Just—bad memories, I think.”

Megumi knows Ino hates driving. He doesn’t know why, but he can guess. So he doesn’t push it. Kirara’s the psych major, after all. And probably the one with the most emotional intelligence and any semblance of tact. She’s got him.

He’s about to turn to Yuji when somebody stumbles out of the other car. The car that had been driving in the wrong lane,directly toward them. If Yuji hadn’t reacted so quickly, they’d all be dead.

“What the fuck,” he hisses.

It’s his cousin.

“What,” he says, louder, “the fuck? Naoya!” He storms over and grabs Naoya by the front of his shirt—his breath reeks of alcohol, and he’s laughing, like he didn’t just almost commit vehicular manslaughter. “What the hell, man? What’s wrong with you? Are you—”

He hears… screaming?

But not from here. Not in person. It’s…

Megumi looks at the cracked phone on the ground, having been flung straight through Naoya's shattered windshield. He looks at his shitbag cousin, who’s half tipping-over, legs like jelly under him.

“Naoya,” he growls. “Who. Is. That?”

“Hah,” he slurs. “Mm. My ex! My ex. She is… she is.”

He’s not making sense, but Megumi might get back into Yuji’s car and drive it into his cousin on purpose. Naoya was dating this girl—Megumi knows her. She's friends with Yuji. Some brand of art major, he’s pretty sure, and she's nice, way too good for him. And then what, she finally gets away and he still torments her? By drunk calling her from the car, letting her listen as he crashes? The blood in Megumi’s veins might as well be venom.

He shoves Naoya back with a scoff, letting him stumble over himself, and grabs the broken phone off the ground. “Hey,” he says, and she’s still screaming, this poor fucking girl— “Hey! Hey. Calm down. It’s—hello?”

“Naoya? What the fuck, Naoya—”

She’s definitely talking through tears, maybe angry, maybe scared.

“Not Naoya,” Megumi sighs. “Uh, this is Fushiguro.” She’s quieting a little on the other end, and he hears a guy’s voice trying to talk her down. “Listen. Naoya’s fine. Just… drunk. And an asshole. Are you okay?”

After that, the entire night is a blur.

He talks down Naoya’s traumatized ex-girlfriend on the phone, Ino’s girlfriend shows up and calms him down, and then Gojo and Nanami and Shoko are there and Hakari shows up and Gojo’s dragging Megumi to the ER with Yuji to get his wrist checked out and it’s sprained and Tsumiki is running into the waiting room and hugging the life out of him and Maki calls and Naoya’s got a DUI and then finally, finally they’re home. Megumi can barely keep his eyes open. He doesn't know what time it is.

He sleeps harder than he has in months.

—

Megumi is so fucking exhausted that when his phone starts buzzing the next morning at the kitchen table, he doesn’t actually think it’s real for a second.

INCOMING CALL: SIDEKICK

He’s hallucinating. Sleep deprivation, or something. Or maybe he actually got a concussion in that car crash and now he’s seeing things that aren’t real. That’s the only explanation.

That or you butt-dialed.

He doesn’t bother explaining himself to the others as he stands up and retreats to the hallway, almost letting the phone ring out before steeling himself and swiping to accept the call.

“Hey?”

He’s never greeted you like that before. It sounds so fake. He usually picks up the phone and just starts talking about whatever you texted him, or whatever weird thing he saw that he has to tell you about. Not hey. Hey is for people he doesn’t know. Doesn’t care about.

“Um. Hey.” It is stupid, what just the sound of your voice over the phone does to him. “I just saw this article about a car crash? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, too fast, too sharp. Stop it. “Sorry. I’m—yeah. We’re all fine.”

You clear your throat on the other end of the phone. “Okay. That’s—that’s good. I just… wanted to make sure.”

He pushed you out, and you texted Kugisaki to ask if he was alright.

He pushed you out, and you’re calling to make sure he’s okay.

I’m not, he wants to say. I fucked up. I fucked this up.

I miss you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I… appreciate that.”

Maybe he can still salvage this. Still be friends with you, at least. But that’s a slippery slope, isn’t it? He’ll just hurt you again. But…

“It was my cousin,” he offers, not really knowing why he’s saying it. Maybe as a peace offering. He didn’t tell you things before, important things. Maybe he can start now. “Drunk. On the phone with his ex.”

“Oh,” you say. You sound surprised, but Megumi isn’t sure if you’re more shocked about his words or the fact that he gave them to you. “That’s… awful.”

“Yeah,” Megumi breathes. “Um. Yeah, he’s taken care of now.”

“Good. That’s good.” A dog starts barking, and Megumi feels his lips twitch up into an almost-smile.

“There he goes,” he murmurs. You laugh, and he’s actually smiling, now.

“There he goes,” you say fondly. “I should… go calm him down. I’ll…”

“Yeah, yeah, go,” he says, not sure how to end this. “Um, good… luck.” Stupid. That was so fucking stupid.

“Thanks. Bye, Fushiguro.”

“Bye, Robin,” he says, but the line’s already gone dead.

—

Megumi sees you three times in the month of November, and every time he feels ten times closer to a train wreck.

It snows in November, because it’s stupid and cold and winter comes early here, and there are prints leading toward the dog park. Imprints of dog paws and boots, side by side, and he’s a vet student. He knows what size dog those prints mean. He knows exactly who it is.

He lets Shiro and Kuro tug him all the way to the dog park, and he doesn’t even remember letting himself through the gate. He just knows that you see him right after Kuro starts panting excitedly, and you freeze.

He half-waves in the most pathetic, lame response ever known to mankind.

“Robin,” he says, the nickname falling off his tongue like nothing ever changed.

“Fushiguro.” You smile, hesitant, and he wishes it didn’t feel like a needle that you used his last name. He walks over to you—just following the dogs, he tells himself, that’s natural. Batman almost knocks him over in his excitement.

Megumi can’t not smile at a dog. That would just make him a bad vet, wouldn’t it?

“Hey, bud,” he says, crouching down to pet him. “Yeah, I missed you too.” When he looks back up, your gaze is a little distant, and he closes his eyes for a second, collecting himself. He pushes back to his feet and turns to you.

“Did you know I’d be…” You don’t finish the sentence, but he knows what you mean.

“I… snowprints,” he says, shrugging. It seems to be enough of an answer for you.

“Snowprints,” you echo. “We found you with tracks too, the first time. Didn’t we, Batman?” Like he understands, Batman slaps his tail against the ground and flicks his ears forward and back. Yep. Sure did.

He scrambles for something to say in the silence—small talk is the bane of his existence, but is it ever small talk when it’s you?

Small talk doesn’t matter.

Everything you say matters.

“So. They teach you how to keep plants alive yet?” he asks, and has to fight not to physically cringe after he says it. God, it’s like he never learned how to talk. But you laugh, which he counts as a win.

“No, but someone is significantly less barky, so thank you for that.”

He has you for five minutes before your phone rings, and you chuckle, showing him the screen.

“Ah,” he says. Riko. He doesn’t object when you go, slipping out through the gate with your phone pressed to your ear, because he doesn’t have the right.

But you text first, later.

sidekick: it was good to see you sidekick: and the dogs. obviously

“Look at that,” he mutters to Kuro, whose nose is nearly touching his phone screen. “You’re my good luck charm.”

megumi: you too, sidekick. megumi: and batman. obviously.

The second time, you’re crossing paths in the coffee shop, both of you on your way to other places. It’s brief and stilted and still leaves him feeling like a mess.

“Black?” you ask, nodding at his coffee. You’ve got a hat tugged haphazardly over your head to ward off the persistent snowflakes outside, and it’s—you’re cute. Fuck.

He huffs a laugh, looking down at the sleet-stained floor just to avoid staring at you and your cold-flushed cheeks. “What else?”

“Vanilla latte,” he says, glancing at your cup, because he wants you to know he remembers. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he thinks you look pleasantly surprised.

The third time, you don’t see him.

He knew you had friends at JU, but he’s never seen you around campus before. You’re with the guy with the blue hair, always pulled up into two knots on the top of his head—Hajime, maybe?

You throw your head back and laugh at something he says, and it’s like—fuck. Laughter shouldn’t sound that poetic.

And he knows he can’t lie to himself anymore.

It’s time to talk.

Kirara would probably kick his ass the second he told her anything. Ino’s busy with his new girlfriend, Yuji’s an idiot, Kugisaki is… well, she’s Kugisaki, and he can’t handle that lecture right now. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna talk to Gojo.

Which means he only has one option.

When he knocks on the door of Tsumiki’s apartment, she takes one look at him and sighs, long-suffering.

“You finally ready to talk?”

This was probably a grave miscalculation. If Kirara would kick his ass for the way he treated you, Tsumiki might actually hang him from his ankles out the window and leave him to die. But not before he apologizes to you. So at least he’s got time.

He walks in without responding and ignores her invitation to sit, pacing the kitchen instead in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, I gathered,” Tsumiki says dryly, but she hops up onto the counter and looks at him, patient as ever. Tell me, she doesn’t say, but Megumi hears it anyway.

“I think I might be in love.”

—

To her credit, Tsumiki is dead silent for the entirety of Megumi’s rambling explanation. He’s a little hoarse by the end of it—honestly, he never talks like this. He feels like he just dumped his heart onto his sister’s kitchen floor and is awaiting some sort of judgement.

“Also, I think she hates me,” he finishes, finally sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. He tilts his head back and stares at the popcorn ceiling. “And I deserve it.”

For a beat, Tsumiki is silent. And then she says, “You wrote a song about her.”

He snaps his gaze to her so aggressively it hurts his neck. “What?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls something up on her phone, sliding up the volume and pressing play. She scrolls to some random point in the song, and Ino’s voice sings, “She’s got me up late starin’ at my phone, waitin’ for a text, feelin’ all alone.”

“Tsumiki—”

She turns it up, and Megumi looks anywhere but at his sister. There are plants everywhere, warm light filtering in through the windows onto herbs on the kitchen windowsill and succulents in the living room and god, everything reminds him of you.

“And she don’t even know what she’s doin’ to me, all my hopes are high-strung and she’s just gonna leave, no!”

“Okay! Okay, stop, I get it,” he huffs, dragging the heel of his palm down his face and trying to ignore her smug smile. “How did you even know?” he mumbles. “I’m not on the credits.”

“I know you,” she says dryly. “I also know Ino, and his lyrics are not that… I don’t know, poetically nihilistic.”

“I really can’t tell if you’re trying to insult or compliment me right now,” he says, sighing.

“Also,” Tsumiki says pointedly, “because this is what you do, Gumi.” He gives her a quizzical look in lieu of a response. “When people get close to you, you lash out and then you run away.” She hops off the counter and crosses the room to the table, pulling out a chair across from Megumi.

“No, I don’t,” he grumbles, tilting his chair away on its back legs and inadvertently proving her point.

She just looks at him until he relents, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t think it’s unprecedented,” Tsumiki says gently, “considering the way we grew up. But you can’t keep shutting down good things, Gumi. You wouldn’t even be friends with Itadori and Kugisaki if they hadn’t forced their way past your bullshit. And you love them, right? They’re great. You know they’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Nobody knows that,” he huffs. “College will end and we’ll all go our separate ways and I’ll never hear from—”

“Nope,” Tsumiki says loudly, cutting him off. “Okay. My turn to talk. Shut up.” She glares at him, planting her elbows on the table. He feels stripped raw. “The whole pushing-people-away-before-I-get-hurt thing? You need to stop. You cannot look me in the eyes right now and tell me you don’t have people who would die for you, Gumi.”

He opens his mouth to object, but she swipes a hand through the air, silencing him. “I’m not done.” Megumi has only seen his sister like this a few times in his life, and he is fairly certain that if he tries to interrupt her again he might not leave this apartment alive.

“You have me. You have Gojo. You have Geto and Shoko and Nanami. You have all of your housemates, and Kugisaki, and probably all of her housemates too,” she says. “And none of us are going anywhere, okay? No walking out on the kids, no betrayal, no kicking you to the curb. So you need to get your head out of your ass, Megumi.”

Well.

“Look. It’s a defense mechanism. I get that,” she says, a little gentler now. “But you are not doing yourself any favors. And this girl? You’re in love with her, Gumi. That means she’s pretty special, okay? Because I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you look twice at a girl in your whole life. And I know she doesn’t deserve this, just as much as you know. So you have two choices.”

Megumi doesn’t think he’s going to like either of the two choices.

Tsumiki leans back in her chair, shrugging. “You can let her move on without you and keep screwing yourself over, or you can go tell her you fucked up and ask her to forgive you.”

He’s never liked asking for things. Tries to avoid it, actually. But he’s finding there are a lot of rules he’s willing to break when it comes to you.

“But if you’re going to ask this girl to step back into your life, you need to make sure you’re ready for it,” his sister says firmly. “You need to have your shit together. You need to know how you feel.” She pauses, catching his gaze, and once she has it she might as well be holding his face in her hands. He can’t look away, not when she’s looking at him this intently, like she’s waiting for an answer she already knows. “So. How do you feel?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, Tsumiki knocks on the table, like a dismissal. “Okay. You think about that, and when you know—you know.” She looks at him for a long moment after he stands up, those eternal curled locks of hair falling into her face, and he’s suddenly hit with a wave of affection, of gratitude, so strong he can barely stand it. Yeah, so he doesn’t have a mom. And fuck his dad. But Tsumiki—thank god he has his sister.

“Miki,” he says, before he can stop himself. “Uh—thank you. I…” He swallows once, hard. “Love you.”

Her smile is slow but wide, the kind that makes her eyes narrow just a little. “I love you too,” she says softly, and then she winks. “Hey, those words? That’s a real good start.”

—

When Megumi sees you next, he’s going to be ready. Just like Tsumiki said. He needs to know how he feels. So he thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks.

There’s a notebook in the bottom drawer of his desk, scrawled song lyrics he’ll never let anyone see. He fills page after page after page trying to figure out what’s going on in his head, in his heart, how he can make it make sense. Fit together like two hands, two sets of prints in the snow. He tries to imagine what he’ll say to you, how you’ll react, but every word he thinks of falls short, everything just sounds stupid in the face of how much you deserve and how little he can give.

He keeps thinking.

It’s December 19, Kugisaki’s Christmas party before everyone parts ways for break.

Megumi won’t admit it, but he’s having a good time. He brought the dogs, and he and Yuji have been bouncing around talking to their friends. Tsumiki’s here too, and when he loses track of Yuji he makes his way over to her, leaning silently against the wall.

“They’re cute,” she says fondly, and he follows her gaze to the hall—Ino is standing there with his girlfriend, Skipper, and there’s mistletoe hanging right above them. No doubt Kugisaki’s doing. Skipper laughs and pecks Ino on the lips before he says something and drags her down the hall, and then Maki and Yuta glance up at the mistletoe, look at each other in mutual horror, and pointedly do not walk beneath it. They’re finally together, but they wouldn’t be caught dead kissing in front of other people.

And he wonders what you’d do, if you were here standing under it with him.

He doesn’t have to say anything. Tsumiki reads him like a book.

It’s like this:

Megumi is very well-acquainted with loss. But he’s not sure he can handle this one.

He let his own insecurities ruin a good thing, a bright thing. He shut it down before it could start. He struck first and he fucking regrets it.

That’s it, then. Pity party over. Delusions down the drain. It’s time to get over himself, to get real.

Because the truth of it is that he doesn’t give a shit about his birthday, about Christmas, about the trees and the lights and the stupid fucking carols, if you’re not there with him.

Oh, he thinks. His sister has the audacity to smirk.

He stays, because this is Kugisaki’s party and despite everything, he does love her. He’s getting better about that, about acknowledging it—he has people who care about him, and he has people he cares about.

But when he heads out just a little bit early, after whispering your name in Kugisaki’s ear, she nearly slaps him for not going sooner.

“Shiro, Kuro,” he calls, heading for the door. “C’mon. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

PART II // TO TRYING

FOR A WEEK after Megumi walks out your front door, you drown in self-pity like the flower you killed in September with too much water. 

And then you open your computer and type his name into the search engine with jujutsu university and band. It’s not hard to find—one of the first results is some Instagram advertisement about a Battle of the Bands at JU, from a couple of weeks ago. One of them’s got to be his. You could just ask Nobara, but—it feels weird, somehow. Wrong. Like you’re encroaching on part of his life that he so clearly doesn’t want you to be a part of.

You can’t helping asking her to check on him, though. You just—it’s probably stupid, but you want him to be okay. Not that you think him pseudo-dumping you would tear him up or anything. But there’s a not insignificant part of you that doesn’t believe what he said that day. Part of you that knows a defense mechanism when you see one.

The thing is, you could’ve asked your friends about him. Hajime goes to JU. He might know Megumi, and if not he could’ve found out. But you wanted this for yourself, this mystery of earning his first name and his history and his heart, except you thought you’d gotten two of the three and it turns out he’ll only ever give you one.

You start typing in the bands one by one, figuring eventually one of them has to be his. A search for Black Flash turns up an artist image of a group of people surrounding a grinning girl with bright blue hair. No Megumi, though.

Shibuya Incident, then. You key it into Spotify and rub your eyes when the artist profile comes up, like you’re maybe seeing it wrong. No. It’s him.

There’s a dark-haired girl who must be Kirara leaning on a familiar-looking guy with pink hair, face split open in a smile. Front and center is a brown-eyed boy with a beanie tugged lopsided over his hair. And in the back, standing, looking characteristically bored, is Megumi Fushiguro.

Why are you doing this? You shouldn’t be doing this.

But you’re scrolling before you know it. Most popular songs. They have an EP called Over Duress. And they have a single—released recently, it looks like.

Strike First.

You only allow yourself one second of hesitation before you press play.

“Catch feels real quick,” a voice sings—Ino, must be. “And they go real deep.” You can’t help paying attention the bassline. It’s steady, constant, holding the rest of the band together as Ino sings. The lyrics almost sink into the background until the chorus snags your attention, and you have to go back and replay it.

“I can hear the heartbreak saying, ooh, I’m on my way. So you strike first, strike first ‘cause she’s not gonna stay.”

Oh.

You understand, then, even if his name isn’t listed in the writing credits, even if you have no proof. Megumi wrote this song. You can hear him in the unfamiliar voice of the lead singer. You can feel him in the pattern of the words. It’s his.

He didn’t want you to leave, so he left first. Is that it?

You understand, but it’s not enough. Abruptly, you’re just—you’re angry. What a stupid reason to let something fall apart. You don’t owe him patience. If he’s not ready to commit, that’s not your problem, it’s his. He needs to figure himself out, learn to let people in, and you can’t just sit here and wait for him to do it. It’s not your responsibility.

It’s not.

There’s some sort of grim satisfaction in knowing that there’s nothing else you could have done.

“Forget that,” you mutter, closing out of Spotify and intending to just toss your laptop on the bed. Case closed. Moving on.

But something in your search results catches your eye first.

JU senior issued DUI after crash on 34th and Olson Blvd Friday night

Okay. So. Nothing to do with Megumi, right? Except it’s showing up in your search of his name. You click on the article, heart suddenly pounding.

Jujutsu University Campus Police responded to an emergency call at 11:41 last night after an automobile collision on 34th Street and Olson Boulevard, four blocks from the popular campus live music bar, The Fix.

“No,” you breathe. “What the fuck?” You keep skimming, everything in you loosening up when it says nobody was seriously hurt, but it just—whose car is that, Yuji’s? It’s bright red. Not Megumi’s.

You’re not really thinking when you make the call. It rings for so long, and right as you’re about to give up, he’s there on the other end of the line, and you realize you have no idea what you’re supposed to say.

“Hey?”

“Um. Hey.” You sound more breathless than you should, just sitting here on your bed with your laptop open to a student news publication. You don’t wait for him to ask why the hell you’re calling, barreling on before you lose your nerve. “I just saw this article about a car crash? Are you o—”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Defensively. Oh.

Right. This is overstepping, probably. He doesn’t need you checking up on him. You should’ve just texted Nobara. You should’ve just not read the article, actually, shouldn’t have typed his name into your search engine. He probably thinks you’re a creep who put Google alerts on for his name or something. You don’t have any real excuse for how you stumbled across this fucking article.

But then he says, “Sorry. I’m—yeah. We’re all fine.”

Thank god, you think. But you just clear your throat a little and say, “Okay. That’s—that’s good. I just… wanted to make sure.”

The silence is so long you think for a moment that he’s hung up on you. But then, very quietly, he says, “Thank you. I… appreciate that.”

You don’t really know where to go from here. He’s fine. Of course he’s fine. Why the hell did you call him in the first place? It’s not like he’s going to offer you any information. Because he doesn’t tell you anything, which was the whole problem in the first place—

“It was my cousin.”

You blink.

“Drunk. On the phone with his ex.”

“Oh,” you say, more of a surprised noise slipping out before you can bite it down. It’s less shock at the actual words than the fact that he’s giving you something, that he’s offering you this. You scroll down in the article. Naoya Zenin. The senior in the headline who got a DUI. “That’s… awful.”

“Yeah,” Megumi breathes. “Um. Yeah, he’s taken care of now.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Batman chooses this moment to start barking at absolutely nothing out the window. He actually has been a lot better about that recently, but it’s like it’s his mission today to embarrass you on the phone with the guy who dumped-not-dumped you.

“There he goes,” Megumi says lightly, and you laugh a little, because he sounds almost fond when he says it.

“There he goes,” you echo. “I should… go calm him down. I’ll…” What? You’ll what? See you around? No you won’t. Talk to you later? Unlikely.

“Yeah, yeah, go,” he says. “Um, good… luck.” With what? Batman? Life?

“Thanks. Bye, Fushiguro.”

You slam your finger down on the red button before he can reply.

You don’t want to know what he says. Your name, or sidekick, or Robin, or nothing at all.

—

You try to forget about him, but it’s hard.

Every time your phone buzzes with a message from your friends, classmates, family, your heart jumps, foolishly thinking it might be him. You follow Batman to the dog park without making the conscious decision to, and berate yourself when you realize, lead him off in another direction. Your rosemary plant dies and you hear him in your head, teasing you—isn’t the environment your whole career? Better shape up, sidekick.

Riko prepares a half-hour long PowerPoint presentation about all the reasons he didn’t deserve you in the first place. She must’ve told your roommate, too, because Suko calls you in the middle of the night, Japan time, just to check in.

A week into November, it’s dulled a little bit, the hurt. You’re still startled when he shows up at the dog park, but… not unpleasantly so.

“Snowprints,” he says when you ask if he knew you were here. One word, but it means more to you. Snowprints means he knew what he was walking into, and he came anyway. Snowprints means he saw a chance and followed it to you on purpose.

That’s progress, isn’t it?

You see him at the coffee shop and he remembers your order. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. Snowprints and a vanilla latte.

He said he didn’t want this, but you just… don’t believe him.

But you’re not waiting for him. If the cute guy from ecology asked you out tomorrow, you’d say yes. This boy isn’t dictating your life while he figures himself out.

You hope he does figure himself out. But you won’t hold on to scraps.

And you do start to forget, a little. The cute guy in your ecology class does not ask you out, but your friends and your studies and your needy dog are enough of a distraction that Megumi isn’t in the front of your mind all the time. The semester is flying by, and you make an effort to keep in touch with Nobara despite everything—she really is fun.

It’s approaching break before you know it, and you’re going home for the holidays soon, though you’ll probably be back before the new year because Setsuko needs a ride. Man, you’re excited to have a roommate again.

Your suitcase is half-packed, poorly folded clothes covering the whole of your bedspread in some futile attempt at organization. Christmas is in six days—well, five, you think idly, glancing at the clock. Half past midnight. You should go to sleep, but your bed is covered in clothes and you need to finish packing for your drive home in two days.

“Hey, no,” you lecture as Batman sniffs at a shirtsleeve dangling over the side of the bed. You can tell he’s considering making the leap and taking a nap on top of all your freshly laundered clothes. “No. Stay down.”

You push to your feet, yawning, and then Batman freezes in place, his ears perking up and forward like he hears something.

“What’s up?” you mutter, and then his head snaps toward the door. “Dude, what? It’s past midnight—”

The doorbell rings.

“The shit,” you mutter, trudging to the front door. Irrationally you wonder if your roommate’s home early, but that’s stupid—she’d have needed a ride from the airport, and she has a key.

You don’t know what you expect when you nudge Batman aside and open the door into the cold night, barely holding him back from the cracked door with your leg.

Oh.

You’re face to face with Megumi Fushiguro, and your heart does a diving, spinning leap into the bottom of your stomach.

His lips are slightly parted like he stopped speaking mid-word, eyes wild with urgency, and you suddenly wonder if he’s in trouble, if something’s really wrong. Snow peppers his dark hair, the porch light bouncing off the white specks and making him look like he’s sparkling.

You can’t find any words. None at all, nothing that can actually articulate the shock and confusion and barely-squashed hope. What is happening?

“Robin,” he says. And then he says your name, your real name, and—it’s like a dam breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry. I—I’ve had some time to think and I really, really messed up and I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to you but I have to try to explain, I—it’s me, it was all me, all my fault, you’re amazing and I’m insecure and I let that get in the way of something really fucking good and that was stupid, so stupid, and I like being with you and I like knowing you and I want you to meet my friends and my weird messed-up family and I want you to know me, I want to let you know me, and I’m sorry I didn’t just because I got too in my own head about it, about you. You take up so much headspace it’s insane and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since—since, I don’t know, since I fucking met you, and I—”

The multi-colored Christmas lights strung between the pillars of your front step cast colors and shadows over him as he rambles, his cheeks red from the cold and maybe something else, and you can’t take it, watching him like this, desperate.

“Fushiguro.”

But he’s on a roll now, the words spilling from him like they’ve been building up in the hollow space of his throat for years, and he’s not stopping now. You’re not sure he even hears you over the rapid, panicked lilting of his own confession.

“You should turn around right now, slam the door in my face, I get it, I deserve that, and I don’t have any excuse that matters, but I realized how important you’d become and that scared me more than anything I’d ever felt because that meant I could lose you, you could leave—”

“Fushiguro.”

“And it’s—I fell in love with you months ago,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, and I love you, I’m so in love with you, and I—”

“Megumi.”

He finally stops, panting, every part of him frenzied and undone. His lips are still parted around a word he hasn’t said, freeze frame, the remote in your hands. “Will you just come inside?”

The silent second feels like ages, years, maybe, and you can see the disbelief in his irises, like he’s afraid to trust this, afraid to hope.

“No,” he breathes suddenly, and something comes dangerously close to cracking in your heart. Did he come here, say all this, only to leave you again?

“I—”

“No, because I brought the dogs and they’re sitting in the back of my car right now,” he explains, sheepish. An unbelieving, slightly hysterical laughter bubbles up out of you, warm and surprising and not at all unpleasant.

You grab Megumi by the dark fabric of his coat and yank him toward you, pressing your lips to his cold ones, hand slipping up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s like your warmth leeches into him limb by limb, slowly unfreezing him both from the cold and the frantic fear that you’d turn him away again, and it’s below freezing but he’s melting beneath your touch, and you missed him so, so much.

You pull back, your breath fogging in the air like an echo. “You idiot,” you tell him. “Go get them, I want to see them.” You cross your arms over your chest, leaning on the doorjamb and finally processing how cold it is out here. It’s like it’s sinking right into your bones. “And then get your ass inside.”

He smiles breathlessly, standing still for a moment, and then it’s like he just snaps into action, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he waits another second. The dogs run up the path before he does, and you let them barrel into you and then have their little reunion with Batman while Megumi catches up.

“Come sit down,” you tell him, shutting the door and closing out the cold air. “And tell me more.”

It’s almost like nothing ever changed.

You talk for hours in the lamp-lit living room, surrounded by three tired dogs and a record spinning in the corner. But this time, Megumi talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk. He tells you everything.

How he pushed you away and justified it to himself by saying you deserved better, when really you deserved the truth. How his dad left and his mom died young and Gojo was barely legal when he took him in. How he had a lot of issues with his self-worth growing up, and even now, and how it took him a very long time to accept that people care about him. How it was Tsumiki's idea to get the dogs, because after their mom died he couldn't stop having nightmares. How he wanted to call you every day and then he finally cracked and he went to Tsumiki and she psychoanalyzed him at the kitchen table and he sorted out all his shit so he could show up here like an absolute nuisance and beg you to give him another chance.

“That’s all I wanted, you know,” you tell him, the both of you on the floor, leaning against Shiro and Kuro as they sleep. Batman’s made himself comfortable on the couch, occasionally using his vantage point to lick you right in the face. “You, being honest. You didn’t have to tell me about your parents, y’know, if you didn’t want to. But just…”

“I know that now,” he murmurs sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Really. But I’m trying to get over the whole self-sabotage thing. Trying to… try. In general. With people.”

And he means it. Because the only time Megumi has ever lied to you was the day he told you he didn’t want this, and you knew even then that it wasn’t true. He might try to be all stoic and poker-faced, but he’s not a very good liar. You smile. “That’s a good start.”

You’re facing each other, knees touching, and you reach out, hand palm-up between you. He glances at you before he makes any move, like he’s asking—are you sure? But then he laces his fingers through yours. His hands are way bigger than yours, fingers folding over your own, warm and encompassing. Something about it feels very right.

“So I was wondering,” he starts, and this new side of him that is so hesitant but also hopeful is maybe the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. You squeeze his hand a little, and that seems to embolden him enough to ask whatever it is waiting on the tip of his tongue. “Uh, would you… want to meet my housemates?”

—

“They’re crazy,” Megumi says, standing outside his house with you the next day. “I mean it. I don’t know how to prepare you for—”

“Megumi,” you cut him off, laughing. “No disclaimers. I’m friends with Riko, remember?” This actually seems to be an effective argument, because he smiles a little, putting his hand on the door.

“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

You are tackled the second you cross the threshold.

“Hi!” someone practically shouts in your ear, full-on bear-hugging you as you stumble back, laughing.

“Oh my god,” Megumi groans. “Itadori—”

“Sorry!” he yelps, pulling back and awkwardly offering a hand like he didn’t just squeeze the living daylights out of you. “I’m Yuji. Kugisaki’s told me all about you and Fushiguro said—”

“Itadori,” he says again. You immediately understand what Megumi meant. This boy is legitimately no different than the two dogs who have come to crowd around your legs. Actually, Shiro and Kuro have greeted you significantly more calmly than Yuji has. It’d be difficult not to like him, you think.

“No, you’re fine,” you laugh him off, using the handshake to pull him back in. “You’re fun. I like you.” Yuji grins victoriously at Megumi and lets you go, and you finally move out of the entryway and into the familiar living space.

“Ino,” you say, pointing at the boy in a beanie, and then shift to the girl crouched in front of the TV, rummaging through a bunch of games. “Kirara.”

The conspiratorial smirk Kirara gives you—along with the way the Wii games are scattered all around her like a personal hurricane—makes you think she might not actually be the long-suffering order in a house full of chaos. More likely, she and Ino and Yuji are only kept in check by Megumi’s neat freak tendencies and blunt nature.

“Hey.” Ino grins. “Okay, I gotta ask, is your dog actually named Batman? Because that’s awesome.”

“She’s been here for two seconds,” Megumi chides, but you nod happily. You are very proud of your dog’s stupid name.

“Well, I approve,” Ino shrugs, patting the space next to him on the couch.

And it feels natural, the way you fall into place with the rest of them. For all Megumi pretends they drive him insane, it’s obvious he loves his friends, and he seems relaxed around them even as you waste away the afternoon chatting and arguing and getting your ass kicked in Mario Kart (specifically by Kirara, whose undefeated record pisses off all the boys but makes you even fonder of her).

By the time night falls, you feel like you’ve been friends with all of them for years. You learn all about the band—Megumi didn’t tell you that they won the Battle of the Bands, which you plan to give him shit for later. They ask you about your school and friends and seem to actually, genuinely want to meet them.

You go home for Christmas, getting your annual few rare days of quality family time, but Megumi sends you photos from Gojo’s with Tsumiki and the dogs. You respond with a picture of Batman in a Santa hat.

megumi: they really want to meet you when you get back. if you want.

A smile splits across your face before you can stop it. Because this is exactly what you wanted—for Megumi to want you to meet his family, to know that part of his life.

“What are you smiling about?” your dad asks from the couch, and your blush must be answer enough, because he turns to your mom with a raised brow and mouths boy. You shove your phone in your pocket. You weren’t prepared for the interrogation, but it’s too late now.

The thing is, if your family had asked you if you were seeing anyone even last week, you’d have nothing to say. And maybe you shouldn’t dump all this information on them when it’s still so fresh, so new.

But something tells you this is going to last. He wants you to meet Tsumiki, to meet Gojo. You won’t keep him from your family if he doesn’t keep you from his. Plus, your parents leave on another trip in two days. You’re not sure when else you’ll get the chance to tell them this in person.

“So,” you say, before they can start grilling you. “His name is Megumi.”

—

There are prints in the snow.

It feels uncannily familiar, walking your usual path with Batman and seeing the two sets of paw prints and accompanying boots. You place your own footsteps in their wake, laughing at how they dwarf your own shoe size.

You aren’t supposed to see Megumi until he picks you up to go to Gojo’s tonight, but it seems fate—or Batman—has other ideas.

You let him drag you all the way to a big, snowy clearing, where you see your boyfriend and Kuro standing in the snow. It takes you a whole five seconds longer to make out Shiro, who basically blends right into the landscape.

The dogs, per usual, see you first, and Megumi turns at their excited noises to see you. He wastes no time setting off across the field toward you, and you grin, meeting him in the middle.

“So is this a coincidence, or is someone following me?” he asks, meeting you at eye-level as you crouch to greet the dogs. Batman basically shoves his nose in Megumi’s face in response.

“Snowprints,” you say, gesturing to the trail behind you. “Seems to be a theme.” Behind the wall of Kuro’s dark fur, you plant your hands in the snow, letting a mischievous smile grow on your lips. “Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you, because—”

You throw a massive snowball right at Megumi’s face.

“Oh,” he says, swiping a gloved hand across his eyes but leaving flakes of white stuck in his brows, on his lashes. “You’ve done it now.”

“Protect me,” you whisper to Kuro, and then you run.

All-out war. The dogs are thrilled at every snowball that misses its mark, all of them leaping to catch the wayward projectiles in the air, and you and Megumi chase each other and trip over the snow and wind up in a big, snow-covered mess on the ground, staring up at a shockingly bright afternoon sky.

You can barely breathe, you’re laughing so hard. “You’re crazy,” you pant, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, then your palms. An absolute mess of snowprints—his, yours, Shiro’s, Kuro’s, Batman’s—cross over each other in the snow, revealing patches of browning grass here and there, showing the signs of your battle. “Aw, hey. It looks like a giant heart.”

“Sap,” Megumi snorts.

“Buzzkill.”

“Instigator.”

“Oh, yeah?” You grab a fistful of snow and put it right on his head, letting it melt into his tousled, snow-streaked hair. “Well, I’ll instigate, then.”

He laughs, shaking his hair out like a dog, and tackles you back into the snow. “Then I’ll instigate something else.”

You’re so cold you can barely feel half your face, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he kisses you like this.

—

The first thing you think when Satoru Gojo opens the door is damn, he’s tall.

The second is holy shit, those are the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

“Gumi!” he shouts, enveloping him in a very one-sided hug.

The third thing? Yeah, you like him.

“Gojo,” Megumi grumbles, half-heartedly pushing him away, but the fondness of the interaction doesn’t escape you.

“And I’ve heard all about you,” Gojo grins, pulling you into a hug as well—you don’t hesitate to hug him back, because now you know exactly what this man has done for Megumi and Tsumiki. And he’s important to Megumi, so he’s important to you.

Megumi telling you about his childhood and Gojo was one thing, but him actually wanting you to meet his family is another. You feel warm all over as Gojo ushers you into the apartment, where Tsumiki is already busy making dinner. She nearly drops the pan in her hands at the sight of you. “Hi!”

“You all hug so much,” Megumi says flatly when she hugs you too, and she just grins and forces him into an embrace as well.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Shut up.”

“Love you too.”

“So,” Tsumiki says, turning back to the stove and insisting you sit down and make yourself at home when you offer to help. “Tell me about you.” Instead, she enlists Megumi to be her kitchen assistant, and you aren’t sure why it’s so surprising that he knows how to cook, but it is.

The four of you talk about school and the dogs (who are at home with Suko, now that she’s finally back from Japan) and your families and friends, and you can see Megumi growing more comfortable as the night goes on, once he’s sure that Gojo isn’t about to whip out a bunch of embarrassing pictures of him as a kid or tell you all his darkest secrets. Tsumiki is sweet and you take a liking to her immediately, talking all about her job running the campus paper. Gojo tells you about the bar he works at, about his college friends who founded it.

“Do you have to work tomorrow, then?” you ask between bites of the best meatballs you’ve ever had.

Gojo shrugs. “Yeah. But if I wasn’t, I’d be hanging out with all the same people I work with, anyway. Not so bad, huh?”

“We’re actually probably going to swing by the bar tomorrow,” Megumi says, avoiding Gojo’s gaze in favor of looking at you. Gojo lights up. It’s endearing, how excited he is at the prospect of seeing all of Megumi’s friends. “You coming?” Megumi asks Tsumiki.

“To the bar or the house party?”

“Both,” Megumi shrugs.

“Only if you are,” she says not to Megumi but to you, teasingly.

“Yeah, I gotta meet the rest of his friends. All of Nobara’s housemates.”

“Oh, I love them!” Tsumiki says. “Mm, you’ll get along with Yuta. I mean, everyone does. Oh god, and Toge. And S—yeah, okay, all of them, actually. Have you met our cousin Maki?”

“No, but they all sound great,” you say honestly.

“They are!” Gojo says loudly. “They can give you so much dirt on Megumi.” Megumi glares at him with a complete lack of heat.

“You and my friend Riko would get along,” you say, but as soon as you say it you’re not sure it’s true. Either they would immediately gang up on Megumi and make his life a living hell, or Riko would have the same dynamic with Gojo and they would argue until somebody threw a punch.

Megumi stares at you incredulously. “They can never meet. Ever.”

Except they do, because you bring Riko to the bar the following night. You feel like this might have been a dire miscalculation, because not only does this mean she’s meeting Gojo, but it means she’s meeting Nobara’s housemate who, in her words, is a kindred “chaos goblin.” This means that they’re both comm majors with too much time on their hands and they make it everyone else’s problem.

Toge Inumaki is the very possibly the only person you’ve ever met who can match Riko in terms of sheer chaos. It is terrifying. They’ve known each other for a grand total of five minutes before they’re planning a full-on bracketed Just Dance tournament with Rasputin as the final battle.

“You’re insane,” you tell Riko fondly, and she grins at you.

“I think we’re brushing over the fact that you think Rasputin is the hardest one on there,” Gojo says, leaning over the bar incredulously.

“What, you think your old man knees can handle it?” Riko asks shamelessly, and you excuse yourself as they launch into bickering worthy of siblings.

But nothing explodes, and you meet Shoko and Geto and Utahime and Nanami, and all of Nobara’s housemates, including Megumi’s cousin. She’s very no-nonsense in a way that you appreciate, and after you shit-talk Naoya with her, you feel like you’re probably going to be very good friends.

It’s well past eleven by the time you all get back to Megumi’s place, leaving Gojo to ring in the new year with his own friends. Someone puts the ball drop on the TV in the living room and you all scatter across the space, a swell of conversation and laughter as midnight inches closer.

It’s like this:

A living room full of your friends and his, laughing and smiling and teasing and playing Just Dance really aggressively (but that’s just Toge and Riko, really). Megumi’s knee pressed against yours as Tsumiki forces him to smile for a picture with you. Nobara throwing her arms around you, insisting you settle a debate between her and Yuta about the superior shape of pasta noodle. Sneaking off to Megumi’s room while Yuji is distracted, stealing kisses in the dark. Listening to his whispered commentary in your ear as the drinks and sleep deprivation start hitting Toge and Yuta and they get existential on the floor. Suko telling everyone all about Japan and the occult club she started at her university there. Yuji being way too into the idea of starting one between JU and Kaisen, launching animatedly into a discussion of all his favorite conspiracy theories.

Five minutes to midnight, Kirara pops open a bottle of champagne and passes you a glass, and you wave it in front of Megumi teasingly.

“What, you wanna toast to something?” he teases, leaning in toward you. “You gonna say to us? That’s pretty Hallmark movie of you.”

You hum, swirling the glass, lifting your gaze to meet his. “To trying,” you say. “And also vigilantism?”

And there’s his laugh, better than the ball drop, the streamers, the disco ball that came from god knows where in the corner. “I can get behind that,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “To your superhero dog,” he says, leaning in closer. “And his pretty cool sidekick.” He kisses you as the countdown hits one, and you’re laughing against his lips, savoring the warmth of his hand on the back of your neck.

When he pulls away, it’s only by centimeters, just enough for him to lock eyes with you. “And,” he breathes against your lips, “to trying.”

directory // my masterlist | out of my mind !

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222 @honeyyhuggs

a/n: sorry this took like twenty years and it's SO LONG. heh. i'm incapable of short-form content. it was fun to write though. let me know what you thought, and be sure to pop over to out of my mind (and, if you're curious about naoya's ex, greta's sukuna spinoff, if you are NOT a minor)! thanks loves :)

[plethorawrites]

So we’ve seen all of the batbros as cats but what about the reader? What would happen if they were turned into a cat?

This took forever, sorry! But yes, I totally can!

Bruce: Weary and worried.

• Before all else, he's concerned with making sure you're alright. He calls Zatanna immediately to ensure it's not permanent and then after he knows it's not, he can relax enough to try to comfort you.

• He was never a cat person, only ever owning dogs, so he really has no clue how to take care of a cat. Let alone a cat who's really the love of his life. He tries, though. He gets Alfred to make you dinner, something that's fresh and not gross Tuna or Salmon from a can. He gives you your choice of every throw pillow in the manor to tear up when he sees you get antsy, your claws flicking in and out in stress. And of course, everything poisonous to cats like the peace lilies in the living room are moved far away.

• Bruce still has to go to work, unfortunately and with no idea how to keep you entertained, puts on those "Soothing cat videos" on the big TV in his bedroom for you to watch. A six hour loop of a fishtank is less than ideal but seems to work well enough.

• You're in the same place as when he left you, so he assumes you didn't mind too much. He notices you grooming yourself, not because you want to, but out of some strange instinct you've developed and he can tell you're grossed out by your own actions, so he does his best to clean your fur himself. You might be a cat, but you seem to like water so he puts you in the bathtub and scrubs your fur with your normal soap which makes you pur.

• Until he takes you out of the warm water and you're absolutely freezing, shivering from the cold. He wraps you in a towel and holds you to his chest until you're mostly dry, then, despite the dampness of your fur, let's you curl up under the covers since you're still a bit chilly. It makes his own skin wet, but he doesn't mind since at least you seem a bit happier.

---

Dick: Amused and empathetic.

• He tries not to laugh. He really does. It's just...so much harder than it should be. You look so small, so adorable, so fuzzy. You have a tail, for God's sake. How could it not be hilarious? He only stops chuckling when you swat your paw at him, catching him with sharp claws, cutting him. He doesn't get upset since he knows he deserved it.

• Goes to the pet store with you, letting you sit in the cart and pick out your own things, which, he can tell you dislike but reluctantly comply—otherwise he'd buy you a rat themed toy instead of the feather one you wanted. You gurgle and growl repeatedly when he picks up those stupid cat costumes, but he still buys them anyway.

• And yes, he does force you to wear them. You resisted, at first, of course, but eventually gave up when he gave you those puppy dog eyes. If you thought being a cat was humiliating, you couldn't have prepared for being a cat wearing a sombrero and poncho. "Those are our Christmas cards this year," he tells you, kissing the top of your head while you meow in protest.

• Despite that, he's still sweet to you, apologizing for you having to go through this and swearing he'll fix it. In the meantime, just try to stay positive. He'll say you can rip up the drapes if it makes you feel better. You do and it does. You always hated them and he refused to get rid of them, but now there was a valid reason to.

• He sits on the floor with you, swinging the feather toy around as you chase it, gaining a good amount of height the longer you play. His arm gets tired but you're clearly not, so he sits there until you eventually get sick of it and he sets it down while you crawl into his lap for a nap. He was going to make something to eat, but he supposes he can wait.

---

Jason: Paranoid and terrified.

• His initial response is to reassure you that you'll be fine. He'll do whatever it takes you turn you back into a human, no matter what. His second response, is to freak out. He has no idea how to take care of a cat, let alone his partner who's a cat! What if he hurts you? What if he can't fix it?

• Being a cat, you, unbeknownst to him, sense him apprehension and almost immediately start rubbing against his legs until he hesitantly picks you up, cradling you in his arms as gently as possible. You rub your head against his jaw, trying to soothe him and he takes a few deep breaths, relaxing and nuzzling your fur.

• It takes him a while, and a lot of trial and error to figure out how to take care of you, be it buying food you don't like, to accidentally leaving the window open and panicking that you escaped (you were under the bed, because it was warm and safe) but he eventually calms down once the day is finally over.

• Cuddling with you on the couch, he can barely even feel your claws kneeding on his arms because there's so much scar tissue it's too hard to scratch and hurt. Your purring is what calms him down the most though, after an extremely long, stressful day. You sitting on his lap, his hand resting on your back as he slowly and accidentally falls asleep.

• When he wakes up, you're still a cat, still sleeping on him. He picks you up carefully, taking you to the bedroom so he can sleep in his bed and you aren't left alone in the living room. He has a feeling you'll be yourself soon enough, even if he doesn't know exactly when. He'll keep you safe until then.

---

Tim: Shocked and Frantic

• He immediately starts to panic. You're a cat. A freaking cat. How? Why? What does he need to do to fix it? He has a million questions and no answers. But his stress only adds to your own and he quickly tries to calm down before soothing you: "No, no, no. It's fine. You're gonna be fine. I swear."

• Still, the second he gets you out of the room, convincing you that you'd be more comfortable in the living room than in the batcave, he starts to pace and freak out again. It's actually Damian, of all people, who gets him to snap out of it, literally slapping him across the face and telling him to be there for you instead of worrying about the details.

• He listens, to an extent, going back upstairs to where you were chewing on the fern in the living room, ripping a leaf apart. Pulling you away from it as you meow in protest, he cradles you in his arms, apologizing for fretting and promising he won't leave again.

• And he doesn't. He does, however, keep working on a way to fix you. He tries to be annoyed when you start knocking things off his desk, pushing stuff into a water bowl, jumping into his bottom drawer, laying on his papers, but he can't do it. You're just acting too cute to genuinely be mad. Eventually, he takes a break, closing the drawer you were sitting in and hauling you to his bed.

• He'll admit, he threw you with a little less caution than he probably should have, but you didn't mind, crawling onto him the moment he laid down, eager to close your eyes after being awake for far too long. Aka 5 straight hours, which, for a cat, was a lot. He didn't quite realize that, but notices almost immediately how fast you fall asleep once you lay down, curling into a ball, tucking your nose under your tail to keep it warm.

---

Damian: Is both fascinated and prepared.

• He has over a dozen pets, so when you're turned into a cat, he already knows everything there is to know and gets you anything you could possibly need. A nice cat bed, toys to keep you entertained, a post to scratch so you don't ruin any furniture.

• His others pets want to play or chase you, but he scoops you up before any of them can get even close to you. And he insists you stay close to him and not wander off, because you could get lost, kidnapped, or hurt.

• You always knew his knowledge of animals was extensive but didn't realize how much so until he was petting you, explaining how the hair follicles on cats work, which is why they never like to be pet in certain areas.

• Despite having an extremely nice bed, you'd really rather prefer his and he allows it, reminding you not to scratch the pillows or the sheets. "They're Egyptian silk. Don't ruin them." Still, when he catches you clawing at them in your sleep, unaware you were doing it, he doesn't stop you.

• In the morning, he switches feeds you breakfast, in a human bowl so it's not so degrading and takes you with him while he works on a way to fix you. He quickly gets distracted, though, by how you're looking around at everything like it's the most interesting thing ever.

[jo-speaks]

CROSSING PATHS

— right place, right time AU

summary: quinn meets an unlikely friend, and its owner.

warnings: none! wc: 1.6k

note: hope you guys enjoy this and the concept of this au :)

The captain was feeling incredibly overwhelmed- trying to find out why his team just couldn’t pull through in the end, no matter the amount of work and effort they put in at practice. It took a toll on him the hardest, his confidence going down the drain with every sound of the buzzer that announced their loss to the whole arena. 

While others would congratulate him regardless, giving him the whole, “You’re doing great.” spiel, he- for one- didn’t believe it, and two, he didn’t care for great. He wanted perfection. 

“Hun, get out of your apartment, forget about hockey for a minute.” His mother said over the phone after he had called her after a particularly tough OT loss, “It might clear your head a bit.”

Quinn groaned, his mother saying the impossible, “I don’t need a walk, Ma. We just need to win.”

Ellen’s laughter echoed throughout the apartment, “Q, you’ve got to unwind. I’m scared you’re going to blow up that head of yours.”

On some level, Quinn knew she was right. I mean, it was visibly obvious when his mind was running a million miles per hour. He hesitated before saying, “Fine. But if all I get from this is frostbite, you’re taking care of me.” 

“When am I not?”

Quinn let out a lighthearted laugh, saying his goodbyes before going to put his sneakers on and grab a warmer hoodie than the one he had on. He looked at himself in the mirror when he passed it in his hall, his hair disheveled and the exhaustion becoming more and more prominent every day. 

As he grabbed his door keys to walk out of the apartment, he briefly debated grabbing his hockey bag that sat next to his doorway and going to the rink instead. He quickly talked himself out of that idea, ultimately deciding that it would be counterintuitive to forget about hockey for a bit, whilst playing hockey.

~~~

Quinn made his way to the park nearby, settling on just walking wherever his feet took him instead of following an instructed trail. It was chilly, the Vancouver air surprisingly warmer than it had been in previous winters, but still cold enough to send a sharp shiver through his body. 

His eyes wandered as he let his senses become filled with the sounds of nature and the conversations of people passing by. Everyone looked so relaxed and carefree, giving Quinn a sliver of hope that he, too, would feel that way after a few hours here. 

He had become so entranced by his surroundings that his brain barely registered a voice quickly approaching that yelled, “Watch out!”

Quinn turned around, a sudden pressure coming down onto his lower stomach as a medium-sized golden retriever jumped on him with enough force to have him stumbling a bit, but not enough to knock him down completely. The animal’s tail wagged rapidly, its panting breaths reaching Quinn’s nose as it looked up at him. 

“Hey, bud.” Quinn cooed, petting its head, making the dog even more excited. 

You came up to him, leash around your waist as you panted, catching your breath before speaking up, “I am so sorry, she doesn’t normally do this.” He looked up, his jaw dropping slightly as he took you in. He noticed your hair had fallen out of your updo, now messily draped across your shoulders and back, your mascara running the slightest bit under your eyes due to sweat, but still keeping your lashes up and curled. But most of all, he noticed that gleam in your eyes that was a mix of joy and relaxation. 

The dog had now put her paws down fully on the concrete, beginning to circle around Quinn’s legs and even trying to go in between them before a snap of your fingers brought her back to those simple circles. 

“It’s okay,” Quinn muttered, trying to keep his composure as his heart thrummed rapidly in his chest. “Cute dog.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled, noticing her tail not slowing down in the slightest in his presence. “She seems to really like you, she’s not normally like this with strangers.”

Your words seemed to relax him a little bit, a grin appearing on his face as he squatted down, putting himself on level with the pup and rubbing her head, “What’s her name?” 

“Chilli.” You answered. 

Quinn gave you a look of confusion, “I was actually talking to her."

It took you a minute to realize what he had meant, but when it clicked, you let out a bubbly laugh that had Quinn’s head reeling, “Smooth. I’m Y/N.”

He gave Chilli one last pat before standing up, sticking his hand out like you were some lady in the office, “Quinn.” 

You shook his hand, laughing quietly at the formality before meeting his gaze fully this time, your brain registering his admirable features, which were all of them. 

The curve of his nose, his long lashes, and those eyes that reflected a look of relief. You caught yourself staring a little longer than you intended to, clearing your throat with a smile before looking down at Chilli. You hooked the link of the leash to her harness, ensuring she wouldn’t try this stunt again with another person. 

“Well, Quinn, if you’re not too busy, would you like to join us on the rest of our walk?” You proposed, growing enough courage to ask.

Quinn was sure his heart exploded. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” He said as smoothly as possible.

The toothy smile that appeared on your face after he agreed had a matching one on his face immediately after. The two of you started walking, letting Chilli lead the way as she walked ahead of you, sniffing the ground as she went.

It was a comfortable silence that fell between you and Quinn, but he wanted to know more about the mystery girl and her dog that walked beside him.

“So,” He began, “Why the harness instead of a collar?”

You turned your head to face him, “I’m not a fan of collars. I know I wouldn’t like it if someone was tugging at my neck. Plus, this gives me a little more control of her without having to pull at her.” Quinn hummed, “Do you work with animals?”

“When I have time, I volunteer with this local animal shelter a few minutes from here.” Your words registered in his mind, the conversation flowing smoothly. Before he could ask you something else, you chimed in first. “What about you? What do you do?”

He hesitated. He knew he couldn’t just say, “I’m actually a professional hockey player.” Unfortunately for him, he did say it out loud instead of keeping it in his head like he had intended. 

When he caught the words spewing out of him before he could stop them, he braced himself, ready for you to grill him about his career, and income, or even pull out your phone to google him to find out yourself. So what you said next shocked him a little bit. 

“Oh, that’s fun. Do you like it?” You asked calmly, keeping your gaze straight ahead.

He let out a breath of relief, “Uh, yeah. I mean, not a whole lot right now.” You tilted your head, facing him again, “What’s that mean?”

“My team’s in a bit of a slump right now and we can’t seem to win anything.” He explained vaguely, not wanting to let himself fall into a deep conversation about hockey with someone he just met.

Luckily for him, you didn’t press. You simply hummed and switched topics that had more to do with him rather than his job. 

The two of you walked and talked about anything and everything, and by the time you returned back to where you had started, Quinn felt as if he’d known you for ten years instead of just two hours. 

And by the end of it, he wasn’t thinking about hockey at all.

“Thanks for joining us, Quinn.” You announced.

Quinn smiled, “Thanks for asking. I really needed that.” 

You stood there a bit awkwardly as Chilli licked at his shoes, her way of saying goodbye before you verbalized it and said, “I’ll see you around.” turning to walk away from him and back to your apartment.

Before you could, Quinn stopped you, walking to your side again so you would stop and face him. He stared at you for a minute before snapping himself out of his daze, pulling out his phone, and asking, “Do you think I could get your number? Maybe we could do this again sometime.”

His pupils nearly shaped hearts when you flashed him another smile, a small giggle coming from your throat as you took his unlocked phone from his hands and typed in your number and name into it. 

“Thanks.” He cheesed, “I’ll text you.” 

You bit your lip innocently, “Can’t wait.’”

He bid you goodbye, relishing in the way you turned around to look at him when you were a good distance away. He smiled to himself before making his way back to the apartment. On his way, he went to his call logs and facetimed his mom yet again. 

“You okay?” She picked up with a look of confusion on her face.

Quinn nodded, the smile on his face indescribably giddy, “Thank you for making me come out here.” 

“You look a lot better now, what happened?” She teased, but there was a hint of relief in her voice as he looked… lighter. 

“I met someone.”

[targaryen-dynasty]

HEAVY IS THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), kinda non/dub con, p in v, semi public sex, doggy style, degrading, slapping, possessiveness, jealousy

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: This is something I had written and posted on another blog when I (rightfully so) didn't feel accepted and wanted in fandom. So, if any of you remembers this, it was written by me. This is Lingo Jam High Valyrian (it is what it is).

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

It’s way past the Hour of the Owl as you stand in the Throne Room all by yourself, all the tables for the guests of your coronation feast having already been cleared and stored away by the keep’s staff, leaving the room to be eerily quiet and empty. 

You stand in front of the intimidating Iron Throne, looming in the dim light of the candles around you, your fingertips barely brushing the sharp swords that were used to forge it by your ancestors, reminiscing about all the times you’ve seen your father sitting on it. 

Unlike your grandsire and father before you, you chose to wear the Conqueror's Crown and wield his sword, the big, square-cut rubies complimenting the red and gold gown you wear. 

The heavy doors leading to the intimidating chambers open behind you, but you don’t turn around, knowing all too well who intrudes the silence and serenity. His footsteps are heavy, bouncing off the thick columns and walls on his way. 

“Skoros iksis ziry ao jeldan naejot ȳdragon naejot nyke nūmāzma?” you ask, but before you’re able to turn around, the weight of your husband’s chest against your back pushes you forward, the ostentatious crown on your head toppling to the ground at the impact. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?

Both your hands immediately seize the armrests of the Iron Throne for support, more so when Daemon’s hand falls to the place between your shoulders to keep you exactly like you are, bowed forward with no chance to move. 

“Hm,” he hums, applying just a bit of pressure to your back. “How about the wanton farce you put up for that cunt of a Lannister?” he growls, and it’s clear it is not a question but an accusation. 

There is not one breath wasted when he rucks up the skirts of your gown and bunches it around your waist, fisting it with one of his large paws. The matter clearly is serious, and has occupied him for quite some time now, considering he prefers to answer you in the Common Tongue rather than High Valyrian. 

But it’s not like you have much time to really process the meaning behind it, considering he has the skirt of your dress in his hand in one moment, and your small clothes pulled down to your knees in the next. Your cunt is exposed to the chilly air of the Red Keep, and to anyone that chooses to intrude on such an intimate and disgraceful scene, and much to your husband’s surprise, you’re soaked with anticipation, which earns you a condescending scoff from him. 

He has quickly figured that there isn't going to come any reply from you, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the little predicament you’ve found yourself in, and forces a gasp from your lips as his hand not-so-gently collides with your bare rear. 

Your body slightly lulls forwards to escape the stinging pain that blooms on your skin, but to now avail. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you press with despair audible in your voice. 

But he just scoffs again. “Oh, I’m certain you don’t,” his voice is sharp, and the words underlined by another slap to your arse. “Need I remind Your Grace who they belong to?” The title is spoken in a way to make a mock display of his courtesy, displaying how little care he holds over your status at this moment.

You’re not quite sure what he is up to when you feel and hear him shifting and fumbling behind you, although you have a mild guess, until you feel the tip of his hard cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He pushes in even before you can answer, any words or pathetic protests dying on your tongue and replaced by a moan. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says more to himself, his tone suddenly taking on an air of smugness. His words are followed by a groan that flows into a heedless sigh as he bottoms out completely, his heavy stones pressing against your pearl. 

It’s a side to Daemon you haven’t seen or experienced before, despite growing up around him, his several liaisons and wives. There has never been something akin to jealousy coursing through his veins before. Yes, Daemon has always been a little too rough, too impatient and resolving matters by force rather than diplomacy, but you’ve never seen his blood run this hot. 

His upper body slightly bends forward and towers over yours as he rests one hand on the backrest of the Throne, the other still on your hip with your skirts tightly secured.

“What–” the words catch in your throat, replaced by a whimper. “What if anyone sees us?” 

“Jaelan zirȳ naejot ūndegon,” he growls. “Jaelan zirȳ naejot gīmigon bona iksā ñuhon.” I want them to see. I want them to know that you’re mine. 

The whine you release at that is nothing short of desperate. While the thought of anyone catching you two frightens you to the core, you enjoy the possessive side of him, reveling in his desire just for you since you’ve shared it most of your life with your younger sister. 

Pulling out of you almost completely, the tip of his cock is the only thing that remains buried inside of you. While the feeling of the sudden loss makes you whine and push your hips back to force him inside again, it also earns you another harsh slap that’s served to your arse. 

“Ao sagon ñuhon se mazemā skoros nyke tepagon ao, iksis bona shifang?” You're mine and you take what I give you, is that understood?

Daemon then slams his hips into yours as a warning, filling you up in a swift thrust that has you gasping, and knocks the air straight from your lungs. “Gaomagon daor mazverdagon nyke ivestragon ziry arlī,” he snarls. “Gaomagon. Ao. Shifang?” Each word is punctuated with a harsh snap of his hips.  Don’t make me say it again. Do. You. Understand?

“K… kessa,” you hiccup. Yes. 

The pace of his thrusts is nothing short of ruthless, and he uses the grip on your hip to pull you back onto his cock for your bodies to meet halfway, the most obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing off the walls of the Throne Room.

His stones are heavy and the fleshy pouch they sit in slightly sagged, hitting your pearl perfectly each time he fills you to the brim, and sending shivers to the soles of your feet. 

Daemon forces your hips higher until you’re standing on your tiptoes for him, your body barely supported by his fingers digging into your hip. The angle changes with that, allowing him to shove his cock into you even deeper than before – a change that has him groaning and grunting over and over again. 

Your eyes lull into the back of your head, and the heat in your belly doesn’t diminish, causing a renewed wave of arousal to leak out of your core. 

Not caring if the skirts of your gown are riding down again, he grips the back of your neck firmly enough so you can’t turn your head, fucking you as if his life depends on it and knocking every breath clean out of your lungs. 

Daemon forces his hips into yours with such determination, he is close to shoving you up against the Iron Throne with the force of his need, your arms almost buckling under the weight he puts onto you. You can tell he’s racing for completion, effectively pulling you with him in the process. 

With the pace of his hips not faltering once, your peak washes over you in an ambush. The pleasure in your body gets intense enough for your legs to tremble, his hand that rests on the Iron Throne coming down to seize your hip to support you. Your walls clench around his cock tight enough for him to draw in a sharp breath, but the assault on your cunt doesn’t cease. 

“Qilōni gaomagon ao sytilībagon naejot?” Daemon groans, pulling you back onto his cock and fucking you through your peak. Who do you belong to? It’s almost as if he’s asking for your reassurance, wanting to be sure of your feelings for him. 

“A… ao,” you hiccup. “Ik… iksan aōhon.” You. I’m yours.

His peak crashes over him with your reassurance, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your cunt. His hands trail up and down your sides in nothing else than pure bliss, and when it’s all over, he releases a sigh of relief, almost as if the pressure has fallen off his shoulders. 

He cups your arse with both hands, and squeezes your flesh. When he doesn’t make any move to pull out of you, however, it’s clear that he is relishing the way your drenched cunt embraces his flaccid cock.

“No one will make you feel as good as I do, dōna ābrazȳrys, and certainly no Lannister,” he rasps. “He would not know how to handle the Blood of the Dragon. You were made for me, and you belong to me. Always have, always will.” Sweet wife. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[wandasfavv]

Shy

Wanda x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend’s loving nature just makes you want to do anything that she asks.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Soft!Mommy!WandaxFem!Reader, shy reader obvi, dom/sub, strap on(r receiving), oral to strap, light pet play(bunny ears), humiliation w/ praise, Wanda’s sosososo in love omg

Tag: @flkwh0re

You woke up to the feeling of nails softly clawing your scalp as a familiar and sweet floral scent filled your senses. With your eyes tiredly opening, you saw pale yet warm skin in front of you, littered with small and almost microscopic birthmarks you recognized all too well. Wanda’s bare chest was only millimeters away from your face, and despite the comfortable position, you moved your head a bit away as you wanted to see her face instead of just the sharp curve of her jaw looking upward.

Awake, she felt your movements under the sheets as she had her arms wrapped around your body. Wanda loosened up and allowed you to shift, tilting her head down to take a look at you as she hadn’t the entire time she was lost in thought rather than still sleeping. Straight away, she was met with your sleepy state, dopey eyes and puffy lips. Her nose scrunched up with a smile as she found it so adorable, and every morning she did. “Goodmorning, sweetheart.”

“Goodmorning… how long were you awake?” You questioned with rasp, looking at how pretty she was even just being in bed with tangled hair. You noticed the way her cheek bones were so perfectly structured and suited the rest of her features, wanting to just lean up and kiss every part of her. She of course felt the same way with you, just expressing it more as she actually did it.

“Not long, I just wanted to hold you for a little while,” she replied moving down a bit to reach your face and place lovable pecks around your mouth, all too quick for you reciprocate. Since her arm was snaked around your torso, her other one was underneath you as the hand connected was gently pawing at your soft hair. “We should stay in today, cook and maybe watch a movie together later,” she said, her husky voice a bit more prominent as it was early.

You nodded in agreement with her suggestion, finding it perfect and ideal as today was finally a free one for both of you. For the past week the you two were moderately busy. You knew how stressed she’s been with work, and you also wanted to make the most of the day. So to start it off, you initiated a heated kiss, wanting it to become and build up to more like most other mornings. Maybe her relieving herself by making you cu-

“Cmon, we should get out of bed,” Wanda said, quickly pulling away from the short lasting smack with an innocent smile. You made an obvious confused expression, but the woman ignored it as she released you from her embrace and got up from the sunken mattress. Looking up at her as she stood, you kept yourself in the same position since you were just planning on convincing her to go back under the blanket that you felt trapped under. Unfortunately for you, she only bent down to pull you up gently by the arm, saying “Let’s go take shower together, too.”

With that, your face lightened up as you began to consider that maybe she wanted to do something there instead. You quickly got up along with her help, and soon trailed behind. Once the two of you were in the bathroom, Wanda turned the shower faucet on, letting it become warmer before getting in. She let it run as she put out a hand under and felt for the right temperature. Luckily, it was quick and she allowed herself in first, getting of ahold of your hand to have you carefully step in. She was just so gentle with you, making sure you were always safe.

The moment the water made contact with your skin that was beginning to become chilly earlier, you suddenly forgot all about the cozy bed. Your body relaxed and in replacement of your thoughts, you went back the idea of pleasing Wanda. She looked at you as the water started to flatten your hair, but you also noticed how her eyes trailed down. Maybe it was now that she wanted to-

Before you knew it, she turned away and grabbed the bottle of shampoo, squirting some on her hand. Then she faced you again and immediately slathered the soap onto your head, though lightly. You again made a look as your eyebrows furrowed, but it soon went away as Wanda made it.

“Close your eyes for me,” she softly ordered, her fingers throughly and without much force, rubbing your scalp. You felt like melting under her despite the slight confusion of how she was being so… sweet. Sure she was like this all the time, but it felt a little different now. Especially since she hasn’t tried to do anything sexual with you like usual, only pampering and making you feel good in other ways.

She kept this up for a couple more minutes, and in honesty, you didn’t want it end. But of course it had to. Turning the shower head off, she grabbed a towel for you first, wrapping it around for you as you stood there letting her without little protest. Though, you did attempt to tell Wanda that you’re able to at least dry your hair yourself, but you were still met by her refusing and persuading you as she did all the work, telling you that she just wanted to take care of her sweet girl. And then this continued the rest day, you conflicted yet so warm and bubbly inside from how cared for you felt.

————————

By the time dinner arrived, Wanda kept herself busy in the kitchen, cooking one of your favorite dishes. And you, feeling unusually more needy, went through and stood by her. She noticed and felt a whoosh of air brush by her, indicating you were there, and so she turned her head away from the stove and towards you. She had a smile plastered on her face, gently glowing from the brightness of the light above her.

“Do you need any help..?” You asked meekly, your hands clasped together behind you as you stared over to the pot and then back to her. Wanda only shook her head, but found the way you were beginning to act endearing.

“Nope,” she started, setting aside the utensil she was using to stir before shifting her whole body in your direction. She stretched out her arms, grabbing you unexpectedly by your waist and picking you up high enough to place you on the marble counter. “Just sit pretty here for me, princess.”

Wanda stood between your legs and tilted her head up to peck your nose, lightly pinching your soft cheeks too, and making them heat up slightly. You listened and sat there until she was done, kicking your feet and swaying as you spoke and adorably ranted about random things that came to mind. And so, you didn’t notice the way Wanda looked at you. But how could you when you didn’t the entire morning till now.

Ever since she woke up, her mind was plagued with what she had in stored for today. Pushing you into this subby headspace. For what felt like so long, she planned on having you all to herself as she made sure that you’d be as agreeable as possible. Unbeknownst to you, Wanda had a lot more wants in the bedroom, and it was now that she wanted to test them out with you. But to do that, she needed you to be as needy as her, which at this point might be impossible.

Her hand came up to her neck to scratch as an itch came. With her set of eyes shifting between the task she was doing and you, all she had in her head was what’s been making her excited and filled with anticipation. The whole day so far, she had to hold herself back from indulging in anything. Every time you looked up at her with that cute little pleading face she wanted to break character and take you, but she needed to stay in check to ensure that you’d be fine for later. She knew how worn out you get after sex, so she couldn’t have you so early on, even if you were acting so appealing.

Wanda was barely able to focus on absolutely anything else other than the intrusive thoughts of corrupting your innocent sweet self. The way you were being now was already so perfect, needy yet a little air headed. She honestly could’ve went with it and had you do anything at that moment, but there was still something she wanted to do to really hit the nail. To make you as flustered as possible.

So once the two of you had an ordinary dinner, Wanda only gently placing her hand on your thigh under the table, she told you to go pick any movies of your liking while she insisted on cleaning. At first you wanted to refuse and help her, but you knew she’d just coax you into not doing it. And so you were there on the couch, clueless, waiting for her as you set up the tv. Skipping through the many selections of films, you found none of them interesting. But then again all you had in mind was Wanda.

Speaking of her, she came around the corner of couch, sitting beside you on the soft cushions. Her arm reached behind you on your lower back, pulling you in by the waist to snuggle up with her. By that action, your head was made to lean against your shoulder. But then her other hand came up to cup the side of your face that wasn’t pressed up, making you look up at her as she spoke with that sweet loving tone.

“Do you need mommy to do anything else for you, sweetie?”

You froze hearing that word, that name. You’ve never heard her say it in such a non sexual way, yet it made you just as nervous and immediately hot. Your face burned as you looked at her, only to see a normal expression as she stared back with a small curve of her pretty lips. “U-Um no, I’m fine…” you replied with a quiet mumble, turning back to the television screen that shined brightly in the dark atmosphere of the living room despite the sun still out.

Once you looked away, Wanda smirked to herself and pulled you slightly closer. She knew this would be your breaking point, where your head is the most fogged up and thoughtless. And she was right of course. Your entire body felt weird, like it couldn’t help but slightly tremble, some areas more than others. It was similar to chills, except heat replaced the coolness. Even the clothes you wore seemed to tighten around you, making it difficult to breathe the right way. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Wanda…”

“Hm?” She hummed, answering you as she turned back again to look down. She saw how flushed you were, your eyes in a daze. You lightly tugged on her shirt, too, and it made her own stomach flutter.

“Can we… you know,” you tried hinting at what you wanted, too embarrassed to say it out loud. Yet Wanda insisted you should, teasing you in the process as she held a slight smile.

“I don’t think I know, honey. Just tell me.”

“Mm can we- um do something besides watch a movie?”

“Like what?” She continued to egg you on, knowing how nervous you get, and especially shy. But she loved to see it.

Your brows frowned once you sensed her teasing, making you pout with a slight puff in one cheek. It made Wanda’s smug face contort into a knowing grin as she snickered quietly. Then she talked for you.

“You want me to take care of you?

You nodded slowly at her question, your face still ablaze. Your thighs also began to squeeze together to ease the feeling between. “Please… mommy,” you mumbled under breath, looking away from her gaze after as you felt like shrinking. Wanda’s eyes widened hearing you, her heart beginning to race too. She really did have you now.

Peeling herself from you and standing up from the couch, she took ahold of your hand to get up and follow her as she led the way to the bedroom. Once you two were in, she gestured you to sit on the bed, also walking in the same direction but standing once you sat. Contemplating you, she asked a simple question.

“Can you do mommy one little favor?”

You looked up at her, curious as she asked somewhat hesitantly. Noticing the way she licked her lips, you figured it was something she’s been thinking about for some time. So you nodded, wanting to just do whatever. That way you could get what you wanted quicker.

She turned away from where you sat for a moment, towards the nightstand by her side of the bed. Pulling the top drawer open, her other hand reached in to grab an object before slowly taking it out. Then you saw what it was, bunny ears. Wanda went back to her original position, facing you now as she held the fuzzy accessory in front of you.

“Wear this for me, please?”

Wanda figured you’d be uncertain, maybe finding the idea ridiculous, but today was different. You were already so light headed and pliable, she knew you’d be more likely to agree now more than any other time. Ergo, she was met with your hand gently coming up to take the larger ears from her. Before you could though, she stopped you. “Let me put them on you.”

Your hand backed away and fell back down onto the bed, allowing her to place it on your head instead. Wanda spread the band of the ears open, letting it be wide enough to comfortably wrap around the top half. The ends were soft behind your real ears, and you actually enjoyed the feeling despite the lingering thoughts of being self conscious. But they were buried within your clouded mind, proving Wanda right. She was also enjoying the sight before her, yet that was maybe an understatement.

Her teeth bit on her lower lip as she carefully put them on you and not just from her preciseness but rather other reasons- because of how good you were for listening and the way you looked. For however long, shes been waiting to see you adorned as such. She was obsessed with the way it sat on top, one ear perked up while the other was slightly down. The light pink of the inner part contrasted with the brighter outer white, suiting and complementing the rest of your appearance. Wanda breathed out heavily, taking her hands off of you before looking away for a moment, and ordering you in tender manner, “Undress while Mommy puts on her strap, okay?”

The second she brought that up, you felt as if that one fake limp ear could’ve lifted in pure excitement. Again, you quickly listened to her and took off every single piece of fabric on you. You watched her mirror you, except strapping on a silicone toy to her center. The temperature of your face rose as you stared, examining how big the familiar piece was. You’ve taken it plenty of times to know how much damage it could do if Wanda wasn’t careful, but you had no worries at this moment, only thinking about her finally making you and herself feel good after a long day of deprivation.

Your eyes trailed her movements as she moved to sit down at the edge of the bed, then looking up at you before telling you to go and sit between her legs which were already spread apart. You took a few steps, going between her two limbs before bending down and kneeling. With your bottom pressed against the heels of your feet, you politely had your hands on your lap as you waited for her to tell you what to do. Although, you already had a sense of where this was going.

“Why don’t you get mommy’s cock ready? You can take your time,” she uttered softly, looking down and softly grasping your chin in which moved in her hold as you nodded again. She smiled at you, moving the strap to have the tip pressed against your lips. At that, you opened your mouth wide enough to take some of it in. However, you backed away nervously, letting it leave once it became too much. It was your first time doing this, sucking or even having her in your mouth. She noticed your hesitance, and only wheedled her way to make you more willing. “It’s ok, it’ll fit baby. You trust me right?”

You shyly hummed a yes, before you felt her make you open up again, this time her taking the lead and putting her hand behind your head as she slowly put her strap in your mouth. A loose strand of hair was out till she gently put it behind your ear. It was around a little more than two inches deep that you heard her praise.

“There you go, you’re taking it so well bunny.”

Your eyes widened, looking up at her. The new found pet name made a wave of arousal throughout your body, some of it slipping out of you and spreading its way around your inner thighs. You made a small whimper around her as she pushed your head down farther, and it had you shut your eyes as well. That was until you felt her lightly tap your face, making you open them again. “Keep looking up at me baby.”

You did as she said, with a doe-eyed appearance. Wanda bit lightly on her tongue, trying to find ways to control herself and not drive into your pretty mouth deeper than you can handle. You were just so so adorable, obeying her as you looked the way you did. Instead of pushing her hips up, she continued to bring your head down, making it hit the back of your throat as you gagged. Tears quickly pricked up. The intense eye contact was difficult to keep up despite the growing need, but you wanted to please the woman you loved.

Drool found its way around your lips, some of it dripping down to your chin as Wanda continued to make you choke on her. She didn’t think she could last another second of seeing you like this without actually applying more force with her body, so she pulled your head away by your hair from the back, making sure to not mess up the clean look of the bunny ears at least. She wiped the saliva off your face after the strap left your mouth with a small pop. Wanda then guided you to go on top of her, straddling her lap in a gradual manner.

“Mommy’s gonna make you feel really good, but I need you to do one more thing, okay?” she muttered, placing her hands underneath your thighs to pull up enough to have the top of her cock to press against your center. She felt the slickness, too, then leisurely lowering you. Most of it was in as you softly moaned, staring down at it disappearing within you. Wanda did the same before looking back up, placing her hands on your hips. You clenched your jaw, the feeling of her length inside you a bit larger than you remembered as she adjusted underneath you.

“Mommy, I-it’s big…”

“I know, I know… just go up and down. Can you do that? Bounce on mommy’s cock?” she spoke with a condescending tone, as if you really were a pet. Still, her words made you squeeze tighter around her, and it was enough to persuade you. You timidly mumbled a small “ok” and languidly lifted yourself up and then went back down, the tip pressing against your cervix already.

Wanda watched every movement you made, her eyes trailing from your center all the way up to the tip of the cutesy ears. As the sun was beginning to set, the soft yellow glow shined through the curtains of the window, making your skin have that certain golden hour look. She was in awe with how everything went accordingly. As you rode her strap, the singular drooped ear bounced along with you, flopping up and down. A part of you felt humiliated at the thought of Wanda seeing you like this, so you looked anywhere but her. She noticed it though.

“What, bunny? Are you shy?” her voice sounded like it dripped with honey. You let out a quiet whine of her name, the hold on her shoulders changing into your arms wrapped around her neck instead as you buried your face into the crook of it. Wanda lightly chuckled as she saw you getting more embarrassed, and rested her chin on you as she moved a bit closer to your ear. Her hand came up smoothly against your back, rubbing it to calm your nerves.

“Aw you are… you can’t even look me my sweet girl,” she said teasingly, and it only made you screw your eyes shut as you kept your face there. The combination of the smell of her perfume and her small gestures on your body made you dizzy. You were still riding her strap, though slower now, and Wanda let it happen as she waited for you to be a bit more docile.

After a minute or two passed, she moved the hand that was comfortingly on your back to the side of your face, leaning back to get you out of that position. Wanda made you look directly at her, and then you noticed how out of it she looked too. Once she was able to see you, her eyes became completely blown out, her pupils black with a thin ring of light green around them. Suddenly, you felt a harsher grip on your waist that lifted you up a bit, only to be met with Wandas hips roughly snapping upward. You winced and let out a small cry, your hands closing up in fists from the sharp pain. “M-Mommy slower, please…”

“Fuck, I’m sorry baby,” she huffed out, gulping down as she kept her gaze on you. With your eyebrows pulled together and your eyes glossed over from the continuous remarks she made about you, she couldn’t help but feel some sort of cute aggression take over her. She kept thrusting into your pussy, though less harder than the first thrust, as you let out noises on top of her. Her bottom lip quivered with need, uttering “you’re so cute, I can’t help it.”

As you began to ease up to the feeling and size, your mewls turned into pleasurable moans. Wanda took it as a sign to quicken her pace under you, and once she did, she also pulled you down onto her. The impact of it hit a spot you didn’t even know of. Her breathing sped up into pants, “I don’t think mommy can hold herself back anymore…”

Consequently, her strap aggressively fucking into your cunt made you dumbfounded. Wanda could’ve barely kept it together, and to take out some of her sexual frustration, she came forward and bit the lower part of your neck. The soft flesh becoming easily punctured, and causing you to whimper more. “Shhh, I know, it’s so hard to think when my cocks so deep inside you,” she pulled away from the now bruised spot, and made your head tilt down to allow her lips to crash into yours. The make out was rushed and hungry, moans spilling from both of you. A trail of spit followed suit as Wanda drew back. “But it’s ok, you don’t have to think right now. Just be a good dumb bunny for mommy.”

You shakily nodded, not even sure of what she meant. At this point you’ve gone fully non verbal, another sign to Wanda that she could just about do whatever she wanted with you. So compliant and easy, she was fucking obsessed with you. Her eyes continued to zero in on your expression and the white fuzzed up ears, which made her force herself into you rougher and deeper. She was even letting out her own soft groans similar to your noises.

The built up feeling within your burning tummy was starting to unravel as Wanda continuously hit your g-spot. You held tightly on her shoulders for stability, letting her just take out all of her frustrations on your sore but greedy pussy. She was getting a lot more brutal than what you’d expect. The room was filled with the sounds of squelching, skin coming into contact, and heavy breathing. Your fingers began to curl into her skin, making your nails painfully dig in and signaling her that were extremely close to cumming.

“Are you gonna make a mess on mommy’s lap? Yeah I bet you are...” she panted in your ear again with the prior higher pitched tone, making you tighten impossibly more around her cock. Still, she able to push through. The moment those words left her mouth, you shook your head yes vigorously. Wanda would usually make you beg and ask for permission, but she knew the state you were in right now. “Mhm, cum for me bunny.”

On command you shuddered above her, a wet mess leaving you and around her strap. The sensation you felt was almost unbearable, just so sensitive, yet amazing as your brain had nothing to think about. Your climax was all that you hoped for after such a long tedious day of teasing. It made you feel the fire at the pit of your stomach burn at its peak. Immediately, you fell limp on top as your legs shakily gave up from its support. But Wanda kept you up, enough for her to still bury herself into you and letting you ride out your orgasm.

Once it fully passed and started to overstimulate, you whined and made her stop. Thankfully she did, even if a part of her wanted to do more to your poor body. Her arms wrapped around your middle and made your chest, which was rising in and out rapidly, press against the side of her face. She comfortingly held you like this for a moment, making sure you caught your breath as she listened to sound of your heartbeat. Her head then moved back up to look at you, “You’re so good, sweetie. Mommy’s perfect girl.” She spoke with tenderness, making sure you continued to stay in that floaty headspace even after, especially after.

You couldn’t help but lean down and place a chaste kiss to her lips unexpectedly. But Wanda sensed your clinginess per usual. As you detached, her mouth formed into a smile, the one you loved so much as the lines around the sides became more noticeable.

“I love you so much, you have no idea,” she murmured. Even as the sun began to become out of sight, you knew her cheeks were red. She placed more feather like kisses around your neck and up your jaw. She didn’t think you’d respond back, so she kept on the aftercare and words of praise. “My shy little bunny, so perfect.”

You blushed profusely as you felt a flutter in your lower stomach, the name making you more giddy despite the many uses of it already. You still needed more time to get used to it- that is if you ever will.

“I love you too mommy…”

Your meek voice caught her off guard, but it turned purely sweet as her grin grew larger. She held your face again, kissing you another time, this time longer. Look at you still trying so hard to please her.

It was obvious that Wanda would’ve done anything for you. And it was the same with you, of course. So likely, next time she’ll have you doing another thing for her the same way as today. Maybe an additional fluffy tail that she already had in mind.

[giuseppe-yuki]

emotional support animal

yuki tsunoda x bunny shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.3k

warnings: a few curse words, a little violence

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: you're labelled as yuki's "emotional support animal" until you become a little more than that

picture credits from pinterest :)

“ughhh!” yuki groans dramatically into the decorative pillow. as he lies face down horizontally across the sofa, he kicks his feet like a baby throwing a tantrum. you sit stool on the other side of his drivers room, sipping a sugar-free red bull, unimpressed. outside, the sun has just risen above the skyline, marking the beginning of the day.

“get up!!” you scold, “michael says you have to be out of the room and onto the track in the next ten minutes- or else!” 

face still buried in the pillow, he mutters out a response. “do i have to? when i have workouts, especially in the morning, it just ruins my whole day.” 

“um, yes?” you say incredulously. how michael italiano ever got yuki to do anything physically demanding, you would never know. “besides, you’re not even working out today- you’re just doing your track walk around red bull ring.” 

your boyfriend turns around on the sofa, hair ruffled and team kit fairly wrinkled. he stares at the ceiling for a second, as if contemplating something. suddenly, he pushes himself up off the couch and shuffles towards you. “what if… you do that bunny thing you usually do so i can carry you around the track? that way you can come with me on the track walk, and it’ll make it less boring.” 

to an outsider, it sounds like a loving boyfriend wanting to be with his girlfriend. but you knew yuki too well. “you’re only saying that so you have an excuse to leave if michael asks you to go to workout after the track walk, aren’t you?”

he pouts. “no i’m not! i swear” he says unconvincingly.

“okayyy, baby” you reply. "whatever you say." you take one last sip of your drink and turn towards the door. “let’s go.” 

by the time yuki arrived at the meeting spot with michael, you had already fallen asleep in his arms. it was quite comfortable actually, with yuki’s hand cupped protectively underneath your paws, body in loaf position, and head tucked into his side. since it was still early into the day, the heat radiating off his body felt so good against the chilly morning air. his arms rocked you gently while he walked, which only gave you more of a reason to fall asleep. 

it wasn’t until he giggled a little too hard about a joke that michael made about bottoming that you finally awoke from your slumber. 

yuki notices you blinking your sleepy eyes immediately and smiles at you in his arms. he leans forwards, gives you a kiss top off your fluffy head, and whispers into your soft ears, “fell asleep huh? And you were the one getting mad at me for trying to take a nap on the couch!” 

you nibble a little bit on his shirt to show your annoyance, but he just giggles and gives you a few pats on the head.

michael looks onto the scene with an amused look on his face. “i originally wasn’t gonna ask, but what’s up with the bunny?”

“err, well shes my…emotional support animal.” yuki says, giving you a few extra pats for emphasis. 

emotional support animal? that was a new one.

yuki carried you everywhere the rest of race weekend, after the news of his new "emotional support animal" circled around the paddock. people approached you both often, causing you to reach a point of mini stardom with the paddock staff and younger fans, with guenther steiner asking to pet you, suzie wolff wondering if she could hold you, and little girls dressed in full ferrari attire requesting a picture of you. honestly, you didn’t mind it one bit, because you just had to sit in yuki’s arms and you could get free pets and head scratches the whole day. he even brought you to the media pen to keep him company. it wasn’t until a vcarb fan event that it started getting a little rough.

“yuki, may i pet your bunny?” a sweet looking little boy says, approaching him. yuki had placed you on the ground because was mostly signing posters and taking pictures, so you hopped closer towards the boy, as if saying yes. he throws a glance at his mother, who is chatting up your boyfriend about the results that weekend, and then promptly throws himself at you. you hop back in surprise, but he has already caught you in his arms. he roughly pets you, and even yanks on your ears, hard. 

you let out a squeak of pain, and that’s when yuki immediately snatches you back from the boy’s arms. he holds you close against his chest, comforting you. “do not do that.” he chastises the boy. his mother, realizing what he has done, grabs the boy quickly, apologizes, and rushes off. 

if that boy held you for a second more, you surely would have bit his finger off, you thought to yourself. you hesitantly let others pet you, but stayed on high alert. it wouldn’t happen again, right? 

this time, a man in full vcarb attire stumbles his way towards yuki. in his hand is bloody mary, topped with a piece of celery and lemon on the rim of the glass. he’s clearly a little drunk. still, your boyfriend smiles at him kindly and offers to sign the cap that the fan is wearing. the drunk fan yanks his cap off of his head in rush to give it to him, accidentally sloshing some of his drink onto you.

are you actually kidding me right now? you think, a little pissed off. that’s gonna be so hard to get off of my fur!

you turn around, thumping your foot, and nibbles on the fan’s shoelaces as a warning. the fan immediately notices this, and roughly knocks you aside with his boot. 

your eyes widen, and you scurry back behind yuki’s feet.

yuki immediately drops his sharpie and the fan’s hat and picks you up. “bro, what the fuck? you did not just kick my bunny,” he says angrily. “she was chewing your shoelaces because you just spilled your drink all over her!” he points to the red liquid and piece of celery leaf clearly stuck to the side of your fur.

“it doesn’t matter; just sign my hat. i paid a lot of money to be here!” the fan responds, nonchalantly. “besides, its probably some stupid wild bunny that climbed out of the trees from around the circuit. why do you care anyways?”

sensing an issue, daniel, who was signing caps next to yuki, stood up and called security over. fans in line had their phones out, recording the drama that was unfolding. you shrink back into yuki’s arms, a little offended from the fan's words.

before yuki could respond, the man reaches forward and pushes him, hard. your boyfriend stumbles back a few steps, but catches himself. 

you gasp internally. oh there is no way that guy just touched my man like that! you launch yourself out of yuki’s arms and directly at the man, claws out. you scratch and bite every surface you could reach. by the time security arrived, the man had a big cut on his face, multiple bite marks and a torn up shirt. 

when news of the incident circulated around the paddock, you were rebranded as yuki’s “attack bunny.” you laughed when you found out that night, lying horizontal on the plush hotel bed on yuki. you hold out your phone to his face level, showing him the new article on your phone.

“look baby, i’m not your emotional support animal anymore; i’m now your attack bunny!” you giggle, head in his lap.

yuki laughs too, and tucks a strand of your hair behind your face. his face immediately morphs into one of concern though. “are you sure you are okay though?” he asks for the thousandth time that day. “i know i asked you after the incident but i want to make sure you are actually okay, and you don’t have any secret broken ribs or anything.”

“yes, i’m fine,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “that weirdo just scared me, that’s all. i’m pretty sure he’s the one that’s not okay after i was done with him!” 

 “okay,” yuki says, smiling down at you in his lap. “i guess now i know i don’t need security anymore- i have a reliable attack bunny to protect me!” 

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary @mbappebby

[imujings]

[w.jh] lovescratch!

synopsis. | your plan was to have your heart stolen by the cat of your dreams. the universe, however, has a different idea in mind, and you somehow find your heart beating not only for the orange tabby with the notched ear, but also the soft-hearted animal shelter worker who steals glances at you every chance he gets.

♯ pairing(s). | animal shelter worker!jun x adopter!reader, various shelter worker!svt & reader ♯ genre(s). | strangers to lovers, pining, fluff ♯ wc. | 5.9k... whoops ♯ warnings. | cursing, mentions of blood/cuts, svt chaotic antics (because i have to always remind everyone that these men give us second hand embarrassment)

jay’s musings. | a very happy (albeit unfortunately late) birthday to @junplusone !! i know i already said this to u thru dms but i’m so so sooo glad to have met u and i hope we continue to be silly together :3 i love talking to u!! identity v WILL be kind to u one day trust. i hope you enjoy <3! also, thank you to my lovely @fallminlove for brainstorming this with me hehe

Stepping out of your car into the chilly winter weather, you gaze up at the building with a cocked brow. The Google Maps images you had carefully studied weeks before, deep into the research of what pet shelters were in your area, looked nothing like what was in front of you.

Serenity Shelter was a rather well-kept building, if the sparkling string lights in the window along with the various colorful drawings of cats and dogs on the glass were anything to go by. You eye their sign hanging above the front door with a smile, the shelter’s logo of soft rose pink paw prints etched into it with obvious care. In the distance, you can hear the faint delighted noises of animals, noting the high wired fence that surrounded the back of the shelter.

Minghao really knew his animal shelters, you conclude with a chuckle.

Your boots crunch on the thin layer of leftover snow from the blizzard a few days back as you walk towards the door. While it seems like this shelter takes the time to shovel the snow in their small parking lot to the best of their ability, along with clearing the pathway leading up front, it appears they haven’t had the chance yet to take care of last night’s flurries. Your breath curls into the air, misty and wisping, and a puff of relief escapes you when your hand lands on the metal door handle. You’re eager to get inside, both to get out of the cold and to greet the future that awaits you.

Adopting a cat has been on your mind since you moved out from your family home. You had a strict requirement when searching for apartments that the landlord must be welcoming of pets, already dedicated to the idea that once you were well-adjusted with a stable income, you would bring home a new friend to spend your days with.

You’ll admit: it’s lonely, living alone.

Many days in your apartment were spent in silence or with the company of your favorite Spotify playlist. Some days you’ll imagine how, if you had a cat, you’d get distracted doing chores by their silly antics—and a deeper tucked away part of you sometimes even indulges in the idea of another hand brushing yours, pulling you to dance with them in the kitchen as your pet watches from the sidelines.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of those thoughts. Daydreams are just daydreams.

Your work friend, Minghao, had been the one to suggest Serenity Shelter, claiming he had friends from college who ended up with various jobs there. He had even held up his siamese cat, Tiramisu, over FaceTime once while explaining how he fell in love with him at first sight in the play area.

Tiramisu had sniffed the camera with an interest like no other before promptly licking it. Minghao, distraught, pulled the kitty away with gentle scolding, while you had laughed and internally promised yourself you would check out the place when you had the chance.

“Tell them you know me,” Minghao advised you yesterday when you revealed your plans of finally visiting the shelter. “Might help in getting a discount, or something.”

Discount or not, you were grateful for his help.

As you step into the shelter, a little bell above the door jingles, making the man behind the front counter raise his head in acknowledgement. You smile, nervousness coating your features.

“Hello, I’m here for the adoption appointment I scheduled,” you greet politely.

The man tilts his head with a slight nod, beginning to click away on the computer in front of him. He must have decided that his glasses are a little too low on the bridge of his nose, because he pushes them up without hesitation as he looks at you a second time, inquiring about your name.

After you confirm it, along with your birthday, his lips tug upwards in a smile. “You’re all set. Jun should be here in a moment to take you back to the kennel area.”

“Thank you…” you pause, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your coat, realizing you don’t know his name.

“Wonwoo!” comes a panicked shout from behind the door leading to the kennels.

The two of you turn to the noise, just in time to see another man burst through the door with a frantic look on his face. His straight dark brown hair is messy, the beauty mark on his cheek scrunching up from the way his mouth is pulled into a frown. He barely even registers your presence before he’s hauling the newly named Wonwoo out of his comfy receptionist chair.

“Hyung, the girls are fighting again and I can’t find Jun,” he cries. “Please help!”

As if on cue, a few distant but high-pitched caterwauls can be heard from behind the door the man just came out of. Wonwoo sighs and pushes his glasses up again.

“Seokmin-ah, I can’t help,” he retorts. “I’m the receptionist. I have to stay here and man the front desk. Like I’m doing right now.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared!”

Wonwoo just laughs. “I think you’re projecting. Where’s Joshua?”

“With a client in the adoption processing room,” Seokmin whines, finally taking notice of you. “Oh!—I’m so sorry, hello. Please excuse me. Are you here for an appointment?”

He bows a bit too formally for the situation at hand. Stifling your own laugh, you smile into your fist and bow politely in turn.

“Yes, I’m hoping to meet some animals,” you chirp happily. “Do you need help though? It sounds like a cat fight back there.”

Seokmin hesitates, his eyes flickering between you and the receptionist for a few moments. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” the shorter man ultimately waves you off, grinning in an attempt to appear more confident. “You’re a visitor! Wouldn’t be fair to ask you to do my job for me.”

Another faint yowl sounds. Your eyes widen and Seokmin flinches.

Wonwoo turns to you, seemingly having come to a decision in the time that it takes for his coworker’s fingers to start fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. “Are you any good with cats, by chance?”

By the time you’re on your way to the play area, you’ve become pretty familiarized with Seokmin. You learn that he’s a new-ish hire, an animal care attendant who has dreams of becoming a shelter manager one day, and as he rambles on you find yourself smiling.

Behind the door from the receptionist area was a small room with a sink. “For sanitation purposes,” Seokmin had explained while you rinsed your hands. “Just so that we keep the animals as safe as possible.”

He now was currently leading you down another hallway and through another door (there were so many doors, you mused in awe, but Seokmin was quick to reassure it was to bar animals from escaping). This one has a sign that reads in all capital letters, “PLEASE CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU.” Your hands shake in anticipation. As if reading your mind, Seokmin beams at you before opening the door.

“Careful, now.”

And the sight takes your breath away.

It’s well-lit with warm lighting coating the hallway, and pleasantly clean. Dozens of kennels line both sides. Dogs press their muzzles against their cages, tongues lolling out eagerly to greet you. In other cages, there are cats who lazily blink or raise their tails in a hello, watching you with intrigued eyes. Each cage seems to house a fuzzy bed and a couple of toys, which delights you—you were always a hater of barren enclosures.

To you and Seokmin’s surprise, at the far end of the hallway another worker is cooing at a hissing cat through the bars of its enclosure. Another cat is squirming woefully in his arms. The shelter staff member next to you brightens up immediately at the sight and hurries towards him with you hastily on his heels.

“Hyung! There you are! Were you able to get them to stop?”

When the man startles and meets your gaze, your breath is taken away a second time.

Oh, wow. Double kill.

His dark brown eyes remind you of a cup of hot mocha, heightening your senses and invigorating you to the bone. The man brushes a few strands of equally dark brown hair out of his face as the orange tabby in his free arm mewls pitifully and repeatedly. His eyes never leave yours as you take each other in, blissfully unaware of the way Seokmin is looking between you two like a man caught in crossfire.

“Hello,” you finally croak out, throat suddenly dry. “I’m uh… here for an appointment.”

Your words jolt the man back into work mode. He coughs, regaining his composure and nodding cordially. “I’m Jun. This is Snoop.”

Snoop, on the other hand, seems very keen on getting back to clawing at the calico through the cage bars. You giggle at the way the animal’s limbs flail in the air, utterly helpless. Snoop is adorable, with a cream-furred underbelly and whiskers that gleam in the shelter light. Jun tuts and holds the cat away like he’s Rafiki from The Lion King, showcasing baby Simba to the world.

“Easy, girl,” he mutters. Seokmin takes a step back for his own safety.

“Hello, Snoop,” you smile, peering closer at the interesting slitted ear the cat sports. “That’s a cool battle scar you’ve got. Where’d you get it?”

The tabby eyes you warily from Jun’s arms, choosing not to respond. Instead, she pushes an unsheathed paw onto his chest for support against him before beginning to wriggle around for the umpteenth time. The shelter worker grunts in displeasure and flashes you another drawn out stare.

“Sorry, she’s a little untrustworthy of strangers. Snoop—be nice. Come on, at least look at them.”

“It’s alright,” you relent heartily, your smile growing like the sun after a solar eclipse; Jun quickly looks away and it has you aching for his attention again already, eyes chasing after the wisps of his hair.

Seokmin clears his throat and you wince, feeling caught. You instantly find interest in anything else other than the man you met barely two minutes ago. What were you, some kind of middle schooler who's been caught blatantly staring at their crush from across the classroom during lecture? The thought mortifies you. You haven’t felt this way in a good while.

To your left, Seokmin only giggles. You side eye him as he teases his bottom lip between his teeth to disguise the smile he’s fighting. For someone who just met you, he looks a lot like someone who’s uneasily giddy about knowing something you don’t.

Daring to take a peek at the worker in front of you again, Jun’s face appears equally as taken off guard. You momentarily wonder if he would make the same face from a surprise kiss.

Then you completely bat the idea out of the baseball field that is your mind, praying for a home run so that you wouldn’t embarrass yourself any further than you already have.

“I—uh. I need to bring her to the med room real quick for a check up,” Jun’s eyes flicker between you and Snoop. “I’ll see you around, though?”

“Yeah,” you reply slowly. “I’ll see you around.”

It’s quiet between the three of you as Jun bows his head and starts to walk in the opposite direction. You find yourself craning your neck slightly to watch as Snoop finally settles against his shoulder, narrowing her eyes at you with what you would hope is curiosity. Her tail curls in the air behind her, long and plumy.

A few dogs bark as Jun walks by, to which the man raises a calm hand to let them lick through the bars, smiling contentedly. Your eyes travel from a blonde labrador’s graying muzzle to Jun’s pinky finger that’s decorated with a silver ring, then to his wrist where a black banded bracelet wraps around, then to his thick brown corduroy jacket—

Seokmin is saying your name. You snap out of your trance and gnaw on your top lip out of nervous habit.

He seems amused when he asks, “Ready to meet more animals? I think some of those cats behind us are staring into your soul.”

Trying to get your bearings, you turn to face him fully, watching the way he tries—and successfully fails once more—to tone down his mocking grin. A huff escapes past you before you can regulate your breath.

“Yeah, lead the way.”

You get home a little past seven, feeling unsettlingly empty.

The apartment welcomes you in silence. Your shuffling echoes through the foyer as you slip off your snow-slicked boots and tuck them neatly in your closet, along with your heavy winter coat. A sigh leaves your mouth, and you take your time rummaging through your kitchen for leftovers to eat before you head to bed, your mind drowning in its own thoughts.

You can’t get Snoop’s scored ear out of your head. The divot makes your heart clench, beating a little too fast for your liking. And along with the orange tabby, that damn dashing shelter worker you met today wasn’t much help in stopping yourself from having palpitations, either.

After Jun left, Seokmin let you wander around the kennel hallway alone, disappearing off to who-knows-where for a few minutes as you tried your best to acquaint yourself with the animals.

A white himalayan named Orchata had rubbed himself against his cage bars to feel your fingers in his fur, purring loudly, while the young russian blue dubbed Spark a few cages down peered at you worriedly from inside her fuzzy hut. While Orchata was definitely sweet, you weren’t entirely sure if you could handle his long-furred coat throughout the seasons, bidding him a soft goodbye and a promise to visit again if you had the time.

You even met the calico Snoop had apparently been fighting with earlier—her name was Button—and just as you expected, her eyes were as smooth and iridescent as her namesake, completed by her pearly white teeth that shone when she yawned. When your hand initially brushed the cage, Button hissed in warning, flicking her tail lowly across the floor. However, after a few minutes of murmuring abstract phrases to her, she settled into a loafed position near you, blinking slowly. The sight made you smile.

She didn’t have the same charm as Snoop did, though. That was for sure.

After meeting a few more cats, none of them quite matching the missing puzzle piece from your home, you made the tough decision to leave. You had a few more shelters that you were planning to visit in the upcoming days, anyways—maybe another cat would captivate your attention and heart like you wanted.

Saying goodbye to Seokmin and weaving through the hallway, you had passed by Snoop’s cage. It was empty when you left, much to your disappointment. Wonwoo offered a smile in farewell as you opened the door, the bell above you giving its endearing little song as a send-off.

And just like that, you parted ways with Serenity Shelter without another chance to see an orange ringed tail or big dark brown eyes.

Shutting off the faucet in your bathroom, you brush your teeth the tiniest bit more hard than usual, trying to push Jun and Snoop out of your brain. The toothpaste stings on your tongue and you spit it out into the sink harshly. It felt like a part of you had slipped through your fingers today; a piece of broken glass, maybe, for your currently incomplete stained-window of life. One that escaped your hands and left small metaphorical cuts along the skin in its wake.

Was this what it was like to truly want?

Trudging to your bed, you collapse onto your duvet, burying your face in the soft material and groaning. Snoop might’ve been the first shelter cat you met, but she definitely wasn’t and won’t be the last one you meet.

There will be other cats, you try to reason with yourself, eyelids becoming heavy.

Of course, as if the universe loved dangling missed chances in front of you, Jun crosses your mind, causing you to involuntarily shudder and burrow deeper into your blanket.

You didn’t even know the man and he held an embarrassingly impressive chokehold on you. It made you feel incredibly vulnerable—like a peeled orange ready to be torn into with sharp fingernails of judgement. A single rough handling, and you would be reduced to nothing but pulped juice, only good for a few days before turning sour. Your sleep-encased thoughts berate yourself for falling for someone you had a five minute long conversation with. There will be other cats, and other pretty shelter workers.

You were sure of it.

Your eyes finally drift to a close, and that night, you dream of tufts of orange fur accompanied by warm coffee brown eyes.

You’re here again.

Two animal shelters and many unsuccessful attempts at finding a cat that nips at your heart later, you find yourself back at Serenity Shelter, scrutinizing the paw printed logo like it could solve all of your life’s problems.

Today, thankfully, nurtured slightly higher temperatures than the day of your last visit. The piles of snow had melted to concrete pavement, and you were able to opt for sneakers today instead of your winter boots, their rough soles scruffing against the road as you made your way to the familiar string-lighted windows.

Wonwoo’s at the front desk this time, too, his head lifting at the sound of your entrance. He pushes his thick-framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose as his lips stretch into a smile.

“Hello. Back again so soon?”

His teasing tone doesn’t go unmissed by you, and you chuckle in reply. You stride up to the counter, nodding your head with a matching expression, gaze meeting his.

“Yup. Someone here caught my eye last time, so I’m back.”

As he goes through the mandatory identity verification process, his smile turns into something more akin to a smirk. “Someone, huh? Just letting you know, Jun isn’t in today. Seokmin will be taking care of you this time around.”

You can’t help it; your eyes dart down to the floor in disappointment and you purse your lips to refrain from having them fall into a frown.

“Oh…” you trail off. “That’s okay. I’m here for Snoop, actually. Not Jun.”

“I never said you were here for Jun,” Wonwoo’s eyes sparkle with mischief, and you feel your cheeks heat up at his knowing stare, hating how he can read you like an open book when it’s only the second time you’ve interacted. “This is an adoption shelter, after all.”

“Right. An adoption shelter.”

A few minutes later, Seokmin enthusiastically leads you back to the kennel area, waving his hands in the air excitedly at your reappearance at the shelter. He gives you an update on how all of the animals are doing while you wash your hands, and you never fail to make conversation with him just as earnestly, loving the way he perks up at your voice.

When you’re let through the door again, you make a beeline straight to Snoop’s enclosure. Unlike last time, her cage is occupied, and you find her in the middle of a nap at the back corner of her cage. She opens one eye—pale and green—before letting it fall close once more. Her nicked ear flicks in acknowledgement at your presence.

Seokmin is close behind you, his tone soft so as to not disturb the orange tabby too much. “You know, Jun is really fond of her.”

You hum lightly as a response, carefully lifting your fingers to the bars to get the cat accustomed to your scent. “Really now?”

“Yeah. I was told this secondhand, but Jun found Snoop when she was a kitten—maybe four years ago? Five? He couldn’t find her mom and so he took her here. Pretty sure she’s the reason he even ended up working at this shelter in the first place.”

“Why doesn’t he just adopt her?”

Seokmin shrugs even though you can’t see him. “Landlord doesn’t allow cats, I think? Something like that.”

You’re lost in thought as Snoop stretches, her orange tail curling in satisfaction at the rest she was able to obtain from her sleep. The cat slowly makes her way to your hand on the bar, sniffing your fingers cautiously from a few inches away, and your breath hitches.

“Seokmin, do you think I could bring her to the play area for some alone time?”

Much to your delight, Snoop heads for the mouse toy straight away once she’s put down by Seokmin.

“Let me know when you’re ready to leave,” the worker flashes a smile before he closes the door, the hinges creaking slightly.

The room is painted a robin egg blue, pastel and complimentary to Snoop’s stripes of orange. Various toys litter the ground: a feather on a string, a complicated puzzle that’s no doubt filled with treats, and of course, the mouse squeaker that Snoop is currently brawling with, pouncing on the poor thing with an excited trill.

Your eyes land on the laser pointer nearby. Picking it up, you click the power button, the red dot flashing on the ground. You drag it to where the orange tabby is stationed and watch as her asymmetrical ears stand up in attention right away.

She scrambles for the beam of light and you giggle, indulging the tabby in a game of chase.

Your heart doesn’t feel as burdened as it usually does in your lonely little apartment, but something still feels off, like a stubborn string of pith in an orange slice that you can’t get off. You can’t place your finger on it until Snoop tumbles into the leg of a chair that’s the same shade as Jun’s eyes.

“Careful!” you scold, scurrying over to check if she got hurt in her escapades. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep up with this.”

Snoop looks up at you with large, light green eyes, reminding you of the pure crystal jade bracelets you awe over in stores. She meows and swishes her tail across the floor. You selfishly wish a second pair accompanied hers, deep and rich and onyx, along with the curling smile that you desperately wanted to hear say your name.

Crouching low, you hold out your hand. Snoop peers at you from her place next to the chair leg before padding over, her paws scraping along the floor, and she begins to rub her face against your knuckles. A faint purr rumbles from her chest.

Oh, you were so done for.

And that’s how Jun finds you several hours later—sitting with your back to the wall, Snoop settled in your lap dozing away without a care in the world. The clock on the wall indicates it’s near closing time for the shelter.

You blink in surprise, feeling jarred at the unexpected visit of the man who’s been living in your mind rent free the past few weeks.

“I thought you weren’t in today?”

“Oh—uh. I wanted to check in on Snoop.”

He’s positioned in the door awkwardly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to come in. You take a few moments to drink in the sight of that familiar brown corduroy jacket and the black turtleneck he wears underneath, tight-fitting and snug. Where did he get the stylish jacket from? What was his fashion sense like in other seasons? Did he not get cold easily?

You substitute these questions for something far more in tune with the situation at hand. “You can come in and sit down,” you offer, startling the man out of his own trance.

If someone who didn’t know any better was watching, they’d think you were the worker and he was the adopter, with the way he carefully locks the door behind him and sits down next to you. The brown corduroy slides off his broad shoulders with ease and is nicely folded into a pile on the other side of him.

“I'm thinking of adopting her,” you get straight to the point, carding your fingers through the tabby’s silky fur. “But I wanted to talk to you first. I know you’ve been looking over her for the past few years and that she means a lot to you, but I haven't bonded with a cat like this at all yet. I really like her.”

Silence.

Jun shifts uncomfortably from your right. You don’t dare meet his eyes, even when it’s what your heart aches to do, afraid of what you’ll find in his gaze. Anger? Betrayal? Or worse—indifference?

In the strained lull of silence, Snoop awakens from her slumber, muscles flexing against your jeans.

“Did you know,” Jun starts softly, watching as Snoop bats at her pink nose to itch herself, “I named her Snoop because I found her snooping through the trash as a kitten? She was all alone playing with a used tissue. Couldn’t have been more than six months old.”

You grin, momentarily feeling the tension fade in the room. “Well, at least you didn’t name her Trash. Or Tissue.”

The unexpected and loud laugh that Jun lets out startles you and Snoop, the tabby scampering to her feet in your lap and unsheathing her claws at the noise. You hiss in pain as her claw hooks its way into your forearm, leaving a faint grazing of blood behind.

“Snoop,” you chide amusingly, not even a hint of malice lacing your words, but Jun is frantically reaching for the first aid kit the workers keep in the play area for instances like this. “Look what you did. Now I’m bleeding!”

She bundles innocently off to the corner of the room as Jun disinfects your cut, his fingers sliding along your wrist and sending a shiver down your spine. The heat radiating off of him is so warm it almost has the reverse effect, your mind frozen and tongue feeling like it's stuck to an icicle.

“She does this a lot,” Jun says affectionately.

He draws his touch away from you (much to your displeasure, but that’s a thought to dissect for another time) and rolls up his sleeve to reveal a thin, healed scar in the same area as yours.

You cock your head in question. Jun sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head. “She doesn’t like baths too much. I try to look at it positively and see them as her love language. Like a lovescratch.”

Meeting his eyes yet again, you search the swirls of coffee in them, finding complete adoration.

“When did she get the notch in her ear?” you ask, the question haunting you ever since you first laid eyes on her.

“Got into a fight when she was younger with one of the previous shelter cats,” Jun replies, mirth now swimming in his eyes at the memory. “Her own lovescratch, I guess. Now you match with us.”

Snoop meows, coming back to circle the two of you, obviously put off by not being the center of attention at the moment. The worker scoops her up in his arms and lets her nuzzle against his jawline. His eyes are softened, downcasted at his beloved shelter animal, and you clench your fists. Your heart is rattling against your ribcage, loud and dangerous, and all you can think of are oranges and the meticulous method of peeling back their skin, removing the pith, and squeezing until there’s only pulp.

Temptation. Desire. Want.

All for more things than one.

“Are you going to take good care of her?”

Jun’s question startles you and makes you realize just how tense your hands are. Your knuckles are whitened with stress, and you try your best to relax them as your brain ponders over his inquiry. “Why? Is the adoption process starting right now?”

“Oh, no,” he smiles a little awkwardly. “Just… more for my own sanity.”

You nod at his explanation. “Of course I’ll take good care of her. She deserves a comfortable and loving home, and I’ll do my absolute best to fulfill that role as her caretaker.”

The man is silent again for a minute. You shift from foot to foot, doing your best to keep your spiking nervousness at bay.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, Jun sucks in another breath. “As long as I know she’s in good hands, I’ll be happy. And—uh, your hands are… nice. So.”

A giggle slips past you at his words. Was he trying to flirt with you?

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out your swirling thoughts, surging with an alarming amount of pure want. You can almost taste the orange juice on your tongue. “You know, if you wanted to, you could visit her. At my place. Only if you wanted to though! No pressure. Seriously.”

Real smooth, you inwardly cringe afterwards at your rushed tone. Totally not desperate of you at all.

Thankfully, Jun doesn’t seem to notice your inept attempts at making a move, eyes lighting up and his shoulders loosening. Snoop chirps and pushes a paw into his chest, the man letting out an oomf before steadying himself.

“...Really?”

“Yeah,” you smile, fussing with a strand of your hair. “Considering I get approved to adopt her first, of course.”

Jun meets your eyes. A sweet, citrusy scent fills your senses, and your smile widens as his lips curve upwards.

“That would be cool. I’d like that a lot.”

You ended up adopting Snoop a few days later.

Joshua, the adoption manager, was patient and welcoming throughout the processing of you becoming Snoop’s official owner. You answered his questions with ease, and the verification papers were in your hands before you knew it.

The workers were, inevitably, a mess when you carried Snoop’s carrier through the receptionist area. Seokmin had begged for you to come visit again, saying you helped around more than you thought you did. “I swear, the animals are put under a tranquility spell when they see you,” he had said from his position on the floor, bowing with his head in a prayer before you. “Please come back!”

Wonwoo shed a few tears at the sight of the orange cat—your orange cat, you had giddily realized—peeking out from inside the carrier box. He turned away from you and sniffled quietly, and you had only laughed in reply.

All the way to your car, Jun trailed behind, fretting over if Snoop was comfortable or not in her temporary holder. His fingers continuously brushed your own, insisting that he’ll carry her, and you had let him. You two exchanged contact information with the promise of many nights ahead full with texting and FaceTimes.

That was all about two months ago.

Snoop has settled surprisingly easy into your home, parading around like she owns the place. The foot of your bed has been claimed as hers, curling up on your mattress and kneading her soft paws into the blanket. When she thinks you aren’t looking, she’ll steal the socks from your hamper and will gnaw on them, much to your displeasure. Your favorite is when she begs for treats five minutes after feeding her—because really, who can resist her charms?

Speaking of charms, Jun and you had been regularly messaging each other since you exchanged numbers, conversations drifting from how Snoop is doing, to what you had for breakfast that morning, to if squirrels purposefully forgot where they put their nuts to help the environment.

(For some reason, he is insistent that squirrels are way smarter than humans think. You still aren’t sure whether to let him win the argument or not.)

His words never fail to make your day, lighting up your phone’s screen with a ping! that leaves you in shambles trying to respond as fast as possible. His texts are, additionally, almost always accompanied with little kaomojis that make your heart twist with longing.

FaceTimes always went late into the night, too, the two of you somehow not having enough things to talk about aimlessly. He talks about the shelter, you talk about your work; he gives mukbangs, you narrate your skincare routine. All in all, you’ve come to accept the fact that knowing Jun is one of the greatest gifts the universe has given to you thus far in life.

“Here, I peeled some oranges for us.”

Jun looks up from his place against the foot of your couch. You place the plated orange slices on the coffee table and sit next to him, your hands flying to scratch Snoop’s chin. She’s currently perching on top of Jun’s outstretched legs, rubbing her face along the underside of his chin, and he giggles as he pushes her away.

Your mind wanders back to being unpeeled like an orange, raw and ripe for the taking, ready to be pressed into juice. Maybe not all oranges taste bitter, you muse, as long as they get to grow for long enough.

Everything you want is here, right at your fingertips—all you have to do is take the first dig in.

Before you can say something, though, Jun’s voice cuts through your monologue.

“Thank you for letting me come over.”

He gazes at you from underneath his tousled brown hair, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a tiny and shy smile. Snoop takes this as an opportunity to sniff inquisitively at the piece of orange he had picked up. Jun tsks and boops her nose.

“Not for you,” he teases. “You’ll throw up.”

She wrinkles her nose and backs away. You resist the urge to topple the two of them over with long hugs and soft kisses.

“Of course,” you hum. “I know Snoop really enjoys your company.”

“What about you?” he asks suddenly—tentatively, like he’s a little afraid of the answer.

“Huh?”

Jun hesitates, his eyes following his fingers that are tinkering with the cat’s tail in gentle teasing. “Do you enjoy my company?”

The question takes you aback. You fall quiet for a little, letting your eyes trace over Jun’s pinky ring and the familiar slope of his nose. Your apartment lamp sets his skin aglow in a warm amber, filling you with a sense of calmness you’ve never known before.

“Yeah,” you confess softly. “Yeah, I do.”

You hear the exhale he lets out, eyes flickering up to meet his. “Me too,” he grins and scratches Snoop behind the ears. “Thank you for adopting Snoop. I'm glad it’s you.”

Your own ears burn.

“Thank you for taking care of her. I'm glad it’s you, too.”

Popping an orange slice in your mouth to distract yourself from his gaze, the taste overwhelms you. Your nails dig slightly into the piece you’re currently holding, prickling the skin and letting sticky juice stain your fingers. You lick the juice off and Jun watches you with an emotion you can’t describe.

It’s sweet, tangy, and most of all—it feels right.

#s - @heartepub, @junplusone, @fallminlove, @wheeboo. if you’d like to be notified when new releases drop, don’t hesitate to send in an ask! <3

[ardensregias]

vampire blade x female reader :3 involves biting obviously! predator x prey dynamic, he's gentle (or trying to), yandere-ish? (he wnts to lock u up). just a lil smth i thought of in the shower... sorry if this is ass (っ◞‸◟ c)

the moonlight drapes over your face, illuminating your skin in a soft, cool glow—highlighting the pair of bloody trail flowing down your throat, and blade couldn't be any happier with the fact that he was the only one who got to taste and see and morph you into such a beautiful mess, curled atop his lap like a wounded dove and tucked beneath the safety of his coat that makes up for the lack of warmth in his body.

"...you taste divine," he whispers, composure faltering the longer he presses his nose against the soft skin of your neck, the rise and fall of his chest stuttering when the red liquid drips down his lips, coating them an alluring red, seemingly tempting him to down more, to lay his claim on you already.

but no, not without your permission—not when you're in the brink of passing out.

strange, isn't it? for a cold-blooded predator such as him, who's never shown mercy nor remorse for his bloodbags, to add the term 'hesitation' to his dictionary, all because of this clumsy, fawn-like mortal that has found her way into this unsettling-looking manor deep in the woods (and may or may not have charmed him in the process.)

(he fears that someday, your curiosity will lead you to somewhere distasteful and far more merciless than his territory. his long-dead heart yearns to protect you, shielding you away from all that is harmful in the world, preserving your lamb-like innocence and purity—the only question is... will you let him?)

"need me to stop?" as always, he spoke with no emotion in his voice, yet not even the dim lighting can conceal the concern brimming in his eyes.

in the state of haziness, you took notes of the way they flicker ever so slightly, like a newly lit pair of candles were hiding behind them, and you wonder if his eyes were ever this tender in another's presence.

(the answer is no.)

you use the little energy left in your body to nod, one hand pawing at his chest to shift yourself into a more comfortable position, "'m tired..."

blade doesn't respond, letting the silence settle itself in this room before you finally dozed off. he pulls you flush against his body, planting a series of chilly pecks over the constellation of tiny circular marks he left on your supple skin as he thinks...

is this how it feels to have something to call his own?

a strange feeling—not that he dislikes it.

[rootedinrevisions]

Snowed In With You

SUMMARY: You and Glen spend a cozy weekend together at a cozy mountain where you get the rare chance to slow down and reconnect. With nothing but each other, Glen's dog Brisktet, and the warmth of the fire to keep you company, the weekend becomes a beautiful escape from the world.

A/N: This is the first of a few holiday fics that I have planned or in the works! Please let me know what you guys think with hearts, reblogs, and comments! I love getting feedback from you guys!

WARNINGS: None. Just fluff.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

Snowflakes swirl in the crisp mountain air as your car crunches up the gravel driveway to the cabin Glen has rented for the weekend. You barely have time to put the car in park before the front door creaks open, and Glen steps outside, a grin stretching across his face. Brisket bounds down the steps, tail wagging furiously as he makes a beeline for you.

“Brisket!” You laugh, bending down just as he leaps up, his paws landing on your thighs. His warm tongue darts out to give your cheeks a wet greeting, and you scratch behind his ears with both hands, his soft fur a welcome comfort against the chilly air.

Behind him, Glen strolls towards you. He’s got a hoodie on that’s slightly wrinkled, and his jeans hang just right, as the little bits of snow catch in his slightly messy hair. His smile widens as you stand up and he pulls you into a tight bear hug, lifting you off the ground just enough to make you laugh.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and full of emotion.

You start to answer as Glen sets you back down, but Brisket, not one to be ignored, nudges his way between the two of you, his wet nose pressing insistently against your hand as he stands on his back legs to reach.

Glen chuckles, leaning down and scratching Brisket behind the ears. “Okay, okay, but I get her first, bud.” His voice is playful, but there’s an undertone of something else–longing maybe, that makes your heart flutter.

He looks down at you and leans in, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, as if savoring the moment. The kiss deepens, and you feel the tension of the past month and a half melting away. Being apart for so long while he was filming in London had left an ache you didn’t realize was so deep until now.

Brisket’s sharp bark cuts through the moment, his impatience impossible to ignore. Glen pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he laughs, his breath warm against your skin.

“Guess someone’s feeling left out,” he says with a smirk, stepping back and gesturing toward Brisket, who’s now wagging his tail so hard his entire body wiggles. “Better give him some love before he starts a full-on protest.”

You kneel back down to give Brisket the attention he’s clearly been craving, rubbing his belly as he flops onto his back.

Meanwhile, Glen moves to the back of your car, popping the trunk to grab your bags. He pauses, eyebrows lifting as he surveys the number of bags you brought. “You know we’re only here for two days, right?” He teases, pulling out your suitcase and then throwing your weekender bag over his shoulder. 

You stand, brushing snow off your knees, and flash him a mock glare. “I like to be prepared!”

“For what? A week-long expedition?” he jokes, slinging one bag over his shoulder while hoisting the other in his hand.

“Very funny,” you retort, walking over to him to try to take the smaller bag from him. “I wasn’t sure what the plan was or if we’d be doing anything fancy. So I brought different outfits just in case.”

“Fancy?” Glen repeats, looking around dramatically as if searching for a five-star restaurant in the middle of the mountains. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s nothing fancy out here.”

You laugh, swatting his arm as he leads the way up the cabin steps, Brisket bounding ahead to push the door open with his nose. Warmth immediately greets you as you step inside, the crackling of the fire warming the space. The smell of cedar and something faintly sweet lingers in the air, and you sigh, already feeling relaxed.

Glen sets your bags down by the couch, turning to you with that signature mischievous smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Welcome to our little getaway. Now are you ready to relax and let me spoil you for the next two days?”

You grin, taking in the cozy space–the twinkling string lights, the oversized plaid blankets draped across the couch, and the promise of uninterrupted time with Glen. “Only if you let me spoil you right back.”

“Deal,” he says, leaning in for another kiss, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go.

The moment stretches between you, the cabin’s cozy warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Glen doesn’t let go, his hands resting gently on your waist as he looks down at you. You feel the world outside fade into nothingness–no schedules, no interviews, no appearances,  no planes to catch, no distance between you.

He breaks the silence with a quiet chuckle, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. “Come on,” he says, his voice a low murmur as he gently takes your hand. “Let’s get comfortable.”

You let him guide you to the couch, his hand warm and steady in yours. The cushions are soft, layered with thick plaid blankets and pillows that practically beg you to sink into them. Glen sits down first, leaning back and looking completely at ease in the glow of the firelight. 

Then, with a playful tug of your hand, he pulls you down with him, his arms encircling you like they were always meant to.

“Much better,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nestle against him, his hoodie soft beneath your cheek and his heartbeat steady against your ear. One hand rubs soothing circles on your back, while the other tangles gently in your hair, his fingers trailing through the strands as though he’s memorizing every detail of you all over again.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its golden glow casting flickering patterns across the walls. Outside, the snow continues to fall, silent and relentless, blanketing the world in quiet serenity. The warmth of the fire contrasts with the chill you’d felt stepping out of the car moments earlier, making you sink deeper into Glen’s embrace.

The smell of pine lingers faintly in the room, mingling with the faint musk of Glen’s cologne—a scent you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much until now. It’s grounding, familiar, and comforting, pulling you even further into this moment.

He shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek there. “I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been counting down the days.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. “Me too,” you admit softly. “It’s been too long.”

He smiles, a small, private thing meant just for you. “Well,” he says, tightening his arms around you, “we’ve got a lot of time to make up for, and I don’t plan on wasting a single second of it.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, the sound of the fire, and the stillness of the moment. For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can finally breathe again.

“So,” you say, breaking the quiet with a soft nudge. “Tell me everything about London. How’s filming going?”

Glen exhales, his smile lighting up as he starts to talk. “It’s been amazing, honestly. The city, the crew, the whole experience–it’s been one of the best projects I’ve worked on in awhile. The story’s incredible, and I can’t wait for you to see it. I think you’re going to love it.”

“I bet I will,” you say, looking up at him. “I’m always proud of you, Glen, but I love seeing how excited you are about this one.”

He grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “It’s good, but man, it’s been a grind. Long days, a lot of pressure, you know? But that’s just part of it.”

“I’m sure it will all be worth it,” you reply, your voice full of conviction. “You always give it your all, and it shows.”

The conversation shifts naturally, and soon, he’s asking about you–how life’s been while he’s been away. You fill him in on the little things: the funny story about your new neighbor, a new hobby you’ve been trying, and how work has been busier than usual.

“And,” you add, a touch of pride in your voice, “I got that promotion I was telling you about.”

His face lights up, his grin wide and genuine. “Babe, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you lead with that?”

You laugh, shrugging. “I guess I wanted to hear about London first. But yeah, it’s a lot more responsibility, which is a little scary, but exciting too.”

“You’re going to crush it. I know you will,” he says. He pulls you closer, kissing the side of your head. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

The conversation drifts back and forth, light and easy, until Glen’s tone shifts ever so slightly. He leans his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment before speaking.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m always…on,” he admits quietly. “Like, I have to be the fun guy, the charming guy, the one who’s always ready to take a picture, sign something, or do an interview. It’s not that I don’t love what I do, because I do. But…sometimes it’s a lot, you know?”

You sit up a little, turning to look at him. “Glen-”

He shakes his head, offering you a small smile. “Being with you, though–it’s different. I don’t have to be anyone but me. You make it easy to just…breathe. I can just be me.”

The honesty in his words tugs at something inside you, and you find yourself confessing things you’ve kept tucked away. 

“I get that,” you say softly. “I mean, not the same way you do, but…sometimes I feel like I’m not enough, being with someone like you. Like, I see how the world sees you, and I can’t help but wonder if when we do start telling people about us if I’ll be able to measure up to all that.”

His brows knit together, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

“Hey,” he says gently, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to be anything other than you for me to love you. Do you know that?”

You nod, your throat tight with emotion.

“I mean it,” he continues, his voice steady. “You’re the person I want to come back to, the one who makes all the noise in my head fade. I don’t care about anything else as long as I have you.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them away as his thumb catches one that escapes. The moment lingers, until he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss is slow and lingering, a quiet reassurance in the way his hand stays on your cheek, grounding you.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and the softest smile plays on his lips. “You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “Don’t ever forget that.”

You nod again, unable to find the words, and instead, you kiss him, pouring everything you feel into that single, tender moment. The world outside fades again, leaving only the warmth of the fire and the steady presence of the mean holding you like you’re the only thing that matters.

Glen's laughter fills the room as your stomach lets out an unmistakable growl. He presses a playful kiss to your temple before standing and stretching. “Alright, let’s fix that. I can’t have you starving on my watch.”

You smile as he heads into the small kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and pans clinking filling the cozy cabin.

You follow him, leaning against the doorway. “You’ve been working nonstop for weeks. Maybe I should cook for you for a change.”

Glen turns around, eyebrow raised. “You? Cook for me? You’re supposed to be relaxing this weekend, baby.”

“And you’re supposed to be relaxing too, Mr. Leading Man,” you counter, stepping into the kitchen and gently nudging him aside. “Come on, let me spoil you a little.”

He folds his arms, giving you an exaggerated skeptical look. “Spoil me, huh? You sure I’ll be okay eating your cooking?”

“Oh, hush,” you say, laughing. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding us. And besides, who says we can’t cook together?”

Glen’s grin softens into something warmer. “Alright,” he concedes, holding up his hands in surrender. “Cooking together it is. But I’m in charge of the playlist.”

“Deal,” you say, grabbing an apron from a hook on the wall.

As Glen connects his phone to the cabin’s Bluetooth speaker, the kitchen fills with the smooth croon of a soulful Christmas song. You both fall into a natural rhythm, chopping vegetables and seasoning ingredients while the cozy warmth of the cabin wraps around you.

At one point, you can’t resist sneaking a spoonful of sauce to taste. Glen catches you mid-act, his hand resting on his hip.

“You’re gonna eat half of this before it even makes it to the plate,” Glen teases.

You grin, shrugging as you savor the taste. “Quality control. Someone has to make sure it’s good.”

“It’s unhygienic,” he chides, though the twinkle in his eye betrays him.

“Oh, please,” you shoot back, leaning against the counter with a grin. “I’m not too worried about spreading germs with you. Not after the way we kiss.”

Glen laughs, shaking his head as he stirs the sauce. “Fair point,” he concedes, his lips quirking into a smile.

The kitchen is cozy but compact, and as you move around, you inevitably bump into each other. One such moment has you accidentally backing into Glen while reaching for a spice jar. His hands instinctively catch your waist to steady you.

“Careful,” he says softly, his voice laced with amusement. His hands linger, warm and steady, as his gaze flicks down to meet yours.

“Sorry,” you murmur, your cheeks flushing as the moment stretches just a second longer than expected.

He grins, his thumbs brushing gently against your sides before letting go. “I don’t mind,” he says, his tone low and teasing.

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the butterflies suddenly fluttering in your stomach and turn back to the counter. 

By the time dinner is ready, the cabin smells like garlic, tomatoes, and the faint sweetness of basil. Glen sets the table while you plate the food, and when you both sit down to eat, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Dinner passes in a warm haze of laughter and conversation. You and Glen share stories, the clink of silverware against plates blending with the crackle of the fire. The pasta you made together turns out delicious—though Glen insists it’s because of his sauce, and you playfully argue that your perfectly chopped vegetables were the real hero. Brisket stays close, hoping for scraps, and earns a bite of garlic-free bread when Glen gives in to his pleading eyes.

After clearing the table and stacking dishes in the sink—"They can wait until tomorrow," Glen declares—you both migrate to the couch. Glen pulls a blanket off the armrest and drapes it over you as you settle in with mugs of hot cocoa, the sweetness of marshmallows melting into the creamy warmth. Brisket curls up at your feet, his soft snores the only sound aside from the faint hiss of wind outside.

Glen leans back, stretching an arm across the back of the couch as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hey, would you mind if I looked over a script real quick?” he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “The director wants to know by next week if I’m interested, and I’ve been meaning to give it a read.”

“Of course, go ahead,” you reply with a smile. “I brought a book anyway.”

He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before grabbing the script from his bag near the fireplace. You retrieve your book from the coffee table and settle back into the couch, tucking yourself under the blanket as Glen takes a seat beside you.

Without a word, you drape your legs over his lap, and he shifts slightly to make room for you, resting one hand on your shin as he flips through the pages of the script with the other. The firelight dances across his face, highlighting the subtle curve of his jaw and the faint concentration in his eyes.

The moment is quiet but comfortable, the kind of peaceful intimacy that comes from truly knowing each other. The rhythmic scratch of Brisket’s paws against the blanket as he shifts in his sleep and the occasional turn of a page are the only sounds.

At one point, Glen glances over, his lips quirking into a small smile when he catches you sneaking a look at him instead of reading. “What?” he asks, his voice low and warm.

“Nothing,” you say, fighting a grin as you look back at your book.

“Uh-huh,” he teases, giving your calf a light squeeze before returning to his script.

The hours melt away in the warmth of the cabin, the storm outside a distant hum against the sturdy walls. It’s not about what either of you is doing; it’s about being here, together, in this moment, where everything feels perfectly right.

As the hours pass, the fire in the hearth settles into glowing embers, casting soft, flickering shadows across the room. Glen turns the last page of the script, his brow furrowed in thought. He leans forward to set the stack of papers on the coffee table, grabs his phone, and types out a quick text to the director. His message is short but enthusiastic, praising the script and confirming he’s interested in the role.

Satisfied, Glen sets his phone aside and stretches, his muscles shifting under the soft cotton of his hoodie. When he turns to suggest heading to bed, he freezes, his gaze landing on you.

You’ve fallen asleep, your head resting against the armrest, your book lying open on your chest. The faint rise and fall of your breathing is the only movement, and a lock of hair has fallen across your face. Glen feels a tug at his chest as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face, the way the firelight catches on your skin.

He stands and pads over to you, careful not to wake you. Gently, he takes the book from your chest, marking your place before setting it on the coffee table. Then he leans down and slides an arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You stir slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but your head naturally tilts into the curve of his neck. Glen chuckles softly, his breath warm against your hair as he whispers, “Shh, I’ve got you.”

Carrying you into the bedroom, he nudges the door open with his foot and steps inside. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the snow outside, the bed neatly made with thick blankets and soft pillows. Glen carefully lowers you onto the bed, tucking you in and brushing that stray lock of hair behind your ear.

He changes quickly, trading his hoodie and jeans for a pair of flannel pajama pants. The air feels cooler here, away from the fire, but the bed already feels warm and inviting. Glen slides in beside you, careful not to disturb your sleep, and pulls you into his arms.

You instinctively curl into him, your head resting against his chest, your hand finding its way to his side. Glen wraps the blanket snugly around the both of you and lets out a contented sigh, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers softly, his voice full of warmth and love.

The storm outside howls faintly, but inside, the world feels perfectly still. Glen closes his eyes, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back as he drifts off, holding you close and savoring the quiet, precious moment.

* * * *

The first thing you notice as you wake is the soft golden light streaming through the windows, illuminating the room in a warm glow. The second is the smell of freshly brewed coffee, rich and inviting, curling its way into the bedroom like a gentle wake-up call.

You stretch lazily under the covers, the bed still cozy from the warmth of the blankets and Glen’s presence last night. Just as you start to fully stir, Glen appears in the doorway, holding a steaming mug. His flannel pajama pants hang low on his hips, and his hair is a mess of soft, disheveled waves from sleep. A lazy, boyish smile spreads across his face as he makes his way over to you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, his voice still gravelly. He hands you the mug, his fingers brushing against yours as you sit up to take it. “Figured I’d let you sleep in a little after you passed out on me last night.”

You smile up at him, taking a careful sip of the coffee. It’s perfect—just the way you like it. “Thanks, Glen. And for the record, that book was really interesting,” you tease, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Mm-hmm,” he replies, leaning down to kiss your forehead before pulling back to look at you.

After a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, Glen suggests taking Brisket out for a walk to enjoy the fresh snow that fell overnight. You eagerly agree, bundling up in layers before heading outside.

The air is crisp and sharp against your cheeks as you step into the snow-dusted woods surrounding the cabin. Brisket bounds ahead, tail wagging as he leaves a trail of paw prints in the untouched snow. The trees are heavy with frost, their branches glinting like crystals in the sunlight.

Glen reaches for your hand, his fingers warm against yours despite the chill. He holds it firmly but gently, giving it a soft squeeze whenever you stumble over a patch of uneven ground. The path winds through the woods, quiet except for the crunch of snow underfoot and the occasional bark from Brisket, who seems to be having the time of his life.

Without warning, something cold and wet splats against your shoulder. You stop in your tracks, turning to find Glen standing a few feet away, a mischievous grin lighting up his face.

“Did you just—”

Before you can finish, he’s already crouching to scoop up another handful of snow. You shriek and duck, dodging the second snowball as it sails past you.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” you say, dropping his hand and gathering snow of your own.

The snowball you throw hits him square in the chest, making him laugh. But when your next one lands down the back of his jacket, he lets out an exaggerated yelp. “Oh, you’re playing dirty now!”

Before you can make a run for it, Glen closes the distance between you in a few long strides. He scoops you up effortlessly, spinning you around in the snow. You’re laughing too hard to protest, your breath visible in the cold air as you cling to his shoulders.

“Say you surrender!” he teases, his own laughter mixing with yours.

“Never!” you manage to gasp between giggles.

Brisket, not wanting to be left out, comes bounding over, barking excitedly and leaping between you two. He jumps up, his paws hitting Glen’s legs as if trying to “help” in the playful battle.

Glen finally sets you back on your feet, both of you breathless and grinning as Brisket dances around you. You lean against him for support, your cheeks flushed from the cold and the exertion.

“Truce?” you offer, still catching your breath.

“Truce,” Glen agrees, pressing a quick kiss to your cold nose before pulling you into a warm hug. Brisket barks again, wagging his tail as if to seal the deal.

Together, the three of you continue down the snowy path, your laughter echoing through the quiet woods as the morning sun rises higher in the sky.

Back at the cabin, the warmth from the fire greets you as you shrug off your layers, brushing the last bits of snow from your coat. Brisket shakes himself off by the door, and Glen ruffles his ears before turning to you.

“Alright,” Glen says, his grin still playful from your snowball fight, “how about some cookies? Nothing says cozy cabin vibes like baking something sweet.”

You agree, rummaging through the kitchen to find the ingredients Glen had picked up earlier. Soon, the counter is covered with bags of flour, sugar, butter, and colorful sprinkles, along with a small tub of frosting. Glen insists on being your “assistant,” though he’s more interested in taste-testing than actually helping.

“Are you sure you measured this right?” he teases, stealing a pinch of cookie dough from the bowl as you mix it.

“Glen, if you keep eating the dough, there won’t be any cookies to bake,” you warn, swatting at his hand.

He smirks but relents, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll wait.”

The two of you work together to shape the cookies, laughing as Glen insists on making a few in odd shapes—a heart, a misshapen star, and what he claims is a snowman but looks more like a blob.

Once the cookies are in the oven, Glen grabs the frosting and sprinkles, declaring himself the "official decorator." The first few cookies turn out surprisingly neat, but as he gets more creative, things take a turn for the chaotic. Frosting ends up smeared in uneven patterns, and sprinkles are scattered everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, and even in Glen’s hair.

You can’t stop laughing when you see the “masterpiece” he’s holding up proudly. “Glen, that’s not a snowflake. That’s… I don’t even know what that is!”

“It’s abstract,” he counters, grinning as he picks up another cookie. But in his focus, he doesn’t notice the frosting on his hand until you point it out.

“You’ve got a little something… right there,” you say, trying to keep a straight face while gesturing to his cheek.

Glen swipes at it with his sleeve but misses. “Did I get it?”

“Nope,” you giggle, and before you can offer to help, he dips his finger in the frosting and smears a dab onto your nose.

“Now we’re even,” he says, smirking as you gasp in mock outrage.

“Oh, it’s on!” you say, grabbing a spoonful of frosting and aiming for him. But Glen is quicker, catching your wrist and spinning you into his arms. The spoon clatters onto the counter as you both dissolve into laughter, your breath mingling as you’re suddenly very close.

Glen reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His hand lingers, his fingers warm against your cheek as his expression softens. “I love seeing you laugh like that,” he says, his voice quiet but full of sincerity.

The room falls still for a moment, the scent of cookies baking in the oven mingling with the crackle of the fire. You smile up at him, your heart full as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Alright,” he says after a beat, pulling back just enough to look at you, “but seriously, that snowflake cookie was art.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you playfully nudge his chest. “Keep telling yourself that, Powell.”

The scent of freshly baked cookies lingers in the cabin as you and Glen sit together at the kitchen table, admiring your hilariously messy creations. Brisket snores softly on the rug nearby, and the fire crackles in the background, casting a golden glow over the room. You’re mid-bite into a slightly misshapen star cookie when Glen clears his throat, a hint of nervousness in his expression.

“I’ve got something for you,” he says, his lips curving into a smile as he stands and heads toward his suitcase.

You blink in surprise, watching as he unzips a compartment and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped package. He returns to you, holding it behind his back for a moment as his grin widens. “Close your eyes.”

You roll your eyes playfully but oblige, closing them and holding out your hands. You feel the weight of the package as he sets it in your palms.

“Okay, open,” Glen says, and his excitement is almost childlike as he watches you unwrap the gift.

Carefully, you peel back the wrapping paper to reveal a slim envelope. Inside, your breath catches as you pull out two tickets to your dream destination, the one you’ve talked about visiting for years. Your eyes widen as you glance up at him.

“Glen…”

He beams, leaning forward on his elbows. “I’ve already got it booked. Flights, accommodations, everything. And before you ask, yes, I’ve cleared it with my team. No work, no interviews, no appearances. Just us.”

Your heart swells as you look at the tickets again, imagining the two of you exploring a place you’ve only dreamed of. “I can’t believe you did this. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupts, his tone soft but firm. “I’ve been wanting to take you somewhere special for ages, and this felt perfect.”

You reach across the table, squeezing his hand as a smile tugs at your lips. “Well, now I feel silly for what I got you.”

He tilts his head. “You got me something?”

“It’s nothing compared to this,” you say with a self-conscious laugh, standing up and heading to your bag. You retrieve a small, gift-wrapped box and hand it to him, chewing your bottom lip as he unties the ribbon.

Inside, Glen finds a framed photo of you, him, and Brisket, a candid moment you’d captured on your phone without him realizing. His expression softens as he stares at it, his thumb brushing over the glass.

“I remembered you saying you wanted a picture of the three of us to take with you when you travel,” you explain, your voice quieter now. “So I had two made. One for your wallet and this one, for your trailer or hotel room. You know, if you want to…”

Glen pulls the smaller print from the box, smiling as he takes his wallet from his pocket and carefully slides it into place. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice warm with sincerity.

You laugh nervously. “It’s really not. I should’ve thought of something bigger or—”

“Hey.” Glen sets the frame down and crosses to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He tilts your chin up with a gentle finger, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I don't need anything but you.”

Your cheeks flush as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. His arms tighten around you, holding you close as if to emphasize his words.

* * * *

The next morning, light filters through the windows, casting a pale glow over the cabin as you sip your coffee, watching the snow begin to fall more steadily. Glen stands by the door, bundling up in a thick coat and scarf as Brisket circles his feet, tail wagging.

“I’m going to check on the weather and see how bad it is,” Glen says, tugging on his boots.

“Be careful,” you call out, wrapping your hands around the warm mug and glancing out at the swirling snow.

The door closes behind him, and you can hear Brisket barking playfully as they step out into the cold. A few minutes later, Glen returns, covered in snow from head to toe, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He shakes his head like a golden retriever, sending snow flying everywhere, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Well?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as he stomps his boots on the mat.

“Bad news,” he says, brushing the snow from his hair and grinning as he pulls out his phone. “Road closures all over the area. Looks like we won’t be leaving for a little while.” He holds up his phone to show you the alert, his grin widening. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You roll your eyes playfully, setting your mug down. “Oh no, how will I survive?”

“Don’t sound too disappointed,” he teases, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist, his cold hands making you yelp as they press against your back.

You swat at him, laughing. “Your hands are freezing! Go warm up by the fire while I grab some extra wood.”

“I can do it,” Glen offers, but you shake your head.

“Nope. You’re already half-frozen. Just sit down and thaw out.”

He smirks, holding his hands up in surrender as he moves to the couch. Brisket hops up beside him, wagging his tail and settling in as Glen scratches behind his ears.

You pull on your coat and boots, stepping out into the crisp, snowy air to gather a few more logs from the covered woodpile. The snow is already piling up, muffling the usual sounds of the woods and leaving the world feeling quiet and serene.

As the fire crackles and the snow continues to fall heavily outside, the two of you settle back into the cozy rhythm of cabin life. There’s a quiet excitement in the air, knowing that the unexpected snowstorm has given you more uninterrupted time together—a gift neither of you were expecting but both secretly cherish.

[yuu-kantokusei]

~The mischievous predator~

Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Reader is yuu

TW: none

Summary: After a magical mishap leaves Yuu transformed into a cat, an evening walk takes an unsettling turn when they cross paths with someone who seems far too amused by their predicament.

The day had been an ordeal, to say the least.

Yuu had accidentally transformed into a plump tabby cat during potionology class, their spell ingredients mixed up while Professor Crewel’s sharp eyes were momentarily distracted. Grim, surprisingly sympathetic (and amused), volunteered to translate their distressed meowing to Ace and Deuce. The trio carried them around from class to class like an unwilling mascot until the day’s lessons finally ended.

Ace and Deuce headed back to Heartslabyul after classes, complaining about the weight of carrying both Yuu and Grim. Grim, now more of a reluctant caretaker, waddled alongside them on the way to Ramshackle Dorm.

"Alright, you can rest up for the night," Grim said, flopping onto the couch as they arrived. "And don’t expect me to babysit you forever. I’m a mage of great renown, not a cat-sitter!"

Yuu meowed back insistently, their tone sharp.

“What? You wanna go for a walk?” Grim translated, squinting. “Sheesh, it’s dark already! Fine, fine—just don’t get into trouble, okay? I don’t have time to rescue you from some stupid tree.”

They pawed at the door until Grim opened it. A chilly evening breeze greeted them as they stepped out into the quiet grounds of Night Raven College.

Yuu padded along the cobblestone path leading away from the dorm. They didn’t intend to go far; the cool night air was refreshing after an exhausting day of meowing and being carried around. Their thoughts drifted to the potion class debacle, wondering how they'd explain the incident to Crewel when they returned to human form.

Just as they considered turning back, they heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind them. Before they could react, a low, amused voice reached their ears.

“My, my… what do we have here? A little stray?”

Yuu’s fur bristled as they backed away from Malleus, their tiny body trembling with both fear and anger. They let out a low, warning growl, their tail lashing behind them. But their attempt at intimidation only seemed to amuse him further.

“Oh, don’t look so upset,” Malleus said smoothly, his voice like silk laced with thorns. “You’ve always been the curious type, haven’t you? Wandering out here all alone, so vulnerable… Surely, you knew someone might come across you?”

They hissed, their green eyes narrowing. If they could speak, they’d have had plenty of colorful words for him, none of them polite.

Malleus knelt down to their level, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the moonlight. His smile widened as he reached out, his long fingers brushing gently under their chin. “Now, now. Is that any way to greet a friend? I’m hurt, truly.”

Yuu swatted his hand with their paw, claws extended. They managed to scratch his glove, leaving faint marks across the leather. A small, victorious feeling bubbled up in their chest—until they saw his reaction.

Instead of being annoyed, Malleus’s grin only grew sharper. “Oh my, such sharp claws. Feisty as ever, I see. How charming.”

Before they could dart away, his hand shot out, and in one swift motion, he scooped them up into his arms. Yuu yowled in protest, their paws batting at his chest, but he held them firmly.

“My, my,” he said, his voice laced with mock concern. “You’re heavier than I expected. Have you been indulging a bit too much, child of man? Not that I mind, of course. You’re quite… soft.”

They froze for a moment, utterly mortified. Then, with renewed vigor, they wriggled and kicked, trying to free themselves. But Malleus only chuckled, adjusting his grip so they couldn’t escape.

“Relax,” he murmured, stroking their back with an unsettling tenderness. “You’re rather adorable like this, you know. It’s a rare opportunity to see such a side of you. I’d be a fool not to enjoy it."

Yuu let out a furious growl, their ears flattening against their head. If Grim were here, they’d demand he claw Malleus’s smug face for them.

“Oh, don’t be so angry,” Malleus teased, his thumb trailing along the top of their head in a gesture that was almost affectionate. “You should consider this a valuable learning experience. It’s not every day you get to view the world from such a unique perspective.”

They swiped at him again, their claws catching on his uniform this time. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, studying them with that same predatory smile.

“Hmm, still so full of spirit. I wonder… how much fight do you have left, little cat?”

Yuu twisted and turned in his arms, trying to escape, but Malleus’s grip was unyielding. Their frantic meowing filled the quiet night, but no one came to their rescue.

“Shh,” Malleus said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “There’s no need to make such a fuss. No one’s going to hear you out here. It’s just you and me.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down their spine, and they stopped struggling for a moment. Malleus noticed, of course, and his smile became almost triumphant.

“There now,” he said, stroking their head again. “That’s better. See? I’m not so bad, am I?”

Yuu growled low in their throat, but the sound came out more like a pitiful rumble. Malleus’s fingers trailed down their back, and they couldn’t suppress the involuntary purr that escaped them. They immediately regretted it.

“Oh?” Malleus’s expression lit up with amusement. “Enjoying yourself now? How delightful. I suppose even you have your weaknesses.”

Their ears flattened, and they glared up at him, their green eyes blazing with indignation. If looks could kill, Malleus would have been long gone. But he simply chuckled, clearly enjoying their frustration.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his tone almost scolding. “You’re the one who decided to wander out here all alone. Surely you knew the risks?”

They meowed sharply in response, their tone accusatory.

“Ah, blaming me, are you?” he said, his smile widening. “How cruel. I’m simply taking advantage of the situation you created. It’s not every day I get to see the child of man in such a… vulnerable state.”

Yuu’s tail lashed furiously, but their efforts to escape were futile. Malleus’s grip was too strong, his touch too deliberate. He was toying with them, and they both knew it.

As they continued their strange standoff, Malleus suddenly shifted his grip, cradling them in one arm while reaching into his pocket with the other. Yuu froze, their instincts screaming that whatever he was planning couldn’t be good.

“Now, let’s see…” he murmured, pulling out a small, shimmering object. It was a thin, silver ribbon, its surface catching the moonlight.

Yuu’s eyes widened in alarm. They meowed frantically, struggling harder than ever.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Malleus said, his tone soothing but entirely insincere. “It’s just a little accessory. Something to make you look even more adorable.”

Before they could react, he looped the ribbon around their neck, tying it into a neat bow. He held them up, examining his handiwork with a satisfied smile.

“There. Child of man,” he said. “You’re quite the picture, child of man. Perhaps I should take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

Yuu growled, their tail whipping back and forth like a metronome of fury. Malleus’s laughter echoed through the quiet night as he set them down, finally releasing them. They bolted a few steps away, turning to glare at him with all the venom they could muster.

“Oh, don’t run off just yet,” he said, his voice teasing. “You’ll miss all the fun.”

Yuu hissed at him, their fur bristling, but Malleus didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. He leaned casually against a nearby tree, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing with a lazy wave. “Run back to your dorm if you like. But do remember, child of man… I’ll always find you.”

Their heart raced as they turned and fled, his laughter following them into the night. The ribbon around their neck felt heavy, a constant reminder of his lingering presence.

Yuu didn’t stop running until they were safely inside Ramshackle Dorm, their chest heaving as they tried to calm down. Grim looked up from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing as he saw the ribbon.

“What the heck happened to you?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Yuu meowed weakly, too exhausted to explain. They curled up in a corner, their tail wrapped tightly around their body. The sound of Malleus’s laughter still echoed in their mind, sending a shiver down their spine.

They couldn’t wait for this nightmare to be over.

[oonajaeadira]

That Awoooo Inside You, Pt. 3

Fandom: The Wild Robot / Fink the Fox

Pairing: Fink <3s OFC fox Farrah

Rating: G all the way, don’t worry. This is keeping in the world and disgustingly wholesome. Prolly too clean for tumbles 😆

Warnings: None. It’s for cuteness and for heart.

Summary: After the events of The Wild Robot, a new resident joins the island. She’s a little withdrawn and Fink finds out why. It's not what he expected.

A/N: The end of this chapter was partly inspired by @grogusmum. She knows what she did. And if she doesn't, it's illustrated afterward.

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed my very very fluffy--in all senses of the word--tale. I had to. I just had to.

PART 1, PART 2

“Hey-ey-ey,Greedy!” Fink laughed as he called out to Farrah, her tail and back feet hanging out of the hollow of a dead tree trunk. “Just because I gave you the first turn doesn’t mean you get to eat it all! I want some! My turn! My turn!”

Farrah backed out of the hollow and down the grey stump, honey sticking to her whiskers and snowy ear tips, her front paws covered in the golden goo. “Sorry! I got carried away! I’ve never had anything like it. There’s plenty left…I think…”

Distracted by the remnants on her paws, the white fox began to clean them up, eyes wide, still in awe of the sweetness Fink had introduced her to. It was almost a contest as to what was going to win his attention–the honey hive, or Farrah’s dainty licking–but like any fox, food won out and he was shoulders deep in the tree trunk before his heart had any say in the matter.

Once he was gorged on the stuff, Fink skittered his way out from the hollow and joined Farrah in the grass. It was her turn to wait while he cleaned his own paws, but being familiar with honey, he was far less of a mess than she had been. One, two, licks of his paws and then–

He hadn’t meant to do it, but he was a fox. He did foxy things. And that meant not thinking when it came to food. It wasn’t until Farrah was ducking away from him, putting some distance between them, that he realized what he’d done.

He’d instinctually gone to lick the honey off her ears. 

Now she crouched, cowered, alert, her bright eyes–one light, one dark–wide and peering back at him over her brush of a tail, and he could sense the spring that was building in her legs, her heart running as hard as her feet wanted to–

He was suddenly almost as scared as she was. “Sorry! I just– I only– your ears…” The only thing he could think to do was back up. Sit down. Her eyes were still moons in the white sky of her face.

After a couple of months on the island, she was still skittish, still easy to startle. Fink had done everything to make her feel at home, done everything he could do to show her she was under no threat here. She was quick to play with the raccoons and had even fallen asleep on Thorn’s big fat bear belly once or twice on a chilly evening.

But somehow, Fink still spooked her. Maybe he just saw it more since they spent so much time together. Or maybe he was too quick, too rough. Or maybe….

…maybe she didn’t want him to get close in that way.

He could feel his shoulders hunching, his ears drooping, and with them, he sensed a slackening of Farrah’s tension.

“Sorry, Fink, you just… I…” Stepping slowly, she stopped halfway to him and sat, nervous, avoiding his eye. “Guess I’m just a mess. I didn’t realize I still had hummy on my ears.”

Normally he would have laughed. They would have laughed together. “Honey.”

“Heh. Honey.”  A little breeze shifted the grass and Farrah made an attempt at a playful sneeze, but it was half-hearted. “You can…clean my ears if you want to…”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, just as half-heartedly. “You wanna go down to the shore and take a swim? I don’t want to be sticky all day. Ants.”

“Sure.”

She led the way now, more confident in her path about the island and he followed, although feeling as if he was dragging his heart behind him.

He remembered how much it hurt when Brightbill flew away for the winter, but it was a good hurt, because they would see each other again.

And he remembered how much it hurt when Roz left the island. That one hurt in a different way because he knew he may never see her again, but he had good memories, and he knew that he had friends and a good life because of what she did for them all.

But this was a hurt he didn’t recognize. It was like the hurt he used to feel when nobody wanted him around, the hurt he learned to ignore, the hurt he used in order to become clever and figure out the very best ways to get exactly what he wanted. Similar, but not the same. 

Because that pain was borne out of the rejection of everyone. Like sleeping on a bed of pinecones.

This ache could not be ignored or pushed away.

Being rejected by one special someone in particular, he was learning, was much worse, like sleeping on one particularly spiky pinecone.

With one, big jagged spike.

Pressing right against his heart.

“Look! Your favorite!” Farrah came trotting out of the water to him where he sat on shore, feebly scrubbing his paws in a tidepool, and laid a huge clam at his feet, its bulk almost too big for her smaller jaw. He nodded, but kept scrubbing. A crab scuttled past as a larger wave lazily slapped the rocks behind her, the water dull under a hazy, late spring sky. “Fink?”

The thought just fell out of his mouth. “You really never thought about finding a…a mate?”

Farrah blinked, eyes wide again. This time he could tell it wasn’t with the instinct to flee, but he could hear her heart racing all the same. “I… no. Where I’m from, nobody would take me.”

He wanted to run away, scared of what he was feeling, scared of what he might say, what she might say, what might happen to their friendship, but couldn’t stop himself. “But, you’re not there anymore. You’re here. And things are different here. Everyone’s a little different here and…and…just because you… your…” He couldn’t keep his tail from twitching, his claws making little arpeggios in the sand, his tongue babbling away without him, “I like your fur. It’s not practical but it’s beautiful, it catches the sun. It’s a part of you and I like you so you don’t have to worry about being different or the runt of the litter here. I think it’s a miracle you’ve made it, it means you’ve had to be strong and smart and you’re–”

“My fur?” A tilt of Farrah’s head showed initial confusion. “What’s wrong with my fur?” And then just the hint of her ears leaning back, a paw pushing at the sand as if bracing for a fight, her tail curling around herself again. “Who said I was a runt? I’ll have you know I was the second biggest kit of my litter.”

Now it was Fink’s turn to blink in surprise. “But.. no one said, it’s just… you are on the small side so I just thought you might–”

“Wait. Fink,” she calmed then, a realization breaking over her, her spine straightening, ears perking up. It was one of the rare moments they’d had together where he was able to look her in the eye and she didn’t back down, where suddenly she was allowing him in and he felt suddenly hopeful. Did she just hear what he said? Was she just realizing how he felt? Did she like him too? He swallowed hard, anticipating what she would say next.

It was much different than what he expected.

“Have you…never met a winter fox?”

The words pushed through him, trying to find a place to settle into meaning. “Winter? Fox?”

“Yeah. A snowy fox. Like me.” When he could only stare blankly, she smiled sadly. “Oh, Fink. There are different kinds of foxes where I’m from! I’m a winter fox. We’re all white like this and smaller than the forest foxes. We don’t usually mix with the forest foxes because…” here she looked down at her little white paws making a delicate triangle in the sand, “forrest foxes hunt winter foxes. They’re brutal predators. They..they eat us.”

Whaaaaaat??? “WOWWWUH,” Fink breathed, aghast at this breaking news, happy for her to have escaped that peril. “They sound like huge jerks. You’re better off here without ‘em.”

She lifted her head then and a light huff fell out of her, it was nervous and hesitant, and thinking she was laughing, he was momentarily proud of lightening her mood. Until she said, “Fink…you’re a forest fox.”

There would be few more profound moments in Fink’s life than standing on a shifting shore, learning that he had yet another fate in the world, an alternate place where he could have lived a completely different life, one that could be seen by someone other than himself. 

He sat in shock and looked at her. She was so small, so vulnerable. He himself was half again her size. She was fast, but he was faster and could easily outrun her and catch her if he wanted to. She would often bring him shellfish to open for her and then watch in something like awe as he crushed it easily in his jaws.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t awe. Perhaps it was horror.

He was starting to understand that his heart could break twice in one lifetime. Maybe twice in one day.

He needed time to stand still for a minute so he could gather his thoughts, fix this somehow, assure her that he wasn’t like the foxes she’d known, make her see, he wasn’t like the forest foxes that she’d known, he would never, if only the waves would stop crashing and the geese would stop honking–

Honking! The geese! The geese were returning! Brightbill!

Fink was up and turning on the spot, watching the incoming flock, but also agitated by the interruption, unable to stop himself. “Farrah, I… can you… can you hold that thought? I’m sorry, I just–” And without waiting for her, he ran. 

He couldn’t remember being faster, needing to run faster, faster, his blood rushing in his ears. The flock would land just down the shore near by and he found a spot close enough to the treeline so as not to spook the ones that didn’t know him, but still out on shore enough to be seen. And then he danced. 

He couldn’t help himself. Bounding in a circle, paws tap tapping the wet sand, he yelped like a pup in with its tail caught, and sure enough, an orange-tufted bird broke from the group and came straight for him, dive-bombing him out of the sky, goose and fox colliding in a poof of feathers and fur and rolling and laughter as Brightbill made a triumphant return to the island.

“Hey, buddy! You came back!”

The goose laughed. “It’s spring. Where else would I go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could fly anywhere. I’m sure there are tons of islands better than this one.”

“Yeah, but none of them have a Fink.”

Fink grinned, the familiar fondness for his friend doing some soothing work on his aching heart. “How was the trip?”

“Long. Who’s that?” Brightbill tipped his beak to the treeline, and Fink followed his gaze to the flash of white ducking behind a tree.

“Oh. She’s new. Farrah! Hey!” he called to her and her little face appeared around the trunk. “Brightbill’s home! Come meet the kid!” Trotting toward them, she looked warily side to side at the arriving population on the shore, and he lowered his voice to give the goose advice he couldn’t yet accept himself, “She washed up half-drowned a couple of months ago. Still kinda shy. Don’t take it personally.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Brightbill turned to the crowd and honked, calling to a large, long-necked and ruffle-feathered gander who was chatting up a gaggle of ladies. The gander immediately turned and closed the distance, winging over to their little family group and settling next to them, much more gently than his mass would have led anyone to suppose. “This is my…ah… my nesting partner, Crusher.”

“Fink, yes?” Crusher honked, husky and low. “Charmed.”

“He’s joining us from another flock this year.”

Crusher chuckled and ribbed Brighbill. “Might stay forever at this rate.”

The smaller goose couldn’t help but blush. “You mind if he stays in the hut with me?”

Fink smiled, a rush of happiness for his little fledgling–all grown up–tempered only by the awkwardness every parent feels when they bring their sweetheart to visit. “Absolutely! You can have the best bed in the place.”

“What?” Brightbill flinched. “Your bed? Are you sure you’re Fink?”

Fink shrugged and leveled his shoulders, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “What can I say? I’m a great guy. Fantastically generous. Full of surprises.”

“That last part’s true for sure.” Brightbill turned to Farrah. “I assume you’re responsible for this show-off’s drastic change in behavior?”

“Hey!” Fink protested, but Farrah laughed her wondrous, loud laugh and introductions and welcomes were made. He watched her as she warmed to his adopted family and before long they were trotting back to the hut, many of their friends there to meet them, having heard the flock arriving from the south.

The rest of the day had a general family reunion atmosphere. Thorn bumbled off into the trees and came back with an entire wild raspberry bush he’d yanked out of the ground, heavy with a spring crop. The raccoons brought up snails from the woods and clams from the beach. Pinktail brought in this season’s club of little rascals who all got a fast and low ride on Crusher’s back over the surrounding treetops. Before long, the fireflies were coming out, lighting up the grasses in the clearing around the hut and Thorn had started a warm fire inside.

It was there that Fink was listening intently to Crusher’s tale of home, the shoreline where he grew up. Since meeting Farrah, Fink had become increasingly interested in learning how different and yet the same so many other places were. It was like he learned something new about the world every day.

Like the fact that there were foxes in the world that were even bigger jerks than he was.

Or than he used to be.

He scanned the hut–quieter now as many of the young animals were nodding off and cuddling with their mamas who in turn were engaged in low, pleasant conversation by the light of the fire. At first he thought Farrah might have left, the crowd too much for her, but then he caught the moonlight glow of her fur through the doorway out in the clearing, Brightbill at her side. They were deep in conversation–Brightbill doing most of the talking and Farrah watching him intently–and Fink felt a little contented spark of loving happiness as he watched them bond.

After a while, Brightbill waddled into the hut toward Fink’s precious, beloved, grassy nest, drowsy and sighing. “It’s been a day. Did you really mean it? Can we bed down here?”

Fink sighed, pulling back the sass he was so accustomed to leaning on, just this once. “Yeah, kid. I mean it. You two have had a long journey. Take a load off. I’m just glad you’re home. You want me to shoo everyone out of here so you can sleep?”

“Nah,” the small goose shook his head, his eye wandering across the line of pictures Roz had created of him not so very long ago. “We’re used to sleeping in a crowd. And it’s nice to hear the voice of friends.”

Once Brightbill and Crusher were comfortable–heads tucked under wings, Crusher’s free wing almost completely covering the smaller goose–Fink wandered out into the clearing where Farrah sat under the stars. She was staring up at the moon as she often did on nights like this, most likely thinking about her family and how no matter the distance between them, they still had the same night sky.

“Mind if I sit?”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn to watch his every move, just kept watching the twinkling of the stars. “Not at all. It’s a nice night. Quiet. Calm.”

Mindful of what he now knew of her past, he kept his distance, but still where she could see him and feel safe just out of reach. Fink looked up to the big, silvery moon, round-faced and kind. It reminded him of a certain robot he once knew.

“He’s a great kid, clever and kind,” she said after a long silence. “You really raised him right.”

Fink scoffed and winked at the moon. “It wasn’t really me who raised him.”

“That’s not how he sees it. He thinks Roz was great, but she couldn’t have done it without you. You’re just as important to him that way. He told me so many stories.”

Digging at a spot in the ground, he did his best not to look too interested. “Yeah? Anything…good?”

She laughed then, softer than usual, but still winning the prize for his very favorite sound in the world. Standing, she came closer and Fink kept still, trying not to breathe too fast as she sat as his side, shoulder to shoulder. She was warm. She smelled like raspberries and snails and something else…something intoxicating. “Well, good enough.”

“So he convinced you I’m not going to eat you.”

“Something like that.”

Ah. He’d have to remember to thank the kid later.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Fink. I didn’t know you didn’t know about–”

“Why do you think nobody would have you?”

Farrah blinked up at him. “What?”

“You said where you were from, nobody would want you. I can’t imagine the kind of idiots you must have grown up around.”

She smiled then, a little sadly, turning her gaze to her paws. “My eyes. Nobody wants a mate with mismatched eyes. They assume I’m blind or can’t see as well as them, that because of it I wouldn’t be able to survive or I’d pass it down to their kits who'd have trouble surviving. It’s not true, but I don’t stand a chance against another vixen with matching eyes. That's nature. I just kind of accepted it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Fink gasped. “Your eyes? But they’re amazing! They’re one of my favorite things about you. They’re–” and then he faltered as she looked up hopefully at him, those bright eyes–one light and one dark–bewitching and so very distinct. And suddenly, all the fear and snark left him as he felt himself turning to pure, dopey goo. “--they’re…beautiful.”

She snuggled into his shoulder then, finally giving in, her tail coming to rest over his, wrapping herself around him. And he marveled at how fast a broken heart can heal up. As if it had never been hurt at all.

Yeah. He was really gonna have to thank that kid.

“I think I’d like to go curl up in bed,” she said, finally breaking free and turning back toward the hut where the warm orange light spilled over the snoring bulk of their bear friend and the nearby soft pile of sleeping geese. “You coming?”

“Ah, I gave my bed to the kids. I’ll probably just sleep in the grass tonight.”

She smiled, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “No you won’t. Not when there’s plenty of room in mine.”

He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep for joy. Not with his kid home again. Not with all of his friends so close by. Not with his nose buried in the fur of Farrah’s shoulder or the curve of her slumbering body curled up around his own. Not with his heart beating as broadly as it was.

But he did. He slept. Soundly. And well.

____

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Fink and Farrah, illustration by @grogusmum